Chapter 28 SIOBHAN
Chapter 28
S IOBHAN
In the morning, when Siobhan awoke, she learned that Marcel had gone to see his father at the clinic. Charmaine told her as they ate breakfast in the kitchen because the backyard was muddy and strewn with fallen branches after the storm.
“I don’t know what you said to that pigheaded boy, but whatever it was, you managed to persuade him,” said Chaz, as she filled a cup with coffee and hot milk at the same time, New Orleans style. “You’re clearly a good influence on him, so I hope to see you back here again soon,” she added, giving her a conspiratorial look. “Next time at Mardi Gras, so you can have the full NOLA experience. What do you think?”
“I’d love that!” Siobhan exclaimed. But the enthusiasm drained from her face as she realized something. “But the novel will be published by then, and I doubt Marcel ...” Charmaine nodded very slowly, as though urging her to finish the sentence. “... would have any reason to bring me.”
Charmaine lit a cigarette and took a long drag. Siobhan watched it consume the paper.
“Honey, like 95 percent of men, my brother doesn’t know what he wants. Not yet anyway,” she added. “But you.” She gestured at Siobhan with her cigarette. “You’re an intelligent woman; I’m sure you’ll work out how to point him in the right direction.”
“Which is . . . ?”
“Make him see that the only thing that matters in this life is the present. And it just so happens that you’re a part of his.”
“Only temporarily.”
Charmaine’s black-rimmed eyes flashed in a way that Siobhan didn’t understand.
“That remains to be seen,” she replied, before exhaling the smoke noisily. “Anyway, you can come visit whenever you like, honey. With or without Marcel. You’re more than welcome. If that lousy storm yesterday hasn’t put you off NOLA, that is. What a deluge.”
Siobhan bit her lip, remembering how, where, and with whom she had slept. And then she realized she was smiling like an idiot.
An idiot with burning cheeks.
“Oh, it was no big deal.”
Later, she took a taxi to Canal Street to do a bit of shopping. The morning was mild; the sun sparkled in the sky, and the air seemed clearer than ever. The worms had taken over the sidewalks and lay there lazily, not even bothering to coil up, steam rising around them. A few workers were moving a palm tree that had fallen across the tram rails. The city appeared to have largely recovered from the storm. She wandered for a while among the zigzagging mass of shoppers, strollers, and tourists. The street was buzzing with life. In front of the old Maison Blanche building, now the Ritz-Carlton, a preacher was pontificating on the atonement of sins, and, right next to him, someone was handing out leaflets for a dubious-looking club called Paradise. Siobhan smiled. She would miss this unique and contradictory place. Despite its ramshackle streets and its faded glory, she was enchanted by it all. She bought a few souvenirs: some oil paintings by a street artist, a bouquet of red lilies for Charmaine, and a book on the art of kintsugi that she found by chance—wonderful chance—in a bookstore on Decatur Street. She thought it must be some kind of sign and decided to give it to Marcel. Then, she hopped on a tram to picturesque Audubon Park and strolled around.
Back in the Dupont house, she went up to her room to pack while she waited for Marcel. She didn’t know what kind of mood he would be in when he returned from the clinic, and she was worried that his reunion with his father might be upsetting.
“Hi.”
Siobhan turned her head and saw him standing in the doorway, with that perpetually furrowed brow and his hands in his pockets.
“Hi.”
“You went shopping?” he asked, nodding at the bags of souvenirs scattered over the bed.
“I did. And I bought you this.” She picked up one of the bags and handed it to him. “I stumbled on it in a bookstore in the French Quarter, and I thought you might like it.”
“For me?”
“Well, it was really for Anne Rice, but there’s doesn’t seem to be anyone home across the street.”
He rolled his eyes, though the slight twitch of his lips gave him away. He took the book out of the bag. When he saw the cover, illustrated with a broken vase whose fractures had been repaired with powdered gold, his expression went from one of confusion to surprise—and then it transformed into a beautiful and brilliant smile, the kind that spread across his face.
“‘The Art of Kintsugi,’” he read aloud. He turned it over and scanned the back cover. “Well, well, what an ... interesting coincidence.”
“Is that all you have to say? My god, Dupont. You’re the dullest man on the planet.”
“Dull?” he repeated slowly. His voice sounded sharp, as though he was offended. “Maybe I am dull, but at least I’m not scared of rain. A few drops, and you come running to snuggle up against me.”
“I didn’t run to snuggle up against you, smart-ass,” she protested. “Although ...” She paused for a moment, and her annoyance evaporated. “I’d be lying if I didn’t admit I missed you in bed this morning.”
Oh no. No, no, no.
She instantly regretted saying it. Now he would think she thought the fact that they had shared a mattress meant they could play house, when she knew there wasn’t the smallest chance of that.
Great, Siobhan.
But then, they hadn’t just shared a mattress.
They had slept in each other’s arms all night, which was something else altogether.
Marcel ran his hand over the back of his neck.
“I went to Lakeview,” he said. “To see my dad. Or what’s left of him.”
“How did it go?”
“As well as can be expected, given that he’s got Alzheimer’s,” he said and shrugged, perhaps with the hope of shaking the image from his mind.
“I understand. And how are you?”
“Honestly? Pissed. And relieved. I don’t know when I’ll be back, so this might be the last time I see him alive. If you can call that decrepit state alive. He’s in a bad way.” He went quiet for a moment, and his face took on a pensive look. “Have you ever wondered why a person starts going downhill? What is it that triggers the fall? Is it fate? Or our actions? I’ve always believed you reap what you sow, but today I felt ...”
He couldn’t finish the sentence.
“Compassion?” she said. Marcel nodded. He seemed troubled. “It’s natural for you to feel sorry for him. He’s still your father. And you’re a human being. Don’t be too hard on yourself, all right?”
“All right,” he replied, more calmly. He smiled. “You know what? I think you should try writing a self-help book. You ought to broaden your horizons.”
Siobhan huffed and pushed him toward the door.
“And you have to pack your things, so beat it.”
“Sure. The flight doesn’t leave until eight, so I’ve booked a table at Commander’s Palace. Ready for one last Southern feast, princess?”
“I doubt I’ve got any space left in my stomach. But what am I saying—of course I am.”
“That’s my girl.”
His girl.
It’s incredible how a couple of words can sound so promising.
The siblings had made their peace. They laughed, told anecdotes, and teased each other, and Siobhan was happy to witness their reconciliation On the way to the airport, she felt sad. She didn’t want to return to New York. It had been a wonderful week, and she was sure a piece of her heart would stay in New Orleans forever.
She was important to him.
And he was definitely important to her.
At departures, the siblings said goodbye with a hug and promised not to leave it too long before seeing each other again.
“And don’t even think about coming back without this girl, or I won’t open the door,” Charmaine warned him.
Siobhan pressed her lips together to contain her laughter.
“The things I have to put up with,” murmured Marcel, shaking his head.
“You think you can deny me my legitimate right as your older sister to embarrass you in front of your girlfriend?”
“Siobhan isn’t my girlfriend. She’s my—”
Charmaine flapped her hand dismissively.
“Yeah, yeah. Temporary colleague, I know. Anyway, take care, won’t you?”
“You too, Chaz.”
As he was taking the baggage from the trunk, Charmaine turned to Siobhan, took her by the elbow to move her away a few steps, and said in a low voice:
“Can I ask you a favor?”
“Sure, Chaz, anything.”
“Be patient with my brother. He’s the right guy for you. And I’ll bet my bottom dollar that you’re the right girl for him. Marcel doesn’t know it yet, but he will. Sooner or later, he’ll realize.”
Siobhan had to make a titanic effort not to burst into tears right there.
A spark of hope warmed her heart.