3. Denial
Chapter 3
Denial
Christophe
twelve years old
“Go. Explore the woods and play. You’re a child yet, Christophe, act like one. Get your hands dirty, build a fort, fight and slay the wild beasts of your imagination. Rescue the damsel in distress.” Maman smiled softly and guided me toward the back door.
Far beyond the bright green lawn, gently sloping away from our summer home, was a forest dark and dense. The trees were so close together, they looked like a solid line separating this world from one that was completely foreign. Unknown.
Papa told me that it was important to know what was around me at all times. That I should never let my guard down and get caught by surprise. That I had to be the smartest man in the room. That someday, Le Milieu would be mine.
Maman still thought I was just a kid, but I knew our family was different from others, that sometimes they did things that others might think were bad.
I didn’t know exactly what the beaux voyous did, but I knew we had bodyguards, and drivers, and didn’t have to worry about how much this big new house cost us. Papa said it’s always been ours, we just had to make sure everything was in place for us to be able to come spend our summers here.
That the timing was right, whatever that meant.
I stared at the thick line of trees; my hands shoved deep in the pockets of my shorts. “Are you sure it’s okay for me to go out there alone?” The closest I’d ever gotten to that much nature was when my class at school went to special programs in the park for enrichment activities. Even then, we had my father’s men with us and were never allowed to get dirty.
“Of course, Christo. I would never put you in harm’s way.” My mother playfully squeezed my biceps at the last two words. Her accent was still strong, very French, but she was always aware of how differently we spoke. “Go now and discover a whole new world so you can tell me all about it over dinner tonight, oui ?”
I nodded bravely, my chest expanding with the outward show. On the inside, though, I wasn’t nearly as sure of myself.
One step led to many more as I pushed out the back door and crossed the huge perfect lawn. My friends from the city always returned to school in the fall full of stories about all the adventures they’d had over the summer vacation. Some went to their summer homes, some on months long trips to actual foreign countries, but they always had stories.
When I listened to the other boys brag about the boats they’d sailed on or the safaris they’d taken, I wanted to tell them about all the things I’d done, too. Except I’d had nothing to share. Museums weren’t that exciting, not for summer break. Shopping and cooking lessons and French lessons and fencing were more like after-school activities, not summer fun.
I was protected. Sheltered.
This was different than anything I’d ever done, but how much fun would it be? I didn’t have a brother or sister to play with, which was awesome most of the time, but right now, stepping into the cool shade of the woods, it might’ve been kind of okay to have one for company.
The air changed as I found a path between the trees and stepped out of the blazing sun. It was quieter than I thought the world could be. Smelled cleaner, fresher than I knew was possible. And there was nothing to do.
I couldn’t go back inside yet; Maman would be disappointed. More than that, she probably wouldn’t let me. She wanted me to have an adventure, and this was where she thought I’d find one. I loved my mother, but she was crazy if she thought playing in the woods by myself was going to be a good time.
Sticks snapped beneath my feet as I wound my way deeper into the woods. I stuck to the path, because the last thing I wanted was to get lost out here. That might count as an adventure to my mother, but I couldn’t believe for a minute that Papa or Oncle would be thrilled with that lack of attention to detail.
Uncle Alain was my father’s twin brother—younger by a matter of minutes. Most of the time, Alain was angry. Didn’t matter what was going on or how much fun everyone else was having, Alain was always pissed off.
I picked up a stick from the edge of the path and swung it at the trunk of a big tree. The crack echoed all around me as the stick splintered into a million pieces. I picked up another stick and swung again. And again.
When the last piece of wood hit the ground, and the air was silent again, a rustling on leaves from the other side of a fallen log had my head snapping to attention. I didn’t move, barely breathed, waiting to see if I heard it again.
Being out there alone probably wasn’t such a great idea.
The leaves stirred again, and there was a sound like an animal crying or something.
Cautiously, I peered around the tree completely caught off guard by the tumble of pale blonde curls just visible beyond the log. I stepped out and approached, slowly tightening my grip on the remnant of the stick in my hand.
There, sitting on the ground in a tight little ball, was a little girl clinging tightly to her right wrist. Blood seeped out between her fingers and dripped on the bottom of her faded red dress.
“Hey, are you okay?” I asked, rushing closer. It was a stupid question because she obviously wasn’t.
At the sound of my voice, she startled and curled in tighter to herself, but she didn’t make another sound. She went silent and small, clutching her bloody wrist close.
I kneeled down in front of her and put my hands out like she was a strange dog, and I was trying to show her I was safe. So dumb since this was a kid and not a dog. Geez.
“It’s okay,” I said. “I’m not going to hurt you. Can I see your boo-boo?” I rolled my eyes at the stupid baby word I’d used, but she was little, maybe it was good to talk to her in words she’d get.
She sniffled silently and with the smallest voice replied, “You already did,” before shoving her arm toward me. When she moved her hand, I saw a dirty cut with pieces of stick and bark stuck in the drying blood.
My brows rose, and I asked, “That’s ’cause of me?”
Her pitiful, teary nod tore at my heart. I’d never drawn blood before, never hurt someone even though Oncle told me it was time to start getting used to that kind of thing. My gaze darted around the small clearing looking for anything that might stick out, show that this was a test of his. There was nothing, but that was weird too.
I pulled my t-shirt over my head and cradled the little girl’s wrist in it. “Are you lost?”
A sniffle and shake of her head was all I got.
“You out here alone?”
A nod.
“How far you live from here?” Maybe her house was close; it would make sense and then she could walk home and get her cut cleaned.
A shrug, a sniffle, and a tiny nod. Great.
“My name is Christophe; what’s yours?” I rocked back onto my toes and stood, helping her to her feet as well.
“Winnie,” she said, smearing blood from her free hand across her face as she wiped at her tears.
Maman would cuff me good when she saw this poor little girl, but I couldn’t just leave her here, hurt and bleeding. Not when it was my fault. My shoulders sagged as I realized I deserved the smack to the back of my head.
“How old are you, Winnie?” I held her gently but tried to steer her down the path toward my house.
She dug her heels in, not budging from her side of the log. “Five and…what’s more than a half? I’m turning six next month.”
Freaking hell, she was just a kid.
“Why don’t you come to my house? My maman will clean this and feed you honey cookies for being brave. Then we’ll get you home.” It sounded like a good plan to me, but Winnie started shaking her head at the mention of going to my house.
“I can’t. I’m not allowed to go past the log.” Like she was making a point, she took a step back. “I can go home.” She tugged at her wrist and grimaced. Sticks fragments and dried blood had pasted my t-shirt to her tender flesh and a fresh round of tears sprung to her eyes.
I followed her movement. “Wait…wait.” I couldn’t let her rip at the wound and the tears…her damn tears were too much for me. I grabbed my water bottle and pulled at the cap with my teeth. When it was open, I tilted it close to her wrist and waited for her to meet my eyes.
When her focus was on me, I said, “I gotta clean this and then I’ll let you go, promise.” I continued after she nodded agreement. “I need you to be brave, okay? It’s just water, but it might sting a little. Can you do that for me?” I felt bad, because it was probably going to sting more than just a little.
“Uh-huh.” Her lips smooshed together like she was determined not to show any cracks, but as I sprayed the water into her open cut, her chin wobbled and the corners of her mouth pulled down as her shoulders bounced with rapid little breaths.
I washed away the blood and the cotton of my shirt pulled away. Most of the debris pooled in my palm as she lifted her wrist from my grasp. With as much care as I could manage, I gently dabbed her arm dry, noting that the cut wasn’t huge. Maybe it wouldn’t scar if her mom put some salve on it. And a Band-Aid. And she really probably did need a cookie. Kids liked that kind of thing, right?
“Can I go home now?” she asked, fighting a tremble in her voice.
“That’s what I promised. You want me to walk you home?” Why was she out here in the woods all alone? She was way too little.
“No, that’s okay.” She shook her head, eyes wide like she really didn’t want me tagging along. “Thank you for taking care of me,” she said and then turned and skipped away, picking her way along the path.
I watched her go until the trees swallowed her, and then I counted to ten. I stole after her as quietly as I could and caught up before long. I kept just enough distance that she’d never know I was there, but I couldn’t let her walk through the woods alone, not when she was hurt. Not when she was so, so little.
We walked like that for almost half an hour before the trees fell away, opening up to the yard of an old, rundown farmhouse. It looked deserted so I stepped to the edge of the tree line, ready to follow her and bring her back home with me. Which, again, was dumb because I was just a kid, too. But even then, I knew it was wrong for Winnie to be traipsing around in the woods alone.
The screen door banged shut and angry voices drifted across the yard to me before the main door closed, cutting off anything further.
At least she was home safe.