Chương 11
Life kept doing ordinary things around catastrophe.
“Marc.”
“Yes.”
“Do not come here.”
“I won’t.”
She waited.
It was the first promise from him she did not trust automatically.
“Send me Alain’s contact information.”
“Why?”
“Because I want to hear what he said without you between us.”
Marc inhaled.
“That isn’t necessary.”
“There you are again.”
“What?”
“Deciding what is necessary.”
Silence.
Then he said, “I’ll send it.”
Mathilde ended the call.
The message arrived two minutes later with a phone number and nothing else.
She saved it.
Then she went back into Ines’s room.
Her daughter looked at her immediately.
“What happened?”
“I spoke to him.”
Ines’s face tightened.
“Is he coming?”
“No.”
“Did he get mad?”
“Yes.”
“Did you?”
“Yes.”
Ines nodded as though these were satisfactory facts.
Dr. Benhamou had stepped away to review something on her tablet.
Mathilde sat beside the bed.
“There is something else you should know.”
Ines looked at her carefully.
“Medical?”
“Partly.”
Mathilde chose each word.
“Your father’s sister may not have had exactly the same condition you have.”
Ines frowned.
“But Claire said—”
“Claire said there were similarities.”
“Right.”
“Your father met Alain, and Alain says there may have been another reason Elise’s kidneys were damaged.”
“What reason?”
“Medication that wasn’t prescribed for her.”
Ines stared at her.
“Who gave it to her?”
Mathilde hesitated.
“Her father.”
Ines’s mouth opened slightly.
Then closed.
“Marc’s father?”
“The man who raised them.”
Ines looked toward the window.
“That family was a mess.”
Mathilde almost laughed.
“Yes.”
“Are we?”
The question caught her off guard.
“Are we what?”
“A mess.”
Mathilde looked at the hospital room, at the IV line, at the rabbit with its bent ear, at her daughter’s face.
“Yes.”
Ines absorbed that.
“Okay.”
“You sound relieved.”
“I kind of am.”
“Why?”
“Because everybody acts like families are either normal or terrible.”
She shrugged.
“Maybe we’re just a mess.”
Mathilde reached for her hand.
“That doesn’t mean we stay one.”
Ines looked down at their fingers.
“Are you going to talk to Alain?”
“Yes.”
“Today?”
“Yes.”
“Can I hear?”
Mathilde hesitated.
Then she remembered what had already been taken from her daughter in the name of protection.
“If the conversation stays appropriate.”
Ines nodded.
“Deal.”
Dr. Benhamou returned.
“The functional study can be done this afternoon.”
“Then we’ll know?”
“We’ll know more.”
Ines groaned.
“Doctors love that phrase.”
Dr. Benhamou smiled.
“We do.”
Mathilde’s phone buzzed.
Unknown number.
She looked at it.
A message appeared.
Mrs. Moreau, this is Alain Perrin.
Marc gave me your number.
I think you should know that when he came to see me, he did not come alone.
Mathilde read it twice.
Then another message appeared.
A woman came with him.
She introduced herself as Claire Vasseur.
Mathilde felt a strange, almost physical drop inside her, as though the floor had shifted half an inch.
Ines watched her face.
“What?”
Mathilde turned the phone toward her.
Ines read the messages and went very still.
“She lied.”
“Yes.”
“About knowing he met Alain.”
“Yes.”
“She said she only knew about it afterward.”
“Yes.”
Ines looked toward the door, as if Claire might somehow be standing there.
“Why would she lie about that?”
Mathilde did not answer.
Her phone rang before she could decide whether to call Alain.
Unknown number.
She accepted the call.
“Mrs. Moreau?”
“Yes.”
The man’s voice was older than she expected, low and roughened by age.
“This is Alain Perrin.”
“I got your messages.”
“I thought it was better to tell you before Marc or Claire decided how.”
Mathilde looked at Ines.
Her daughter pulled the blanket higher over her lap and nodded once.
“You’re on speaker,” Mathilde said.
“My daughter is here.”
A pause.
“All right.”
“If there is anything you think a fifteen-year-old should not hear, say that before you say it.”
“I understand.”
Alain exhaled.
“I don’t intend to discuss anything that isn’t relevant to her health.”
Mathilde almost smiled at the symmetry.
Everyone had suddenly learned the language of relevance.
“Why was Claire with Marc?”
“Because she contacted me first.”
Mathilde’s grip tightened around the phone.
“When?”
“Several months ago.”
Ines mouthed, Months.
Mathilde felt anger gathering again.
“What did she want?”
“To know whether I was Elise’s biological father.”
“You were.”
“Yes.”
“How did she find you?”
“She had my name from Elise’s mother.”
“Did Marc know she was looking?”
“Not initially.”
Mathilde closed her eyes.
“So Claire has been investigating this for months.”
“Yes.”
“Before Ines went to the hospital.”
“Yes.”
That changed something.
Not the medical facts.
The timeline.
The entire shape of Claire’s involvement.
“Why?”
Alain was silent for a moment.
“Because she had started rereading Elise’s letters.”
“That isn’t a reason.”
“No.”
Another pause.
“Because Claire believed she had misunderstood something for nearly thirty years.”
Mathilde glanced at Ines.
“What?”
“She thought Elise’s father had been giving her medication secretly.”
“That is what she told us.”
“It is true that he gave her medication.”
“But?”
“But not secretly.”
Mathilde straightened.
“What does that mean?”
“It means Elise’s mother knew.”
Ines spoke.
“Did the doctors?”
Alain’s voice softened slightly.
“I don’t know.”
“What medication was it?”
“I can’t tell you with certainty.”
“You told Marc it was a painkiller.”
“I told him I was told it was medication for pain.”
Mathilde heard the distinction immediately.
“Who told you?”
“Elise’s mother.”
“When?”
“After Elise died.”
“Did she know the name?”
“She said she did.”
“But she didn’t tell you?”
“She told me once.”
Alain paused.
“I did not remember it accurately enough to repeat it as fact.”
Mathilde looked at Ines.
There was something almost reassuring about a man refusing to sound certain.
“What did Claire think she had misunderstood?”
Alain exhaled.
“She believed Elise’s father had been withholding medical care because he thought the illness was exaggerated.”
“That part sounds well established.”
“Yes.”
“But?”
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“But Claire later found a letter in which Elise said her mother had asked Marc to stop taking her to appointments.”
Mathilde frowned.
