Chapter 35
Chapter Thirty-Five
I spent the rest of the afternoon lost in the labyrinth of my own thoughts, a mental journey I'd been avoiding for months. I’d been so hell-bent on distracting myself, throwing my entire being into this new house project, that I hadn’t allowed myself a moment to truly reflect on... well, everything.
But after a cathartic cry and a steaming cup of chamomile tea by the window, watching the sun paint the vineyard in hues of gold and amber, I felt a sense of renewal washing over me. It was a good thing, too, because my entire family had decided to dinner-crash once again. In another life—one where mom and I were again sharing a cozy night at home, just the two of us, a DVD and a take-out salad—it might have seemed intrusive, but now? After years of floating through the world untethered, the presence of so much family—drama and all—was as intoxicating as the finest Proven?al wine.
Thankfully, the weather had cooled down, the oppressive heat of the day giving way to a pleasant evening with just a hint of briskness in the air. The whole family gathered around the weathered oak table on the terrace, courtesy once again of Colette's culinary magic. I was positive I couldn’t survive another dinner without this woman. I was going to have to see if I could convince her to come back to California with me—maybe stow her away in my suitcase?
The conversation flowed as freely as the local rosé, laughter bubbling up and mingling with the chirping of crickets in the nearby lavender. The spirits were generally high, much of the tension from the past few days having dissipated like morning mist under the Proven?al sun.
"It's nice to have you here," Félicité said once étienne and Régis had gone back inside. "I've always been surrounded by so many boys."
"Even with your mother around? She seems like a formidable, feminine force."
Félicité laughed. "Oh, oui , she is. Formidable is an apt word for Mama. But there was something about being a girl in this family. And the baby. I’ve always felt out of place. No one really ever cared what I wanted out of life. Not even Mama, really. Most of it was just, find yourself a good husband. Preferably a rich one. Don’t think too hard, don’t work too hard. Life can be easy."
I chuckled. "Maybe they had a point."
Félicité smiled. "I know. And there are a lot of people who choose that path. And I don’t judge them. I suppose I just wanted a little more out of my life. I needed some kind of meaning. I know that sounds very trite, doesn’t it? What a silly, ambitious thing to think."
"That's not silly at all. Try living in America, where you’re told you can have it all, be it all. You’re measured by the work you produce. People who choose to stay home or live lives of leisure—choosing freedom over money—they might be secretly admired, but they’re publicly mocked.”
"Having you here, Elodie, has strangely brought us all back together. Things have been a little rocky with my brothers these past few years. Ever since Papa died, the family has felt a certain, I don't know how you say—a rift? We’re not the same."
"Were you always very close?" I asked.
"When we were children, we were. There was a time when our family felt happy. But things got rough between our parents. They fought a lot. Spent a lot more time apart. Toward the end, I felt like we hardly spent any time together as a family at all. Mama and Papa even vacationed separately."
"I'm sure that was really hard," I said.
"You must think that I’m ungrateful," Félicité said.
"Why would I think that?"
"It’s not lost on me that at least we had Pascal in our lives. I know that was probably a vacant hole for you for so long."
I lowered my eyes and nodded. "It was. And it probably always will be. I would've liked to have known him. I would've liked to have known where I come from and to have known you all sooner. But that’s just the way life unfolded. There’s nothing I can do to bring back those years or change the way it went. So all I can do is to be grateful that I’m here now."
"You really have an incredible attitude, Elodie. It’s refreshing. Is that American optimism?"
I chuckled. "I don’t know about that. Maybe just pragmatism. I’ve been reading a lot of self-help books lately."
"Well, I think you might have a little magic in you. You even got my Mama to come back to this place. She swore she'd never set her Manolos back in grandpère’s house after Papa’s accident.”
"I'm glad I could be of service," I laughed. "I’m not sure she’s my biggest fan."
Félicité waved away the concern. "Mama doesn’t like anyone. Don’t take it personally.”
“Pascal—” I started, the words sticking to my lips. “What was he like?”
Félicité stared at me, clearly thinking through her answer. “He was—difficult. He could be very doting, but he had a hole in him.”
“A hole?”
She gently bit her lip. “How do I describe it? There was a piece of him missing. Some sadness that no one could ever figure out. Mama thought it was depression. But as the years went on, he drank more. Spent more time alone. He and grandpère fought more. They had had a bad fight the night he died. I don’t think Pierre ever forgave himself for it.”
“I didn’t know that part,” I said.
She nodded. “He had been here for dinner. They fought. He went over a cliff on the way home. It was quite the French tragedy.” Her lips formed a tight, regretful smile.
“I’m so sorry.”
She exhaled. “ Merci . That is life, non ?”
“I know. My mom died a few years ago. Cancer.”
She pressed her lips into a tight, understanding smile. “I heard that. I am sorry. Life is very unfair.”
Régis and étienne burst back out onto the terrace, all laughter and French banter. Colette was on their tails, chiding them in French like they were little boys caught in the cookie jar. Félicité and I both laughed at the scene, the sorrow of the past taking a backburner to the joys of the present.
We were halfway through Colette's heavenly coq au vin , my siblings regaling me with childhood tales of them causing chaos on the estate, when the back door creaked open. Colette stepped out.
" Pardonnez-moi ," she said, her voice tinged with apprehension. "Someone has arrived."
"Who?" I asked, lowering my fork.
Her eyes flicked to Régis, who was sitting across from me, before answering. "It is Danielle."
Régis's face transformed in an instant, confusion giving way to a pallor that rivaled the crisp white tablecloth. He muttered something in French that sounded suspiciously like a curse.
I looked around the table, noting the sudden shift in the atmosphere. The jovial mood evaporated, replaced by a tension you could cut with a butter knife.
"And who is Danielle?" I asked slowly, feeling like I was trying to put together a puzzle with half the pieces missing. The cast of characters in this Proven?al drama seemed to multiply by the hour.
Régis cleared his throat and stood, his chair scraping against the stone terrace. "Just a friend. I will be right back. Merci , Colette."
Colette flashed étienne and Félicité a playful look of horror before slipping back inside.
I turned to étienne and Félicité. “Is there something I should know?"
étienne let out a clipped laugh. “I doubt it. Danielle is someone he was kind of seeing for a while. But he broke up with her a few weeks ago."
"I see." I took a sip of wine, considering. "So, a jilted lover showing up at my door—I shouldn't be worried about that?"
étienne waved away my concern. “They are young. And she is very dramatic. She is probably here to accuse him of something or beg for his attention. It is something she would do."
"She once showed up at his hotel,” Félicité added, leaning in conspiratorially. "Made a huge scene in front of his coworkers."
"About what?" I asked, curiosity piqued.
étienne and Félicité exchanged a look, a silent conversation passing between them.
"Because he did not call her for three days," Félicité finally said. "In her defense, I think he kind of deserved it. He had gone to Paris for the weekend without telling her, had too much wine, and lost his phone. That is not adult behavior."
“You make the mistake of assuming Régis is an adult,” étienne said.
"My brother has a good heart, but he has a lot to learn about being a grown-up," Félicité said, shaking her head. “And I say that as his little sister.”
I laughed. “I’m the oldest of all of you, and I do too."
Suddenly, raised voices erupted from inside, angry words in rapid-fire French piercing the peaceful evening air.
I flashed the group a concerned look. "Should we—check on them?"
Félicité's brow furrowed, worry etching lines around her eyes. "Um, perhaps. Danielle does have a temper—"
Before she could finish, the back door flew open with a bang that made us all jump. Régis stormed out, his face as red as the wine in our glasses, fury radiating off him in almost palpable waves.
"Régis?" I ventured cautiously. "Everything okay?"
He shot me a death glare but said nothing.
étienne stood slowly, approaching his brother like one might a wounded animal.
"What's going on? I haven't seen you look this angry since I wiped the floor with you at poker."
Régis turned his burning glare on his brother. The temperature seemed to drop several degrees.
The back door creaked open again, this time slowly, tentatively. We all turned, the suspense thick enough to slice, to see a young woman standing there. Her eyes were red- rimmed, mascara smudged, looking less angry and more utterly distraught. This had to be the infamous Danielle. She was beautiful in a haunting way—with long dark hair in natural waves and a thin, girlish frame. Her distress only added to her ethereal quality.
My stomach clenched. What on earth was going on here?
She said something in whispered French, her voice trembling. I thought it was something to the effect of we need to talk .
"Not now,” Régis snapped back in French, his words sharp enough to draw blood.
"Maybe you should both go back inside and finish whatever this is," étienne suggested in English, trying to diffuse the situation.
"Now is not the time," Régis growled again, this time in English. "She should not have come here."
" Pourquoi tu parles anglais, Régis ? " Danielle asked, confusion mingling with her distress.
" Parce que we have company," Régis bit out, nodding to me. Danielle’s eyes darted to me, then back to Régis, seemingly unfazed by the audience to their drama.
"Régis , cela ne dispara?tra pas simplement parce que vous l'ignorez, ” Danielle said, her voice thick with emotion.
I didn't want to be a gossip, but now I was thoroughly invested in whatever soap opera was unfolding before us. Judging by the rapt expressions on étienne and Félicité's faces, I wasn't alone.
"What did she just say?" I whispered to Félicité, leaning in close enough to catch a whiff of her jasmine perfume.
"She said, 'This won't go away just because you ignore it, '" Félicité translated.
"What won't go away?" I asked, feeling like we were watching a particularly riveting episode of some French soap. Félicité shrugged, her earrings tinkling softly.
Taking a deep breath, I decided to wade into the fray.
" Excusez-moi , but would you like to tell us what's going on?" I asked, my voice surprisingly steady. I didn't want to pry, but hey, this was my house, after all. And if they were going to star in their very own Proven?al drama out in public, I at least wanted to know the premise of the plot.
Régis looked back at Danielle, his jaw clenched so tight I could almost hear his teeth grinding. He was still fuming with anger, but there was something else in his eyes now. Fear, perhaps? Or was it guilt?
After a moment of tense silence that seemed to stretch for eternity, Danielle took a step forward.
"I am pregnant," she said in English, her tone almost defiant, chin tilted up in challenge.
The collective gasp that followed was loud enough to startle a nearby bird into flight, its wings flapping furiously as it took off into the twilight sky. The word hung in the air, as heavy and suffocating as the summer heat had been earlier.
As I looked around at the shocked faces, I couldn't help but think that this was one complication I definitely hadn't seen coming. Welcome to family life in Provence, I suppose. Never a dull moment.
We all turned to Régis, our eyes boring into him like lasers, but he remained stubbornly silent. Danielle had a point—this wasn't going to vanish into the night air just because he willed it to.
étienne swiveled his head toward Régis, his neck cracking audibly in the stillness. " De quoi parle-t-elle? " he asked, his voice a mix of confusion and concern.
“ What is she talking about? ” Félicité translated for me in a whisper.
"So she says," Régis finally spat out, the words dripping with venom.
I inhaled sharply, taken aback. Was this really Régis' reaction? The charming, easy-going man I'd come to know seemed to have vanished, replaced by this seething, defensive creature. I glanced at Danielle, remembering the others' warnings about her being a little... unstable. But the woman before me didn’t look deranged or crazed. She looked terrified, her eyes wide and glassy, her hands trembling slightly as she clutched her purse like a lifeline.
"I am sorry for coming here like this, unannounced," Danielle said, her voice barely above a whisper. "But he was not returning my phone calls. I tried to tell you in private, Régis." Her accent thickened with emotion, making her words sound musical despite their gravity.
"I was ignoring you because we broke up!" Régis exploded, his voice echoing across the terrace. "You're crazy."
Danielle remained surprisingly calm, a stark contrast to Régis' outburst.
"This was the only way I knew to find you." Her composure was admirable, even if her methods were questionable.
Even if she was a little crazy, I couldn't help but admire her tenacity.
"Please, come, sit down," I said, suddenly remembering my manners. There was a pregnant girl standing there in tears, for crying out loud. I gestured to an empty chair, the scrape of its legs against the stone terrace sounding unnaturally loud in the tense silence.
Danielle's gaze shifted to me, as though seeing me for the first time. Her face morphed from distress to curiosity, her brow furrowing slightly.
" Désolée , I don't think I know you," Danielle said, her eyes roaming over my face.
"Oh, right. I'm Elodie. I'm—" I bit my lip, still not quite used to the words. "I am their older sister. From the United States."
Danielle's eyes went wide, her mouth forming a perfect 'O' of surprise. Her gaze flicked to Régis, a silent question passing between them. But she said nothing. After a moment that seemed to stretch for eternity, she nodded slowly, processing this new information.
"I didn't know—"
"Yeah, none of us did," Régis snapped, cutting her off. He was huffing like a petulant teenager, arms folded tightly across his chest.
"Right. Well, it is nice to meet you then, Elodie," Danielle said, a weak smile flickering across her face.
Danielle awkwardly approached the table. She tried to make eye contact with Régis, but he steadfastly avoided her gaze, suddenly finding the pattern on his wine glass endlessly fascinating.
"Régis," I started slowly, trying to inject some calm into the situation. "We can give you some space to talk privately out here if you prefer." The words felt inadequate, like trying to put out a forest fire with a water pistol.
He huffed, the sound more suited to a bull than a man. "What is the point? She already made a big public show."
I exchanged a look with Félicité and étienne, a silent conversation passing between us. What do we do now?
The cicadas chirped in the distance, their rhythmic song a stark counterpoint to the chaos unfolding on the terrace. The scent of Colette's abandoned coq au vin wafted on the breeze. As I looked around at the frozen tableau of my newfound family—Régis seething, Danielle trembling, the others watching with a mix of shock and morbid fascination—I couldn't help but laugh.
They all turned toward me.
“I’m sorry,” I said, trying to control myself. “I know. It’s not funny.” But the laughter wouldn’t stop.
“Um, Danielle,” Félicité said uncertainly, flashing me a look like have you lost your mind? “Why don’t you come with me. We can freshen up. Then we can get you something to eat. You’re in time for dessert.” She flashed her little brother a withering look that could have wilted the nearby lavender. The message was clear: there would be no argument from him.
As the women disappeared into the house, étienne turned toward Régis, his expression a mix of exasperation and amusement.
"You are an idiot," he declared.
"Thanks for the support," Régis muttered, slumping further into his chair.
I managed to stifle my laughter, the sound catching in my throat like a hiccup.
"This must be a huge shock," I offered.
“You think? And why are you laughing like a crazy person? Are all women just nuts?” Régis snapped.
“Sexist,” I said, still laughing. Maybe I had lost my mind. “Sorry. It’s just as though I woke up one day in a French soap opera.”
Régis looked suddenly defeated. He rubbed his forehead. Sympathy bloomed across étienne’s face.
"Hey, brother," étienne rested a hand on his shoulder. "This is very exciting. Un bébé! "
I quirked an eyebrow at him, surprised by his enthusiasm.
"I didn't take you for sentimental," I teased, the corner of my mouth twitching upward.
étienne shrugged. “Ah, come now. Who doesn't love new life? It is reassuring to know the generations continue."
"How very poetic," I teased.
étienne's chest puffed out slightly as he exaggerated his accent. "We French have a way with our words."
The back door creaked open a few moments later, and Félicité and Danielle re-emerged. Danielle looked much more relaxed, her face freshly washed and her eyes less haunted. The golden lantern light cast a warm glow on her skin, making her look almost ethereal.
Colette followed on their heels, her round face pink with excitement and her eyes glistening with unshed tears. The sight of her joy brought a lump to my own throat, and I blinked rapidly to clear the sudden mistiness from my eyes.
"Here, sit," Colette fussed, pulling out a chair for Danielle with a flourish. "Let me bring you a little sparkling lemonade."
Danielle sighed, a wistful smile playing on her lips. "I'm going to miss wine."
We all chuckled, the sound breaking through the last of the tension like sunshine after a storm.
"I can't believe it," étienne mused, shaking his head in wonder. "My baby brother is making babies. What is Mama going to say?"
"She's going to lose her mind if anyone tries to call her grand-mère , that's for sure," Félicité quipped.
Danielle laughed lightly, the sound like tinkling bells. I could see the fear and nerves melting away from her like snow in spring. On closer inspection, she looked incredibly young. Was she even in her twenties? With her makeup cleaned off, she looked barely out of her teens, all wide eyes and smooth skin.
"I hope she likes me," Danielle said, her voice small and hesitant.
We all turned to her, and I could practically hear the gears turning in the siblings' heads as they tried to find a gentle way to break it to her that their mother wasn't exactly the warmest welcome wagon for outsiders.
But a grandchild—that had to make even the most frigid ice queen melt a little, right?
"She'll love you," Régis said, his voice surprisingly warm. Even I, the newcomer, knew he was stretching the truth thinner than phyllo dough, but he looked genuine enough to make everyone want to believe it, just a little.
"We are going to need to celebrate!" Félicité exclaimed, jumping up. "Elodie, are there still bottles of chilled sparkling in the cellar?"
"I'm sure there are. I haven't completely raided the place... yet."
Félicité clapped her hands together. “ Bon! I'll be right back." She scurried off inside, her footsteps echoing through the house.
“At this rate, we’re going to drain the cellar before Christmas,” I said.
“All in our maniacal plan,” étienne said.
As I watched my newfound family rally around this unexpected news, I felt a surge of... something. Not quite belonging, not yet, but maybe the seedling of it. I caught Régis' eye across the table and gave him a small, encouraging smile. He returned it hesitantly, some of the tension finally easing from his shoulders. Welcome to the wild world of impending fatherhood, little brother.