Where the Light Falls(115)
As the minutes passed and the evening outside darkened, Jean-Luc’s belly filled with warmth, and he basked in the comfortable glow of their hopes in the future. The moonlight poured into the room as he helped himself to another glass of wine. And still, he and Marie waited.
“What hour is it?” he asked after a while.
Marie paused where she stood, stirring a bowl of potatoes to prevent them from sticking as they grew cold in the juices of the chicken; a rare feast, and she had clearly splurged on procuring it, in honor of her celebratory news. She checked her timepiece. “Almost eight. How long has it been since you returned home?”
“Nearly an hour,” Jean-Luc answered.
At this the smile slid ever so slightly from Marie’s features, replaced by a thoughtful crease of her brow. “I can’t think what would be keeping them.”
Jean-Luc glanced out the window over the street. “They went to the baker? On Rue de Tolbiac?”
“Yes.”
“But that surely should not have taken an hour?” Jean-Luc turned back to his wife.
“No,” Marie said, shaking her head.
Just then the door to the room burst open, and Sophie’s trembling frame appeared in the doorway. Sophie panted, her breath uneven and her eyes frantic with a look of terror. “I’ve lost him!”
Jean-Luc felt cold dread freeze the blood in his veins, driving away the contentment and warmth he had felt mere minutes ago.
“ ‘Lost him’?” Marie looked at Sophie, her own voice faint.
“Mathieu,” Sophie panted. “I turned my back for one moment and he was gone.”
“Where?” Jean-Luc rose and crossed the room toward Sophie.
“In the baker’s. It was so crowded. I took my eyes off him for a moment to pay for the loaf and when I looked back, he had vanished. He’s run away!”
“Run away?” Marie gasped, her face ashen as she turned to her husband. “No, he’s a good boy. He would never just run away. That’s impossible!” Marie shook her head violently, charging toward the door of their apartment where her cloak hung on a hook before the entrance. Sophie stood motionless, trying to place the scene where she had last seen him.
Jean-Luc looked at his wife, sensing the panic that she now shared. He should have known: his good fortune to hear of a new child and a career advancement on the same day surely would not come without a price. Fate could not be so kind as to grant these blessings without exacting some penalty. No one had the right to feel blessed in times such as these.
He stood, crossing the room in two strides. “Marie, you stay here, in case he returns home. I shall go.”
No one in the neighborhood had seen the little boy leave the baker’s. Nor had they seen him on the nearby streets. Panting, Jean-Luc raced across the bridge, crossing the calm waters of the Seine where the boats glided along the surface. He could not have explained it in any logical way, but his course was set for the Right Bank. He suspected, without knowing why, that that was where his little boy would have wandered.
The air was warm and the pedestrians marched at a languid pace, laughing freely as they enjoyed the balmy evening. Along the quay heading south, Jean-Luc spotted a little boy, his small little head covered in dark curls, his light summer coat and short strides the same as Mathieu’s. The boy was leaning over the embankment, endeavoring to get a better view of a barge that passed beneath.
“Mathieu!” Jean-Luc could have wept in relief. He sprinted toward the little figure, clasping a hand on his narrow shoulder to pull him back from the water’s edge. “Mathieu, you are very naughty to have run away! Maman and I were very frightened that you’d—” Jean-Luc wheeled the little boy around and gasped aloud when he stared into a face, a set of features entirely foreign to him. The little boy, stunned by the rough treatment at the hands of a stranger, began to cry.
“Oh, I’m…I’m terribly sorry…” Jean-Luc stammered, pulling his hand away.
“What are you on about, eh, taking hold of my boy like that?” An angry housewife, stout and red-faced, stepped between the little boy and Jean-Luc.
“I am sorry, madame, I was mistaken.” Jean-Luc stared at the boy, blinking.
“Mistaken indeed. Now be off with you, before I report you to the gendarmes!”
Jean-Luc glanced one more time at the boy before he turned and raced back along the quay. The crowds in the streets were thinning now as candlelight began to flicker behind shuttered windows. Jean-Luc’s lungs ached from the effort of his running, but still he weaved his way through the streets and narrow alleys, calling out for his boy.