Nora felt her throat tighten. The way he was looking at her, the tone of his voice, warm, soft, and deep; the way he offered her coffee, with an intonation that blended confidence and hope...
“That’s so kind, but no. Nassim’s waiting for me to carry on our match.”
“Got it. An herbal tea, maybe?”
Nora burst out laughing. The hope in Sylvain’s voice had become a plea, as if he were begging her not to leave.
She felt the same warmth inside that she had felt in his presence a few days earlier, but this time it was much more pronounced. As were the signals he was sending out, which no longer left room for doubt.
Nora looked at him with an ardent expression, almost imploring, that said, “Please, don’t insist, I’m not sure—” Not sure of what? If she wanted it, or would be able to resist? The previous Tuesday—the day she’d come by to pick up Nassim when he was actually at her house—when Sylvain had mentioned that he and Tiphaine were having problems, and she’d told him she knew what that was like, they had both fallen silent and their eyes had locked...those few seconds of quiet had felt surreal, outside time. She had seen in Sylvain’s expression all the desire she provoked in him, and she felt a desire that was just as powerful. That feeling of time standing still, of everything else being meaningless, pointless...
She hadn’t stopped thinking about that moment for three days, those few seconds of eternity that had set her icy heart beating once more, after so many years.
And the implacable guilt of desiring a married man, only to have to face Tiphaine’s smile and her kindness; she had picked up Nassim from school and brought him back home, looked after him all afternoon, helped him with his homework, and even made soup for supper...how she had hated herself for her guilty thoughts, despised herself for the forbidden desire filling her throat, her breast, and her gut with corrosive, almost painful confusion.
But the truth was she didn’t care at all.
Standing there in front of Sylvain, she was filled with an overwhelming urge to embrace him. She could have tried to resist, like the decent person she was, but she knew it wasn’t worth trying. If she managed to avoid the inevitable, she knew she would regret it her whole life. Whatever the consequences, what was about to happen would be worth all the soul searching in the world.
She didn’t have to do anything. Before she even realized what was happening, Sylvain was leaning toward her, then he brushed her lips with a shy kiss. Nora held her breath. Because she didn’t draw back, Sylvain moved closer, and the next kiss was more palpable, more confident. She closed her eyes and tilted her head up to his, so that she could look at him and relish his presence. She felt his warm breath. Shivers ran up and down her body. They kissed, very gently and unhurriedly, and both knew that this moment would remain engraved on their memories for a long time to come. It awakened in both of them emotions whose existence they had forgotten. It was an extraordinary, tender kiss that conveyed both sadness and a mutual thirst for joy; a kiss that lasted for a long time; a kiss to which both gave as much as they received. And when at last their lips parted, because it had to end at some point, they looked at each other and recognized in each other’s eyes that tiny gleam of trust that each was feeling.
Chapter 27
It was a turbulent night for certain inhabitants of the two row houses in rue Edmond-Petit. Nora, in a confused state of euphoria, took a long time to get to sleep, playing that stolen kiss over again and again in her mind, all the while brooding ruefully over her guilty desire.
In the next bedroom, Inès was sleeping peacefully, a happy teenager’s beatific smile on her lips.
But on the other side of the wall Sylvain lay, eyes wide, a feeble onlooker to the pitiless struggle between his heart and his mind, his complicated feelings for Nora filling his thoughts. He couldn’t find a way out of the maze of his tangled emotions, the sour tang of guilt, the sweet delight of these new feelings; he was engulfed by a desperate desire to see his neighbor again, and distraught about what he knew would be the inevitable consequence. Tiphaine was not only the woman with whom he had shared his life for seventeen years, and to whom he had bound his destiny for better or for worse...she was also his accomplice, the two of them keepers of a terrible secret.
For years now they had not been able to count on anyone but each other to take the edge, even faintly, off their grief and their guilt. He knew their marriage was the only reliable guarantee of their mutual security: they had to trust each other blindly, and the slightest betrayal would put them both in danger.
And more important than anything else, in the middle of all this there was Milo, the child to whom life had been so cruel. Sometimes Sylvain could barely look him in the eye as they sat opposite each other at the Ranch restaurant on a Monday evening after basketball practice, when the boy nodded at him in gratitude or gave him an affectionate smile. What would happen should he ever find out the truth? At the very thought of it, Sylvain felt a shudder of distress. Not for himself, of course. The guilt and remorse that had eaten him up for the last eight years was worse than any punishment the human system of justice could mete out. But if Milo ever were to find out what had really happened...
Sylvain shut his eyes, preferring to ignore the dark void into which the boy would collapse once and for all were he to find out the truth. If Sylvain were to leave Tiphaine for a new life, it would be tantamount to shattering the fragile equilibrium that kept them all safe.
However he looked at the situation, the one thing Sylvain knew for sure was that leaving Tiphaine wasn’t an option. And yet it was the thing he wanted to do most in the world. To leave behind all the guilt of a sin that no amount of atonement would ever undo. To forget the shame, the suffering, the past. Knowing that a better future might once have been possible made the present even more unbearable.
Eventually he fell into a troubled sleep, tormented by dreams and nightmares, vain hopes, and certain despair.
Tiphaine was woken by the sound of whimpering. She rushed into Milo’s bedroom. The boy was bathed in sweat, and seemed to be battling invisible demons beneath the sheets. She sat on the bed and tried to calm him, but she realized, despite his jerky movements, that he was still asleep.
At a loss, she thought she might try to wake him, but the moment she touched him his movements intensified, and she couldn’t get close to him in case he hit her in the face. And then, amid the confusion, the young man began to speak in scattered words and broken sentences.
“No! Not that...Inès...Stop...Leave me alone! You shouldn’t. Get out!”
Horrified, Tiphaine abandoned her attempts to calm him so she could listen. Milo was thrashing about, his confused speech alternating with moans and gasps, his features twitching with dark thoughts. He kept begging Inès to leave him alone, telling her to get out, saying her name over and over in a voice that betrayed his desperation. And then, for no apparent reason, he calmed down and fell into a peaceful sleep.
Tiphaine stayed in the room for several more minutes, listening as Milo’s breath grew relaxed and regular. The ferocity of his distress disturbed her, and she wondered what could have happened between the two teenagers to provoke such a reaction. She recalled the words she had exchanged with Inès the previous day in Nora’s kitchen, wondering suddenly if it might have been a scheme to go over to see Milo. She wondered if the girl’s angelic face concealed a more complicated personality.
She tiptoed quietly back to her bedroom and slipped under the covers. In the darkness she tried to suppress the maelstrom of questions whirling around in her head, wondering what she was going to do to get some answers. She knew there was no point in trying to talk to Milo directly: the boy was not forthcoming at the best of times, and he might not even remember having had a nightmare. She would need to find another angle of attack.
The next day Milo came down to the kitchen at noon, his face crumpled from lack of sleep. Tiphaine made him some breakfast and murmured a few reassuring words. Then she sat down across from him at the table.
“Did you sleep okay?” she asked, trying to sound detached.
“Uh-uh...” he mumbled, almost as though in assent, while managing simultaneously to indicate that he didn’t want to expand on the subject, which hardly surprised Tiphaine. She didn’t push it, thinking it better to find an alternative approach.
Chapter 28
