The closer they were to sitting, the more agitated Frédéric became, and when the doorbell rang, most of them were startled—they weren’t expecting anyone else—but Frédéric practically jumped out of his skin. Bruce moved toward the door, but the older man held up a hand to stop him.
“Angeline!” he said, his face the picture of dread. “Let us answer, you and me. Alone.”
They all loved and respected Frédéric, but after that display, there was no way the rest of them were staying put and missing out on whatever scene was about to play out at the front door. Frédéric, sensing they were all primed to follow, scanned their faces pleadingly, and Markie guessed he was about to beg them not to come. She started to turn back to the kitchen and herd the others with her, but before Frédéric could speak, the doorbell rang again.
Frédéric shrugged. “Maybe the extra people will help, actually,” he said to the air above their heads, and turning, he headed for the door, Mrs. Saint by his side.
Everyone scurried after them and stood waiting a few feet behind, their eyes trained on the door, and when Frédéric finally pulled it wide enough to reveal the person on the other side, they sucked in a collective astonished breath. There on the doorstep was an exact replica of Mrs. Saint.
“Simone!” Markie whispered, and from somewhere behind her she heard Jesse’s voice whisper the same thing.
“Simone,” Frédéric said, bowing low. His voice, like Markie’s and her son’s, was whisper-quiet.
He stepped backward and extended an arm for her to come inside while he reached for Mrs. Saint with his other hand. Markie didn’t have to wonder long whether he was reaching out to comfort her or to keep her at his side, because before Simone took a single step across the threshold, Mrs. Saint turned on her heel and stomped away, through the living room and down a hallway that, Markie guessed, held the bedrooms. Seconds later, a door slammed.
Like spectators at a tennis match, everyone had turned to watch Mrs. Saint march away, and now they all turned back to Simone, who was unbuttoning her coat. When she removed it, along with her gloves and purse, and handed them to a waiting Frédéric, they all took in another collective inhale. It wasn’t the fact that she and Mrs. Saint were obviously twins that took their breath away. Wrinkle patterns and hair color (theirs were identical) weren’t within a person’s control.
It was the fact that everything else about her, all the elements of her appearance that she had power over—clothes, jewelry, shoes, purse, the way she carried herself—were the same as well. The sisters had been apart for who knew how long. Years, Markie guessed. Decades, even. Yet from outward appearances, they might as well have been living in the same house.
“Simone,” Frédéric said again, and this time his voice was a little louder.
He handed her things to Bruce, then stood awkwardly, his arms partly extended toward her as though he wasn’t sure if he should touch her. She regarded his uncertain arms and took one small step toward him. He closed the distance and they embraced, and the length of their hug confirmed Markie’s estimate that it had been decades, indeed, not mere years, since the sisters had seen each other.
When Frédéric finally released her, he was smiling, but Simone planted her feet wide, crossed her arms, and glared at him. His smile faded, and in an instant he was a little boy, standing in front of his mother, waiting to be chastised for breaking a vase. With a speed and force that resulted in a third collective intake of breath from the group, she slapped him hard across the face.
Frédéric raised a hand to his cheek reflexively, and Markie waited for him to exclaim, “What the hell?” To suggest that maybe Simone had already outstayed her welcome. Instead, amazingly, he nodded.
“You,” Simone said. “I am not sure what to call you.”
“Frédéric, if you please.”
As he said it, Frédéric gave a slight bow, as though he were asking her permission. Or for a favor.
Simone seemed to debate this in her mind, and he shifted uncomfortably, holding his breath. Finally, she gave a short nod and the same slight chin dip Markie had seen her sister perform countless times.
“Frédéric, then.”
Frédéric let his breath out in a long, relieved blast and inclined his head, a thank-you.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Mrs. Saint didn’t wait long to return to the group. With apologies to everyone for making them delay their meal, she invented a story about lost reading glasses and her inability to quickly locate them, then summoned everyone impatiently to the table. When they were seated, she introduced her sister without fanfare, as though she had been telling them for weeks that Simone would be joining them that night. Simone began to apologize for her sudden and unexpected entrance, but Mrs. Saint waved her off, saying there was no need to be sorry, there was plenty of food, and now it was time for Frédéric to say grace.
Simone was from New York, she told everyone, as they were passing heaping plates of turkey, mashed potatoes, green beans, rolls, sweet potato casserole, cranberry sauce, and stuffing around the table. She had two boys, and they each had two children, and the busyness of grandparenting had kept her from visiting Angeline. She didn’t look at her sister when she said this last bit, and Mrs. Saint busied herself spreading butter on a roll, pretending no disagreement with Simone’s explanation for why no one at the table, other than Frédéric, had ever seen her before. But try as they did, the twins could not hide the thick tension that had settled into the dining room, and not even Lola would believe that it was geographical distance and grandkids that had kept the sisters apart.
They ate fast, everyone refusing seconds and claiming no room even for dessert. They could have it tomorrow, Ronda suggested, and Bruce chimed in that pumpkin pie was always so much better the next day anyway. Frédéric told Ronda and Bruce to leave the kitchen to him, and in fewer than five minutes, the front door was closing behind the two of them as they walked together to the bus stop.
Over Lola’s protests, Patty said it was time for them to leave, too, and Markie and Jesse jumped up immediately, saying it wouldn’t be right to send their guests home without them. From the moment they all sat down to dinner until the moment Markie and the others were back inside the bungalow, not even thirty minutes had elapsed.
Markie had every intention of avoiding her elderly neighbor for the rest of the weekend, leaving her to her own secrets. She was as curious as ever about Simone and why Mrs. Saint had denied her existence, but she knew what it was like to have something painful in her past and to want to hide it from others. After seeing Mrs. Saint’s face when she saw who was at the door, after watching her bristle at the sound of Simone’s voice, Markie had no plans to push in on the matter.
But on Friday morning, Mrs. Saint was at Markie’s door, holding out half a pie along with an assortment of other leftovers, all packaged into neatly labeled containers.