Good Dirt

Carpe Diem

Carpe Diem

A fter a week, Ebby still hasn’t seen Robert in the town square. Or the café. Or the market. As each day goes by, Ebby is increasingly aware that she keeps hoping to catch sight of him. Back at the cottage, she pulls the cardigan off the coat-tree and holds it up to her face, searching for the scent of Robert’s hands. Of the mint he grows in his garden. The yearning she feels draws her out to her car.

Ebby feels a bit like a stalker, driving around, looking for his house. She’s been there twice and she still doesn’t know the name of the street. She zips up to the high point of town to look across at the chateau, down at the network of streets, then back across the river. Maybe this is a sign that she should forget about Robert. So it didn’t go well. How much was it reasonable to expect? Wait, she sees something familiar. Backs up the car. Turns down a side street. She reaches Robert’s house just as he is walking out through his front door. He looks her way then turns to lock the door.

“Robert, I’m so sorry,” Ebby says as she gets out of the car.

“Sorry about what?” he says, too politely.

“That I couldn’t go out with you last week. My ex was here. It’s a long story. Anyway, he wanted to talk.”

Robert nods. Says nothing.

“I saw the cardigan,” Ebby says now. “Thank you.”

“So you came here to thank me?”

“And to apologize.”

Robert’s face is softening now. She recognizes that look. Feels a stirring below her belly button. Oh, she does like this man.

“I’m going to the café for some breakfast,” Ebby says. “I thought, maybe, you might feel like joining me.”

“I need to make breakfast for my grand-père, ” Robert says. “The woman who takes care of him has an appointment this morning.”

“Oh, okay,” Ebby says. She nods and takes a couple of steps backward in the direction of her car.

“Do you want to meet him?” Robert says.

“Huh?”

“ Mon grand-père. Do you want to go with me to see him?”

Ebby feels her face break into a grin.

If someone were to look through the ground-floor windows of the manoir where Robert’s grandfather lives, they might see the following: Ebby, trailing papy around his living room as he points out framed photos, telling her who’s who, while Robert pours coffee and collects milk, butter, and jam from the fridge. And if someone were to look through the living room window at Robert’s cottage that evening, they might see small plates and wineglasses sitting on a long, low table. Nothing but olive pits left on the plates. They might see Ebby and Robert sitting close together on the sofa.

“I had no idea you were married,” Ebby says. “When your grandpa showed me that photo, I had a moment of panic. I mean, we’d…you know. Then I noticed he was talking in the past tense. I’m so sorry.”

Robert nods. Pulls Ebby close.

“She looks lovely.”

“She was.”

“But you didn’t say anything.”

“We’ve only seen each other a couple of other times. What should I have said? Bonjour, my name is Robert and I am a widower? ”

Robert chuckles and Ebby smiles. When a man who has lost his young wife is speaking with a woman who lost her brother as a child, they can be this way with each other. Only, Robert doesn’t know about Ebby’s past.

“Your wife…”

“Mireille,” Robert says.

“ Mee-RAY? Is that right? Yes? Was she from here, too?”

“No, Paris. But she was living in the U.S. when I met her. We both went to university there. Then we came back to France together, to Bordeaux. It was a great city for young people, but not so far from mes grands-parents . We visited often. They were always happy to see us.”

Robert falls silent. It is a silence that Ebby understands. Certain memories cannot be put into words. Ebby leans her head against Robert’s shoulder and they sit that way for a while.

“The doctors say she may have been sick for some time before we realized,” Robert says. “She was twenty-eight when she died.”

Ebby swallows hard. She knows what she must do. Because she knows what it is like to lose someone. To miss someone. She must ask him more.

“Was Mireille a translator, like you?” Ebby asks. She feels Robert breathe in, his chest rising against her face. He releases one of his arms from around her and reaches down to take her hand, rubbing his fingers over hers.

“No, she worked in software,” Robert says. “And Bordeaux was a very good place for that.”

“So you liked it there?”

“Oh, yes,” Robert says, smiling. “Good energy.”

“Would you ever go back?”

“Two years ago, I would have said no, but maybe I would. It’s just that, well, things change. Right now, I am here for my grandfather. And my mother will come out in the winter.”

They sit again in silence, until Robert pushes her back from his chest and looks at her.

“What about this ex-boyfriend of yours?”

“It’s complicated.”

“Do you still love him?” Robert says, his voice so low, now, it is almost a whisper.

Ebby sits up and looks at Robert. She wants to say no . Instead, she tells him what happened the previous year.

“What a jerk,” Robert says.

Then Ebby tells Robert what happened in the year 2000 and how that affected her relationship with Henry, with Connecticut, with everything. She tells him as little as possible but the revelation strikes them both silent. Then Robert pulls Ebby’s face to his chest and kisses her hair, then her forehead, then her nose.

“Why are you making excuses for that man?”

“I’m not making excuses, I’m just saying…”

“Saying what? He was very unkind to you. I don’t like that man.”

“Oh, I think you’re just jealous,” Ebby says, teasing.

“Yes, I am very jealous,” Robert says, nuzzling her neck until she laughs.