Page 62 of Across Time

Marie throws out her hands. “So he said a few things about us. We've lived through worse.”

Henri's gaze flickers to me. He is being honorable. The story of what happened is mine and he's not going to share it.

"André did more than insult me, Marie," I admit. "I was able to stop him, but it involved hitting him with my crutch."

She blinks twice and presses a hand to her chest. For the first time since this whole ankle debacle began, she looks guilty. "Oh." She glances at my cast and I see the thoughts as they cross her face. I suppose they cycled through mine as well—that I wouldn’t even be here if it weren’t for her refusal to fix my ankle.

“Yes, Marie,” says Henri with acid in his voice, “you’ve put her in danger with your stupidity about fate.”

She swallows. “I’m sorry,” she says to me. “Please…forgive me. I know it doesn’t make sense.”

Henri’s arms go wide. He’s as angry as he was when it first happened. “She could have been raped!” he shouts. “Don’t apologize—fix it!”

He walks out of the house, slamming the door so hard that the windows rattle and the pans hanging from the copper rack clank against each other.

Marie hangs her head. “I can’t fix it,” she says, near tears. “But I am deeply sorry.”

I sigh. I don’t know why I care that Marie feels guilty, but I do. Aside from this one odd anomaly, she’s been unbelievably kind and gracious throughout my stay. “It doesn’t matter. My cast comes off in a week. Though I can’t imagine what you believe is going to change between now and then.”

Her head still hangs as she walks away. “I don’t know either. Not what I hoped.”

22

During my final week in the cast Henri spends every afternoon with me, regardless of Marie-Therese’s plans. On the last afternoon before we see the doctor, he comes in and tells me the horses are saddled, ignoring his sister entirely. She doesn’t seem at all surprised but instead settles into a chair and shrugs.

“Good,” she says, “I’ll have a quiet afternoon to myself.”

He's gentler with me when he lifts me onto the horse, and also when he removes me. I'm not sure if his hands linger at my waist or if I'm just so much more aware of them today. They're so big I think they could span my entire rib cage if he tried.

We are quieter as we sit out on the blanket. He is sitting slightly closer than he usually does. I barely notice the magnificence of the setting sun, the glory of the wildflowers. I’m only aware of the heat of him next to me, the thud of my heart, overloud in my chest.

Is this love? It feels nothing like what I have with Mark. My love for Mark feels like the hours before a big dance, when you are a little giddy with the excitement of it all, when the possibilities for the evening seem fun at the very least and almost infinite.

This feeling for Henri is different. It hurts. It leaves me feeling desperate and reckless and it clouds my brain in a way that makes rational thought difficult. I’m not sure if it’s real or just some version of Stockholm Syndrome. I’ve been with almost no one but him for months. He’s the most gorgeous man I’ve ever seen and we’ve found ourselves in increasingly heated positions. Maybe any woman in my shoes would feel this way.

I squeeze my eyes shut. It doesn’t matter anyway, I say to myself. You can’t stay for good. And he’s never once implied that he’d like you to.

* * *

“A very exciting day for you,” says Doctor Nadeau when I arrive at his office.

I struggle to smile as I agree. In truth, the experience is bittersweet. I'm eager to regain my mobility, but regaining it also means I must leave. And it’s definitely time for me to go—there’s a chance if I remain too much longer I won’t have enough of a spark to even make it back home at all. But I will miss my life here more than I want to admit.

Henri looks a little unnerved as the doctor prepares to saw open my cast. He hovers nearby as it begins, his hands in his pockets, his jaw clenched tight.

When the cast is split the doctor cracks it open into two even halves, revealing my ankle—pale and atrophied, but otherwise normal.

"You'll be weak and stiff for a few days," the doctor warns. “So use caution.”

Henri helps me climb off the table. His protectiveness is ridiculous but also sweet. At last I understand the appeal of being treated like something delicate and precious, just as I'm about to leave it behind for good.

He links his elbow through mine and guides me carefully out to the car. When we reach the door, he stops. "You heard what Doctor Nadeau said. I hope you don't plan to leave until you've got your mobility back completely."

I turn toward him. We are probably standing a little too close for supposed family members, but I don't care. I rest my hands against his chest. I will miss this chest. I will miss the way he looms over me when we stand close. I will miss the way he treats me when his guard is down, as if I am worth more to him than the rest of the world combined.

"No, I think I'll need to stay a bit longer. A week maybe."

His palms fold over my hands for one long moment. "Good," he says. "That's good."