Life Is A Foreign Language (4 page)

Nina felt so orphaned after Mama was gone, and tried to fill her life with something more than busywork. After retirement she opened an alcohol and drug consultation, but the national health insurance didn’t cover treatment by somebody like Nina, who wasn’t a medical doctor, so the patients were a scattered few. There wasn’t enough work to fill her days. Almost by instinct, she’d reverted to the love of her youth and started writing. She had two published non-fiction books to her credit. Now she was on the second rewrite of her first novel.

Writing had at first been therapy, until she could get her bearings in the face of so many dramatic life changes. Soon it had become a passion she couldn’t do without.

Throwing off the covers she slid out of bed, carefully putting weight on her ankle. It was painful, so she pulled on the ankle brace before making her bed.

In the kitchen she squeezed the juice from an orange and a grapefruit, and swallowed a couple of vitamin pills. A check of the cupboards and fridge revealed there was no food in the house. Something needed to be done about that. She jotted items on a list and left the pad on the counter to add to.

Using one crutch for support, she moved the laptop to set up her workstation on the lanai. From the kitchen she brought a can of Diet Coke and the portable CD player from the den, starting Handel’s “Water Music.”

With her leg on a low stool, she sat by the computer, sorting her notes into neat piles. She pulled up a blank page in the document she was working on and typed “Chapter Eleven” and underneath “Jeanette X—Second Appointment.” Her mind sluggish, she sat and stared at the yard. Dressed in its bright red plumage, a cardinal settled on the branch of a shrub outside the lanai. Nina sat still, hoping it would stay. It trilled a joyous song, spread its wings and was gone. Her attention shifted to the empty lot bordering the back of her garden, where, in a flurry of white, a flock of white ibis settled to forage for food.

She heard the whisper of approaching footsteps. A woman’s voice called, “Knock, knock. Anybody home?”

“Here. On the lanai.”

The screen door opened.

Sophie Patterson greeted her, warm affection in her voice. Spotting Nina’s ankle with its brace on the stool, she raised well-plucked eyebrows. “What happened?”

Nina laughed and gave the short version of yesterday’s mishap.

“How did you get to the doctor? Surely you didn’t drive?” She took the seat next to Nina.

“No. A gentleman by the name of Michael Hamilton helped me.”

Sophie’s eyes grew round from surprise. “Oh, Michael.”

“What’s that supposed to mean, ‘Oh, Michael’?”

She hesitated. “Nothing. He’s good to have around, that’s all.”

“He was very helpful. By the way, shouldn’t you be at work?”

“I’m on my lunch break. I saw your lights on last night and decided to stop by to make sure everything was all right. I didn’t expect to find you here.” She glanced at Nina’s Coke can. “Got any ice tea?”

“Sure, if you don’t mind helping me.” Nina grabbed a crutch. “I only have one free hand.”

She patted Nina’s arm. “Stay where you are. I’m familiar with your house. Remember?”

Nina smiled. Indeed, Sophie knew her house. Next door neighbor, she was also the realtor who’d taken Nina house shopping. The minute Nina saw this house she fell in love with it. The east-west orientation made it bright and sunny, and when she saw the master bedroom suite she was sold on the house. The room had a huge walk-in closet, and a door connected the adjoining bathroom to the lanai with its pool and hot tub.

Sophie had closed the deal and helped Nina with the paper work. While Nina furnished the house, Sophie took to dropping in after work for a drink or to coax Nina to join her for a meal. During long evenings, she kept Nina company. They shared their experiences, told of their pasts, and, as sometimes happens, their relationship grew and bonded into a warm friendship, a rare thing late in life—both were close to sixty—and so all the more precious.

A widow, Sophie supported herself as a realtor, having built a solid reputation as the pragmatic lady with a sense of humor, who would put through any transaction except a shady deal.

Sophie returned carrying a tray. She pointed at a tree in the garden, its branches heavy with fruit. “I’ll get some lemons. I suppose you couldn’t pick any.

“No. I was going to, but this silly accident forced me to put off a number of things I intended to do.”

After Sophie returned with a bag of fruit, she sat next to Nina, leaning her elbows on the table, chin on hand, her gaze penetrating, inquisitive. “How’s everybody in Annecy?”

“They’re fine.”

“I was under the impression you’d be back in the fall. I didn’t expect you to return so soon, and certainly not alone.”

Nina averted her eyes, a hand flat on her chest to calm the fast pounding of her heart, hands clammy and cold. She opened and closed her fists, as if that would miraculously unleash the words locked inside.

“Something’s happened. Want to talk about it?” Sophie encouraged.

Nina took a deep breath. “I’ve filed for divorce.”

“Heavens! I thought you were the ideal couple. What a surprise.” She touched Nina’s hand. “Is it definite?”

“Yes.” Her voice was firm.

“I wish you’d phoned me. I could possibly have helped.”

Nina used both hands to ruffle her hair, confused and embarrassed that she’d not thought to tell Sophie. “I should have called, but everything happened so fast I could hardly think straight.”

“Don’t let that worry you.” Sophie leaned closer. “So … you’ve filed for divorce. I don’t understand, is André against it?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t asked him.”

Both were quiet. A lawn mower hummed in the distance. Sunrays bounced off the water in the pool, dappling the deck with vibrant specks of light.

“You know I’m here if you want to talk. Don’t feel you have to be brave.” Sophie took a sip of tea. “What do the children say?”

Nina’s throat felt tight and raw. “Danny’s very good about it. He understands my reasons.”

“I’m sure. And Lillian? How did she take it?”

“She’s hurt and angry. She believes I’ve faked a reason to leave André so I could come here.” She told Sophie of last night’s exchange. “She makes me feel so frustrated I could scream, but I’m not going to leave it alone—if I have to, I’ll go to Annecy to confront her. I won’t let her stop me from seeing the twins. And I won’t have her turn away from me, either.”

“Good for you!” Sophie grinned, pointing at Nina’s foot. “You may not be much use on a ladder, but you’ve got spunk.”

Two rapid rings of the doorbell interrupted them. “Expecting anybody?”

“It’s possible. Michael said he might drop by.”

“I’ll get the door.”

Nina shaded her eyes against the reflections of the sun in the pool. “Thanks. And I’ll take you up on the offer to talk. Maybe sooner than you think.”

Sophie returned, carrying the pitcher of ice tea she’d replenished, Michael following close behind.

Nina glanced at him. “Hi. How are you?”

He smiled, briefly touching her shoulder. “That’s my line,” he said. “How are you doing?”

Sophie filled a glass for Michael and glanced at her watch. “This is very nice, good company, and all, but I have to run. I’m due back at work.” She patted Nina’s hand. “Care to have dinner with me tonight? I’ll cook.”

“I’d love to, if we don’t make it too late. I’m still on European time, and hopping on these crutches seems to tire me.”

“I’ll pick you up around six.” Sophie turned to Michael. “You’re invited, if you’re free.”

“Thanks. Sounds nice, but this is my evening for working out.”

Sophie’s eyes lingered on his face. Then she smiled and nodded. “Another time.” She glanced at Nina. “I saw your fridge is almost empty. I’ll buy some groceries on my way home tonight, if you want?”

“That’s good of you. I’ve written a list of things I need, it’s on the kitchen counter. Add to it low fat salad dressing and some apples. And thanks, Sophie, I appreciate the help.”

Sophie stood. By the screen door she turned and waved. “See you tonight, Nina. ‘Bye, Michael.”

Chapter 4
 

Michael sat in the chair Sophie vacated. “Feeling better?” he asked.

“Much better, thanks. The ankle hardly hurts.” Nina closed the lid to the laptop and pushed it aside. “I don’t think I’ve thanked you properly for all you’ve done. You were very good to me.”

He smiled again, that wonderful kind smile. “Glad I could be of help.”

“When my ankle is healed I want to sign up at a gym. Where do you work out?” She felt shy and didn’t know why.

He laughed, a soft sound. “I hate working out. The gym smells of sweat, all those pumped up muscles and people grunting.” He gave a mock shiver.

Puzzled, she glanced at him. “I thought I heard you say you work out?”

“I go dancing. It’s my concession to workouts.”

“Dancing? Like ballroom dancing?”

He smiled, flashing white teeth and the twinkle of blue eyes. “That’s right. Twice a week a bunch of us doctors get together at a club and dance. Gyrating on the floor for a couple of hours beats any gym.”

Staring at him she couldn’t help feeling surprised, but now she understood the almost sensual swaying of his hips when he walked. It also explained his measured steps, the toes turned slightly outward.

“Nina?”

“Yes?”

“You were quiet for so long I thought I’d shocked you.”

“No, not shocked, just astonished. It’s unusual, but after all, why not? Do you like it?”

“It’s great fun. If you like dancing I’ll take you sometime.”

She groaned, pointing at her foot. “With this?”

“It’ll heal. Then I’ll take you.”

The atmosphere between them thickened. Seldom was she at a loss for words, always ready for the quick repartee. Now she didn’t know what to say. For something to do, she filled a glass with ice tea, taking tiny sips she didn’t want.

Michael seemed content to be there, and Nina was glad for the company. But she was also somewhat perturbed alone with a man she hardly new. Not that Michael was threatening, but the situation was unfamiliar.

He reached into the pocket of his shirt and pulled out a pack of cigarettes and a book of matches. “Do you mind?”

In response she held out her empty Coke can for him to use as an ashtray.

He blew on the match before he dropped it in the can and pointed at the stack of papers and her computer. “Are you working?”

“Yes, I’m writing.”

His eyebrows shot up. “What do you write?”

She smiled. “Fiction. A psychological suspense.”

He leaned back in the chair, crossing arms over chest, tilting his head to one side. “Tell me, how did you find the time to write when you worked?”

She held the glass between both hands. “I didn’t. I used to think that one day I’d have the time to write.”

“And now you have the time, is that it?”

“Yes. A few years ago I opened one of these Chinese fortune cookies.” Removing her hands from around the glass, she turned in the chair to face him. “My little strip of paper read, ‘You are a lover of words. Someday you will write a book’.”

The half-smoked cigarette hissed as he dropped it in the can. “Are you a lover of words?”

She took a deep breath. “Oh yes, I am. I love words. I love to read and to talk and to write.” On the sly, she glanced at her watch. She’d been sitting for too long and felt the need to move. “Lillian and Danny, my children, gave me this laptop as a birthday gift. After that I no longer had an excuse, I had to start writing.”

“Mind telling me a bit about the story?”

She gave him the broadest outline.

“It’s about a private client. Her name in the book is Jeanette. She came to me for help with anxiety.”

“Were you able to help her?”

“No, not at all. She only kept three appointments. The last time I saw her, she walked into my office unannounced. Her body was rigid, as if she were about to break apart.”

Nina’s fingers played with his book of matches. “She looked me square in the face and said, ‘Two months ago my daughter hanged herself.’ Then she walked out. I never saw her again.” The memory brought old tensions. Nina leaned against the back of the chair to ease the stiffness between her shoulder blades. She still smarted for having failed her patient.

The look in his eyes was intent. “What happened to Jeanette?”

Sadness stooped her shoulders as she shook her head. “I don’t know. Despite my efforts I never found her.”

“Didn’t you have an address, a phone number?”

“Sure, but everything turned out to be bogus—even her name.”

He took the matches from her, holding her cold fingers. “That must have been hard on you?”

She shivered for reasons she didn’t try to understand. “Yes, it was. I kept looking at women in the street, hoping I’d run into her.”

“How can you write a novel with so few facts?”

“The story is grounded in reality, in the few things I know about Jeanette. I bring in elements of other clients. For the rest, my story is fiction.” She felt suddenly self-conscious and pulled her hand out of his.

“More ice tea?” she asked.

He held his glass while she filled it from the pitcher. “Your story sounds very interesting. Pity I can’t read it. I’d like to, though.”

She lifted her eyebrows in surprise. “Why can’t you read it?” Then it dawned on her. “Because of the language, you mean?”

“Yes, I know two or three words in French, is all.”

She laughed softly. “But I write in English.”

Astonishment and interest registered in his eyes. “Well, isn’t that something! How come?”

Nina moved her leg on the stool and eased her back to a more comfortable position. “My father was American. At eighteen, he landed in Normandy with the troops. He met my mother—they married and settled in Biarritz. I was born and grew up there.”

Michael’s eyes didn’t leave her face. “And you spoke English at home?”

“Both; I was bilingual from the start. So you see, it’s natural for me to write in English.”

“I’ve been wondering; you speak fluent English, but with a slight foreign intonation.”