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They headed back into the harbor and the boat’s slip in order to eat lunch and get a break from the wind and choppy sea.
With the dock lines adjusted and holding the boat well in place, John relaxed for the first time that day. He accepted the baguette avec jambon et fromage he had packed that morning, that Emily now handed him. She disappeared back into the cabin to be with Louise.
“Thank you, John, that was great!” Philippe said. The others echoed him, a bit more faintly.
“You see, we could have had a critique session here in the harbor, turns out it’s quiet enough,” John said.
“Maybe we could do this again and bring our work next time,” Carol said, fishing for an invitation. She liked being in the harbor a lot, with the water lapping gently at the hull. Maybe, if he invited them back, she could convince him to stay in the berth, where they were bobbing gently. Very soothing and enjoyable, wasn’t it.
John frowned. Inwardly, he debated what to say, how much to reveal. He looked at each face, the faces of this group that he’d gotten to know so much better than he knew most people, and in such a short amount of time.
“Fact is, I’ll be selling this boat,” he said.
“Oh, that’s too bad,” Philippe replied, disappointed that this was his last time out.
“I’ve hit some financial difficulties.” John said. How sad it felt to him that this was now his reality. “But I can’t imagine life without a boat.”
Carol thought, well that’s too bad, rich and tall and handsome all in one package was too much to ask. And you’re not asking, you’re just brainstorm buddies.
“You know, sir,” Anjali said, “I know you’re looking for another place to live in Paris. I met someone recently who lives on a péniche. I called her to ask her something for an article I’m writing about it, and she told me she’s selling it.”
A péniche is a barge, John thought, it isn’t nimble, it can’t race other sailboats on the English Channel, it can’t sail around the world. But then he thought, I could live on it in Paris, if it had enough staterooms that Emily could live there, too. In summer I could explore the French countryside on France’s patrimoine fluvial, five thousand kilometers of canals and rivers that wind past classic little villages, and I’d be on the water. Maybe all of that and with Emily, too.
“How many staterooms does it have?” he asked.
“Three.”
He felt a tug of excitement. One for him, Emily, and an office—or for Louise. No, don’t go there, he thought. But a péniche might be an answer.
“I have big news about my life, too,” Anjali said.
As they munched on their baguettes with poulet and thon and bœuf, they nodded their heads for her to go ahead.
“I told my parents I’m not going home to marry Ravi.”
“You broke free, didn’t you,” Carol said, licking some mayonnaise off her finger.
“I broke free, I suppose, but it will be hard for them. It means they’ll be pressured constantly, by every member of the family and every acquaintance, asking if I’m married yet. I feel terrible about that.”
Carol thought, how very sad that in India, people are so into each other’s business.
Anjali said, “Everybody is into everybody else’s lives in India, but when you need help, the support network is incredible. Have a car breakdown at two in the morning, and somebody knows somebody who knows somebody who will come out and rescue you. I miss that feeling of security.”
Carol debated within herself whether she should be as open as others were being today, and thought, it’s interesting how I know that these guys, these fellow workers in the art of writing, will still love me.
“I’m in the process of recovering from being fired from Trapèze.”
John thought, Oh no, she’s in financial difficulty, too?
Anjali thought, I guess she can’t help me get a job there.
Philippe thought, You just never know what’s going on with people. “What are you going to do?” he asked.
“I’m working on several screenplays—and haiku—they cross-pollinate each other. I have a track record of successful films. All I have to do is sell one and I’m good for several years.” Or more. If she found a good agent.
“Interesting,” Philippe said. “Well, you know our good news, we’ve been reunited with our beloved daughter.” He smiled at Meredith, sitting opposite him. Everyone was being open and honest today. But he wasn’t mentioning her pregnancy because he hadn’t processed the news yet himself. And I just can’t tell them about swearing at God, he thought, I just can’t. Maybe I’m letting down the group by being the least open. Where I am closed, I am not true. Wow. Maybe someday, in my writing. But for today, all I can do is hint at it.
“I hammered on heaven, not very politely. And God answered.” At least it seemed as though their prayers had been answered. He had to wait and see if Meredith stayed sober. If she didn’t, how could he kick out a pregnant daughter? Not possible.
The group sat and munched their baguettes, felt the breeze caress their skin, smelled the salt air, felt the boat bob under them. They made a plan to meet in Le Café Livre in two weeks. No one person dominated the discussion. And they talked. People listened to each other and said witty things and commented. As the afternoon passed, they talked of being expats, of writing, of life, and of Paris, and of an expat writing life in Paris.
