the Catchfly. They think he’s a man with an expensive car.’ Gérard’s voice was still in my head, and my stomach turned from the unsettling tone of his sincerity, a stark contrast to the newspaper and how he talked about the Catchfly. ‘All right?’
Mama had her head down, shaggy hair hanging over her eyes.
‘Mama?’ I said, and she pulled back the clump.
‘What are you going to do?’ she said, and I shook my head. ‘What does Luc say?’
‘Luc?’ I said, surprised she’d brought him up.
‘Don’t give me that song and dance, like you don’t know who I’m talking about. I know that pendant is from him. But I don’t expect you to admit it.’
I put my hand to my chest, feeling the heart necklace under my dress, wondering what Mama would say if she knew we had plans to marry. The words were on the tip of my tongue, but I dare not even hint of it. ‘You know Luc, Mama. He comes and goes. It’s the Résistance—there are no set schedules.’
‘He’d tell you to take heed if he were here, not paint for a while,’ she said. ‘Promise me you won’t paint for a while. Wait for it to die down.’
I nodded. ‘I won’t paint,’ I said. ‘I promise.’
She seemed relieved, taking a breath and sitting back. ‘And Gérard?’ she said. ‘The timing of that man. I’m surprised he didn’t demand you accompany him to the dinner. Very surprised, especially if he thinks you’re still his fiancée.’
I sat quiet and still, petting the dog’s head. If I told her he invited me, she might tell me to go to keep his temper in check, but I just couldn’t. Everything was different now, with Luc and our engagement.
Mama brushed breadcrumbs from the table linen and gave them to the dog. ‘Anything from your father?’ she said as the dog licked from her palm.
‘Last time I talked to Papa about your letter he had tucked it in his pocket. That was months ago.’
‘Mmm.’ Mama reached for her cigarettes, but all that was left in her metal case were a few shreds of tobacco. She shook the case close to her eyes as if one might be hiding in the rusty hinge. Then she scooted her chair away from the table and walked to the kitchen counter, catching herself from running into the cupboard.
‘Are you all right?’ The dog jumped from my lap when I stood.
‘Yes,’ she said, putting a hand to her head. ‘I have a headache because I don’t have any more cigarettes. The Germans took all the cigarettes. Just like they took France. My husband and my daughter, and my grandchildren. I invited her to visit today so we could talk. I got up early from my nap and waited, but Charlotte never showed.’
She gripped the sink’s edge, looking out the kitchen window. Spring blossoms had fallen from the trees outside and speckled the ground with spots of pink, the branches swaying as much as Mama’s linens used to, when she had the soap to clean them. In the distance, and completely unobstructed, was the all too painful reminder of Papa’s forgotten vineyard, which had turned into a mass of tangled brown knots.
‘Albert, goddamn you.’ Her voice quivered as she spoke and then she hung her head down, sniffling, waving at me to leave the room, but I put my hands on her shoulders instead.
‘It’s not your fault, Mama.’ She looked as haggard as Charlotte and appeared more broken than ever without Papa. I started to wonder how much longer she could last. It was possible, I thought, that even Mama had a breaking point. ‘It’s the war.’
She kissed my hand and put it to her cheek. ‘The war,’ she breathed.
Mama went back to bed. The chamomile I had been drying in the windowsill wasn’t ready, but I used it anyway, warming up a kettle of water to have a cup of tea. The dog watched me, probably thinking I had food, as I dunked the tea strainer into the steaming water, trying to get it to turn.
The garden was green with weeds, but when I looked out the window and off into the horizon, I couldn’t tell they were weeds. I thought about Mama waking up from her nap, waiting for Charlotte to come for a visit and then the disappointment she must have felt when she didn’t. My eyes trailed off to the garden once more, and then back to the tea strainer, dunking it in and