Chapter 25 Dominique #2
As we ate, Kobe engaged Cosette in conversation, asking who her favorite princess was—Cinderella—what her favorite color was—pink—and how high she could count in French and in English—twenty for both before she started repeating numbers and confusing the order.
I watched them interact, mesmerized at the easy way they got along, like they had known each other for years.
Cosette, usually shy with strangers, babbled nonstop, needing constant reminders to eat.
She had made a friend. Her trust in Kobe was absolute.
Why was mine having trouble catching up all of a sudden?
Cosette performed songs from daycare when Kobe asked her about music, showing him the actions and ordering him to copy.
While I might usually tell her not to sing and play at the table, I stayed quiet, admiring the rosy glow of her cheeks and soaking up the ever-present reminders of Angelique.
It was a blessing and a curse how alike they were, even when they’d never really known each other.
At one point, Kobe nudged my knee under the table. “Are you okay?”
Stuck in the past, my vision had misted over. I blinked the threat of tears from my eyes and smiled. “Yes.”
I wasn’t sure Kobe believed me, but he let it go and squeezed my leg under the table. It was a silent gesture of support, and I rested my hand over his to say thank you.
After lunch, I bundled Cosette into her outdoor gear and sent her into the backyard to play. The winter wonderland made her squeal. Plump flakes floated and swirled so thickly in the air that they obscured the neighboring yards beyond the fence.
“Should we go out with her?” Kobe asked.
“If you want to. I’m staying where it’s warm.”
He lingered by the patio doors for a while, watching her stomp through the snow and throw herself into the growing piles along the back fence.
“She’s okay, Kobe. She loves playing outside. We can see her.”
“I remember tobogganing with the kid who lived down the street from me. I must have been seven or eight. I didn’t own a sled, but he had two GT Snow Racers and let me borrow one. I should take émeric tobogganing. He would love that.”
I suspected Kobe was talking more to himself than to me.
While I made special drinks, Kobe remained at the window, gazing at Cosette. I wasn’t sure he saw her anymore. The worry lines marring his brow suggested he was transfixed on a memory.
Eventually, I coaxed him to join me at the table.
Since the patio doors overlooked the yard, we enjoyed hot toddies where we could keep an eye on Cosette while she played.
Kobe seemed to have one foot in the past. I suspected there weren’t many positive moments from his childhood worth remembering.
Tobogganing with his friend was likely one of only a handful.
For a while, I let him muse in peace, but after a time, I thought it wise to redirect his attention to the present. I knew intimately how slippery the slope of recollection could be. How pleasure could turn to pain in a heartbeat.
“Your case,” I said, wrapping my hands around the warm mug, waiting for him to turn away from the window before continuing. “It must not be going well if your boss is sending you home for the holidays. I thought it was a high-profile serial murder investigation.”
“It is, but the university shut its doors, most of the students have gone home, and our evidence is insubstantial at best. We have theories and speculation, but not enough to make a formal arrest. It’s dying a slow death.”
“No suspects?”
“Too many and not enough. Does that make sense?”
“It does. I’m sorry. That must be frustrating.”
Kobe shrugged, glancing out the patio door once again at Cosette, who struggled to push a pink doll carriage through the snow. “It is, but it’s also not surprising. Cases like this are rarely tied up with a pretty red bow. They can take months and years to deconstruct.”
I wanted to ask if it bothered him not having proper leads or if he was secretly relieved and hoped they never found the killer, but at the same time, I wasn’t sure I wanted to know the answer.
My phone vibrated on the counter, shattering the moment, and I rose to check it.
“Work?” Kobe asked as I scrutinized the message. “Who’s covering the Christmas shifts? Aren’t you the new guy?”
“I am, but it’s my lab, and the boss gets the shifts he wants. Dr. Braison volunteered to be on call. She has three students who have hours to make up, so they can assist her if necessary.”
I typed out a response, hit send, and tucked the phone into my pocket in case it buzzed again. “The downfall to being in charge is that I expect to be harassed no less than a dozen or so times in the next few days. Hopefully, I won’t have to go in.”
“Fingers crossed.”
Work talk veered to other topics of conversation. Kobe told me about his trip to the arcade with émeric and proudly relayed all he’d bought his little brother for Christmas.
“A ski jacket, a snowboard, tickets to a Knicks game—they play the Raptors in Toronto in January, and he’s a huge Knicks fan—and a used N64 with about a dozen cartridges.
It’s old school, but the kid has never owned a gaming system.
I grabbed it at a yard sale over the summer.
It’s in pristine condition, too. Almost wanted to keep it for myself. ”
“You spoil him.”
“Somebody has to. I don’t have anything else to spend my money on, so why not? Delphine doesn’t mind. I asked her first to be sure I wasn’t stepping on toes.”
“You’re a good person, Kobe.”
He shrugged dismissively, his gaze wandering to Cosette. “Just doing my part. Kids shouldn’t suffer.”
Something inside me melted at the look in his eyes. He meant it. I had a feeling this man would go to war for his little brother. The wrongs of the world, the ones most people overlooked, bothered him on a level I was only beginning to understand, and it endeared me to him even more.
Later that night, after bathing Cosette and helping her plate cookies and pour milk for Santa, I put her to bed. Kobe and I retired to the living room with strong tumblers of rum and eggnog.
The drink seemed to make Kobe suspicious. He studied it warily, inspected the color and dusting of cinnamon on the top, and sniffed it more than once. “I’m not sure I’m going to like this. Eggnog has never been my thing.”
“It’s not plain eggnog. It has a generous kick of spiced rum and a hint of cinnamon to mitigate the flavor. Trust me.”
He sipped cautiously, letting it sit in his mouth for a time before swallowing. After a second sip and spending an excessive amount of time smacking his lips, Kobe waffled his head from side to side. “It’s not bad. Could use a heavier punch.”
“Do you want more rum?”
“No, it’s fine. Is this a tradition for you?”
“My father enjoyed rum and eggnog at Christmas. He wasn’t a big drinker, but he always indulged around the holidays. I was allowed to sip from his glass when I was young. As a teen, I was given the privilege of sharing one drink with him after dinner, but only one.”
Kobe adopted a wistful look. I recognized it as a combination of longing and regret. It surfaced when I broached topics of a familial nature.
“Are your parents still around?” he asked. “Do you see them?”
I stared into my drink, reflecting on the past. “They’re around, but I don’t see them.
They live in Saguenay. It’s more than a six-hour drive from here.
I went to McGill University after high school and was hired in Gatineau not long after I graduated.
I used to visit on occasion before… life happened.
I buried myself in grief after losing Angelique, so… ”
“I’m sorry.”
I shook my head dismissively, indulging in a long and desperate sip of rum and eggnog, wishing we could change the subject. The relationship with my parents fell apart a long time ago. Repairing it was not something I was ready to do. In time, maybe, but not yet.
“Do they see their granddaughter?”
“No. They don’t know she exists.”
Kobe flinched, obviously shocked at the revelation.
I waited for him to ask why, but the question never came.
Instead, he shuffled closer on the couch until we were leaning against one another, holding each other up in a way that was becoming familiar.
Two men, two vastly different stories of heartache and pain.
Christmas was usually a time for wallowing in grief, but I didn’t want to go there tonight, and I suspected neither did Kobe.
The lights in the living room were off, leaving the blinking Christmas tree bulbs as the only illumination. I took comfort in the press of Kobe’s body beside me. His warmth. His solidity.
Every consecutive sip he took of his drink occurred with the same evaluation as the first, and I chuckled. “You don’t have to drink it if you don’t like it. I can get you something else.”
“Oh, I’m drinking it. It’s a tradition. Besides, it’s growing on me.”
“That’s likely the rum messing with your head.”
He grinned and held up the tumbler. We clinked glasses without toasting anything, yet somehow the gesture held meaning. We were here. We were together. We were sharing a holiday as a new couple with an unknown future laid out before us. Where it led and if we would get there was anyone’s guess.
At one point, Kobe removed his phone and pulled up a music app. Selecting a jazzy Christmas instrumental playlist, he adjusted the volume so it played softly in the background and set the device on the coffee table.
“Is that okay?”
“It’s perfect.”
The night was young. I had yet to wrap Cosette’s presents, but they could wait. The atmosphere Kobe had set was romantic and calming, and I wanted to bask in its loveliness for a while longer.
I hadn’t thought to buy Kobe a gift—my priorities were elsewhere—but as he hummed a familiar carol and stared trancelike at the twinkling Christmas tree with a lost look in his eyes, I suspected that inviting him to spend the holiday was gift enough.
We talked long into the night, nothing serious or deep. He discussed his favorite movies, and I chatted about my favorite books. We recounted tales from our university days, both positive and embarrassing. We laughed. We drank. We simply existed in the moment.
It was simple and almost perfect… except for that tiny, niggling question in the back of my mind that wouldn’t go away.
As we leaned against one another, a cadence of saxophones and piano wrapping all around us, the clock ticked past midnight. Kobe pecked a soft kiss on my cheek and whispered, “Merry Christmas.”