The Direction of the Wind: A Novel(62)

Here she had been in the city she’d dreamed of as sacred, and now she had fully felt the weight of those words as she realized that, like a crow, she would be black no matter what city or country she was in. She wondered if this darkness had always been inside of her and Paris had just unleashed that beast, or if Paris and her dreams for a different life had created the monster. She no longer saw any good inside of her. The emptiness in her now made her realize that the unhappiness she’d felt in India was only the tip of the iceberg. She wondered if she had been so evil in a past life that this one was her penance. Whatever the reason, a part of her felt she deserved what was happening to her. A part of her wondered if she would ever feel joy or light again. Had she even earned that right? A part of her knew that the best thing she had done for her daughter was take that darkness away from her.



“You’re back.” Mathieu sounded relieved and smiled as she closed the front door to their apartment behind her. “It’s not just to get your suitcase, is it?” His eyes flickered with worry.

She tossed the keys onto the counter and sat across from him at the bistro table. “You said you wanted to talk yesterday, so talk.”

He nodded, as though he understood he had one chance.

“I do not expect you to forgive me in a single day, and you were right that things had gotten very difficult for us. The drugs were too much. We came together because of a shared love for our craft, and I want to get back to that place.” He gestured to his easel and rose to bring her the canvas from it. “I’ve started painting again.”

Nita looked at the portrait he had started of her, sitting in the bistro, the day he had approached her and they had gone to the Luxembourg Gardens for the first time. She couldn’t help but smile as she thought about that day.

“It’s nice,” she said, not knowing what else there was to say about a painting of herself.

“I have a beautiful subject,” Mathieu said, smiling fondly at her. “I was worried about you last night. Where did you go?”

Nita said the only thing she could think of and the thing she should have done in the first place. “Le Canard Volant.”

Mathieu nodded. “I don’t want to worry for you like that again. Please come home, and we will find a way to work through this. I will sleep here until you are ready.” He gestured toward the sofa.

Exhaustion took Nita’s body and mind. She didn’t have better options, especially now that she’d ruined her friendship with Simon.

“I will stay for a couple nights, and we can see what makes sense from there.”

Mathieu could not contain his smile.

“But you are sleeping on the sofa,” Nita added.





39


SOPHIE


2019


The next day Sophie brings Cecile a cup of tea while she sits at the reception desk.

“Could I speak to you for a minute?” Sophie asks.

Cecile sips the tea and nods. “Of course. What do you need? Is it about the young man who was here yesterday?” Her eyes light up at the possibility of romantic intrigue.

Sophie heads toward the purple couch where she sat with Cecile the day they met, and Cecile follows her. Sophie takes a deep breath.

“No, it’s not about him. I was not honest with you before,” she says softly.

Cecile straightens her shoulders and puts the tea on the stained coffee table. “About what?”

“About Nita.” Sophie rubs her hands together in her lap. “She’s not my aunt.”

Cecile’s eyes narrow. “But why did you—”

“She’s my mother.”

Her eyes now widen. “Why not say that?”

Sophie’s face falls, the weight of her story coming down on her. “Because it is hard to admit. I was told she had died when I was young and only just found out that she wasn’t dead . . . she just left us and came here.”

Cecile puts a hand on Sophie’s leg. “Oh, child.”

Sophie meets her eyes. “You didn’t know she had a daughter?” Her voice has hope that Nita had at least mentioned she existed.

“I’m sure whatever happened must have been hard on her too,” Cecile says.

Tears slide down Sophie’s cheeks. Cecile’s answer confirms her fears. In Nita’s new life in France, Sophie did not exist. They sit quietly, with Sophie’s sniffling the only sound, but it is not an uncomfortable silence. It is a heavy but necessary one.

Finally, she says, “It is true that my papa died. Nita’s husband. I don’t have anyone left in this world, and I need to find her.”

Cecile squeezes her hand.

“Is there anything else you can remember about her? Anything at all?” Sophie asks. “I’ve gone to the bistro where she used to work and found the apartment she moved into after staying here. All of them have been dead ends. People remember her but don’t know where she is now. Most haven’t seen her for many years, it seems.”

Cecile shakes her head. “I wish I could be of more help. We really lost touch after she moved in with her boyfriend.”

Sophie cringes and suspects she will always have that reaction when hearing Nita had a boyfriend.

Cecile takes her hand again. “I’m sorry, Sophie. No matter what you hear about her life in Paris, I’m sure it doesn’t say anything about how much she loved you.”