Mrs. Saint and the Defectives

“Listen, I should be the one thanking you, for spending so much time with him,” she said. “I can’t tell you how thrilled he is to be learning about carpentry from you. The Sundays he’s been spending with you have made such a difference. He tells me you’ve been talking to him about World War Two, as well. He got a terrific grade on his history midterm. Did he tell you? He told me most of his answers came from talking to you. I know he read the chapters, but the written words weren’t nearly as interesting as your stories. You made it come alive.” Because she couldn’t help herself, she added, “You really should have been a professor.”

Frédéric smiled. “I enjoy talking about these things with him. There are some who refuse to ever discuss the past. But this does not make it go away.” Before Markie could decide if he was talking about Mrs. Saint and Simone or simply making an innocuous remark about people in general, he said, “Angeline tells me she did a very poor job of asking if you could have Lola in the evenings. She feels badly.”

“Because I didn’t say yes?”

He smiled again. “Certainly, she is sad about your answer. But I believe she feels most badly that her . . . quirks, shall we say, have gotten in the way of what is best for a child.”

He turned again to watch Lola and Jesse running in the yard, and so did Markie, and for a few moments they were quiet as they stood together grinning at the two human airplanes and their yapping four-legged wingman.

“Such fun they have,” Frédéric said. “Even at such different ages. I have often had the thought that they each would have enjoyed a sibling.” Quickly, he turned to Markie and said, “Please. I am not Angeline. I am not asking if you thought of another child or why there is not one. I am only sharing what I have thought about each of them. I hope it is not an offensive thing.”

“I know you’re not Angeline,” Markie said. “I’ve never lumped the two of you together. You are very different.”

“She does mean well,” he said. “But she is unfortunately not so able to relate things the way she intends. So tough and bossy! But this is not who she is, in her core.”

“Well then, who is she, at her core?” Markie asked.

But Frédéric only smiled and let out a quiet laugh and gave Markie a look that said he would sooner face a firing squad than reveal something private about Angeline. It didn’t surprise Markie, and just like when Ronda had refused to engage about Mrs. Saint’s secretiveness, it didn’t annoy her the way it did when it was the old woman herself who avoided the questions. The Defectives weren’t the ones prying into Markie’s life while refusing to open up about their own. They were simply being loyal. Markie respected them for that, and in a way, she envied Mrs. Saint for having so many people in her life who were that devoted to watching out for her.

She smiled agreeably at Frédéric and decided to change the subject, but before she could speak again, the side door opened and Patty walked out, calling to Lola that it was time for them to leave. Lola’s face sagged, and to Markie’s surprise, Frédéric’s did the same.

“Two minutes,” Patty told Lola, who groaned, then took up running again after Jesse as Patty headed for Frédéric and Markie.

Angel stopped chasing the kids and darted to Patty’s side, walking with her. “Hi there, Angel girl!” Patty said, reaching down to touch the dog’s head. At the fence, she asked, “What are you two huddled up about?”

Frédéric shifted positions to include her in the discussion, but Patty squatted and took Angel’s head between her hands, scratching her behind the ears. “You behaving?” she asked. She planted a kiss on the dog’s forehead, then stood. Angel tried to jump up for more attention, but Patty held a flat palm to her. “Down,” she said, “and sit.” The dog sat. “So?” Patty asked, looking from Frédéric to Markie.

“Only visiting,” Frédéric told Patty. “I was going to ask Markie how her job is going.” To Markie, he said, “You are enjoying working from home, Jesse tells me.”

Markie frowned. “I was enjoying it, but I’m afraid I’m not going to be for much longer. I’m not getting enough done at home, so I’m going to be forced to work downtown soon. I’ve been looking for other work-from-home options, but so far, no luck. I think there’s about to be a cubicle at Global Insurance headquarters with my name on it.” She pictured the cube prairie and scratched her arms.

“But why is this?” Frédéric asked.

“Because she refuses to accept help,” Patty said. “She’d rather drag herself downtown and be miserable in a cube all day than let me take Angel off her hands for a few hours.” She smiled at Markie as if to say she still didn’t get it but was still cool with it.

Frédéric looked at Markie for confirmation, and she shrugged.

“You do not like help,” he said, and his tone was so matter-of-fact that it caught her off guard. Her parents had said the same five words to her many times, but it was always as an accusation, a judgment.

“Not when I can’t pay for it,” she said.

He inclined his chin. He understood—or at least, he acknowledged her feelings on the matter. “And do you feel payment for help must always be made in cash?” he asked.

“No,” Markie said, “but I . . .” She stopped. She was going to say she couldn’t think of a non-cash way to repay Patty, but of course, that was no longer true.

Markie locked eyes with Frédéric, and she could tell from the way he held his neck, stiffly and slightly to the left, that he was listening to the children playing behind him but was determined not to turn around and look at them. To bring her attention to the obvious. To use their laughter against her. That was something Mrs. Saint would do, and he was not, as he had said only moments ago, the same as she was. Mrs. Saint, who let her own quirks—her bossiness, her nosiness, her insistence on barging into other people’s lives—get in the way of what was best for Lola.

“You do not like to be so involved with other people,” Frédéric said, and again, it was a simple statement, devoid of judgment.

Markie didn’t feel the impulse to defend herself to him. She didn’t feel the urge to tell him she hadn’t always been like this. That she didn’t plan to stay like this, alone in her house, hiding from her neighbors, her colleagues, her parents, the rest of the world. Sometimes, even, from her son, and always, always from herself. That it was only something she needed now, until she could stand to look at herself again and could stand to have others look at her.

Frédéric tilted his head to one side and regarded her kindly, then reached for her hand again and held it between his. “It is every bit okay,” he said.

He continued to look directly into her eyes, and Markie was certain he was telegraphing to her only kindness, understanding. That he was absolutely not trying to convey the message that she was the one who was like Angeline, letting her own quirks get in the way of what was best for Jesse.

He was Frédéric, after all, and he was not the type to send that message.

But she heard it, loud and clear.

“Patty,” Markie said, not taking her eyes away from Frédéric’s, “I have a proposition for you.”





Chapter Twenty-Eight


They were playing the Anything Game, and it was Lola’s turn.

“The category is . . . ,” she said, thinking. She looked around the room, and her eyes settled on Angel, who was sleeping on the living room floor. “Animals. And the word starts with D.”

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