“She worried us so much as a child,” continued Emile. “From the moment she could walk, she was always testing things, taking risks. Climbing this, jumping over that. Just like that urban sport these days. What is it called?”
“Parkour,” said his wife. “When she was seven, she gave herself a concussion. Oh, mon Dieu, we were so frightened. We gave her the pair of roller skates she wanted for her birthday. A week later, our little daredevil thought she would try riding them down the stairs of le Metro.”
Her husband shook his head at the recollection and pointed to his own body to indicate Nicole’s traumas. “Concussion. Knocked out a tooth. A broken wrist.” Heat and Rook shared a glance, thinking the same thing: that explained the old scar. “We thought she would outgrow all this but her esprit, her wild side, only got more worrisome at adolescence.”
“Boys,” said Lysette. “Boys, boys, boys. All her energy went to boys and parties.”
“And the Beatles,” Emile scoffed. “And incense.”
Rook shifted cheeks in his antique chair as the parents continued through the 1960s. Nikki knew this was taking a lot of time, but she didn’t try to stem their oral history. It seemed important for them to tell her Nicole’s story—especially considering their loss. But their narrative also gave Nikki what she wanted—not just the obvious rewarding of her attempt to dig for background to help her homicide investigation, but the opportunity to go to the places she had never gone before to learn about her mother and her world. The ceremony of sharing this moment with the family of her mom’s best friend gave her a feeling of completeness about herself she hadn’t expected; a sense of personal connection to things she had long avoided. If Lon King didn’t reinstate her after this, that shrink could bite it.
Madame Bernardin said, “We did not know where she would go in her life until she found her passion in the violin.”
“Which is how she met Nikki’s mother,” said Rook, scrambling to put up a stop sign on memory lane.
“The best thing that ever happened for our girl,” said Emile. “She became immersed in the development of her talent in Boston and, at the same time, met a friend with opposing sensibilities to ground her.”
“Nicole needed that,” agreed his wife. “And I believe—if I may say so, Nikki—that our Nicole helped to open up your mother, who had such a serious nature. So full of purpose, so duty-bound to her work, rarely giving herself permission to simply have fun.” She paused. “I can see this makes you a little uncomfortable, but don’t be. We are talking about your mother, after all, not you.”
“Although, you could be her sitting there right now,” Emile added, only making Nikki feel more exposed, until Rook, thank God, jumped in brandishing his odd sock.
“That’s what so curious to me,” he began. “Cynthia—Cindy—had such drive and purpose and investment to succeed as a concert-class pianist. I’ve seen her play on video; she was astounding.”
“Yes,” they both said.
Rook placed his hands palms up to the heavens. “What happened? Something changed when she came here in the summer of ‘71. Something big. Maybe Nikki’s mother didn’t quit the piano, but she seemed to quit the dream. She had career opportunities back in the States and she didn’t bother to go back to see them through. I just wonder, what took such a serious young woman off course?”
After thinking a moment, Lysette said, “Well, I understand, as I am sure you do, that young people do change. For some, the rigors of the serious pursuit of a goal cannot be sustained. There is no shame in that.”
“Of course not,” he said, “but, with all due respect, Paris is a wonderful city, but three weeks’ vacation here, and she drops out?”
Lysette turned from him to Nikki to answer. “I would not say that your mother dropped out. It is more as if she took a hiatus from the pressure she put on herself and enjoyed things. Touring, visiting the museums, of course. She loved to learn new cooking. I taught her how to make cassoulet with duck confit.”
“She made that for me!” said Nikki.