“Milo?” said Nora hoarsely, taking a step outside and pulling the door closed behind her to conceal from her unexpected visitor the sight of a body lying in the entryway.
The young man waved the business card awkwardly at her by way of explanation.
“Nora, I’m sorry to disturb you. I was wondering if Inès is around? I wanted to talk to her about something.”
“Inès?” Nora seemed so taken aback by the question that Milo somehow felt foolish for asking. But surely it wasn’t dumb to ring the doorbell of the home of the person he was looking for.
“She’s at her father’s,” said Nora, looking like she’d seen a ghost.
“Actually, that’s what I wanted to talk to her about. Her father was over at our place, about twenty minutes ago...” Milo noticed streaks of mascara on Nora’s cheeks; there were dark rings around her eyes, and they were red from crying. She looked a wreck.
“Are you okay?”
Nora stared at him as if the question were absurd.
“Absolutely!” she said eventually, forcing herself to pull herself together. Then she fell silent again. Milo, shocked by his friend’s mother’s terrible appearance, felt increasingly uneasy. Here was an adult who clearly needed help, but he felt totally powerless to do anything.
There was the sound of a car slowing down and they both turned to see someone pulling into a parking spot a little farther up the road. To Nora’s relief it was Mathilde, who eventually managed to maneuver the car into the tight space, then grabbed her purse, opened the door, climbed out of the car, and ran to Nora’s house. Seeing Milo on the sidewalk, she tried to figure out her friend’s frame of mind. The panic on Nora’s face left her in no doubt: it was clearly not the boy’s lucky day. Nora was looking at Mathilde with an imploring expression like a silent cry for help, as if she were begging.
Mathilde was caught off guard. She reached the house and smiled reassuringly at Nora and Milo. The young man stared in bewilderment from one to the other until Nora found the strength to give him a smile.
“I’ll tell Inès you dropped by to see her. Have a nice evening, Milo.”
Milo understood he was being dismissed and, in truth, was deeply relieved. He said goodbye, turned, and went back into his house.
Mathilde and Nora waited until the Geniots’ front door swung closed, then Nora fell into her friend’s arms as if she no longer had the strength to stand.
“What is going on, Nora?” Mathilde asked, holding her. “Where’s Gérard?”
Nora nodded miserably at her house. Mathilde slowly pulled away from her friend and, with her hands on her shoulders, looked her in the eye.
“You mean...?”
Nora could only nod feverishly.
Mathilde gulped. “He’s dead?”
Nora lowered her eyes in response.
“Oh no!” whispered Mathilde with a horrified sigh. “What happened? No, wait, don’t tell me here. Let’s go inside.”
“No!”
Nora instinctively stepped away from the house. Mathilde gave her an apprehensive look.
“Fine. Let’s go sit in the car.”
She put one arm around her friend’s shoulders and guided her to the car. They got in, shut the doors, and Nora began to give Mathilde a rambling account of what had happened, her words tumbling over one another incoherently, forming sentences whose meaning was vague, obliging Mathilde to interrupt her every so often for clarification. After ten minutes or so, Mathilde had a sketchy outline of what had happened.
For several minutes the two women sat in silence, as if time had congealed into a sort of insipid purgatory. Before the descent into hell.
After a while Mathilde put an end to this strange, leaden state of penance.
“You have to call the police.”
Nora looked horrified. “You don’t really think that!” she exclaimed, bursting into loud sobs.
“It’s your only hope,” said Mathilde firmly. “You were defending yourself. Gérard had no reason to be in your house. He threatened you. All you did was protect yourself!”
