Chapter 40 Kobe #2
It took two weeks for me to get the courage to look deeper.
Running his driver’s license gave me an address in Montreal.
It was a stone’s throw from Laval and home to Quebec’s Laboratoire De Médecine.
With his skill and background, it made sense for the lab to scoop him up.
To confirm my suspicions, I placed a phone call to the facility.
The switchboard operator instantly transferred me to the office of Dr. Dominique Chevalier.
When he answered, I froze, the soft thrum of his voice reaching through the line and drawing me in. The ground beneath me wavered. Unprepared for such conflicting emotions, I hung up.
Was I better off knowing where he was, or had ignorance been vital to safeguarding my heart?
That night, unable to settle, I took a walk through the neighborhood.
Upon finding a dandelion with a head of seeds, I plucked it from the ground and held it before my mouth, feeling childish and foolish.
It didn’t stop me from closing my eyes and huffing a gust of air over the bulb.
The seeds drifted away as I made a wish.
For answers. For a sign. For a second chance at love.
I’d sent Dominique away, but at what cost?
Six months after that blustery confrontation in the cemetery, at the height of summer in Ottawa, another letter appeared on my desk.
Inside, I found two things. A shred of paper with a short message carefully printed on its surface—it did not escape me that Dominique no longer wrote in cursive—and a ticket to a ballet production called Conte de Fées.
I couldn’t make sense of the ticket, so I focused on the note.
This is not the ending I predicted, and I predicted many.
Loving you was not in the plan. Losing you is my sole regret.
Please know, your sacrifice was not in vain.
I would have missed so much had you chosen differently.
You gave me sunrises and sunsets, treasures collected in pockets, and dandelions in vases on my kitchen table.
You gave me a summer of wishes and smiles and dancing and song.
She mentions you still. Amazing for the short time you knew each other.
You must have made an impact on her life as well.
I have no right to miss you, but I do. I have no right to ask anything of you, but I am.
If you don’t come, I’ll understand.
Loving you always.
I examined the ticket again, turning it over in my hand. Printed on the front was an address and time for the performance.
Two weeks later, on a Friday afternoon at the end of July, I drove two hours east to Montreal.
My inner debate after reading Dominique’s letter had lasted all of ten minutes.
My reason for sending him away was never because I stopped loving him.
It wasn’t because I couldn’t accept what he’d done.
I’d willingly decided to cover up his actions.
To lie for him. To turn my back on that which would have seen him rot in prison for the rest of his life.
Fear was a powerful motivator, and my choices and the potential consequences were grave. I had to protect myself in the process, and that meant distance. Time. That was why I’d sent him away.
The months had passed, but my heartache worsened in his absence.
The tiny theater was located in a library on the south end of the city, and upon entering the building, I was surrounded by excitable children of all ages, along with frazzled parents trying to keep them in line. Many of the children were dressed in leotards, glittery costumes, and tutus.
Balloons surrounded a colorful sign, announcing the production of Conte de Fées by the Peppi Pirouettes Studio de Danse. Not a professional ballet, but a children’s school of dance.
To the left, the auditorium doors stood open, and two grandmotherly-looking women dressed in black and white greeted people as they entered, informally checking tickets and directing them which way to go.
I scanned the lobby and approached a display board with dozens of photographs of the various groups performing that evening.
I scanned faces until I saw her. Her curls had been twisted into two high buns on the sides of her head.
A pink feather boa draped her neck. She clasped the ends in her fragile hands.
Her white sparkly tutu had been paired with pink tights and a bodysuit.
Unlike the other children, who stood in a neat row, smiling for the photographer, Cosette had been captured with a leg kicked up in an action that looked more fitting to karate than ballet.
“The instructor says she’s a handful,” said a warm, familiar voice from over my shoulder. “Graceful is not a word I’ve ever used to describe her, but she wanted to dance, so here we are.”
He stood close enough that I felt his body heat radiate between us. I did not turn around. “Hello, Dominique.”
“I’m glad you came.”
“I wasn’t sure I would until I was in the car driving here.”
I rotated, taking him in for the first time in over six months.
He was as handsome as ever. Dominique had always carried a perpetual look of sadness in his pale blue eyes, but today I saw a hesitancy born from our separation.
I recognized it because I felt the same.
The mere inches separating us felt like a gulf, a chasm.
I didn’t know how to bridge the gap. The distance was my doing, so it felt like my responsibility.
I was vaguely aware of an instructor, wrangling energized ballerinas backstage, and parents filtering into the auditorium. Dominique didn’t move, so neither did I. A calm settled over the lobby as the congestion eased.
Dominique wore light cotton trousers and a breezy polo, a far more casual choice of clothing compared to my dress shirt and tie.
“In my defense,” I said, self-consciously touching the noose around my neck, “I didn’t know what kind of ballet I was attending.”
“You look good.”
“So do you.”
For a long moment, neither of us spoke. The past had left a lingering impression that was hard to forget.
The good, the bad, and the ugly. We were unhealthily bonded by a secret that could destroy us.
Maybe it already had a little. Or maybe the fusion of souls, of stories, that had occurred on that stormy night in January had been the beginning.
One of the elderly greeters approached to inform us that the show was about to begin, asking us to find our seats.
When she wandered off, Dominique cleared his throat. “Will you come for dinner after?”
“To your house?”
“I bought steaks. I didn’t want to be presumptuous, but…” He shrugged. “No pressure. I’ll understand if you have to leave.”
I considered, but really, hadn’t I already dedicated myself to this path when I left Ottawa? “Sure. I’d like that.”
His smile was faint and tentative, but it melted something inside me that hadn’t thawed since that January snowstorm.
“I missed you,” he said.
From behind a lump in my throat, I whispered, “I missed you too.”
Dominique held out a hand. An offering. To what? A new beginning? A fresh start?
I took it and he weaved his fingers with mine, guiding me to the auditorium. Hand in hand, I followed him down the aisle toward the front and our reserved seats. Dominique never released his grip. He clung, and for the first time in six months, I felt grounded.
The show was exactly what one might expect of children under twelve.
Some groups were more organized and graceful than others, syncing their movements with greater skill.
The youngest groups, Cosette’s in particular, reminded me of a frightened flock of chickens I’d seen on a farm once, running around squawking and flapping their tutus, spinning with such delight I feared they might twirl right off the end of the stage.
Dominique buried his face in his hands and laughed when Cosette spotted me and broke from her ensemble to run to the front of the stage, shouting, “Kobe!” She pointed and waved. “Papa, Kobe y’est là. R’garde!”
I motioned for her to keep dancing as Dominique shrank in his seat, still chuckling. “I didn’t tell her you were coming,” he whispered. “I didn’t know if you would.”
After the show, Cosette leaped into my arms with a squeal of delight, chattering away in French as she pinched my face between her tiny hands so I wouldn’t look away.
She was a breath of life, and after so many dark and uncertain days, I soaked it up, listening to her endless tales of biking with Papa, going to the park, and all the friends she had at her new daycare.
When she finally ran out of gas, we headed out.
I followed Dominique to a quaint house at the end of a quiet cul-de-sac with a backyard that overlooked the St. Lawrence River.
A backyard I recognized from the photographs he’d sent in the spring.
The dandelions were gone, but the view was more stunning in real life.
“This is gorgeous,” I said as Dominique exited the house with two cold beers and a plate containing massive T-bone steaks, vegetable skewers, and a few cold wieners.
“Thank you. I paid too much for it, but I was desperate.”
By unspoken agreement, we didn’t talk about before. It saturated the air we breathed, but the consensus seemed to be that it was best left in the past.
Dominique put the food on the grill, adjusting the heat. We lounged on deck chairs, our gazes fixed on the horizon. The sun sank low in the sky. A vibrant burst of color reflected off the water: oranges, golds, and smears of rose.
Cosette played in a pink Little Tikes plastic house with a collection of dolls she dragged from her bedroom. She wore her tutu but, on Dominique’s insistence, had changed to running shoes.
“She’s getting big,” I observed.
“She turned three in June.”
“Time flies.”
“Too fast some days. How’s émeric?”
“Away at summer camp. He wanted to go so badly, but Delphine couldn’t afford it, so I paid for him to attend for two weeks.”
“You’re a good man, Kobe.”
I said nothing, ever conflicted. People, by nature, drew definitive lines between right and wrong. They thought in absolutes. I had always blurred the line. Bent the rules.
We ate and drank a few beers, chatting about Dominique’s new job and musing over the political state of our neighboring country. He didn’t ask what cases I was working on, and I didn’t share.
Cosette played, running over on occasion to show me treasures she’d found: seashells and fossils and bottlecaps galore. Dominique put her to bed around eight, and I earned a wet kiss goodnight and a bear hug.
She wanted princess pancakes for breakfast and demanded that I help her make them.
“We’ll see.” I had made no promises beyond sharing dinner with Dominique. Spending the night would require a conversation.
The sun set as we sat in one another’s company, neither of us speaking.
“Are you sorry you came?” Dominique asked after a time.
“No.”
“Is reconciliation possible? I never wanted to say goodbye to you, Kobe. I understand your decision and why you made it. If this visit was—”
“Stop.”
“I’m sorry.” He ducked his head.
I thought of the past, went as far back as my childhood, when all I’d wanted was to be part of a loving family.
I thought of my escape from that life and the years I’d spent trying to find myself.
The stance I’d taken. The silent, ongoing fight for justice I battled every day, standing up for those who were always overlooked and misunderstood.
I considered my attachment to Ottawa and how it existed solely in the handful of people with whom I’d built bonds. émeric, Delphine, and Elifet. The city wasn’t mine. I hadn’t grown up there. I barely liked my job. It was simply where I’d stopped running.
For one month back in December, I’d tasted happiness. I’d loved and been loved in return.
Had enough time passed to make a reunion safe? Perhaps Dominique had never been in danger to begin with. Perhaps it was my heart I was protecting all along.
Instead of answering, I reached out and took Dominique’s hand, weaving our fingers together. The stars emerged, and the hot July air kissed my cheeks as a breeze blew off the river. I closed my eyes and thought, we could have this. We could start from now and not look back.
No one could change the past, but the future was wide open.
“I never stopped loving you,” I said.
Dominique squeezed my hand. “I never stopped loving you either.”
As the night deepened, I knew I wasn’t going home. On a cold January night six months ago, I’d thrown caution to the wind, choosing to ignore my legal and moral obligation to society and support a devastated father who had wanted nothing more than justice for his daughter.
In doing so, I had ejected Dominique from my life, for safety but also because I was convinced our relationship couldn’t possibly survive such a devastating revelation. I was wrong. Time had not cured my broken heart. I wanted him in my life.
At midnight, Dominique led me upstairs to his bedroom. In the moonlit glow of that hot July night, we made love.
The following day, the sun would rise, and the future would be laid out before us. No matter where that future took us, I would always choose Dominique, and if that made me a bad person, so be it.