Life Is A Foreign Language

by Rayne E. Golay

  “Didn’t you have an address, a phone number?”

  “Sure, but everything turned out to be bogus—even her name.”

  He took the matches from her, holding her cold fingers. “That must have been hard on you?”

  She shivered for reasons she didn’t try to understand. “Yes, it was. I kept looking at women in the street, hoping I’d run into her.”

  “How can you write a novel with so few facts?”

  “The story is grounded in reality, in the few things I know about Jeanette. I bring in elements of other clients. For the rest, my story is fiction.” She felt suddenly self-conscious and pulled her hand out of his.

  “More ice tea?” she asked.

  He held his glass while she filled it from the pitcher. “Your story sounds very interesting. Pity I can’t read it. I’d like to, though.”

  She lifted her eyebrows in surprise. “Why can’t you read it?” Then it dawned on her. “Because of the language, you mean?”

  “Yes, I know two or three words in French, is all.”

  She laughed softly. “But I write in English.”

  Astonishment and interest registered in his eyes. “Well, isn’t that something! How come?”

  Nina moved her leg on the stool and eased her back to a more comfortable position. “My father was American. At eighteen, he landed in Normandy with the troops. He met my mother—they married and settled in Biarritz. I was born and grew up there.”

  Michael’s eyes didn’t leave her face. “And you spoke English at home?”

  “Both; I was bilingual from the start. So you see, it’s natural for me to write in English.”

  “I’ve been wondering; you speak fluent English, but with a slight foreign intonation.”

  “Oh, yes?”

  He nodded. “Uh huh, the way you put the accent at the end of a sentence, like a lilt.” He chuckled. “This is too good to be true.”

  “What is?”

  “I’ll be able to read your writing. Would you mind?”

  “On the contrary.” Tendrils of excitement tickled inside. She smiled. “You’d be doing me a favor.”

  With a glance at his watch he picked up his glass. Sighing, he pushed back his chair. “I’d love to stay, talk some more, but I’m afraid I have to go. It’s later than I thought.”

  He slid open the glass door, and she stood to accompany him. Inside, Michael stopped and looked around. “Quite a library you have.” He pointed at the long wall in the den covered from floor to ceiling with books. Do you mind if I take a look?”

  “Not at all. It’s all very eclectic.”

  He studied the titles, pulling out a book here, another there. “I love reading—have quite a library myself.”

  Nina stood next to him, curious to see what caught his interest. She’d always believed people gave away a lot about themselves through their taste in literature. Perhaps she’d learn something of this kind, attentive man, who troubled her in ways she didn’t quite understand.

  Michael took a book off the shelf and held it with both hands, looking intently at its cover before opening it to its title page. He glanced at her, his gaze indicating great interest. “Nina, have you really written this one?”

  She chuckled. “Which one is it?”

  “This is ‘Alcoholism and Mental Disorders—Dual Diagnosis and Treatment.’ You mean to say you’ve written more than this one?”

  “Yes. The other one is there somewhere, too.”

  He pulled out another hard cover book, turning it in his hands, the first one tucked under his arm. “Here, I found it. ‘Early Warning Signs—The Troubled Employee.’ This is so exciting! I’ve never known a published author. Do you mind if I borrow these?”

  “No, by all means take them both, but I’m afraid you’ll find them dry and boring.”

  “I doubt it. Both subjects interest me. I’ll take good care of them.”

  She fetched a plastic bag from a drawer in the kitchen for the books. When she turned to hand it to him, he was standing so close she tripped and almost stumbled into his arms.

  He caught her by the wrist. “Easy. You’re not quite steady on that ankle.”

  Mesmerized, she gazed into his dazzling blue eyes and, with a sense of tumbling, felt their compelling tug. It was just an instant, but the moment left her shaky, somewhat breathless, not quite grasping what she felt—wondering what he must think of her clumsiness—falling off the ladder and now bumping into him.

  Smiling at her, he put the books in the bag and looked around the spacious dining room off the kitchen and at the den beyond, the more formal living room completing an inverted Z.

  “I like your home. It’s so bright,” he said. “Most houses in this area are far too dark.”

  She smiled. “It’s nothing luxurious, but I love it.”

  Using the crutches, she accompanied him outside, the hot sun overhead. In the driveway, before he opened the car door, he put a hand on her arm.

  “Are you all right?”

  She glanced at him. Furrows deepened between his brows.

  “Sure, apart from my ankle. Why do you ask?”

  “Every now and then you seem sad. You’re vivacious, then suddenly you’re so quiet.”

  She tried to laugh, a tentative sound. “I’m still a bit jetlagged, I guess.” That’s it… blame it all on the jetlag, as long as possible.

  “I don’t mean to pry. Take care of yourself.”

  She shook her head. “I’ll be fine.”

  He patted her arm, got into the car and drove off.

  She stood in the driveway long after his car vanished from sight. It was comforting to have somebody like Michael around. But she had to watch out—she couldn’t let herself count on him. No man was going to get close, not after the hurt André….Nina shook her head to scatter memories she didn’t want.

  The air was windless and sweltering, the sun a hazy burnished disk. Towering cumulus clouds billowed on the horizon.

  The desolation she’d felt last night descended upon her again. What would she do now she was alone? When she was among people she craved solitude. On her own she felt orphaned.

  Chapter 5

  Later that afternoon, Nina stepped gingerly from the shower and draped a towel around her. In front of the full-length mirror in the bathroom, she brushed on a hint of eye shadow and examined the few wrinkles at the corners of her eyes. Would be nice if they didn’t grow in number. Letting the towel drop, she patted her flat tummy, grimaced at the few dimples of cellulite on her thighs and her drooping rear end, pleased that her breasts were still firm.

  In the walk-in closet, sitting on a stool to take the weight off her ankle, she pulled on a pair of beige slacks and slipped on a white silk blouse. She knew from the fit of her clothes that she’d lost weight. Even before the turmoil of the recent weeks stole her appetite, she’d been slim. She was tall and couldn’t afford to lose more pounds.

  Nina inspected her shoe collection, her one weakness. There were heeled pumps; sandals with varying heel heights; colors ranging from white to black, silver, gold and copper, in leather and suede; three pairs of mules in different fabrics to match dresses; shoes for jogging; and brogues. She would have preferred to wear something frivolous to dinner, but settled for a sensible pair of low-healed moccasins in tan suede. The only jewelry she wore was a gold locket that had been her mother’s, one she never removed. A dab of scent and she left the bedroom.

  The late afternoon sun slanted through the lanai door, bathing the den in tones of glowing gold and bronze. The haunting notes of “The Secret Garden” floated from the CD player, dreamy and serene. Nina settled on the couch, her legs propped on an upholstered stool.

  A few minutes past six Sophie rang the bell and came in carrying an armful of groceries. “Hi, Nina.
I’ll put these away.”

  Nina struggled off the couch and joined Sophie in the kitchen. Leaning against the counter, she watched as Sophie opened and closed cupboards, stacked the food on the shelves of the fridge and freezer, telling Sophie “Over there” and “Here” when Sophie hesitated, uncertain of where to put things.

  “Job done,” Sophie said, brushing a strand of salt-and-pepper hair off her high forehead.

  Nina smiled her appreciation. “That was a big help. Thanks.” She wrote a check in the amount she gleaned from the receipt and gave it to Sophie. “This should cover your expenses. By the way, how was your day?”

  Sophie stuck the check in her billfold. “Busy, as usual.” She made a face. “You should see me when I’m out there showing property; wide-brimmed hat, scarf and long sleeves as protection against the sun. Since that tumor on my neck was removed, I avoid the sun like the plague.”

  “Lucky it wasn’t a melanoma.” Nina squeezed her hand and shuddered from worry for her friend and cancer. “How are you doing now?”

  “Fine. The latest tests show no cancer cells in my body, but it hasn’t been a year yet, so I have to be careful.”

  From one of the kitchen cupboards Nina retrieved a box of chocolates and handed it to Sophie. “Greetings from Geneva.”

  Sophie took it almost reverently, a bright smile lighting her face. “Awesome! You remembered. These are my favorites.” She gave Nina a quick hug. “Thank you.”

  Nina never tired of seeing someone’s happiness from an unexpected gift.

  Preparing to leave, Nina turned on a light in the living room—she had an aversion to coming home to a dark house.

  Sophie opened the front door, and Nina hobbled through, using her crutches.

  On the porch Nina hesitated. “Do something for me, please. Take down this wind chime, and hang it in the lanai.”

  Sophie glanced at her and nodded. “Sure.” Standing on a stool she removed the chime and went to hang it from a hook on the overhang on the lanai. “There. It’s lovely.”

  Pleased, Nina listened to the delightful music as the wind stirred it. She loved wind chimes and her lanai.

  “I suppose there’s a story behind this?” Sophie asked.

  “You’re right. When I was furnishing my house here, I fell in love with this hand-tuned wind chime I found in a shop in Cape Coral. I bought it and got an identical one for our home in Annecy. When I spoke on the phone to André about it, he was dead set against having a chime on his terrace. Said the tinkling noise would drive him nuts. I didn’t want to make waves so I placed it in a pretty carton and gave it to Lillian and Jean-Luc for their wedding anniversary.

  “Everything’s changed now, but at that time there was still a remote chance André might join me here in Florida. To avoid an argument, I hung the chime there on the front porch where it wouldn’t disturb him, not on the lanai where I could appreciate it.”

  She glanced at the chime once more before closing and locking the door, remembering the innumerable times she’d given in to André, swallowing her own wants not to cause ripples on the surface of their sterile togetherness. “I feel like such a fool for having been so pliant to his opinions.”

  Sophie nodded. “Now it’s where you want it.” She helped Nina down the steps. “I can fetch the car if you like.”

  “No, don’t bother, I’d rather walk. The exercise will do me good.”

  As they strolled along, the air was smothery hot despite a brisk wind whistling in the palm trees. They watched a pair of large ducks waddle aimlessly down the middle of the street. The usually somnolent neighborhood was alive with the sounds of children shouting and laughing, people talking. From a yard close by came the smell of barbecue.

  Sophie’s house wasn’t far, only the next house, but to Nina it seemed light-years away, unaccustomed as she was to the crutches. By the time they arrived, her blouse was pasted to her skin, and perspiration trickled between her breasts. In the house, she shivered from the chilly air.

  Sophie pointed to a table in the kitchen nook. It was set for two with a centerpiece of tulips and Easter lilies and pink place mats with matching napkins.

  “Take a seat. Relax and don’t even think of helping. I’ll get you a Diet Coke.”

  Sophie returned with ice tinkling in a tumbler of the dark brown liquid, a slice of lime wedged on the rim. “Dinner’s ready in a few minutes.”

  Nina sipped her drink, and sniffed the air. “Hmm, smells good.”

  “I know you don’t eat meat, so I fixed salmon. With dill, the way you like it.” Sophie held up a bottle, dewy on the outside. “How about some white wine? It’s French, courtesy of a client.”

  “Not for me, thanks. I’m on medication for my ankle, but you go ahead.”

  Artificial pink flamingos were the decorating focus of the kitchen; they hung from the ceiling on nylon strings swirling in the draft of the air-conditioning. Others decorated the walls, a couple of life-size birds stood like statues on the floor. Nina thought they were a bit tacky, but didn’t voice an opinion lest she hurt Sophie’s feelings.

  This was Nina’s first warm meal since she’d arrived in Cape Coral, and she ate with relish. Sophie was a skilled cook—the food was delicious.

  “You said you’re busy at work,” Nina said between mouthfuls. “How come? Isn’t April usually a slow month after the snowbirds leave?”

  Sophie shook her head. “It’s never quiet these days. People understand real estate is a good investment and …”

  Nina tuned out, fascinated by the poster-size picture on the wall. A handsome trio, Sophie with her two sons. The photo spoke to her of the painful separation from her own children. Longing was like a hole, ready to swallow her.

  “You seem far away,” Sophie said, placing the dessert on the table where Nina could reach it.

  “Sorry. My mind’s drifting.” She looked at the bowl. “Wild strawberries? You’re spoiling me.” After she helped herself to some berries she nodded at the picture. “It reminds me of my sad situation.”

  She felt Sophie’s searching gaze.

  “Want to talk about it?”

  After eating a few berries Nina pushed her dessert plate to the side and eased her leg on a low stool, leaning arms on the table. “No, I don’t want to talk about it. But I know I have to or it will eat me alive.”

  “What’s that?”

  “The reason I’m getting a divorce after thirty-seven years of marriage. Are you sure you’re up to it? It’s not very pretty.”

  “Never mind, we’re friends. Go ahead, I’m listening.”

  Nina searched for the right words—where to begin, what to say, how to say it? “It was … I left …” She cleared her throat. “I don’t know where to start.”

  “Doesn’t matter. Just start talking.”

  Nina took a deep breath. “It happened last March, an unseasonably warm day as I remember. I’d given a lecture in Geneva that finished earlier than expected. I was so looking forward to going home and relaxing in a sunny spot on the terrace.

  “When I arrived at home, I was surprised to find André’s car in the garage. It was way too early for him, but I can’t say it worried me.” She kept her voice low. Later she could give in to the anger, the shame and disappointment that were always just below the surface, but not now, or she’d be unable to continue.

  Briefly, Sophie covered Nina’s hand with her own, giving it an affectionate squeeze.

  Her eyes met Sophie’s. “The door to the den was ajar. I pushed it open … all the way. Just stood and stared. There, on the daybed, was my husband humping this woman.”

  Nina took a few thirsty swallows of her Diet Coke. “Maybe the opening of the door caught his attention—I don’t know. Anyway, he turned his head and spotted me. I can still see his face, round like Swiss cheese. His mou
th wide open, his eyes blinking as if he couldn’t believe it was me. For an endless moment we glared at each other. I felt a curious fascination that this should be happening in my own house.” She paused to catch her breath. “He’d finally brought it home where I couldn’t ignore it.”

  Nina stood and rotated her shoulders. Again the memory of that day made it difficult to breathe. Using one crutch, she limped the length of the kitchen and opened the fridge. She held up a bottle of water. “May I?”

  “Go right ahead. Here’s ice on the table.”

  After filling her tumbler, she returned the bottle to the fridge. She sat and ruffled her hair with both hands. “You know the cliché, ‘Time stood still?’ Well, it’s true. Time had no meaning. I turned away from the door. My first reaction was to get my passport, but I kept it in the safe and the safe was in the den. The need to seize something that would preserve my identity was irrational, a knee-jerk reaction not to drown in the pain. I grabbed my purse from the hall table, got in the car and drove to Geneva. On the way I called my lawyer to make an appointment for the next day.” She put her elbows on the table, chin on hands. “Gosh, do I wish I had a cigarette right now.”

  Sophie stared at her. “I didn’t know you smoked.”

  “I don’t. Gave it up several years ago, but now and then I want one. Then the craving passes.” She nodded at the box of chocolates. “I’ll have one of those instead.”

  Sophie handed her the box. After a moment’s indecision, Nina chose one that looked as if it might have crème filling and took a bite. She leaned back in the chair, eyes half closed. “The next day, I filed for divorce on grounds of adultery. End of story.”

  Sophie, always perceptive, shook her head. “No, it’s not. There’s more, I can tell,”

  Nina sighed. “You’re right, there is and that’s the really hard part.” Hiding her face in her hands, she sobbed.

  Sophie sat on her haunches next to Nina’s chair and enfolded both arms around her, moving her hand against Nina’s back in a soft, circular motion. “There, Nina, cry. Let it all out.”

  Nina cried hard, with long exhalations and shuddering intakes of breath. An infinite unhappiness and despair made her entire body hurt—even the palms of her hands ached. It was a letting go, a surrender of years of sorrow and disappointment and anger and loneliness.