Page 41 of Across Time

I think of the old woman, yelling at me and hitting my hand. “It would not be my first choice as a job, that’s for sure.”

He turns to me, his jaw tight. "Did something happen? Was André inappropriate?"

I can’t imagine why this is the conclusion he’d jump to. "No, no, of course not," I say, waving him off. "I just don't like reading. The crazy old woman was yelling at me about talking to Gypsies and hitting me when I pronounced poorly and I...I just didn’t enjoy it."

"I didn't realize she spoke English," says Henri.

Shit.

"She doesn't," I stammer. "Well, you know, just a few words. Enough to make her point."

"Ah," he says, resting in his seat more easily. "Well if you don't like it, you should not go back."

I didn’t mind tea with André at all, and if I could just shift his attention from me to Marie, perhaps some good will have come from my visit. Maybe this is how I save Marie, by freeing her from a lifetime of domestic servitude.

"I have to go back. What would we tell them?"

"I don't give a shit what we tell them," he says.

I smile. "Henri, you just cursed. How unseemly."

He starts the car and pulls into the road. "Congratulations, little thief. You've stolen my good manners." He looks over at me. A muscle in his jaw flickers. “And you haven’t mentioned tea yet. How was that?”

I could downplay it, since he obviously doesn’t like André, but then I remember the way he gossiped about me to the girl who answered the door. “It was delicious. I can’t imagine why you don’t like André. I think he seems very nice.”

His frown deepens. “Don’t judge a man until you’ve seen him without an audience,” he replies.

16

* * *

Marie begins packing her things to leave almost as soon as I get home, and I sigh heavily. “This is ridiculous,” I tell her. “If you are so desperate to avoid me, just fix my damn ankle!”

Her eyes widen. “Avoid you?” she repeats. “No. I’m not. I promise. I suppose it’s a little selfish under the circumstances, but with you here, it means I can go do things. Normally, I stay in during the evening so Henri’s not here alone. I just thought if he had you for company it would be okay, but if you want me to stay I will.”

“It’s fine,” I sigh. As much as I resent the whole situation, I don’t really care whether or not she’s home and I do want to see them both move on with their lives. Although the idea of Henri moving on bothers me a bit more than it should.

* * *

“So it’s bread and cheese for dinner,” I tell him when he gets in that night. “It's all I can do with the ankle the way it is." I don’t feel particularly bad about this. His bullshit this morning at the Beauvoir’s house is still irking me.

His mouth goes up on one side. "I was under the impression it was all you could do anyhow.” He looks at the food I’ve taken out and begins to gather it, throwing everything in one of Marie's baskets hanging from the copper rack overhead, and adding a bottle of wine. "That dinner was meant to be for us both,” I say.

"Yes, I know,” he replies, heading for the door. “Come with me.”

He walks outside with the food and I follow, more slowly and far more unsteadily on the crutches than he is on two good feet. He looks over his shoulder at me. "You're okay?" he asks. "It's not much farther."

I nod and we continue on, past the barn, to a hay bale that sits at the top of a hill, facing west. He spreads a blanket on the ground and helps me sit, before pulling the food from the basket.

"A picnic?” I ask. It seems kind of odd to have a picnic forty yards from the house, but it’s not a terrible idea. The view of the valley from here is amazing and at least we can get a bit of a breeze.

"You do this, where you're from?"

I shake my head. "No, not really." We did it once or twice, driving into the Alleghenies, when I was small, but that was before Kit died. Afterward, my mother went out of her way to avoid any time spent as a family if she could help it.

"I suppose you have better things to do, what with your televisions and drive-through restaurants.”

Diplomacy requires I assure him a picnic is every bit as satisfying as watching television, but as my mouth opens to say something polite and meaningless, I realize the truth of it: this is as satisfying as television. Probably more.