Spectacle(66)

They met at the entrance, bubbling with hellos and hugs and cheek kisses. A waiter seated them inside the restaurant and presented them with menus.

“You seem so refreshed!” said Nathalie. “If Summer were a sixteen-year-old Parisian girl, she would look like you.”

Agnès’s dirty blond hair had grown lighter over the summer, and her peachy skin was a few sun-kissed shades darker than usual. Her clear blue eyes sparkled more than ever, and her pink cotton dress with white peonies framed her summer look perfectly. Nathalie was suddenly aware of her own drab hair and sunburned cheeks.

“Thank you,” said Agnès, beaming. “And that dress of yours is divine. I like the yellow, but I especially like the beadwork. If you weren’t so much taller than me, I’d be asking to wear it.”

Nathalie made a mental note to ask Maman to show her how to make a similar dress for Agnès. If she had a few months to work on it, she could give it to her for Christmas.

“I brought you something,” said Agnès excitedly.

“Oh!” Nathalie’s eyes lit up. “One of those violet-flavored candies?”

Agnès’s face darkened. “I was supposed to bring you two somethings. That was to be the first. But Roger the Rascal got into my bag and took the candies I’d bought you.”

“He plays his role as aggravating younger brother well, doesn’t he?”

“Too well,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Fortunately your inedible gift fared much better.”

Agnès reached into her bag. She pulled out a bluish-green jar, similar in size and shape to what Maman used for jam, and handed it to Nathalie. “Since you couldn’t come to the beach, I brought the beach to you.”

“And I don’t even need a hat! Good, because they’re bothersome,” said Nathalie with a laugh. Inside the jar was sand and seashells. She took out the three reddish-gold shells, not yet bleached from the sun, and ran her fingertips over the delicate ridges. “What stories these could tell.” She then pinched a few grains of sand and let them sift through her fingers. It wasn’t the coarse sand and gravel of Paris. It was finer, subtly multicolored, and complex.

The waiter interrupted them to ask for their orders. Neither had read the menu yet, so they made their selections hastily—quiche au fromage for each of them—and continued talking before the waiter even left the table.

Agnès leaned in. “We had a family picnic on the beach at Deauville. Which, as enticing as that sounds, amounts to sand in your food, no matter what.” She wiped off her empty plate to demonstrate. “I scooped that up from beside our blanket.”

“Thank you, Agnès.” Nathalie was touched that Agnès had done her best to connect her to the holiday she was supposed to have shared with her. “That means a lot.”

“Don’t thank me too much. It’s only a temporary gift. You have to give it back next year.”

Nathalie raised her eyebrows.

“Not to me. To the beach itself. I want you to bring it when we go next summer. Pour it out on the beach and get some of your own!” She laughed her Agnès laugh, one that sounded like gemstones clinking in a wineglass.

Nathalie smiled. She didn’t know if she’d be able to go on holiday with Agnès next summer; it would depend on Maman’s ability to work and money and a host of other things. Yet she didn’t want Agnès to think otherwise, not for a moment. “That’s a delightful idea. I promise to do exactly that.”

The waiter came over with their meals shortly thereafter. The egg and cheese on the buttery, rich crust were fresh and flavorful, and the dish was perfectly cooked. As they ate, the conversation turned from the carefree talk of Agnès’s one-day beau from Rouen to the heaviness of Nathalie’s visions, the Dark Artist, and the Insightfuls. Nathalie apologized yet again for keeping Agnès in the dark and more than made up for it, telling her everything that had happened since that first touch of the glass.

“You’re blessed, Nathalie,” Agnès said, her voice measured with awe. “I don’t care how you obtained this gift. Don’t worry—I’ll never tell my parents any of this. I don’t share their perspective, as you can guess. Your power is incredible. It’s meaningful. You’re doing great things as a journalist already. And you’re going to do great things with your gift.”

“You are too good to me,” Nathalie said with a warm smile. “I’ve given up my gift, though. And you know how it was with those Henard experiments. Sometimes the magical ability fades away or changes.”

Agnès shook her head. “It’s still there. If you want it and need it, you reach inside for it. It’s become such an intimate part of you so quickly that I bet it will never leave.” She tucked her hair behind her ear as she paused. “It’s who you are, even if you don’t use it. Like a flower that disappears into the soil over the winter. It’s still a flower.”

Nathalie had never thought about it that way. The analogy was sweet and comforting. She could say the same of her friendship with Agnès, too.

They spent the rest of the day together, even making a trip to the morgue. (Christophe was just leaving the display room and didn’t see them. Nathalie pointed him out all the same, admitting her fondness for him. “What are you waiting for?” Agnès asked.) After the morgue they shared a pain au chocolat at Café Maxime, as was their custom. Agnès was in such good spirits that she began to sing. She had a voice like a songbird and was a choir member at Notre-Dame, but she didn’t sing church music now. No, Agnès playfully sang some traditional French songs, got Nathalie to join in, and got the people at the neighboring table to sing along. Soon half the café was singing and laughing.