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It has been a good day – the late-autumn weather grey but dry and not too cold. Nicolas was happy to spend most of the afternoon at the park, which had allowed Genevieve to finish her book. She has always hated to have to put a mystery down near the ending.
By the time they get back to the flat, the thin light makes their corner of Montreal look dark and heavy. It’s a comfort to lock the door behind them, turn on all the lights, and drink a cup of cocoa. Afterward, Nicholas lies on the rug in the front room, drawing pictures while Genevieve carefully writes down everything they’ve done so far today.
“What are you drawing, cheri?”
Nicholas grins up at her, with exactly one gap in his little teeth, though he promises that two more are “really definitely” loose. The light glinting off his hair is bright as a copper saucepan.
“I’m drawing pictures about our day. Like you write in your book, Geni! For Maman.”
“That’s a marvelous idea! She will love it.”
“Do you think she will visit us soon?”
“I hope so, cheri.”
But his mother has been all over the news lately, all over the internet. Genevieve is careful to shield Nicholas from such things. They only watch old movies, science programs, and children’s shows. He is just this close to reading on his own, so they spend whole days reading together “for practice.” Nicholas is very serious about his reading practice.
The woman on the TV and the computer looks so different from the employer Genevieve knows: stone-faced and sad-eyed. All business and danger, with some truly alarming things to say about the US government. Nothing about the Canadian government so far. Genevieve finds that woman distressing.
Genevieve and Nicholas have love and quiet, but his mother is the one who brings the fun. She has an enormous smile, with dimples, and she crinkles her nose. She brings gifts and laughter. She wears silly hats on their adventures around Montreal. She should come. She should wipe that cold expression from her pretty young face and the sadness out of her eyes. Such a shame, to place the world’s burdens on those little shoulders.
It’s soup for supper, to ward off the chill: chicken, vegetables, and just a touch of cream.
Genevieve always makes enough supper for three. Just in case. And anyway, it means they have a nice lunch if the supper only has to stretch for two. But three is better.
And there is the sound of key in the door. To the lock that only has two keys. Supper for three.
Nicholas jumps to his feet with a smile almost too big for his face to contain.
“Maman!”
There are the dimples, the crinkled nose. There are two red heads bowed close together.
“Hello,” Natasha says, “my love, my love.”