if it was offered.”
“Who wouldn't want a new dress?” smiled Angel, holding out her parcel.
Lily's eyes widened. “Don't tell me you finally found it?”
“Look.” Angel parted the paper.
“OMG, it's exactly how you described it—the same colour as—”
“—the dress you were wearing the day we met.” Angel nodded. “I’ve always remembered it. It was the prettiest dress I’d ever seen.”
“You couldn’t have seen many,” objected Lily. “You were only six.”
Angel smiled, “You’re forgetting, I'd seen your mother’s entire wardrobe by the time you came down here.”
“Yes, and you looked so guilty!”
“I felt guilty. We’d only been here three weeks and I thought for sure your dad would tell Maman we had to leave.”
“No chance of that. Dad was far more likely to be mad at me for invading Simone’s privacy. He’d made me promise not to come down here bothering her.”
“And we both know you always do what your Dad tells you.”
Lily gave her a shove. “I do when he’s reasonable. Anyway, he likes us being friends. He knows what a good influence you are on me.”
This time it was Angel’s turn to shove. “Sometimes you make me sound so boring.”
“As if you’re boring! You just think about stuff. Not like me . . .”
“You do jump into things sometimes,” conceded Angel.
“Which can be a good thing, right?” asked Lily. “Like coming down here that day and knowing straight away we’d be best friends.”
“Even though I was going through your mother’s things?”
Lily looked surprised. “You weren’t hurting anyone. If my mother had been alive I don’t think she’d have minded, and all I wanted was to see the little French girl my dad had brought home with our new housekeeper.”
“I’m a quarter American,” protested Angel. “Papa grew up in France but he was born here and …” she fiddled with the velvet, “… he died here.”
Lily looked at her sadly. “I’m sorry Angel,” she whispered. “I know you miss him.”
Angel managed a tiny smile. “It’s okay. He was sick a long time.”
Lily put her arm around Angel’s shoulders. “I can’t believe it’s been four months,” she said gently. “I wish I’d been here with you when it happened.”
Angel shook her head. “You couldn’t have done anything. That was the weekend your dad came back from China. Your first real chance to see him since New Year’s.”
“True, but I would’ve given up our holiday if you’d told me about your dad.”
“I know.”
“How’s Simone?” asked Lily gently.
Angel hesitated. She still wasn’t entirely sure how her mother felt about Papa’s death. He’d been ill for so long. It was ten years since they had come to New York for the surgery they’d hoped would cure him. It had taken months and months of waiting and most of their hard-won savings before Simone had finally accepted that, despite the famous surgeon’s best efforts, her husband would never be one of his success stories. It had taken another six months to find a nursing home they could afford for as long as Papa needed care.
In the end they’d had to settle for a place three hours train ride away in upstate New York. Not that the distance had stopped Simone—it was a rare Sunday that they did not visit Angel’s dad. But since he’d been gone, it seemed to Angel as though some part of her mother had gone with him.
She sighed. “You know what Maman’s like, she keeps things inside.”
Lily nodded. “Yeah, but I thought she might’ve talked to you.”
“She has, a bit.” Angel chewed her lip. In the week after his death, Simone had talked to Angel about Papa—mostly recounting memories of their life in France when Angel was little, before the accident that ended their happiness.
Angel had been too young to remember the day the tractor had run over Papa, crushing his back and leaving him partially paralyzed. Whenever she asked Maman about it, Simone would always change the subject and talk about how good things would be when Papa was well again. She would never speak about the accident or about having to sell the vineyard or the dreadful months they’d endured with Grandpère before coming to New York. Angel soon learned not to ask.
She had hoped that Maman would tell her things—that she would overcome her sadness and talk to her about the past. Instead, Simone built a wall around her grief and locked it away. She was as loving and affectionate as ever, but she would not share her pain.
Sometimes Angel wondered if she was as stubborn as her mother.