Chapter 3

 

 

I wanna go sledding today!” Already, Yvette’s voice had turned whiny and it was only ten in the morning.

Non, ma petite chérie, I cannot take you.”

She added a scowl to the strident tone. “Stepping Stones is closed because you don’t have any classes today.” In honor of Martin Luther King’s birthday.

I’m afraid I have to work on my book at home.”

She gasped loudly. “You’re writing another book. Why?”

He couldn’t tell her the real reason. She wouldn’t understand. But maybe he had another excuse. “In order to teach in America and in the universities back home, I have to write books, too.”

What am I going to do?”
“Mrs. Jenkins is coming over to supervise you.” He had to close himself off to write.

Can she take me?”

He couldn’t see the portly older woman, the sitter Yvette loved, on the snowy hills. “No.”

Then I don’t want her here. I want you.” Really whiny now.

Torn, Jordan cursed Elise again. If they were a normal couple, he’d have help. Single parenting was hard.

His phone buzzed. An excuse to get out of this discussion. And a bad-father move. Still he answered. “Bonjour.”

Bonjour, Dr. Dubois.”

The lilt of the female voice on the other end made his heart lighter. “Mrs. Moretti. What can I do for you?” There was a smile on his face now.

I seem to have a mutiny on my hands. Lilliana wants to see Yvette. I’ve got things to do around the house, and some school work, but if they’re together, they won’t keep me from doing them. As it is, my lovely child is pouting.”

Ah, well, a kindred spirit of hers is standing in front of me. Pouting, too. Something about sledding.”

There’s a lot of yard here. I take breaks, and I can go outside and make forts, or snow women. So, would she be able to come over?”

I wouldn’t dare say no to this little dictator.”

I can pick her up.”

No, I’ll bring her to you. It’s the least I can do. When you’d like her to come home, call me and I’ll be back over.”

All right. See you soon, I hope.”

We’ll leave right now.” When he disconnected, he noticed the satisfied expression on his daughter’s face. He said, “So, did you talk to Lilliana today?”

No, Papa.”

Yesterday, did you hatch a plan to get together today?”
“I don’t understand this
hatch a plan.”

The hell she didn’t.

Well, it worked. Get your stuff. I’m driving you to the Moretti house.”

Yvette raced across the room and hugged him around the waist. Her tone, her exuberance, replaced the sulk. “Je t’aime, Papa.”

Je t’aime, ma petite diablesse.”

They made a quick stop, then sang songs on the drive over, the windshield wipers keeping their own rhythm with the falling flakes. When he reached the Moretti house, the snow on their lawn was heavy. They’d have fun in it today. A longing shot through him: to stay with them, to have hot chocolate and beignets, then go out and play in the snow that they rarely saw in Paris.

However, it wasn’t only because he had work to do that he wouldn’t invite himself. He and Mrs. Moretti needed to handle their children’s closeness with circumspection. He couldn’t fall into anything but a casual-acquaintance relationship with her.After he and Yvette exited the car and crossed into the open garage, Lilliana burst into it and embraced her friend. “You could come!”

Yep.”

They’re hugging like they haven’t seen each other in months.” Mariella stood on the step, dressed in a simple red sweat suit and sneakers. Her hair was pulled off her face in a ponytail.

You look like a teenager,” he said, walking closer.

She gave him a haughty expression befitting a princess. “I turn twenty-four soon.”

Twenty-four? She was only twenty-four? Hell, he’d guessed by her confidence and poise she was in her late twenties. “Well, then you are a kid.”

She rolled her eyes as their children scooted into the house. They came back out as fast. “We forgot the chocolat chaud et beignets, Papa.”

Can you two handle getting it all from the car?”

Oui.” Her back already to him, with Lilliana at her side, Yvette hurried to the vehicle.

You brought hot cocoa and beignets? Real beignets?”

There’s this French bakery within walking distance of our home. And yes, they’re real beignets.” He winked at her. “And lighter than the Italian fried dough.”

Would like to come in and have some with us?”

More than you can imagine. “No, I don’t think that would be a good idea, Mrs. Moretti.”

You can call me Mariella if you like.”

No, that wouldn’t be a good idea either.”

Folding her arms over her chest, she didn’t ask why. In fact, her response was, “I understand.”

Kiss Yvette goodbye for me. And thank you again for having her over.”

She nodded.

He forced himself to walk to the car. Little wet snowflakes fell on his head and face until he got inside. His resolve wavered when he saw she was still standing there in the garage. He didn’t know where he got the strength to start the car and back out.

Jésus, Marie, Joseph, donnez-moi la patience!” He didn’t want to screw up their professional relationship or their kids’ friendship. And finding out she was only twenty-four to his thirty-eight. Merde de merde! A lifetime existed between them.

 

* * *

 

A melancholy came over Mariella as she watched Dr. Dubois pull away. And that feeling was untenable. She knew the stakes here, and she wouldn’t succumb.

In the kitchen, she saw a cup of hot chocolate and the bag of beignets on the table, left for her by the kids. She heated up the drink, then sat with the beignet in front of her. The cocoa was rich and creamy and sweet. She bet the bakery made it with her favorite, Godiva. She slid out a beignet and peeked into the bag. These were uneven ones, some long and odd-shaped, some short and puffy. She tore off a piece of the fluffy dough covered with powdered sugar and tasted the first heavenly bite.

Mmm. A hint of yeast was in the thick batter made of eggs and milk and flour. Crispy from being deep-fried, the dough melted on her tongue. And he was right—the treat was lighter than Italian fried dough. The French had claimed the beignet, but the Italians probably had it first.

Rising, she washed her hands and crossed to the desk to work on her independent project. She opened the file which contained the sketchy syllabus they’d worked on together. Dr. Dubois promised to research articles or even texts they might use for her independent study. Meanwhile, he sent her to three websites to check out. They were meaty with information, he said, and she should take notes on them.

Calling up the first on French law, she read the introduction and started with the legal points about marriage. She chose to begin here because of Papá’s dictum that he’d choose all seven girls’ mates. She was enthralled in the work when the girls came down the stairs. “Can we go play outside?”

Outside?” She glanced at her watch. “My goodness, two hours have passed. Yes.”

You have to come too, Mama.”

Of course. I need a break.” She slid back the chair, stood and stretched. “Yvette, did I see you drop off a bag in the garage?”

Yes, Mrs. Moretti. I brought outside clothes.”

Then get changed.”

In her room, Mari dug out brown snow pants and a parka. She and Brie had bought them at a local athletic store after they’d been invited to Calla’s, and neither had any heavy, outdoor clothing. Luckily, Calla had extra when they visited.

She pulled the top of her athletic suit over her head, kicked off the bottoms and slid on tights. Then she eased up the down snow pants. She donned a white turtleneck, grabbed her boots and jacket and went to the living room to see how the girls were doing.

They sat on the couch, dressed in the outer gear, including white boots, heavy knit caps and furry mittens. “I’m almost ready,” she said putting on her yellow down coat with a drawstring on the waist and a hood lined with fur. She opened the foyer closet and snugged on a white hat and mittens with angora trim.

They went out through the garage, the girls ahead of her squealing with delight. She laughed at their exuberance.

First, the three of them rolled the wet snow into balls. Yvette got one done first, and Lilliana placed the second layer, creating a lopsided base, but it was cute. Quickly, Mari rolled one and added the head. “Go get the trimmings,” she said to her daughter.

Since they kept them in the garage, Lilly returned with a plastic box. She gave Yvette a pink hat, scarf and gloves. She added the coal eyes, two pieces for the nose and a tree limb they’d fashioned into a mouth. Then they stepped back to admire their handiwork. “She’s so pretty,” Yvette said.

She is.” Mari, smiling, pointed to the creature. “What shall we name her?

You name them?” Yvette asked, her brows raising.

Of course. Every time we make one.”

Lilliana said to her friend, “You can name her.”

Yvette was thoughtful. “How about Adèle? My great grand-mère’s name.”

It’s beautiful.”
Mari scanned the yard. The far left side was untouched.

Lilliana saw it, too. “Mama, can we make snow angels?”

I never made one,” Yvette said.

Lilliana took her friend’s hand. “Come on, we’ll show you.”

In minutes, the three of them were on the ground, gliding their arms up and down. Life was good, Mari thought as she totally enjoyed herself.

 

* * *

 

Jordan sat in his office with a blank screen in front of him. He promised himself he’d complete this second book, a sequel of sorts to his ethics prize winner. Actually, it would blow up the whole concept he’d built that book on. He clicked on the table of contents. He thought about the hard truths of his life, his mistakes, that he’d had to face, and how difficult it had been to get the first three parts down on paper. Part four was up next. He’d knew this would be even harder to write, and he was right. A hole formed in his gut as he thought back to the last few years: how he’d been gliding along with Yvette, until something happened to upset Elise. It was an unfortunate way to live, but Yvette was worth it.

He spent three hours detailing some of the saddest parts. At one point, he went to the kitchen to get coffee. And stared out the back window. He didn’t want to write anymore. He’d rather be with his daughter. With Lilliana. With Mariella.

Merde!” Had he not learned his lesson?

Before he got into a funk he couldn’t escape from, he changed into boots, grabbed his winter jacket and his keys and headed out the door.

At he swerved into the driveway, he found Mariella and the girls laying in the snow, a light dusting falling onto them. They were moving their arms and legs up and down. They didn’t seem to hear as he drove in as they were yards away and yelping with delight. Squeals from Yvette had been too rare in her life.

Mariella noticed him only when he reached them. She stopped moving but didn’t sit up. “Dr. Dubois, what are you doing here?”

Taking a break. I thought you might like one. I was hoping to treat the girls to lunch out.”

No, Papa.” He was hearing a lot of that from his recently-recalcitrant daughter. “Mrs. Moretti made special soup. We’re having some for lunch. It smells like gardens and spices.”

Minestrone,” she said with raised brows. “You’re welcome to stay.”

I can’t impose.”

No imposition.”

He frowned. “What are you doing down there anyway?”

Making snow angels.”

I don’t know what those are.”
“Ah.” She extended her arm. “Help me up?”

He grabbed her hand but instead of standing, she yanked him down.

What the...?”

He landed on his knees, half on top of Mariella. When the girls noticed what happened, they piled on.

Finally, after much kicking and howling, he eased them off. They fell back on their butts still laughing.

He wasn’t laughing. Now, he was torso-to-torso with this exquisitely beautiful woman. Her face was full of...something he couldn’t read. Her cap shielded her head from the snow, but flakes had fallen onto her cheeks. As if propelled by some force, he raised his hand to brush the wetness off her face. He looked down at her lips, then pulled the glove off with his teeth and brushed her lips with warm fingertips. Her intake of breath was loud.

Their gazes locked. They exchanged meaningful looks until Lilliana came over to them. “Is Mama hurt?”

He rolled off her. “No, no, I fell on her.”

You’re big and she’s little.”

Lilly, I’m fine. Nothing to worry about.” Her scarlet cheeks were not only from the cold. She sat up. “Besides, I made him fall down in the snow to make angels.”

Her child didn’t seem convinced. Jordan rolled to his feet and this time did indeed help Mariella to hers.

Lilly hugged her, then said, “Let’s get our outside clothes off, Yvette.”

The girls spirited off.

Are you sure you’re all right?” Jordan asked, peering down at her.

Looking up at him, she raised her hands to her lips. Pressed her fingertips against them. And said, “I’m not sure, Jordan.”

He didn’t miss that she called him by his first name.

 

* * *

 

They ate soup with the girls. Steam rolled off the broth, the fresh vegetables were crisp and full-bodied. The Italian bread had gotten crusty from being in the oven. After finishing their milk, the girls rinsed out their dishes. “May we be excused to go play in my room, Mama?”

It’s fine by me.”

Jordan glanced at his watch. “Yvette, it’s later than I thought. As soon as Mrs. Moretti and I finish our meal and clean up, you and I are going home.”

The pout.

Not again, young lady. No arguments this time.”

Her face fell. “Yes, Papa.”

When they were alone, Mariella was at a loss for words. So they finished the meal in silence but then they had no excuses. Pushing her bowl away, she saw him scowl at his. “Would you like some more?”

No, thank you.”

Would you like to talk?”

His chair was adjacent to hers and he braced his arms on the table. “What would we talk about?”

Our...interaction in the snow.”

His expression was full of remorse. “I apologize for overstepping.”

As far as I’m concerned, you didn’t.”

I was on top of you, I touched you like...”

You wanted to be my lover?”

I’m your teacher, Mariella.” She adored the way her first name rolled off his tongue. “A relationship between us is unconscionable.”

That is an issue.”

And I’m fourteen years older than you. That’s an even bigger problem.”

Jordan, what would you do, what would you want us to do, if the former didn’t exist? Because as far as I’m concerned, age means nothing.”

Ah, ma petite, you’ve hardly experienced life.”

Fueled by frustration, anger surfaced. “Don’t call me a child’s nickname. I’m a grown woman.”

Pushing back his chair, he stretched out his legs and folded his arms over his chest. That body language was his answer.

Let me fill you in on some details. When I was thirteen, I was betrothed to a boy the same age. It was when Papá insisted on arranged marriages.”

In this day and age?”

He rescinded his decision when my oldest sister’s marriage turned abusive. She’d been promised to the abuser, but had fallen in love with somebody else in the U.S.”

Amazing.”

Anyway, I started sleeping with Arturo at fifteen because we thought, what the hell, we’re getting married anyway. We also were crazy in love already. By seventeen, our relationship developed into serious, deep adult love. He was a good man.”

I know you lost him.”

I’m only telling you this because of the point you made about our ages. I’m older than my years.”

Because he died?”

Partly, but I also got pregnant at seventeen, so we married at eighteen. I had Lilliana six months after we were wed.”

Your parents allowed all this?”

We ran off together to get married. When we returned, and the king started to grumble about what we’d done, Arturo reminded him that he was the one who arranged our marriage, so there was no reason to be angry.” She laughed remembering the expression on Papá’s face.

When Lilliana was six months old, Arturo was at the restaurant he ran with his family and a stove blew up in his face. He died after five excruciating days.”

And you were so young.”
“I got older by the day.” She sighed. “I finished university in Casarina’s capital city and at twenty moved to the U.S. where my sisters were.”

How did your parents take that?”

They were not happy. But Mama realized I needed a new start, so they allowed it. Besides, I promised to come back after law school.”

He remained silent.

So, Jordan, for most young women, my age is too young to get involved with a thirty-eight-year-old man. But I’ve already lived one lifetime.”

Even if I could accept our age differences, there are grave concerns over professional ethics.”

She held his gaze. “I see options. We hold off dating until April, when school is over.”

Or?”

It’s simple. We sneak around.”

No, I won’t do that to you. And that’s a hard line for me.”

Then it’s decided. We’ll be friends until April. When I graduate, we’re clear to date.” She gave him the most lascivious smile she could manage. “I look forward to...us, together.”

All right, Jezebel. I’ll consider the idea.”