The Direction of the Wind: A Novel(51)

“Did she leave a forwarding address or anything? Maybe for her paychecks?”

Laurent laughs again. “I paid her cash on her last day, just like all the other times. We were not such a formal system back then. Not so many rules and regulations. Pas trop d’avocats. Pas trop de règles.” His expression suggests he preferred those times.

Sophie feels so dejected and realizes she must be wearing it on her face, because Laurent reaches out to rub her shoulder to comfort her.

“You know, my wife yells at me for hoarding all the paperwork for decades, but I think I might have her address where she lived at the time in the employee files. Wait here.”

He disappears into the kitchen, and Sophie wrings her hands in anticipation of finding another lead and praying this one is not yet another dead end. Laurent is gone for over ten minutes before the black door with the round window swings back open and he emerges victorious, waving a piece of paper.

“Nita’s employment application. It has an address. Looks to be in the Marais. Maybe the people there have a forwarding address for her.”

He hesitates with the paper in his hand and looks at Sophie. “You resemble her. She is your family, no?”

Sophie manages a smile and nods. “Many people say that.”

Laurent puts the piece of paper on the counter between them. “The laws say I should not be sharing this with you, but if I leave this old form here and you take it, I suppose there is not much I can do.” He gives Sophie a gentle smile.

She searches his eyes before grabbing the paper and clutching it to her chest. It is the best news she could have possibly expected from this small round man with the shiny head. She could hug him but holds herself back.

“Monsieur, you have been such a big help. I cannot thank you enough!”

“De rien. I’m always happy to help a pretty lady in need.” He winks at her in a good-natured, grandfatherly way, and she practically skips out of the restaurant.





32


NITA


1999


That night Nita lay in the bed in her private room at Le Canard Volant. The walls were thin, so she could hear the British girls stumble in drunkenly in the middle of the night and proceed to chatter on endlessly. Nita was relieved she had some distance between them. Rajiv’s letter lay on her stomach, still unopened. She touched the gold bangles on her wrist, trying to remember what it had felt like to be safe and secure and know exactly what the next day held. She’d been bored in that life, but right now she would have given anything to go back to being bored.

The difference between leaving Rajiv and leaving Mathieu had been that the first time she’d had a plan. Tonight, however, she’d just stormed off, and she knew she needed to go back to that apartment at least one more time, and she was more than likely to run into Mathieu when she did. But she had to brave it. She had left behind the only things that mattered: her photographs and paintings of Sophie. She could not bear to leave those, could not comprehend walking away from her daughter a second time.



The next day, she contemplated her options and concluded that even though Simon had been Mathieu’s friend first, he was the only person she could go to. With Dao out of town, he was her only real friend in the city. She walked to his apartment in the second arrondissement and hit the call button at the main door. After a harsh buzz, she heard his familiar American accent. He sounded surprised when she said who it was. She and Mathieu had stopped by Simon’s building several times, on their way either to or from a drinking bender, but she had never been inside his home.

It was a small one-bedroom apartment, nothing fancy, but vastly cleaner than the one she and Mathieu had shared. Nita had constantly tried to keep their place tidy, but with Mathieu in his funk for these past months, it was hard to maintain any order amid the chaos of his binges.

Simon’s home, on the other hand, had everything in a specific place. Except for a coat and sweater thrown over the back of the two dining chairs around his bistro table, there wasn’t a thing out of place. He immediately reached for those two items.

“I’m sorry,” he said, lifting them and moving them to the armoire near the front door. “I hadn’t expected company . . .” His voice trailed off as if he was not sure why she was there.

“There is nothing to apologize for. You should see our place,” she mumbled, perching on the edge of the couch.

Just mentioning their apartment brought back the scene from the day before, and her face fell.

“What’s the matter?” Simon rushed to sit next to her, his brow furrowed.

She shook her head, unable to get out any words.

“Where’s Mathieu? Is he okay?”

Nita clenched her fists at hearing his name. “He’s an asshole, is what he is.”

Simon’s eyes widened at hearing her words and tone. She had never used such language around him. In fact, until yesterday, she hadn’t really used such language at all. It was the one vice she hadn’t yet picked up from Mathieu.

She stared at the wooden planks arranged in a chevron pattern on the floor and said, “I came home yesterday and found him—”

She couldn’t finish the sentence, but she saw in Simon’s eyes that she didn’t need to. He put an arm around her shoulders and whispered “I’m so sorry” into her ear.