15

NOT LONG AGO, Andre had taken a liking to plants. Try African violets, Valerie told him. Or geraniums. You don’t have to water them often. She filled the watering pail in the kitchen, then made her way to the front room where she started picking off dead blooms, pouring tepid water into dry soil. Lemon-scented geraniums — their fragrance clung to the withered leaves crushed in her hand. Blessed plant, her mother would say of all its leaves and flowers, living and dead.

Those poor souls so high up — she imagined firefighters hurrying to rescue them. Uncle Joe’s buddy used to work the fire-boats for the city, but most of the old tugs were gone now. There had to be a few left, in good enough shape to hose the buildings down. On Groves Island years ago, they’d put out a terrible fire, the worst in the island’s memory. I can’t keep thinking about this. What beautiful leaves. She touched the geranium’s fresh, new growth, budding and soft.

James is patient. He’ll wait for help.

Robert came into the front room. “I hear you have spoken to Gerard,” he said.

“Oui.”

“And he has spoken to Andre.”

Robert looked grieved enough. She could sense that he was trying to steer himself home from the shock of losing his best friend. It didn’t seem fair that he’d have to drift into such a treacherous storm as hers. “You must keep trying,” he said.

There were no lines open. Everyone in New York City was trying to call the police. Gerard reached me because he has some kind of dedicated line patched in through Montreal. All Andre had was his dinky little cell. Trust me.

Only it was she who had no trust.

Sautent par les fenêtres.

“Gerard told him to get out of there,” she said.

“Oui. Bien sûr.”

In Robert’s eyes, she saw his grief for Laurent Sarazin and the echo of her father’s anguish. She knew that if she continued looking at the man before her, she’d see her dad’s lost buddies, a long line of starving men, off to Bataan in the Philippines, on a forced march to death.

“I’m sorry about your friend,” she said to him.

“Merci,” he replied. “I have known him all my life.”

“This morning I walked past the horlogerie.”

Robert smiled a little. “Marguerite bought me a watch from his shop.”

He held out his arm to show her. It was an elaborate wristwatch, full of dials with hands and tiny numbers: seconds, minutes, hours; moon phases and time zones; dates, months and years. She imagined it might also include tides and temperature. She thought it must be a seaman’s watch.

“It is that,” said Robert.

Valerie admired it. She thought of Matthew’s father.

“I used to know a clockmaker,” she said.