“You look good.”
“So do you.”
For a long moment, neither of us spoke. The past had left a lingering impression that was hard to forget. The good, the bad, and the ugly. We were unhealthily bonded by a secret that could destroy us. Maybe it already had a little. Or maybe the fusion of souls, of stories, that had occurred on that stormy night in January had been the beginning.
One of the elderly greeters approached to inform us that the show was about to begin, asking us to find our seats.
When she wandered off, Dominique cleared his throat. “Will you come for dinner after?”
“To your house?”
“I bought steaks. I didn’t want to be presumptuous, but…” He shrugged. “No pressure. I’ll understand if you have to leave.”
I considered, but really, hadn’t I already dedicated myself to this path when I left Ottawa? “Sure. I’d like that.”
His smile was faint and tentative, but it melted something inside me that hadn’t thawed since that January snowstorm.
“I missed you,” he said.
From behind a lump in my throat, I whispered, “I missed you too.”
Dominique held out a hand. An offering. To what? A new beginning? A fresh start?
I took it and he weaved his fingers with mine, guiding me to the auditorium. Hand in hand, I followed him down the aisle toward the front and our reserved seats. Dominique never released his grip. He clung, and for the first time in six months, I felt grounded.
The show was exactly what one might expect of children under twelve. Some groups were more organized and graceful than others, syncing their movements with greater skill. The youngest groups, Cosette’s in particular, reminded me of a frightened flock of chickens I’d seen on a farm once, running around squawking and flapping their tutus, spinning with such delight I feared they might twirl right off the end of the stage.
Dominique buried his face in his hands and laughed when Cosette spotted me and broke from her ensemble to run to the front of the stage, shouting, “Kobe!” She pointed and waved. “Papa, Kobe y’est là. R’garde!”
I motioned for her to keep dancing as Dominique shrank in his seat, still chuckling. “I didn’t tell her you were coming,” he whispered. “I didn’t know if you would.”
After the show, Cosette leaped into my arms with a squeal of delight, chattering away in French as she pinched my face between her tiny hands so I wouldn’t look away. She was a breath of life, and after so many dark and uncertain days, I soaked it up, listening to her endless tales of biking with Papa, going to the park, and all the friends she had at her new daycare.
When she finally ran out of gas, we headed out. I followed Dominique to a quaint house at the end of a quiet cul-de-sac with a backyard that overlooked the St. Lawrence River. A backyard I recognized from the photographs he’d sent in the spring. The dandelions were gone, but the view was more stunning in real life.
“This is gorgeous,” I said as Dominique exited the house with two cold beers and a plate containing massive T-bone steaks, vegetable skewers, and a few cold wieners.
“Thank you. I paid too much for it, but I was desperate.”
By unspoken agreement, we didn’t talk aboutbefore. It saturated the air we breathed, but the consensus seemed to be that it was best left in the past.
Dominique put the food on the grill, adjusting the heat. We lounged on deck chairs, our gazes fixed on the horizon. The sun sank low in the sky. A vibrant burst of color reflected off the water: oranges, golds, and smears of rose.
Cosette played in a pink Little Tikes plastic house with a collection of dolls she dragged from her bedroom. She wore her tutu but, on Dominique’s insistence, had changed to running shoes.
“She’s getting big,” I observed.
“She turned three in June.”
“Time flies.”
“Too fast some days. How’s Émeric?”
“Away at summer camp. He wanted to go so badly, but Delphine couldn’t afford it, so I paid for him to attend for two weeks.”
“You’re a good man, Kobe.”
I said nothing, ever conflicted. People, by nature, drew definitive lines between right and wrong. They thought in absolutes. I had always blurred the line. Bent the rules.
