Summer XIII

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I drew in a deep breath of crisp night air as I descended the short stairs of the carriage. The city was bare and quiet, except for the heavy breathing of the carriage’s horse and my wife who waited for me to join her on the brick sidewalk. I walked slowly and with stiff legs. Élisabeth took hold of my arm, and my muscles tensed.
         Tilting her head up to meet my gaze, I saw the starry sky reflecting in her eyes. “It will be alright,” she whispered, but her words flowed through me.
         I knew her intentions were pure, but my thoughts laid elsewhere—with the letter I still held in my breast pocket, near my heart, and with my mother who resided in the hotel not far in front of us. Two years gone and now I would be reunited with my mother at last. The thought made my stomach knot.
         The Hotel Le Bruant was perched on the corner of the street and was a quaint little three story building. The shadows cast from the dim glowing lamps danced across its white stone face. Four balconies surrounded the four arch windows on the top floor, and candles flickered behind thin white curtains. It appeared empty and almost eerie.
         “Are you alright, Andre?” Élisabeth asked and tugged my arm so that we could continue forward.
         My feet no longer moved and did not respond. My nerves had climbed up from my stomach and had settled in my throat.
         The doors of the hotel stood before us, bare and unguarded. No one waited to hold them open in welcoming or to ask our names. The Hotel Royal had servants in every corner, and yet there were none in sight here. Only a small canvas on an easel greeted us. In large, black letters, it announced a forthcoming performance in a theater somewhere in town. The actors were playing Hamlet this coming weekend.
         My mother would love to see it, I thought, and I was sure Élisabeth would love to as well. We could go together and Élisabeth could show my mother her new admiration for Shakespeare. I was sure my mother would be impressed.
         Élisabeth took a step forward. “Hamlet?” she said with excitement in her voice. It was as if she had knew my thoughts.
         “Yes,” I replied. It was the first time I had spoken since we left her grandmother’s home, and my voice sounded strange when it came to my ears. Stiff and almost false. Too many emotions were passing through me, and I made sure to show none of them in my tone.
         I stepped closer to the sign so I could read the rest of the smaller print. “It seems to be a small theater company. Travelers, I suppose.” I had never seen a traveling show. They were meant for the lower class and so did not play in places such as the Opéra Garnier. They never seemed worthy of my attention.
         “Maybe we could see it,” she suggested.
         I clenched and unclenched my jaw. “Maybe.”
         She must have sensed my distance for she spoke no more about the sign and the traveling show. My hand gripped the rusted iron handle of the hotel’s door, and I pulled it open for her to enter first.
         The entrance hall was scarcely lit. Two lamps stood in the center of the room, splashing gold and orange light on the bare, colorless walls. It was empty save for a lone man behind an oak wood desk. He was dressed in a simple brown suit, and his eyes found us instantly. He scowled as if we had disturbed his peace.
         “I’ll be with you the entire way,” Élisabeth whispered and patted my hand. It was amazing how such a simple gesture could make me feel like a child again.
         I looked down at her sympathetic expression and a twinge of guilt went through me. I wished I could give her something to settle her concern. But then, I couldn’t help myself as it was. Sighing, I gathered the rest of my strength and gave her a weak smile.
         “Bonjour,” the man said, grinding his teeth.
         As we approached the desk, his thick brows pinched at the center, creating many lines on his shiny forehead. “How may I help you?”
         I swallowed.
         Élisabeth’s hand tightened on my arm. “Er—yes, Monsieur. We are looking for someone.”
         He didn’t appear surprised by her statement. “Oh?”
         “Someone that is staying here,” she added.
         His dark eyes switched to me. “Name?”
         Even though it was a common question to ask, I was taken aback by it. “My name?”
         The man rolled his eyes to Élisabeth again. “The person you are searching for,” he said.
         Beginning to get annoyed with his rudeness, I cleared my throat. “Renee DeMonté,” I answered. I straightened my back and lifted my chin. I knew that when he recognized the last name, he would treat us with more respect and would regret his foul attitude. 
         “Renee DeMonté…” One black brow rose in question. “I do not remember anyone coming in here with such a name.”
         My heart skipped a beat and my eyes widened.
         “Is there a way for you to check?” asked Élisabeth when I did not reply. “A record of some sort?”
         Sighing nosily, he reached under his desk and pulled out a large leather book. He placed it onto the desk too aggressively, causing the table to shake, then he opened it. Both pages were filled with scribbled signatures of guests of The Hotel Le Bruant and the dates they had come to stay. His crooked finger ran down the lines. “Renee DeMonté?”
         Over his finger, my eyes searched each signature for something familiar. None looked like my mother’s handwriting. “It may be under Renee Badeau,” I began, panic rising. “It may be under her maiden name.”
         He flipped a few pages and studied it again. His face crumpled even more.
         “She’s my mother,” I went on. “She wrote me a letter telling me she was staying here, at the Hotel Le Bruant.” I reached into my jacket, pulled out the letter, and laid it beside the book.
         The man only glanced at it and sniffed. “Do you know when she came in?”
         I looked at Élisabeth. She was biting her bottom lip. Whether it was in concentration or worry, I did not know.
         I sighed. “No, her letter said she would be here until the end of the month.”
         He grunted and searched through the book with a little more force. One of the pages ripped but he ignored it and continued to look. “No one by either name has come to stay at this hotel.”
         A sharp pain went through my chest. “A-Are you sure?”
         “Yes.” The man closed the book with a thud, sending my letter fluttering off the desk and onto the floor.
         Élisabeth frowned.
         “She told me she would be here,” I said, my voice cracking. “She told me…”
         “I’m sorry.” But his tone assured us that he wasn’t in the least.
         My hands trembled. I wanted to wrap them around the man’s neck for his insolence, for his lack of information and concern. Did he have any idea how long I had waited to see my mother again? Did he understand that I had traveled all this way to meet her and to show her how much I had grown?
         Élisabeth’s other hand came to rest on my shaking ones, as if she knew my thoughts. “Could you check again, please?” she asked the man.
         He shook his head. “I would have remembered the name. I take care of all who come into this hotel. She is not here. Perhaps the address given is wrong.”
         I turned sharply, Élisabeth’s touch falling away. I could not stand to be in this building for another moment longer. I took long strides across the hall and pushed the doors open with such force that they knocked against the building. I heard the man curse and then Élisabeth’s frantic footsteps following after me, but I ignored them all. My mother was not here. She had never come.
         And I was done crying. I was done feeling beaten and upset that she was no longer in my life. If that was where she wanted to stay, so be it. I had given her too many chances, had kept my hopes up for too long.
         Heart racing, I did not return to the waiting carriage but proceeded down the darken street. I was not a boy anymore. I was a man, and I had lived two years of my life without a mother. I could certainly live many more. It was clear to me now. My mother didn’t want to be a part of my life.
         “Andre!” Élisabeth called, and I could hear the sound of her heels clicking against the cobblestone behind me. “Andre, please stop!”
         My feet halted on their own, but I did not turn around. The sound of her shoes silenced.
         “Andre,” she said in a gentle tone. She took another step forward, and I could sense her closeness. “Andre, I’m so sorry. Maybe she is in another hotel. We can ask around. I’m sure she’s here—”
         My hands balled into fists and I whirled on her. “She isn’t here!” I shouted at her wide eyes. “She never was! Don’t you see? She isn’t here!”
         “Andre…”
         “No, please.” It was then that I saw my mother’s letter in her hands. She must have picked it up before she came to chase after me. My entire body shook with rage.
         “To me, she no longer exists.” I snatched the letter from her and my quickness made her jump. I ripped the paper once, twice, and many more times until the letter was nothing more than fragments of past hope and childhood wishes gathered in my palms. The sound echoed throughout the vacant streets of Sainte-Etienne, and Élisabeth cringed.
         I turned away from her again. “I wish I never found out she was alive,” I said firmly and stared at my clenched hands. They seemed to glow white in the darkness. I relaxed my fingers and opened them, letting the pieces fall and litter the ground by my feet.
         “Now,” I breathed, “she is truly dead to me.”