Appearances are deceptive; ideas are free to wander, to take the path of least resistance or climb to lofty hypotheses. Grief becomes involved, yet is diluted by the joy of knowing Lucienne is still alive. A false alarm, a severe warning.
Were it not for the IV attached to her arm, the monitor busy probing the jolts of her heart and the usual muffled bustle of nurses orbiting their patients, Rémi might have imagined the worst: Lucienne lying there, dead, forgotten by the living.
The old woman’s hand is warm; Rémi will not let it grow cold. Her steady breathing confirms that the medication has taken control and that all is well, under the circumstances.
Lucienne slowly opens her eyes and smiles at Rémi.
“You weren’t sleeping?”
“Not at all, but I was dreaming!”
“Then you must be delirious. Those pills are good.”
Lucienne’s delicate laugh, another of those flattering appearances, cannot overcome the weakness of her lips.
“You frightened me, you know.”
“That’s the hundredth time you’ve told me.”
“Can I say it one more time?”
“Don’t make me cry, Rémi. I already hurt enough inside.”
“The doctor said you’d be back on your feet tomorrow.”
“I know all that, my boy, but he also told me not to move, not to worry and not to do anything. How are you gonna manage? Who’s gonna take care of me? I’m no good for anything anymore.”
“Come now. Don’t worry about the bakery. Stéphane will help me for a few days during the busy hours, until I find my footing. And as for you, I told you: Irène asked her housekeeper. Everything is fine, I’m telling you.”
Rémi’s comforting words do not seem to soothe Lucienne.
“I spoke to Marthe on the phone. She arrives tomorrow. She would like to take you back to Ireland with her.”
Lucienne’s eyes widen. From the subtle play of her irises, Rémi understands that she is both happy and worried.
“You’ll be back on your feet tomorrow, Lucienne,” he repeats. “The doctor said so. It wasn’t anything serious, but you have to stop overworking yourself. I didn’t think inviting you to work at the bakery would have this effect.”
She frees her hand to reverse their roles, enclosing Rémi’s to tell him not to worry.
“Come on, you think I didn’t know what I was doing? I’ve been taking heart pills for seven years. These spells of mine didn’t start yesterday.”
“You hid that from me.”
“There are plenty of things I hide. What did Marthe say?”
“That she never should’ve left you alone.”
“Pfff!”
Lucienne falls silent while a nurse asks whether everything is all right and makes sure the various pieces of medical equipment are performing the tasks entrusted to them.
“That’s Marthe all over, regretting things afterwards.”
“We all do that a little, don’t we?”
Lucienne pats his hand again.
“I know. How long have I been here?”
“Almost twenty-four hours.”
“Everything went well at the bakery?”
“Yes, it was quiet. It rained all day.”
“I didn’t want it to happen this way, Rémi.”
“Hey, now, settle down, okay?” he says, pointing at Lucienne’s heart.
She sighs.
“So this is where I am now. The doctor said I lost too much weight all at once, that my heart is more fragile. Two years ago, they were congratulating me for losing weight! For goodness’ sake! Can you give me a glass of water? Thank you, my boy. I’m not sure I wanna go to Ireland.”
“Think of it as a holiday. You’ll have time to talk with Marthe. She isn’t going back immediately. First, we have to get you a new passport, and she wants to settle matters with the manor.”
“She told me she liked your letter very much.”
“Did she cry, at least?”
“What?”
“When I told her I loved her.”
“I don’t know; she didn’t tell me.”
“And you, did you cry when I fell?”
“Good God, Lucienne.”
He buries his head in the sheets. Lucienne strokes his hair.
“You see, my boy, that’s love.”