We Were the Salt of the Sea by Roxanne Bouchard

Author:Roxanne Bouchard [David Warriner]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781912374045
Publisher: Orenda Books
Published: 2018-12-15T00:00:00+00:00

Suddenly, I heard a vehicle approaching. I hurried over to the window to see Cyrille’s pickup coming down the gravel driveway. He parked in the shade of the tall trees and moseyed over with a bag in his hand.

‘Heee … I thought you might be getting hungry.’

‘Aw, have you brought me something to eat, Cyrille?’

‘Some bread, coffee, butter and eggs.’

‘I’d better plug the fridge in.’

‘And then, heee … put a pot of water on the stove, would you? I brought us two lobsters for lunch. You haven’t had lunch yet, have you?’

I was lost for words.

‘Nobody ever said they didn’t eat well under your mother’s roof, love!’

I spun around, and he stared at me so hard it hurt.

‘How did you know I’d be here?’ I asked him.

‘I ran into Chiasson the notary. Heee … After that, I went looking for you. Renaud told me Guylaine kicked you out of the auberge. I figured you must be here.’

A long silence stretched between us, crisscrossed with so many waves, so many wonderings.

‘Heee … let’s eat these lobsters before they grow old.’

Cyrille led me into the kitchen. He showed me how to massage a crustacean’s forehead before cooking it.

‘It makes the meat more tender!’ he said.

We ate in the kitchen, windows wide open to the bay below.

‘He wants you to go and see him tomorrow. Heee…’

‘Who?’

‘The notary.’

‘Why?’

‘Stop wrestling with them pincers, would you! Heee … Here, take the knife and put the pointy end in right there, in the little triangle. Right, now go on, give it a little push and turn it a bit.’

A warm breeze swept into the kitchen, breathing life into the stagnant air.

‘Just because you’ve inherited now, doesn’t mean you can butcher a lobster!’

‘What?’

‘Heee … He told me you’d inherited.’

‘Inherited what?’

‘The house, love! What else do you want, a space shuttle? Heee … You’ve inherited a bit of land in the Gaspé.’

I didn’t know what to say.

‘What are you going to do with it?’

‘Dunno.’

I cleared away what was left of the lobster shells and wiped the table down as Cyrille, ever diligent in his habits, rolled himself a joint. We went to sit outside.

‘Where do you live?’

‘Montreal.’

He chuckled to himself as he exhaled a smoky breath.

‘What’s so funny?’

‘Nothing.’ ‘It’s just that … heee … the Saint Lawrence in your neck of the woods, it’s not really a river, it’s more of a stream!’

‘True.’

‘What did your father do for a living?’

‘He was an architect.’

He nodded his head, slowly.

‘My parents were architects, Cyrille. Both of them.’

‘Heee … how so, both of them?’

‘Marie Garant left me with them when I was a baby, under their legal guardianship.’

‘With the Days’ son?’

‘Yes. I figure my biological father’s probably a man from around here, but I haven’t seen any photos of him in the house…’

He took a long drag of the joint before he replied.

‘They still alive, your Montreal parents?’

‘No.’

‘That’s why you came, is it? Heee … Your parents died and you found out you were adopted, so you wanted to meet your mother?’

‘Not adopted. It was a legal guardianship.

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