SIX

Mother’s Day

May 13, 2012

7:47 a.m.

Lori-Anne lay in bed, alone, listening to heaven’s tears knock at her window. The rain sounded like tiny fists against the glass, tiny fists of children wanting to come in, the children she’d not been able to conceive. She’d always felt blessed that at least they’d had Nadia, that for some reason, they’d been allowed to have her.

However short that time had been.

And it had been way too short. She missed her daughter, the feel of carrying her when she was pregnant, holding that tiny baby for the first time, giving her her first bath. Mathieu had stayed home with Nadia but Lori-Anne had had wonderful times with her daughter too. Going shopping with her every August to buy going-back-to-school clothes, helping with homework, showing her how to apply makeup just last year so she wouldn’t look like a hooker.

The tiny smile on her lips faded quickly.

So now what? If Nadia was gone, was she still a mother? She wanted to believe that she was, but to whom? Nadia’s spirit? Nadia’s memory? That didn’t seem like much. Maybe bordered on the not-right-of-mind sort of personality. Mathieu’s the one who had showed those signs, not her. No, she’d done her best to pick up the pieces and move forward, not move on because that sounded cold, like denying anything bad had happened. Moving forward encompassed everything that had happened, and brought it along. Nothing was left behind.

The difference was subtle, if it existed at all. She knew that. Whereas her husband had buried himself in a past that no longer was, she moved forward to a future that hopefully would return them to serenity, and maybe someday to subdued happiness.

That hope fuelled her to keep trying.

But it was hard. She hadn’t handled the past month very well. The man she loved had become a broken soul she couldn’t reach. Her life was out of control and the worst part was that she blamed herself. All she’d wanted to do was to talk with Nadia, but instead they’d started to argue and things had gone horribly wrong.

What had she expected? Nadia had been an emotional mess, confused and angry at the world, at her parents. You guys don’t get me, you don’t let me do anything, you’re such dinosaurs. Lori-Anne had heard that plenty of times. The same old thing in the car—Nadia complaining and texting, ignoring her. On top of that, Lori-Anne’s Blackberry kept vibrating, someone from work trying to reach her no doubt.

That day was better left alone. Nothing could change what happened.

Mother’s Day. Maybe she should just hide in her bedroom all day, wait it out. She was pretty sure Mathieu wouldn’t bother her if she didn’t come out. It could be that easy. Just lay low for the day, sleep, wait it out.

She got up.

Lori-Anne Delacroix wasn’t the type of woman who gave up, who hid from life. So what if it was Mother’s Day and there was no one to call her mom anymore. She still had a mother and if Mathieu didn’t want to accompany her, she’d go spend the day at her parents’ and treat her mom to a wonderful day.

Yes, that’s what she’d do. She headed for the bathroom to shower and caught her reflection in the mirror. There were dark circles under her eyes, and maybe a few grey hairs. The woman staring back, it wasn’t her. Lori-Anne turned away from the mirror, unable to face Nadia’s killer. Maybe she was being harsh, but if she’d paid attention to the road, if she hadn’t been so determined to get Nadia’s phone away from her, if Nadia had been listening, then maybe her daughter would still be here, sleeping in her bed where she belonged.

If only, if only, if only.

Their lives would be as they’d always been, pleasant and uneventful. Ordinary, but that was fine. Better than fine. Ordinary was fantastic. Lori-Anne would rather be dealing with an ordinary, sullen, and impenetrable teenager than to be sucked into the hole left by her absence. That absence widened the distance between her and Mathieu, every day finding them a little further away from each other. Lori-Anne didn’t really know what to do. Mathieu didn’t want to talk. When she tried, he would get angry and at times mean, saying things she couldn’t believe came from the man she loved. Their conversations were like a mine field. A wrong word, a wrong gesture, a wrong look could set him off.

Last week, she’d searched the three medicine cabinets, his office, even his woodshop. She hadn’t found a prescription. He’d never gone to see his doctor. He wasn’t getting better. They weren’t getting better.

If only, if only, if only.

Lori-Anne got in the shower and let the hot water cascade over her, the tension in her neck and back easing a bit. She dressed in jeans and a pink t-shirt, and made her way down to the kitchen where nothing special waited for her.

* * *

Mathieu was in the garage, trying his best to finish a dresser that was due this coming week. He’d put the job off as long as he could, and it wouldn’t be perfect. The flaws would have bothered him in the past, but he was out of time and he doubted his client would see them. This dresser had been a real struggle, his love for woodworking simply not there, a chore instead of a passion. His next project, a bed for a little girl, would be even harder to do. It was the same plan he’d used for Nadia’s bed. A couple of times he’d picked up the phone to call and tell the client he couldn’t do it, but he’d already pushed back the date and the client had been so understanding. Besides, Mathieu didn’t think it would be right to deny the little girl a new bed just because of his own problems.

“Shit,” he said as he sliced the tip of his index finger with a freshly sharpened chisel. He headed for the powder room and stuck his finger under cold water.

His grandfather’s warnings ran through his head. Woodworkers lose fingers every day because they’re not concentrating. Lucky he hadn’t been using the table saw.

Mathieu spread Polysporin on the wound and wrapped the cut with a bandage he found in the medicine cabinet. He popped two Tylenol in his mouth to ease the sting. Some pains were a lot easier to deal with. Even his right knee, the one he’d torn playing hockey when he was sixteen, was easier to handle than the never-ending ache he felt in his heart all day long. He splashed water on his face and suddenly grabbed the sides of the sink.

Nadia. As plain as day. It happened all the time when he closed his eyes. He could almost touch her, but he knew if he tried, she would run through his fingers like water from the faucet.

Mathieu opened his eyes and turned the faucet off. When he straightened, he didn’t like what he saw in the mirror. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been able to see his cheekbones so predominantly, and his eyes were bloodshot and lifeless. The couch wasn’t exactly comfortable. But he couldn’t share the bed with Lori-Anne. When he looked at her, he saw Nadia. When he smelled her, he smelled Nadia.

The phone rang.

Mathieu rushed to the kitchen and checked the call display.

“Hey Grandpa?” he said.

“How are you?”

“Sliced my finger with a chisel,” he said, knowing this wasn’t what his grandfather was really asking him. “Should’ve been paying attention.”

“I don’t need to remind you.”

“The chisel reminded me.”

Grandpa chuckled. “I guess it did.”

“How’s Grandma?”

“She’s having a pretty good morning,” Grandpa said. “But she’s worried about you.”

Mathieu looked at the clock on the stove. It was just after 9:30. He thought it would be later. He couldn’t remember when he’d gone to work in the shop.

“Me?”

“You know your grandmother.”

A wonderful woman. Raised and cared for him when her rearing days should have been long done. He’d been difficult at first and she’d known how to soothe his sadness. Night after night, he’d wake up screaming, asking for his mommy and daddy, and when grandma came rushing to comfort him, he’d kick and scream that he didn’t want her, he wanted his parents. Grandma never got angry with him, never raised her voice, never walked away. She’d stay with him until he fell back to sleep. He couldn’t remember how many months that had lasted, but he was so grateful now for the love and patience that she’d given him. She was not just a grandmother, but a mother as well.

“Tell her I’m fine,” he said. “I’m fine.”

“You know I don’t believe you,” Grandpa said. “And I’m not going to lie to your grandmother. We’re both worried about you and Lori-Anne. How are you two getting on?”

Mathieu ran a hand across his chin. Every morning, he got up, hopeful, meaning to talk with her, spend time with her, but his anger always took over. One second everything was fine and then rage would rip through him like a tornado.

“It’s been tense.”

“Maybe counselling would help.”

“You don’t strike me as believing in that sort of thing. Is that Grandma’s idea?”

“We’ve discussed it. Your grandmother and I did see someone when your parents died. It was difficult opening up to a stranger, but in time it became easier. It did help us. Besides, we had you to think about.”

Mathieu looked around the kitchen. It was so neat, clean. Nadia would leave the bread on the counter, crumbs scattered about, a dirty knife beside the peanut butter container left beside the toaster, her empty cup forgotten on the table. But now the kitchen was spotless, like no one used it. Mathieu was home alone all day and Lori-Anne worked passed dinner time most days. Who was he supposed to take care of? It was like he lived alone.

“Yeah, well. We don’t have anyone to worry about.”

“But you do,” Grandpa said. “You have a wife to care for and she has a husband.”

Mathieu didn’t know what to say.

“Listen,” Grandpa said. “Why don’t the two of you come on over for lunch? You and I can make something special for Mother’s Day.”

“I don’t think Lori-Anne wants to be reminded of what she’s missing,” Mathieu said. “It would be too hard on her.”

“On her,” Grandpa said, “or on you?”

“Both, I guess.”

“Get back on the horse, son,” Grandpa said. “You need to get back to living.”

“Grandpa, it’s not that easy or that simple.”

“Of course it’s not,” Grandpa said. “Life isn’t easy. Marriage isn’t easy. Nothing worthwhile is easy. But what’s the alternative? Things happen and we suffer through it and we find the courage to move on, hopefully stronger than before. What happened is a real shame, but life goes on. You have a wife who loves you. Use that love to find your courage.”

Mathieu stood by the kitchen sink, staring out the window at the old play structure. Push me higher Daddy, higher. Nadia’s giggles filled the backyard while Lori-Anne sunbathed on a lounge chair. A shot of happiness and longing ran through his veins.

“I’ll have to ask Lori-Anne when she gets up,” Mathieu finally said.

“Okay, you do that, and call back.”

“Sure Grandpa.”

Mathieu put the phone down and heard Lori-Anne step into the kitchen. He saw something in her eyes, like she’d hoped for something but now had to settle for disappointment.

“I thought you were still in bed.”

“Showered and dressed,” she said. “Who was on the phone?”

“My grandparents invited us over for lunch,” he said. “We should probably go considering it’s Mother’s—”

He caught himself but not before he saw Lori-Anne’s disappointment turn into something deeper and sadder, a burden crushing her spirit.

“I didn’t know what to do about today.”

“I’m fine,” she said and moved toward the coffee machine.

“Let me make that,” he said. “I woke up early and just went straight to work and didn’t even think of making coffee.”

“Or anything,” she said.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’ll make us something.”

She shook her head. “Don’t worry about it.” She filled the coffee machine with water and coffee grind and pushed the AUTO button. Percolating coffee broke the silence.

“Damn it, Lori-Anne,” he said. “I’m trying to be nice.”

“You shouldn’t have to try,” she said.

“Look,” he said. “No matter what I did today, there was no way to be right, so I did nothing. But that’s also wrong. Nadia’s gone either way.”

“I know,” she said, her voice weak. “I don’t think it’s really about today. It’s about the last seven weeks. You’ve been somewhere else. I can’t talk to you. You’ve shut me out.”

“I’ve shut you out? You’re always working.”

“Why would I want to be here?”

“So it’s all my fault?”

“Mathieu, will you go see your doctor? Maybe he can prescribe something that will help your moods and your grief, and then maybe we’ll have a chance to make things better between us.”

“I’m fine,” he said. “I’m not going on any stupid medication.”

Lori-Anne extended her hand as if to touch him, but then pulled it back. “Only for a little while, until you get passed this.”

“Are you going on medication?”

“I’m not the one who’s depressed,” she said.

“Are you sure about that?”

“I’m still functioning. I get up and go to work every day and I don’t bite anyone’s head off. I can’t say the same about you.”

“I get my work done,” he said.

“Do you? I haven’t seen any finished projects since before the accident. Aren’t people going to start demanding the furniture they’ve ordered?”

“That’s my problem.”

“Sure. Fine,” she said.

“Anyway, I’m just finishing a dresser so I’m getting things done.”

“Okay.” She took a cup from the cupboard and filled it with coffee. “I still think you should see your doctor.”

He filled his own cup. “I don’t see how that’s going to help. I don’t believe in that stuff.”

“Depression is a chemical imbalance. Severe trauma, stress caused by loss can trigger it. There’s some good medication out there that can help.”

“What, you’re a doctor now?”

“I did some research and you have all the signs. There’s no harm in trying. Please, if not for you then for us. We can’t live like this.”

He put his cup down on the counter. “I miss her. So, damn, much.”

“And so do I.”

“But you weren’t the one here with her every day, raising her, watching her grow. I scheduled my days around her. It was the best feeling in the world. Now that she’s gone, it’s like I had a limb cut off. Every morning I wait for her to get up and start getting ready for school and when she doesn’t I go to her room and open the door and all I see is this perfect room, the bed made, no dirty clothes on the floor, her desk uncluttered, her stuffed animals in a tidy circle on her bed the way she liked to put them.” He paused. “So I look at her pictures on my computer and play home movies, and she stays alive for me that way. It helps me get through the day.”

Lori-Anne reached for his arm. “That’s why I want you to try some medication.”

“But don’t you get it?” He pulled his arm away. “I don’t want to stop feeling bad because if I do, I might stop thinking of her and remembering her.”

Lori-Anne shook her head. “Torturing yourself isn’t healthy, it doesn’t prove how much you loved her. Staying in a state of pain isn’t the way to remember her. She was our daughter and she was beautiful and wonderful and we need to remember her that way. You will not forget her if you’re happy. If you’re happy you’ll be able to appreciate the joy she brought us. If you’re happy, we’ll be able to move forward with her in our hearts.”

“What if you’re wrong?”

“I’m not.”

“You can’t know that.”

“Do some research. Talk to your doctor. Connect with people who’ve gone through something similar. We can join a bereavement group. I’m sure there’s something out there to help us. I’m willing to try anything. Matt, please. Don’t you want to feel better?”

He couldn’t look her in the eye.

* * *

Lori-Anne had been talking with her mother for over an hour, the two of them sitting at the kitchen table, a couple of empty Tim Horton’s coffee cups in front of them. She’d been venting and her mother had been listening, never choosing sides but offering advice when appropriate. Victoria had always liked Mathieu so Lori-Anne wasn’t surprised that her mother didn’t say anything bad about him. She’d say he’s hurting or he’d always wanted a big family so this is hard for him or he’s proud and doesn’t want to appear weak, that’s why he won’t go on medication.

Well-intended words, but they didn’t change the situation. She and Mathieu were in a horrible place and it wasn’t going to change soon.

“I just wish none of this had happened,” Lori-Anne said. “Maybe if I’d taken the Pathfinder . . .”

“Why didn’t you?”

“Mathieu had needed it earlier to go down to WoodSource and get some supplies, and since I’d been using his car that day, I just didn’t think to switch.”

“We don’t know that it would have made a difference.”

“It’s bigger and has airbags.”

“Now you’re torturing yourself, honey.”

Lori-Anne tore up the napkin she held in her hand. “I’m losing my husband.”

“He’ll come around.”

“And if he doesn’t?”

“You’ll be fine,” her father said from the living room.

“You have something to say, Dad?”

Samuel Weatherly came and stood at the edge of the kitchen. “Mathieu has never been the right man for you. I think you could have done better.”

“Dad!”

Samuel shrugged.

“You can’t just say that and not explain yourself.”

He looked at her. “You were so driven all your life until you met him, and then you changed. It was like he held you back.”

“I disagree,” she said. “When I met him, I was lost and broken-hearted from my affair and Mathieu gave me what I needed. He’s exactly the sort of man I need. Kind, attentive, and passionate. With him, I was able to slow my life down and enjoy it instead of chasing an ideal that you planted in me when I was just a child. You don’t like him because you lost control over me, isn’t that right?”

“Oh Lori-Anne,” Victoria said. “Your father didn’t mean that.”

Lori-Anne turned to her mother. “Please Mom, let him defend himself. You’ve always tried to explain Dad’s actions to us kids, and I for one stopped believing in your explanations long ago.” She returned her attention to her father. “I love Mathieu, and even though we’re going through a tough time right now—how could we not after losing our only daughter . . .” She paused and waited to regain her composure. “I’m not leaving him. He’s the one who will have to end our marriage if that’s what he wants. So please, stop hating him.”

“I don’t hate him,” Samuel said, taking a seat at the kitchen table. “I just think you could have been much more.”

“Dad, I’m a marketing director. I earn a darn good salary. I’ve taken care of my family. So what if I’m not running your company. I didn’t want it.”

“But you could be,” he said.

“I don’t want to,” she said. “And Jim, the idiot that he is, would be devastated.”

“He’d get over it,” Samuel said. “I’ve always thought you had the better business acumen.”

“Sorry to disappoint you again, but no thanks. I love my job and I love my husband. That’s my life. That’s what I want back. I just pray it’s what Mathieu wants.”

“Why wouldn’t he?” her mother said.

Lori-Anne chewed her lower lip, a habit she’d had since she was four years old. Her father would scold her for something, and she’d stand there looking up at him, biting her lip and trying hard not to cry.

“I think he blames me,” she said.

“It was an accident, honey,” her mother said while reaching for Lori-Anne’s hand. “It was an accident.”

Lori-Anne pulled her hand away and snatched another napkin from the napkin holder. She folded it in half, then again, and again until it was as small as it would fold.

“I wanted Nadia to tell me what was wrong, why the moods lately? Something was going on and I wanted her to know that I was there for her. But she wouldn’t tell me. Kept saying I was imagining things, that nothing was wrong.”

Lori-Anne started to unfold the napkin.

“She was texting on her phone and I asked her to stop so we could talk, but she didn’t. I got angry and reached for her phone, and the light turned yellow . . .”

Lori-Anne tore the napkin in half, then again, and again until it lay in a pile with the other torn napkin. She hadn’t told her family exactly what had happened. She’d only said that the roads had been slippery from the snow and that she hadn’t been able to stop in time. She’d said that the car making the left-hand turn should have seen that she couldn’t stop and should have waited until she’d cleared the intersection.

But that was only partially true.

If she hadn’t been so dead set on getting Nadia’s phone, she would have seen that she did have time to stop, even on the slippery road. But because she didn’t stop, the truck behind her followed her through the intersection and their car got wedged between the Lexus SUV and the black Ford F150. Mathieu’s eleven-year-old Honda Civic didn’t have airbags and the F150 crushed the passenger side like an accordion. Lori-Anne couldn’t believe that she’d had only cuts and bruises while Nadia had been killed instantly.

“So you see,” she said after telling her parents almost everything—there was one last bit she’d kept to herself because it was too painful to share, “it’s my fault. I was careless and my daughter is dead because of it. And my husband hates me right now. He won’t say the words, but I feel it, the anger in his voice, the way he looks at me, the way he won’t touch me.”

“Honey,” Victoria said. “I wish you’d told us sooner. We could have helped you get through this.”

“I don’t know what to do,” Lori-Anne said. “I’m afraid to tell him what really happened. I just don’t see what good that’ll do. Except that I’m carrying it like a burden and I think he senses my guilt. If I tell him, I could lose him.”

“You have to tell him,” Victoria said. “Honesty is always best. A solid marriage is built on honesty.”

Lori-Anne could see her mother pinning her father with her eyes and sensed there was some double meaning in those words. Someday she would have to have a long talk with her mother about her father. There was something there—Lori-Anne had felt it for a very long time.

“What if it kills the last bit of life our marriage has?”

“He’s a good man who’s hurting right now,” Victoria said. “He’s angry, but not at you. He’s angry at the situation. He’s lost. I know that he loves you.”

Lori-Anne shook her head. “I’m not so sure, Mom. We don’t even share the same bed these days.”

“Oh honey! You have to tell him.”

“Aren’t you listening to what she’s saying?” Samuel said.

“Of course I am,” Victoria said. “After all, I’m the one who saved our marriage.”

Samuel opened his mouth and closed it again. He stood and left the kitchen.

“Mom?”

Victoria shook her head. “Not today.”

“But—”

“Never mind that old coot,” she said. “You need to save your marriage, and it might not be easy, but if you truly love Mathieu, you’ll persevere, you will support him, you will give him love. Most of all, you will give him your heart.”

“Oh Mom,” Lori-Anne said. “What if he breaks it?”

“Then he breaks it,” Victoria said. “But at least you’ll know you gave it your all.”

* * *

Mathieu knocked and stepped inside his grandparents’ home. He hugged and kissed his grandmother on the cheek. “Happy Mother’s Day.”

“Thank you, dear,” she said, the words slurring off her tongue. “How did you get here?”

“Took a cab,” he said. “Guess I should think of getting a new car.”

“Maybe you should get yourself a truck,” Grandpa said from the comfort of the couch in the living room. “Would be handy.”

“I did think of that,” Mathieu said and followed his grandmother into the room. “It would make it easier when I get supplies.”

Grandpa folded the paper he’d been reading and put it on the glass-top coffee table, one of Mathieu’s early woodworking projects when he was fifteen. “So, how’s that wife of yours?”

“She’s fine,” Mathieu said. He looked down at his bandaged finger. “I guess.”

“Oh sweetheart,” Grandma said. “What’s wrong?”

Mathieu shrugged. The last thing he wanted was to burden them with his problems. Especially Grandma. She’d lost a lot of strength since the stroke.

“We’re not really getting along,” he said, feeling ashamed. “She wants me to go on meds.”

“It could help,” Grandma said. “It’s worth trying, don’t you think?”

“No marriage is perfect,” Grandpa said, looking at his wife. “Sharing your life with someone can be trying at times. But it’s that sharing that builds a bond between two people and makes it nearly unbreakable. Sounds like Lori-Anne is looking after that bond. Are you?”

“I just can’t let go of Nadia,” he said, remembering how tiny she once was and how she fit perfectly in his arms. “I want to hold her so badly.”

“What’s that got to do with medication?” Grandpa said. “You think medication will make you forget your daughter?”

“You don’t understand,” Mathieu said.

Grandpa didn’t get angry often, but his eyes hardened. “I think we know exactly what you’re going through, young man. When your parents died in the car crash, you think that was easy on us? When your Aunt Jacqueline passed away of cancer the day of 9/11, you think that was easy on us?”

“I’m sorry,” Mathieu said. “I didn’t mean . . . it’s just so hard.”

“When your father died,” Grandma said, “I had awful nightmares.”

Mathieu sat a little straighter, his eyes widening. “I thought I was the one who had nightmares.”

“We both did,” Grandma said. “And looking after you was my way of coming to terms with the death of your father. When I held you, I held him. I remembered him as a boy. I thanked the Lord every day that you’d survived that crash. You were my medication.”

“I . . . I never thought of it that way,” Mathieu said.

“It was hard on your grandmother,” Grandpa said. “I’d often find her sitting at the kitchen table, leafing through old photo albums. Back then we didn’t know what she was going through, but today she’d be diagnosed with depression.”

Mathieu shook his head. “I’m not depressed. I miss my daughter, that’s all.”

“How do you sleep?” Grandpa said.

“Not great.”

“How’s work? You mentioned you’ve fallen behind,” Grandpa said.

“I’ll catch up.”

“You just said things with Lori-Anne aren’t going well. Sounds like you should be doing everything you can to help yourself get better. Are you?”

Mathieu looked down at his finger again.

“There’s no shame in admitting you’re going through a depression,” Grandpa said. “It’s a lot easier to get help these days. Have you seen your doctor?”

“No.”

“You really should,” Grandma said. “Those two years after your father died were pretty bad. If it wasn’t for your grandfather . . .”

“Two years?” Mathieu said.

“I was in a bad place. I’d see something on TV and start crying because it reminded me of your father. I’d be making your favourite meal, folding your laundry, vacuuming your room, and all these things reminded me of when your father was your age and I’d start to cry.”

“I never noticed,” Mathieu said. “I mean, I never saw you cry. You always had a smile on your face. You always comforted me when I woke up screaming at night.”

“Your needs came first, honey. You were hurting too, and you were so young and you needed me. I grieved when you weren’t around.”

“I have no one who needs me that much,” Mathieu said. “Maybe if we had another child, I’d be able to do like you did.”

“That’s where you’re wrong,” Grandpa said. “You have a wife who needs you.”

Mathieu shook his head. “She’s got her work. That’s her escape.”

“Maybe it’s because she can’t count on you,” Grandpa said.

“Your grandfather is right, honey.”

Mathieu plucked woodchips off his pants. Maybe he should have changed his clothes before coming here, but the argument with Lori-Anne had left him rattled.

“Go see a doctor,” Grandma said. “Don’t lose Lori-Anne because you’re stubborn.”

“I’m not being stubborn,” he said, a little too harshly. “Sorry, Grandma. I’m just . . . I’m just tired.”

“You need a good night’s sleep,” Grandpa said. “And you need to lighten your load. Listen to your wife.”

Mathieu sat back and rubbed his face with both hands. Everyone was telling him the same thing that he didn’t want to hear. He missed his daughter and he didn’t see how being on medication could help. What he needed was to be left alone so he could grieve.

Two years.

That’s what his grandmother had said. It had taken her two years to get over the death of his father. Nadia had been gone seven weeks. He had another twenty-two months. That seemed way too long. He felt sure that in a few weeks things would turn around, he’d start to feel better. Maybe if he didn’t, then he’d think about seeing his doctor.

He stood and stared at the painting on the opposite wall. The painting had been there forever, but he felt that he was seeing it for the first time. The artist had captured the very essence of a new beginning: a beautiful sunrise over the ocean horizon.

Grandpa followed Mathieu’s gaze. “I bought that in 1949 just after we got married. Seemed like it was calling me. Never been to wherever that is, but it reminds me that each day brings new possibilities.”

What Mathieu saw was an explosion of colours far away in the distance, almost a mirage really, forever out of reach.