Chapter 4

4

C hastity clipped the front of her hair in a barrette and let the rest fall freely in light-brown curls that turned red in the sunlight. She put on mascara and lip-gloss but kept the rest of her look natural, hating herself for wanting to impress him. Why do I even care what he thinks of me? Her movements were abrupt as she zipped her makeup bag and knocked the plastic cup off the sink. It clattered to the floor, and she absently picked it up and set it in its place. She wanted him to regret what he missed out on—to look at her and see that time had treated her well, like a fine wine, and pine away in misery for having thrown it all away. No, not wine. I already feel old enough. She wanted him to see her as bubbly and festive, like an out-of-reach champagne.

All her attempts at forgiveness seemed futile now, because she was too mad at how he had treated her to be even falsely festive. Chastity’s eyes narrowed at the memory. She had become a despicable creature in her own eyes—and probably his—weeping and begging him in pleading whispers to reconsider. His parting words were, “I only went out with you because your name presented a challenge.” He stalked over to the group of friends, for whose benefit he had rehearsed this line, and punched one of them in the arm, grinning. And she stayed behind and sobbed. Like an idiot.

Chastity forced herself to exhale and picked up the phone. “Hi, Mom.” She smiled when she heard the familiar voice.

“Hi, Chassy.” It was a name her mom only used in rare, affectionate moments. Why shorten a beautiful Victorian name? “How’s my grandson?”

“He’s good.” Chastity paused, but there wasn’t much time, so she plunged in headlong. “Mom, we’re meeting Marc Bastien in a half-hour.” She could hear her heart thump while she waited for her mom’s reaction.

There was a beat before she got a response. “So he’s back in France, is he? I suppose it’s good for Tommy to meet his dad. It doesn’t mean he has to be a regular part of his life, does it?”

“No.” Chastity smiled to herself. Trust her mother to say something calm and sensible, and bring her back down to earth. “He said I’m the one to call the shots, and I intend to do just that.” She didn’t feel it necessary to mention the lip-gloss. “If it seems unhealthy for Thomas, I’ll tell Marc he’s not allowed to see him anymore.”

“I wish you weren’t living so far away.” Her mother was uncharacteristically wistful.

“I’ll be fine, Mom, I promise.” Chastity was sure her anxiety was coming through and continued brightly. “We have to leave soon, but I just wanted to hear your voice. We can Skype tomorrow at our usual time, okay?”

After she hung up the phone, the tension eased in her shoulders. Pulling her hair off her neck, Chastity turned her face this way and that to check her appearance in the mirror. Then she couldn’t put it off anymore. It was time to go. She peeked into Thomas’s room, where he was working his way through a French book, although he was more comfortable reading in English. “Are you ready to go, sweetie?”

“Yes, Mom.” He stood and tried to zip his sweatshirt, but it was old, and the zipper was not easy to get started at the bottom. She came over and knelt down to secure the bottom of the zipper before tugging it all the way up. She caught his glance and smiled.

“What if I don’t like him?” Thomas’s expression was worried.

“You never have to see him again,” she answered, calmly.

After a pause, he said in a smaller voice. “What if he doesn’t like me?”

Chastity breathed in and pressedher lips to crush the wave of feelings that started to rise. She managed a smile and said, “That, my dear, would be impossible.”

She started walking towards the door, indicating for him to follow her out of the apartment. The furniture was mostly from Ikea, with a few old elegant chairs and side tables that she had recuperated from the neighborhood bulk trash collection. With these antique touches, a few large houseplants next to the window, and some abstract paintings she had done during one of her college courses, the place had a less bare-bones feeling to it than when she first moved in. She had recently added sheer white curtains and a dark burgundy living room rug.

Once in the hallway, she turned the large, modern skeleton key in the lock. As they walked to the elevator, she put her arm around his shoulder, pulling him close. “Don’t forget that he asked to see you. We’re the ones who decide whether we’re going to let him into our lives or not.”

Her son nodded once and ran ahead to push the elevator button, and Chastity smiled to herself. At times Thomas was so perceptive, and even sharp-tongued, she forgot how young he was. At other times, she was reminded of the fact that she had many years ahead of her before her son would be a grown man and no longer in need of her.

They were meeting in the town center, and it was a sunny, late October day so they decided to walk. Thomas was fully absorbed in the two riders ambling down the shady street near their apartment building. Maisons-Laffitte was an equestrian town, and the stables were located kitty-corner from the school.

They skirted past the Chateau of Maisons-Laffitte on their way to the café where they had planned to meet Marc. I wonder what Mr. de Brase is doing now, she thought—which annoyed her. Who cares what he’s doing? She already had one irritating French male to deal with, and that was enough. But when her mind insisted on imagining bumping into him next to his home, her heart beat faster. Oh no, you don’t. She groaned inwardly. Even if he weren’t so stuck up, he’s totally out of my league. Leave it to me to have my first crush as a single mom be on someone who’s so unavailable.

They were in the busy part of town now, and she forced herself to focus as she faced the door to the Café Jer?me. Her switch in preoccupation happened so fast it made her head spin. As she opened the door, Chastity gritted her teeth. I’m not a teenager. I’m a grown woman with a master’s degree. And a job, which is more than I can say for him. She scanned the tables inside theroom, darkened by red curtains and mahogany tables, and her gaze fell on Marc. She knew at once it was him, but she couldn’t believe the changes the past seven years had wrought.

He wore a hot pink dress shirt that gleamed against his olive skin and brown hair. He had on jeans and Converse sneakers to complete his look of youthful casual. Except he did not at all look young. His face showed premature lines, and there was a tiredness to his eyes, or perhaps a hardness. Even the way he sat looked less jaunty somehow. He slouched, and his fingers drummed the table. When he lifted his head and saw them, he got to his feet and shoved his hands in his pockets. He gave a nervous smile but made no move to walk towards them.

Chastity was shocked. Has he really changed? She couldn’t believe it was true, but maybe prison had humbled him. He looked like he wasn’t confident of his reception and didn’t dare to push it. She felt the ice around her heart thaw. Putting an arm around Thomas, she walked towards him, attempting a smile.

“Marc,” she said simply.

“Hi, Chastity.” He moved to kiss her on the cheek, but she held out her hand, stopping him short. For a minute, he studied her hand, then he clasped it.

Thomas was examining his father openly, and Marc turned to him. “Thomas, do you know who I am?”

“Of course. My mother told me. You’re my father.”

“That’s right. Here, I got you something.” He reached over to the table and handed Thomas a small present, wrapped neatly in red paper with a ribbon and gold foil sticker. Thomas took it with two hands and carefully pulled off the wrapping paper, revealing a train engine, elaborately crafted, with a whistle that made noise when you pulled on it.

“I like it,” Thomas said, with dignity. He set it down on the table.

“I asked the woman in the toy boutique what a seven-year-old boy would like, and she recommended this.”

“Thomas, thank your father,” his mother reminded him gently.

“ Merci .” Thomas turned his face up to be kissed.

“Please sit down.” Marc gestured to the two chairs next to him. Chastity took off hercoat, helping Thomas with his, and placed the coats on the backs of their chairs beforesittingdown. The waiter came and took their orders—hot chocolate and a croissant for Thomas, an espresso for Marc and a café crème for Chastity.

“You take sugar?” When she nodded, Marc handed her two packets from the glass square in the center of the table.

“What grade are you in, Thomas?” Marc stirred a sugar cube into his espresso.

“I’m in first grade.” Thomas took a bite of his croissant. His train sat untouched next to him, but he cast furtive glances at it as he spooned hot chocolate into his mouth.

“Thomas is an advanced reader,” Chastity said. “He’s already read the first Harry Potter book.”

“Wow. That’s amazing.” Marc smiled encouragingly at him. “I was never much of a reader myself, but I did see all the movies.”

Thomas nodded and continued to chew his croissant. He swung his leg underneath the table.

“So, Chastity, what have you been doing all these years?” Marc placed his hand on hers, which was lying on the table. She jerked her hand away as if he had burned it.

“Um.” She tried to cover her confusion. “I got my degree at Columbia, which you probably knew. And I stayed on to get my master’s. I got the connection to this job from Mrs. Hirtz at the lycée , and we've been here since August.”

“That’s great,” he said. She didn’t dare reciprocate the question so an awkward silence fell.

“So, where are you living and working?” Chastity asked, finding her voice.

“I’m living in Puteaux, near La Défense, and for now I’m working at the FNAC in the photography boutique.”

“And your parents? They’re still in New York?”

“Nah, they came back after, uh…afterwards. I think they were tired of living in Manhattan.”

“I understand.” Chastity fell silent. She imagined his demise caused too much embarrassment in their polite circle for them to remain there.

“So they know you’re here and everything…?” She was hesitant to pry, but at the same time, was curious how he was getting along. She had a hard time imagining him—the golden boy—scraping by without his parents’ help.

“They know.” Marc shrugged. “I can’t say they’re too thrilled with the idea of having me over to see them, and I haven’t pushed. I humiliated them.”

“I see.” Chastity studied the napkin folded on her lap.

Even when she had disappointed her own parents, they would never think of shutting her out. Thomas started to clink his empty chocolate mug in tune to his kicking feet. “Do you mind if we walk? It’s hard for a boy his age to sit still for long.”

“Of course.” Marc stood, signaling for the check.

When they came out of the café, they turned left and started walking towards a playground she had seen in passing. They entered the fenced-in area, and Marc watched Thomas run towards the jungle gym, his feet flinging sand as he went. Chastity cleared her throat.

“I was thinking. Didn’t you have to serve parole at all? Was there no problem for you to leave the country?”

“No,” he said, shaking his head. “With the reduced time, it was as if I had served my whole sentence, so there was no parole. I was allowed to come back because this is my home country. I came back with a record, though. I’m no freer here than I was in America. I’ll never have a career or anything like that.”

“Don’t say ‘never’.” Chastity frowned in sympathy.

He was quiet for a minute, then nodded towards his son. “What did you tell him about me?”

“I told him the truth. He deserves to know the truth.”

Marc shook his head. “He must hate me. A father who was in prison.”

His humiliation pained Chastity, even if she was wary of his own potential for inflicting pain. It caused her to speak with more gentleness than she had yet shown. “I’ve not made you out to be a villain, Marc. He’ll judge you from what you are to him—not from anything I tell him.”

Marc flashed her a quick smile before looking at his feet.

“But I do have to ask what role you hope to have in his life after seven years," she continued."I mean, there hasn’t been a word from you in all this time. I can’t forget what you said to me when I first told you—or your parting words.”

Marc cut her off with a groan, his face in his hands. “Please forget about anything I said back then. I mean, forget about it as much as you can. I was too cocky. I’m sorry—I know I was a jerk.” His voice trembled, and he averted his eyes.

“Okay, fine,” Chastity said, not unkindly. She chewed her lip. “But, so what role…” She trailed off, looking at Thomas.

“Whatever role you permit me.” Marc shrugged and glanced at her with a hopeful smile. Their gaze met before they both turned to Thomas, who had climbed all the way to the top of the jungle gym and who was shyly watching them. The sun formed a halo around his straw-colored head as he straddled the top of the netted pyramid. He gave a small wave, and they both smiled and waved back.

“Let’s just play it by ear, okay?”