| Subject: À la Vie! - Chapter 2 |
Author:
Diane
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Date Posted: Tuesday, October 19, 01:34:26am
In reply to:
Diane
's message, "À la Vie!" on Tuesday, October 19, 01:16:54am
“Do you know how to swim?” Nikita asked Michael, glancing longingly at the sea.
“Of course.”
Nikita looked at Michael’s navy bathing trunks, gathered her courage, and jumped in with both feet. “Could you teach me?”
“Now?” he asked, caught off guard. “You’re not even wearing a bathing costume.”
She shrugged. “Don’t have one.”
Michael looked appraisingly at her dress. It was so threadbare that two or three good waves would probably tear it apart.
“How about tomorrow?” he bargained, inspired. “I’ll bring you something to wear, and we’ll have our first lesson.”
“Truly, Michael?” Nikita’s wide blue eyes grew moist. She jumped into his arms and hugged him fiercely.
Mon Dieu, he thought. What have I gotten myself into?
* * *
Michael tried to explain what an ambassador was, and why his father was so important. He brushed his dark curls out of his eyes and looked at Nikita in exasperation as she continued to fail to care. Traveling all over the world meant nothing to someone who had never stepped foot outside of Sydney, Australia, and had no knowledge of any place other than her current neighborhood. She explained loftily to Michael that she and her mother moved a lot, too, but Michael couldn’t get her to grasp that being a diplomat and running away from bill collectors were hardly the same thing.
He told her about the pandas he had seen in China. She told him about the koalas she saw nearly every day in the eucalyptus grove behind her house. He told her about the canals in Venice—she didn’t see why anyone would want to row a boat to get to someplace when they had perfectly good legs to walk on. He described the ancient ruins in Greece; she told him about the current state of disrepair her house was in. Michael gave up.
Nikita taught Michael how to skip stones, something he had never tried before and turned out to be quite proficient at. They finished off the basket of fruit, and they staged a mini-war, throwing cherry pits at each other and laughing. When Michael tried to ask Nikita about her home life and her family, she skirted the issue and told him instead about crazy Walter, the old man who walked the beach with a metal detector looking for buried treasure.
“Sometimes he gives me peanuts or raisins,” Nikita said wistfully, scanning the beach with sky blue eyes. Her voice got softer, almost a whisper, and Michael leaned closer. “Sometimes, I pretend he’s my grandpa, and he let’s me come live with him.”
“Is it that bad at home?” Michael persisted.
Nikita looked at him quizzically. “Walter’s not really my grandpa,” she explained patiently, “so it doesn’t really matter, does it?”
Michael turned his face away and pretended to contemplate the ocean, his grey-green eyes darkening with anger at Nikita’s mother. After a few moments, he felt a small hand creep into his. He held on tightly as the afternoon sun dropped lower in the sky.
* * *
It was just after eight o’clock, and Michael was finishing his Geometry homework. His tutor had picked up on his dour mood this morning, and had let him off relatively easily—no Chemistry or Latin tonight.
There was a sharp rap on his bedroom door. “Enter,” Michael responded, expecting to see one of the maids coming in to turn down his bed.
“Did you enjoy yourself today, son?” an unanticipated voice inquired.
“Father,” said Michael, turning around in his chair.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t spend any time with you today,” Jacques Samuelle began. He was a tall man with fair hair and dark eyes. “You know how it is in my line of work. There are meetings after meetings, and dinners after dinners. It is even worse when you are the ‘new kid on the block.’” He smiled. Michael didn’t.
An awkward silence passed. The ambassador began again. “Marcel informs me that you were not fond of the beach. Perhaps tomorrow you would rather go to the museums?”
“Oh, no, sir,” Michael responded quickly. “I rather enjoyed the beach. I made some friends today,” he embellished.
“Good, good,” Jacques answered, somewhat surprised. His reticent son did not make friends easily. “Then perhaps you would like to return to the beach tomorrow?”
“Yes, sir. If it’s not a problem, sir.”
“No problem at all,” his father replied with forced joviality. Another chore marked off his To Do list. “I’ll inform Marcel.”
“Good night, Father,” Michael said dismissively, turning back to his homework.
“Well, yes. Good night to you too, son,” the ambassador replied, and quickly left the room.
When his father had gone, Michael rummaged through his bureau for a T-shirt and some drawstring shorts that Nikita could wear at the beach tomorrow. He was really looking forward to their swimming lesson. He couldn’t have explained why. All he knew was that he liked being with Nikita. She had brought the sunshine back into his life.
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