Life Is A Foreign Language

by Rayne E. Golay

  “Allo oui.”

  She recognized Jean-Luc’s voice. They exchanged polite greetings, a few words about the weather, in Florida and over there. “Is Lillian available?” Nina asked.

  “No, I’m sorry. She’s at a dinner with the Social Workers’ Association. I’ll tell her you called.”

  “Please do.” She hesitated; this was as a good a time as any to get in a plug. “Would you talk to her about letting the twins come and spend part of their summer vacation here with me? The girls are impatient to know, and I want to make arrangements in case they’re coming.”

  “Sure. I’ll talk to her. In fact, we’ve discussed it. Lillian seems reluctant, but I’d like them to spend at least a month with you. It would do them good to have a change of scene, and they’re old enough to start broadening their horizons. I’ll lean on Lillian.”

  Warm with pleasure, she replied, “Gee, what a relief, Jean-Luc. I’m so glad you’re for it. If I’d thought about it, I would have talked to you earlier. I appreciate your attitude. Thanks.”

  “You take care of yourself,” Jean-Luc said. “And I’ll tell Lillian that you called.”

  She hung up, grateful to Jean-Luc for having removed that burden from her shoulders, happy to know he was on her side. Lillian would listen to him. If Nina wanted an ally she couldn’t have made a better choice than Jean-Luc.

  The ring of the doorbell interrupted her thoughts. Opening the front door she was surprised to see Michael.

  “Sorry,” he said. “The paint’s wet … had to come around to the front. I wouldn’t mind some ice tea now.”

  In the kitchen she filled a tumbler and handed it to him.

  He emptied it in a few deep swallow, setting it on the counter. “Better not walk on the lanai for a couple of days. And turn off the sprinklers, so the water doesn’t blister the paint.”

  Even in his paint-stained overalls, Michael was handsome. Her face burned at the thought. “Seems I’m always thanking you for something.” She gave a soft laugh. “But I appreciate you doing this—more than you know.”

  He smiled. “My pleasure.” He turned his hands, palms up to show them stained with paint. “Do you mind if I use your bathroom?”

  She handed him a clean towel from the cupboard across from her office.

  While she waited for Michael, she went to look out the living room window. Fat slate-grey clouds were gathering over the Caloosahatchee River, coming this way. When the clouds crossed the river, it usually meant a thunderstorm, which in this region were frequent and violent, often causing power breaks that lasted from a few minutes to several hours.

  Better turn off the computer and have some candles and matches ready in case of a lengthy power out. Amazing how the weather changed, sometimes within minutes; not long ago the sky had been clear, now it was heavy and menacing.

  Michael came to stand next to her, so close she felt the heat from his body.

  “Won’t the rain damage the paint?” she asked.

  “I hope not. If it does, I can touch it up. I’d like to get home before the storm moves in. Hate driving in that torrential rain.” He took her hand. “You know the drill in a thunderstorm; avoid windows, electrical outlets, water and don’t talk on the phone.”

  “Yeah, I know—no safe place.”

  He put the palm of his hand against her cheek. A caress so brief it was over too soon, but the warmth of his hand lingered. He left, closing the front door and flashed his lights when he drove away. She waved, not sure if he saw her.

  By the lanai door she gazed at the painted floor, clean and fresh. The color had been a good choice.

  Already, she missed Michael.

  The phone rang. Thunder brewing or not, she answered.

  “Uh, Nina?”

  When she heard André’s voice her heart skipped a beat, and then hammered in her chest. She decided to play dumb, get her bearings. “This is Nina.”

  “Salut. How are you? It’s me, André.” He sounded the same, despite what had happened. Well, why not? He was always the same cocky egocentric male, and a detail like a divorce wasn’t cause enough to bring on a change.

  “Yes? What do you want?”

  “Don’t be that way, chérie. You sound hostile.”

  “Don’t ‘chérie’ me, and don’t play games. Why are you calling?”

  “Well, no reason, really. I thought … I wanted to talk to you.”

  “About what? We have nothing to say to each other—at least I don’t.”

  “I miss you, Nina. I want to ask you to come back. I’m sorry for what happened.”

  She wouldn’t listen to his rubbish. “You make it sound like an accident. It didn’t ‘happen’—you did it.”

  “Yes. I’m sorry I did it. Please come back, Nina.”

  “It’s over between us. The divorce will be final soon, and I’m staying right here.”

  “What about the children? What about our home? Our life? We had a life before.”

  “No, we didn’t. You had your life. I had mine. Between us, we had nothing, except the children. Thank goodness they’ve turned out so well, no thanks to you.”

  “I miss you. The house is so empty with you gone.”

  “You should have thought of that before.”

  A blinding flash of lightning followed by an ear-shattering clap of thunder made her duck. Nina wasn’t afraid of thunderstorms, but this violence was new to her, and she felt exposed with windows wherever she looked.

  “What’s that noise I hear?” he asked.

  “I’m in the middle of a thunderstorm, so I’m getting off the phone right now.”

  “Nina, wait …”

  “What? We have nothing to talk about. You did the unforgivable thing—you soiled our home.”

  “One single mistake, and you punish me.”

  “André, wake up; it’s not one mistake. Years and years and years of mistakes. I’ve had all I can take. No more pretences, no more lies. And I’m shocked that you minimize what you’ve done.”

  “What about the children?”

  “You didn’t give the children a thought when you were with your bimbos. I covered for you all those years. Lillian is furious with me because she thinks I’ve left you on a whim. If you had any decency, you’d tell her why her parents are getting a divorce when most couples settle down to live their ‘sunset years’ in peace and harmony.”

  Her breathing came in quick short gasps. She clutched the receiver so hard her hand ached, her throat raw from suppressing the urge to scream at him. “I’m getting off the phone. Don’t call me. Don’t e-mail me. If you need to talk to me, talk to my lawyer. If you want to do something constructive, tell Lillian the reason I had to, do you hear, I HAD TO leave you, my children and grandchildren, my home, my country. Good bye.” She thumbed the “off” button and dropped the receiver as lightning flashed followed immediately by another clap of thunder that rattled the windows. It was dark, but she didn’t dare turn on a light.

  Nina was panting, so angry her entire body shook. Years of pent-up emotions, of holding it all together, exploded in waves of nausea. She rushed to the bathroom and retched miserably.

  The attack passed. She was clammy with sweat, the soaked blouse clinging to her skin, and tendrils of hair stuck to her forehead. Her hands shook. Michael’s warning to stay away from water rang in her ears, and there she was, with her head in the toilet bowl.

  In the kitchen she drank a glass of water and sucked on a mint to get rid of the awful taste. Little by little she calmed.

  The rain was coming down in sheets, the houses across the street barely visible.

  André’s phone call stirred memories she would have preferred to forget.

  Nina had been only twenty when she met André. Five years her senior, he had seemed worldly,
his romantic good looks had dazzled her. He wooed her with flowers and silk scarves and his Porsche convertible and holding doors open. She fell in love with all the fervor of her ardent nature. They wanted to marry immediately, but Nina’s parents, mainly Mama, insisted she was too young and needed to finish her studies.

  When they did marry, she was deliriously happy. In her innocence she believed the marital vows were for keeps.

  With time, she discovered that André and she had less and less in common. She grew up bi-lingual while he barely spoke English and his arrogant lethargy didn’t stimulate him to learn. It caused a rift—they entertained their French-speaking friends together, while Nina saw her English-speaking friends away from the home, alone. She was born by the sea, he in the mountains. With time, the geographical background differences became cultural dividers. Their relationship grew so thin, in the end only the children connected them. Even the words to talk about the bad weather deserted them.

  When Nina married him she had made a full commitment and was determined to stick to it, no matter what. She had her job, stimulated by the travel it involved. There were the children, then the grandchildren.

  Like the three wise apes, she saw no evil, heard no evil, spoke no evil. It had worked, more or less, until that terrible afternoon in March when she had walked in on him making love to that woman.

  Nina was stiff and cold from sitting in the chilly air-conditioned room. It had turned dark. She stood to switch on the lights, and put water on to boil; nothing was more soothing than hot tea on a dark and rainy Sunday. It reminded her of numerous similar weekends in Annecy, she alone in the big house with the children, or the children visiting the grandparents, and André away somewhere. In the early days she had waited, a fruitless vigil. Over the years she had conditioned herself not to notice his absence or her solitude that had become a constant companion, like an abysmal gap in her chest.

  The answer then, as now, was to keep busy, to look ahead.

  Chapter 17

  The next day was gloriously sunny. Small cirrus clouds dotted the sky. Nina regretted that the lanai was out of bounds while the paint dried; she would have liked a dip in the pool. After an hour’s workout at the gym, she spent the morning writing. As long as she kept her fingers busy on the keyboard, eyes glued to the screen and her mind occupied by the plot of her story, she was fine. She took a break at noon, had some fruit and yogurt by the counter in the kitchen. Then loneliness hit her like a sledgehammer. She dragged herself to the den, flung herself facedown on the couch. Before she could get a grip on herself she was crying, deep, tormenting sobs, their intensity frightening. Everything jelled; the past, Lillian’s hostility, her own need to belong and not know how, her disturbing feelings for Michael.

  The bout of anguish was short-lived. After some soul-searching she reasoned that this fit of despair was part of the healing process. There would be more ups and downs in the future, until the pendulum of her moods settled into a calm swing.

  Nina fell asleep, worn out after the emotional tempest. The ring of the phone woke her.

  “Oh Mami, thank goodness you’re home. Mami, do you hear me?”

  “Yes, Lillian. I hear you—you sound choked. Are you crying?”

  “Ye … yes. It hurts so.”

  “Go on, cry all you need to. I’ll wait.”

  And for a few minutes Lillian cried, hulking sobs like darts in Nina’s heart. “Excuse me, Mami, have to put down the phone.”

  Nina heard her daughter cough and blow her nose. With a sigh Lillian came back on the line. “Sorry about that. Now I can talk.”

  “You don’t need to excuse yourself. Feeling better, chérie?”

  “Yes. I had such a shock yesterday. Jean-Luc and I were having dinner at ‘Alexander the First,’ and I saw Papa there. He was with this much younger woman, holding hands, his arm around her, kissing, pawing her, behaving like a teenager. It was disgusting.” Lillian’s voice kept getting shriller.

  “Calm down. Take a deep breath. I mean it; do it now.” There was a touch of panic in Lillian’s voice and Nina tried to talk her down. She heard Lillian inhale.

  “There, I’m calmer.” Another deep sigh. “Papa spotted us—and this is the really terrible part—he came over with her and introduced us.”

  “I’m glad he did.”

  “You can’t mean that?”

  “Yes, I do. Shows Papa has good manners, and that he has nothing to hide.”

  “But Mami, after all these years with you … he’s replaced you almost as soon as you left. It’s so disloyal, to you, to us, to your life together.”

  “No, darling. The betrayal happened earlier, over many years. Your father was never faithful to me. There were always other women. Now that we’re practically divorced there’s no reason he shouldn’t have a .” Nina searched for the right word. “… companion.”

  “I hate it. And you should have seen this … this lady; she can’t be much older than I am, holding hands with my father.”

  “It’s his life. There’s something else more important; what about you? What are you afraid of?”

  “Afraid? Why should I be afraid?”

  “I understand that you’re angry. Your parents break up, and I leave France. Your father has a new companion. But listening to you I hear your fear. What are you afraid of?”

  Lillian didn’t reply. Nina waited. The silence grew.

  When Lillian spoke her voice was faint. “Mami?”

  “Yes, chérie.”

  “What if?” A sob. “What if Jean-Luc should do what Papa’s done? What’s going to happen to me and the twins?”

  “There’s no ‘what if.’ Jean-Luc isn’t Papa. Don’t confuse identities. If you’re afraid that Jean-Luc will have an affair I suggest you talk to him, tell him how you feel.”

  “But how can I? It’s so embarrassing.”

  “I don’t think so. Looking at the possibility of this happening to your marriage is human, normal. It’s how you deal with it that counts. Don’t let Papa’s and my situation pollute your life. Talk to Jean-Luc, he’s such a neat guy.”

  Lillian’s chortle was mixed with a sob. “I love your expression, ‘neat guy.’ But you’re right, Jean-Luc is great. I’m very lucky.”

  “Yes you are. Feeling better?”

  “Much. Thanks Mami.”

  “Any time. Let’s talk soon. I love you.”

  “Love you, too.”

  Once the connection was broken, Nina decided she would call Lillian in a couple of days. She marveled at the change in her. Lillian’s softer attitude toward Nina gave her hope that their relationship would heal with time. Maybe she’ll agree to let the twins visit.

  She gazed through the glass door at the lanai. Tomorrow the floor would be dry. Then she could write outside, swim and bask in the sun.

  That night she slept peacefully, didn’t wake up because of a nightmares or crying.

  The next morning Nina felt rested. She dove into the pool and swam laps in a steady rhythm for some twenty minutes. Breathing hard she stretched on the lounge chair, the midmorning sun pouring gold onto the lanai. The air was sweltering, but she liked it like this. When she was dry, she changed into a sleeveless denim dress, buttoned on the front, with deep pockets. She fluffed her hair in front of the bathroom mirror; no point blow-drying it, the humidity curled it no matter what she did.

  In her office, eyes resting on the greenness in the yard, she pondered over the conversation with Barry, as she often did after their lunch together. He’d been so insistent that she be honest with herself and let Michael into her life. What if Barry was right? After their lunch she had thought she was in love with Michael. Did she really love him? True, when she saw him her heart beat a little faster, and she looked forward to their next time together. He made her feel special. When he touched her she felt weak
, the caress over too soon. She wondered why a fifty-nine year old woman wouldn’t know her own feelings. The damage André had caused ran deep—it had stolen her ability to trust, turning her into an overly cautious puppet, compelled to protect herself at all cost. She looked like a woman on the outside, but hardly felt or reacted like one.

  Nina was grateful to Barry for forcing the issue. He made her see that Michael meant more to her than just a friend. With the recognition of her growing fondness of Michael came insecurity—what did she mean to him? Admittedly, he was attentive and generous with her, but what did it really signify? Sighing, she drew the fingers of both hands through her hair, deciding not to dwell on these questions. Time will tell.

  When the phone rang, Nina was so deep in thought she almost fell off the chair.

  “Yes, this is Nina.”

  A quiet laugh. “Yes, this is Michael.” Like an echo.

  “Hey.” Smiling, she was so glad to hear his voice. “What … what can I do for you?” Feeling silly, her hands moist.

  “If you’re not doing anything, I thought I’d come by to put down the carpet.”

  “What? Oh, the carpet! Sure, it’s right where you left it.”

  “I don’t want to disturb you.”

  “You won’t. I’m not doing anything important.”

  “I’ll be there in the early evening.”

  Nina hung up and did some breathing exercises to still the excitement. This is silly; Michael’s coming to stick on a piece of carpet. It’s nothing to get all worked up about. But she was so impatient for him to arrive, time seemed to stand still while she waited.

  Later, when she answered the door, and Michael stepped inside, she got a whiff of lemony after-shave and a hint of cigarettes. He touched her hand.

  Glancing at him, his tan was deeper. “You look as if you’ve been in the sun all day.”

  He grinned. “Yes, and I’m worn out. I took all three grandsons to the beach. A day with teenage boys means constant activity. I had some medical journals with me, but….” He spread his hands in a helpless gesture.