The guy is one of a kind.
Leaving Henri’s side, he praises Audrey who’s killing it at the pull-up bar and then strides over to Virginie. His stance is menacing, and it’s obvious why. The retired librarian has so far been more interested in the wildflowers than in his demo. Yannorders her to do five squats. Virginie counters she’d rather not, but he isn’t having it.
“Ireallycan’t,” she insists. “As a child, I fell off the garage roof. That accident left me with a hip socket that doesn’t fully cover the ball part of the upper thighbone. I can walk normally, but I don’t have a range of motion sufficient to do squats.”
Hand on his heart, he nods an apology. “Understood. You should’ve said so at once.”
“Hip dysplasia, right?” I ask Virginie.
“That’s right,” she confirms with a smile. “How come you know the term? Anyone in the family?”
“My best friend Sophie has the same issue,” I say. “Since childhood, just like you.”
“How did she get hers?”
“Sophie and I were playing in her amazing tree house, and she fell out of it. It wasn’t very high, but she landed badly,” I explain. “Since then, there are certain motions she can’t do.”
Virginie gives me a wink. “I hope it wasn’t you who pushed her?”
“Oh no,” I assure her. “But I was punished, regardless.”
She knits her eyebrows. “Why? How?”
“I was dying for a tree house of my own in our garden, and I was supposed to get one for my birthday. But after Sophie’s unfortunate fall, my parents changed their minds. Not only did Inotget my dream tree house, I was no longer allowed to climb trees.”
Yann cocks his head. “No injuries then, right?”
“Right.”
“Do three sets of five reps of squats, and then three sets of five inclined push-ups,” he orders me. “And, if you’re as fit as your friend Audrey, you can then?—”
“I’m not,” I say quickly, dropping into a squat.
Over the next hour, Yann makes everyone work out to the best of their ability and, in Audrey’s case, to her heart’s content. A mix of groans, cheers, and unsolicited wisdom from Yann provides the soundtrack for the session. We tease each other and we laugh a lot.
“So, remember,” Yann says, clapping his hands as we finish, “fitness is just like love. You put in effort and sweat, and you get sweet, sweet results.”
Emily fans herself.
My mind serves up an image from a decade ago—a naked, sweaty Henri in a plank, looking down at me after we’ve both reaped the sweet, sweet results of his efforts.
CHAPTER TWELVE
The afternoon sun is bathing everything in a warm, golden light as our group hikes toward Rocamadour. After a morning of intense writing, this hike is a welcome change. It’s also a chance to stretch our legs and soak in the natural beauty of rural France while dictating notes and taking photos.
Unlike the other day, I’m equipped for the occasion. With my Nikon slung around my neck, I capture snapshots at will to be sorted later.
In addition to the bloggers, two extra people have joined the excursion Henri has organized on this second day of the retreat. One is his friend Yann, and the other is my former one-night stand Julian. He showed up at the chateau toward the end of the lunch break. As a pretext, he produced an unoriginal “I was in the area for business and thought I’d drop by and say hi.” I don’t see what business he could have in this area—aside from me, that is.
We’re following a lovely trail flanked by vineyards that stretch out as far as the eye can see. A river called Alzou is a shimmering ribbon in the distance. Rocamadour Castle, with its incomparable allure, grows steadily closer.
The air is rich with fresh, delicious scents as we enter a segment of the trail lined with wild blackberries. It’s been a warm spring, and quite a few berries are ripe and bursting with flavor. I pop one into my mouth, relishing the explosion of tart sweetness.
Julian sidles up to me. “Beautiful day, isn’t it?”
“It’s a perfect day for this excursion,” I say, keeping my tone neutral.
“Enjoying the retreat so far?”
