Chapter 3
The move went smoothly, and by four o’clock that afternoon Nora had signed the movers’ invoice and handed them a well-earned tip.
She went inside and shut the front door behind her.
She took a few deep breaths, then went from room to room checking the boxes and furniture stacked up in each one.
There was still so much to do, but the hardest part was behind her: Gérard, her ex-husband, had kept his word and not shown up today.
She’d been afraid he’d insist on being there, under the pretext of wanting to help—that really would have been the last straw—or to make sure she was taking only the furniture that was rightfully hers.
In fact, Nora had taken very few things with her from their marital home: a sideboard, a sofa bed, two bookshelves, an armchair, and her personal stuff. She hadn’t overdone it. But given it was she who had left, she didn’t feel entitled to clear out the house.
The last few weeks had been awful. Splitting up always is, especially after eighteen years together.
But she’d made up her mind, and for all Gérard’s remonstrations, wheedling, and intimidation he hadn’t been able to get her to change it.
She didn’t love him anymore. The grinding routine of daily life and the constant squabbling had triumphed over love. Standard stuff.
Gérard had clung on, convinced he’d be able to rekindle their former intimacy.
But her heart wasn’t in it, and she couldn’t keep up the charade, though she knew a lot about pretending.
They had been the tight-knit couple that the years hadn’t managed to unravel.
She was the wife who understood her husband’s regular absences—always on business, of course, but all the same!
—and who was quite content with being a stay-at-home mother.
But the reality was that Gérard and she had drifted apart, he absorbed by his work, she by all the things she did of which he managed to remain quite oblivious.
Mutual lack of understanding set in, and they were arguing more and more about things that were both important and trivial.
Even though he spent so little time at home, he still tried to control his wife’s schedule and who she saw, and was constantly weighing in with opinions about what she’d gotten up to during the day.
His distrust was pathological: as far as he was concerned, in this dangerous world there was trouble brewing on every street corner.
His work was no doubt a big part of the reason he thought that way.
Eventually Nora, by nature more easygoing, grew tired of Gérard’s endless admonitions.
Every time she met up with someone, whether a parent of one of the kids’ friends, a fellow willing torture victim at the gym, or just someone she hadn’t seen in a while, she had to put up with her husband’s paranoid suspicions.
One person seemed ill-intentioned, another was after a piece of her ass, a third was dangerously stupid.
People were pernicious. Not all people, of course. But most.
Eventually Nora grew so sick and tired of his comments, she stopped telling Gérard what she’d gotten up to during the day, thus avoiding his judgmental remarks and mean-minded takes on anything and everything.
On top of this was the latent violence. Gérard had it absolutely under control, but over the years Nora had learned to be wary.
Not that he had ever raised his hand against her, but at certain moments during one of their bitter fights, when she sensed the valve about to burst, she grew afraid. A visceral fear alert to danger.
Gérard was an inch or so shorter than his wife, but he compensated for it with a brilliant mind and strong character.
His lean physique seemed to suit his manipulative temperament.
An iron fist in an exfoliating glove. Gérard preferred the power of words over physical strength, making speech a weapon more formidable than blows.
He wielded cruel words the way other people threw punches, and the mental wounds he inflicted sometimes proved more painful than physical assault.
But when even words were powerless to subdue his warlike instincts, Gérard was ready with a response.
Early on in their relationship, Nora had seen him beat up a man who’d been foolish enough to push his luck after a few well-chosen verbal salvos.
The result had been crushing for the unlucky guy, even though he was a whole head taller than Gérard.
Nora recalled her ambivalence at the time, the way that on the one hand she’d admired and even been turned on by Gérard’s virile show of strength, while finding herself totally thrown by an aptitude for physical violence about which she’d never had even an inkling until then.
Over the years, any admiration she’d had for him had evaporated.
All that remained was a wariness that ended up warping the love she’d once had for him.
It reached the point where their married life added up to little more than the dull daily routine of chores and family responsibilities, a lackluster kind of cohabitation, and Nora decided to end it.
Sensing that he was losing control of the situation, Gérard detonated the last of his ammunition.
“What about the children? Have you thought about them?”
Nora looked at her husband, unable to conceal her distress.
Of course she’d thought about the children.
For years they were all she’d thought about: the reason she hadn’t already left was that she couldn’t bear the idea of breaking their hearts, turning their young lives upside down, seeing them only every other week.
That was even worse than the idea of living with a man she was no longer in love with.
“They’re bigger now,” she replied simply. “They’re old enough to understand.”
“Are they? Are they old enough to suffer, as well?” he replied, in the tone of someone who knew all there was to know about suffering.
Nora fell silent, heartbroken to be inflicting such pain on her family.
She had sacrificed her own happiness for that of her children for a long time, with no misgivings whatsoever.
What did it matter that her life was as smooth as a highway, with no curves, no rough edges, no highs or lows; a path already marked out, on which it was impossible to lose one’s way, leading straight toward a cloudless horizon.
Wasn’t that precisely what had attracted her to this young attorney who’d promised her a future that was safe, free from insecurity? Wasn’t that what he had guaranteed her?
But safe from what exactly?
From surprises, or accidents? From living?
She needed air. A change. A fresh start.
She was hungry for adventure. She yearned for chance encounters. A different life. A second chance.
“How are you going to make a living?” he said, running low on arguments. “You don’t have a job. If you think you’re going to rely on alimony . . .”
“I’ll find a job.”
“At your age?”
His reply, though cruel, was not without a certain realism.
“Fine, I’ll stay,” she retorted, without skipping a beat. “But only for your money.”
Her words were like an arrow to Gérard’s heart, and their venom devastated him. It was impossible for him to accept that money was now his only allure for Nora. If that really was the case, he was prepared to let her go. Before she sullied the last shred of respect there was left between them.
So Nora left. At the age of forty-four she set out to find a job, after eighteen years of not working.
She had a degree in French literature that hadn’t gotten her very far when she’d applied for a teaching job after leaving university.
She’d done casual jobs to pay the bills, and a bit of substitute teaching, but she’d never found anything she really enjoyed.
For a couple of years in her twenties she’d tried and failed to write. Then she’d met Gérard.
As the man at the employment office skimmed her résumé, he couldn’t keep himself from shooting her a mirthless smirk that betrayed his doubt.
“We’ll see what we can do.”
Nora understood straightaway that he wouldn’t be able to do very much. It was up to her to think about what skills and experience she had. In the gloom of her situation the answer was clear: she knew about taking care of children.
She made an appointment to meet with the principals of two local preschools to explain her situation and demonstrate her commitment and motivation.
The principal of the first school gave her short shrift, even though her son had been a student there. The principal of the second turned out to be looking for a pre-K classroom assistant, but Nora’s lack of training was a drawback.
“Lack of training?” Nora replied in dismay. “I’ve been doing nothing else for thirteen years!”
“You’ve been taking care of your own children. You can’t call that training. That’s not to say that I doubt your competence.”
“Would you be prepared to take me on for a trial period?”
“That’s not the issue,” the woman said. The conversation that ensued was strained, but by the time she left her office Nora had obtained a commitment that the principal would consider her application and get back to her within two weeks. If she kept her word, she’d know soon enough.
Getting the job became an obsession. Nora thought about it night and day.
What a triumph it would be if she pulled it off—for herself, of course, but also for her relationship with Gérard.
She knew he was patiently waiting for her to fall at the first hurdle and beg him to take her back.
She wasn’t afraid that she’d be destitute, scrimping and saving, never sure she’d make it to the end of the month.
What she was afraid of was the different lifestyle she was forcing on her children, compared to the luxury they were used to with Gérard.
The alimony payments barely covered the rent: against all logic, she’d made it a point of honor to find a place large enough for each of the kids to have their own room.
It was out of the question for them to enjoy the comfort of a 3,500-square-foot house one week and the next find themselves slumming it in a tiny apartment.
The small house she’d found in a residential neighborhood was nothing like where they’d grown up, but it was nice enough: light-filled and welcoming. And affordable. With her limited means she was determined to make it comfortable and cozy.
As she looked around at the piles of boxes and furniture scattered about the first floor, the cozy dream began to fade.
She looked at her watch: she had two hours before Gérard was due to bring their son back.
Two hours for her to set up a snug corner in his bedroom.
She had no time to waste. She went into the entryway and called up to Inès.
“I’m in my room!”
She went upstairs and pushed open the door to the bedroom at the end of the hallway. It was lovely and bright, filled with boxes waiting to be unpacked.
“Maman?” came Inès’s voice from the other end of the corridor.
“I’m in here, sweetheart.” A moment later, Nora sensed her daughter’s presence behind her. She turned and stepped aside to let the teenager pass.
“Do you think he’ll be happy here?” Nora asked, biting the inside of her cheeks.
“Sure he will! This is a great room. And look.” Inès walked over to the window and opened it. “He has this amazing view over the backyard, and it’s right above the deck.”