Rising Above

by Genevieve Fortin

  “We were,” Yvonne confirmed as she glanced at the black and white wedding portrait hung on the back wall of the lobby. Melodie followed her grandmother’s gaze. She’d always loved that portrait. As a young girl she’d been fascinated with the oval golden frame and its ornate ruffled edge, but the comforting smiles of her grandparents and the undeniable love between them were what she loved most about it. Raymond Beaulieu had died of a heart attack five years earlier, but they’d been happily married and in love for close to fifty years.

  “Now, please do not ever think you should have sent me to Montreal with my mother. I know I give you lots of reasons to worry about me. I’m sorry about that, but there is only one thing I’m one hundred percent sure about in my life and that one thing is that my place is here. With you, with dad, and now with Thomas. No matter what stupid choice I make in the future, I will never, ever doubt that my place is here and I don’t want you to doubt it either. Okay?”

  “Okay, if you say so.” Yvonne offered an understanding smile before she added, “And we’ll figure out something about daycare. Together.”

  “Thank you.” She hugged her tightly before she took the laundry basket full of clean, folded towels from her grandmother and headed toward the wooden staircase that led to the guest rooms. She didn’t want Yvonne to see the tears in her eyes as she remembered that her mother had not actually asked her to move to Montreal with her after the divorce. She would have said no, as she’d always told her dad and grandmother she had. Her place was in Sainte-Luce-Sur-Mer. That much was true. But they would never know that the option to leave had never even been on the table for her to consider.

  Chapter Three

  Ana got out of her car and stretched as she would after a long night of sleep. She joined her hands over her head and reached as high as she could before she lightly bent at the waist, one side and then the other. She’d only stopped twice during her six-hundred and sixty mile journey from Ithaca to Sainte-Luce-Sur-Mer, and although her Chevy Bolt was comfortable, she knew she’d pay the price for sitting so long. Her lower back hurt and her legs were numb. She walked the length of the parking lot to slowly wake her aching body and take in the seascape that extended behind the small hotel. The strong winds created foam crested waves on the Saint-Laurent River, and she had to admit she could see why some people compared them to a herd of white sheep running on water. It was a little too poetic for her scientific taste, but she could see it. She might as well, since she was going to stay in a place called the White Sheep Inn for the next few weeks.

  She’d never been to Sainte-Luce-Sur-Mer but she knew the thirty-seven degrees Fahrenheit temperature she’d noted on her car display screen was much warmer than usual December temperatures in this region of Quebec. The river was not frozen and the locals were probably worried about the potential great tides the upcoming winter solstice might bring. If low atmospheric pressure and strong winds got into the mix, they could witness a storm surge comparable to the one they’d lived through in December of 2010. Or worse. The storm had caused millions of dollars in damages, and in this small beach community alone, forty-six homes had been judged beyond repair and had to be demolished. Perhaps their fear that history might repeat itself would make it easier to convince them to participate in her interviews. She hoped so.

  She took a deep breath and filled her lungs with sea air. She couldn’t help but smile as she realized she hadn’t breathed this deeply in months. Hadn’t felt this free. She’d left Ithaca the day after her mother’s funeral. In August, the doctors had told Constance that nothing could be done for her widely spread metastatic cancer besides keeping her relatively comfortable with pain medication. Ana had decided to take a sabbatical from her position as Associate Professor in the Earth and Atmospheric Sciences program of Cornell University and invited her mother to live with her in her small two-bedroom home. It was the right thing to do.

  She did it out of obligation more than love. She hated to admit it even to herself, but like the forty-six homes that had been destroyed on this beach in 2010, her relationship with her mother had already been beyond repair at that point. She did what Constance wanted her to do until the end, indulged her every whim. Unlike the little girl who’d hoped for love and affection in return, however, she’d learned not to expect anything but selfishness and criticism from the woman.

  In the four months leading to her mother’s death, they’d emptied and sold Constance’s small condo and put her affairs in order. There was nothing pressing to do after the services, nothing to keep her in Ithaca. She needed to leave.

  The news she’d received a few weeks before her mother’s death had only confirmed her need to come to Sainte-Luce-Sur-Mer. She was told she would not get the grant to study the effects of climate changes and the rise of sea levels on the coastal life of the Bas-Saint-Laurent region. She’d been encouraged to redirect her research to larger and better known coastal communities such as Miami or New York City, but she’d argued that those large cities were already getting enough attention. She was much more intrigued with a small community where the government had ruled people would no longer be allowed to build less than a hundred feet from the river and where there seemed to be a will to help people relocate farther from the rising water. That mentality was much more in line with her own than projects to build a wall to protect New York City from the ocean or to raise Miami above sea level one street at a time.

  She realized those large-scale projects should have excited her as an engineering geologist, but it was no longer the case. So she figured she would take the rest of her sabbatical year to conduct her own research anyway. The money her mother had left her from the sale of her condo would help. She couldn’t explain exactly why, but she needed this research and she needed to be here.

  She entered the lobby of the inn and cringed at the loud sound of the bell. She was immediately taken aback by how old the hotel actually looked. She’d read it had been built in the late 1890s when she’d made her reservation online, but she’d assumed it had been somewhat modernized over the years. The textured roses on the wallpaper, the wide planks of the floors, the ornate crown moulding, and the dark wood of the reception desk all seemed original. Others might have found the decor charming, but to Ana, it was stifling and oppressive. She hoped the guest rooms at least had been updated.

  She moved closer to the desk and noticed an empty bassinet and a dog sleeping on the ground. The dog opened one eye to look at her and went back to sleep with a heavy sigh. She could hear a baby crying from somewhere in the building, perhaps upstairs. What kind of hotel was this? Fortunately the lady on the other side of the desk looked professional when she smiled and greeted her in French. “Bonjour. Bienvenue à l’Auberge du Mouton Blanc.”

  “Sorry, I don’t speak French. But I have a reservation for Anais Bloom.”

  “Oh yes, of course. Anais. What a lovely name,” the woman replied with a heavy accent.

  “Thank you. I don’t really like it, though. I go by Ana.”

  “I see. Ana it is, then. I have a room with a view of the Saint-Laurent for you. It’s our best room.”

  “Great,” Ana answered before a younger woman rushed into the lobby and went straight behind the reception desk holding a crying baby in her arms and addressing the older woman in French. She seemed furious and spoke as if Ana didn’t exist. Ana didn’t understand French but recognized the name Kevin in the middle of the woman’s rant. She figured the women were related, judging by the ice blue eyes they shared. Ana had never seen eyes that light before, almost white.

  The younger woman could have been attractive. She had lovely curves, thick light brown curls falling below her shoulders, and dimples punctuating a beautiful round face. But she was beyond rude. Ana hoped she didn’t work at the hotel because she was obviously clueless when it came to customer service. And would someone make that baby stop screaming already? Her ears couldn’t take it much longer. More importantly, one of his basic needs was obviously not being met.
She had a feeling that need was the same peace and quiet she needed right now. She hoped that rude woman would calm down quickly for his benefit even more than hers. She was tempted to turn around and leave, but she knew she’d have to go to Rimouski to find another hotel that was open in winter, and she wanted to be in Sainte-Luce-Sur-Mer, right by the Saint-Laurent.

  The women continued talking in French as the older of the two took the baby and he finally stopped crying. “I’m very sorry about this interruption, Ana. We have a little emergency as you can see. Melodie here will show you to your room if you don’t mind.”

  “Sure,” Ana agreed reluctantly.

  Melodie took a key from a series of hooks behind the desk without acknowledging Ana’s presence and didn’t bother to smile when she turned and commanded, “Follow me.”

  Ana didn’t expect Melodie to carry her luggage upstairs for her, but she could have offered. She could certainly have slowed down instead of hurrying upstairs and waiting for her with an air of exasperation as she fidgeted with the key. It was an actual key, not a card, which left Ana much less hopeful regarding any possible renovation that might have been done in the guest rooms. “Yours is right there,” Melodie announced without enthusiasm as she pointed to the first door on the left and handed Ana the red plastic circular key chain with a faded, black number one.

  “Thanks,” Ana said more automatically than graciously.

  “Breakfast is served every morning between seven and nine. The dining room is on the left at the bottom of the stairs. Enjoy your stay,” Melodie said in one breath before she ran back downstairs without giving Ana the opportunity to ask a question.

  “I guess she works here after all,” she muttered to herself as she struggled with the lock on the door. When she finally entered the room, she had to laugh to keep from crying, completely deflated. The floral pattern of the wallpaper was orange instead of pink, and the wide boards of the floor were a lighter shade of wood, but, like the lobby, there was no doubt the decor was original and so depressively old.

  The floor squeaked as she rolled her suitcase into the room and hurried to the bathroom, almost expecting to find a porcelain chamber pot in which she would be expected to urinate. There was one, but fortunately there was also a flush toilet. The chamber pot was simply a decorative element sitting on the antique wood dresser that had been converted into a bathroom vanity. The shower-bath combo was small, but she turned the water tap to the left and was satisfied when she felt warm water on her hand. She would have preferred a more modern look, but she had to admit this fitted better with the rest of the place.

  She stepped back into the small room and noticed another antique dresser by the bed and an antique armoire on the opposite wall. She cringed when she spotted the crucifix above the bed. Really? How was that still allowed in this day and age? She shrugged and figured that if the mattress was comfortable enough, she could sleep with Jesus above her head for a while. The bed was also from the Victorian era, made of white-painted wood with a curved headboard. She sat carefully on the mattress and was relieved to find it was not too soft or too firm. She bounced on it a few times and the bed squeaked with each movement. “Oh hell.”

  Chapter Four

  “I can’t believe he’s doing this to me again,” Melodie continued as soon as she returned to the reception desk. “He begged to have Thomas this weekend, and when I finally give in and make plans of my own, he cancels everything.” She was boiling with anger. The next time Kevin Cloutier remembered he had a son and asked to take him for a weekend, she’d tell him to go to hell.

  “What I don’t understand is why you’re so surprised,” her grandmother said as she dusted the reception desk with an old-fashioned feather duster.

  Melodie grabbed the glass cleaner and paper towels under the desk and worked on the windows, channelling some of her anger through stronger-and-faster-than-needed scrubbing and wiping. “I’m not surprised. I’m pissed off. Sophie’s in town tonight but she’s going back to Quebec tomorrow morning. We’d planned to have a few drinks and catch up. I haven’t seen her in over a year. I haven’t gone out with any of my friends in over a month, Mammie. He knows that, but of course he doesn’t give a shit.”

  “Sophie Berger? From high school?”

  “I don’t know any other Sophie,” she hissed with an irritated click of the tongue.

  “Whoa. Do you hear the way you’re talking to me? You need to calm down right now and change your tone or I won’t help you, is that clear?”

  Melodie stopped rubbing the window and leaned her forehead against her arm, the cold of the window pane reaching her face and cooling her down. She’d always had quite a temper. No, she’d always been impulsive, but her fits of temper had started when she was a teenager. Her grandmother had even brought her to a counsellor to work on anger management skills. He’d given her great tips, but she’d refused to see him again after he’d suggested a session with her mother. Nicole was in Montreal and Melodie wouldn’t ask her to come back for a therapy session with her fourteen-year-old daughter. She probably wouldn’t come anyway. Besides, it didn’t take a genius to figure out Melodie’s anger had something to do with her departure. She’d used his tips and had learned to better control her choleric impulses on her own over the years, but sometimes she still lost it.

  Kevin was particularly good at triggering her anger, and unfortunately he was a trigger she couldn’t avoid if she wanted her son to know his father, which she did. She hated these outbursts, especially when she was disrespectful to her grandmother. She took a deep breath and turned to Yvonne. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to talk to you that way.”

  “But you did. When all you had to do was come to me and explain you needed someone to take care of Thomas while you went out with Sophie. When have I ever refused to take care of him?”

  Melodie felt her lips twitch into a smile as her grandmother spoke. “I know. I should have known better. Thank you so much for doing this for me. And again I’m so sorry about being rude to you.” She hugged her grandmother and turned to leave so she could get ready for her night out.

  “Not so quick,” Yvonne called behind her. She turned and realized her grandmother’s reprimanding stance had not disappeared yet. Her lips pinched and she narrowed her eyes.

  “What? I really didn’t mean to talk to you that way, Mammie. I’m really sorry.”

  “I know, but I’m not the only one you need to apologize to,” Yvonne explained as she rolled her eyes and jerked her head upward to indicate the second floor where Melodie had left their only guest for the night. She hadn’t noticed much about the American woman except for pale skin and expensive designer winter clothes. She was tall, at least three inches taller than her own five feet six. Her thick, short auburn hair was tousled and clashed with her overall appearance of rich tourist with a stick up her butt. Melodie wondered now what she could be doing here in the middle of winter. She hadn’t cared earlier.

  “That woman? Why would I apologize to her?”

  “Do you really think the way you welcomed her is appropriate? You were impolite and you embarrassed me.” Melodie lowered her gaze to the floor, ashamed. Embarrassing her grandmother was the worst sensation she’d ever known, one she’d always desperately tried to avoid, but one she’d been faced with multiple times nonetheless. Yvonne moved closer to her and spoke softly. “You have to better understand customer service if you want to survive in this business. If you act that way in the summer when customers have other options, they will take their business somewhere else.”

  “I understand, but she arrived at the wrong moment.”

  “No. Don’t even try. The only bad moment for a customer to arrive is when we’re closed.” Melodie nodded sheepishly. “Customers don’t care about your problems. And they shouldn’t have to. They come here for a comfortable room, a good meal, and a great experience. They don’t come here to be subjected to your personal struggles or emotions.” Yvonne patted Melodie’s hand and smile
d. “Do you understand how important this is? It’s probably the most essential part of this business. Customers who come back every year don’t come only for the view and the charm of the place. They come back for us, too.”

  “Okay, I get it, but do I really need to apologize to her? What if I promise I’ll be extra nice for the remainder of her stay?”

  Yvonne patted her hand one last time and went back to her dusting before she spoke again. “You will apologize. Over breakfast tomorrow. Now go have fun with Sophie. And say hi for me.” Melodie knew there was no point arguing with that tone. She’d think of something to say to the American. But for now she looked forward to a relaxing night out with her best friend.

  Chapter Five

  Melodie installed Thomas in the stroller and chuckled, which made him smile in return. His smile was so precious. She couldn’t help but laugh at the way he lay there in his snow pouch, completely immobile. He looked like a tiny mummy. She placed a blanket over him to further protect him from the mild cold.

  These morning walks were good for both of them. The fresh air helped her get ready for her workday at the inn, which would start with cooking and serving breakfast in less than an hour. Thomas seemed to enjoy the walks as well, cooing and gurgling to the rhythm of the wheels rolling on the road until it put him to sleep.

  She usually walked to the church and back, which took about forty minutes. The road from the inn to the church was narrow and didn’t have a sidewalk, but it was always quieter. She rarely continued farther east to the bustling activity surrounding the public beach, the boardwalk, the colorful villas, and the multiple boutiques that attracted tourists. Not in December, of course. In December, all of Sainte-Luce-Sur-Mer was placid. But even in December, it was a small paradise to Melodie. All she needed was the Saint-Laurent, which she admired as the winter sun rose slowly, creating a pink and orange glow over the agitated waters. Even the church she saw in the distance, with its stone walls, sheet metal roof, and massive bell tower, wouldn’t be nearly as majestic without the Saint-Laurent as its powerful backdrop.