18 Regroup

Kneeling before the altar, Tristan bowed his head. His mind was in such turmoil, but he couldn’t make heads or tails of it. Had his dedication to the church, to God not enough? What was he missing?

Lunch at the Martin was uneventful. He noticed, without voicing it, how the husband took over the house as his wife could no longer handle it. That sadness in his eyes only increased, and when Tristan left, he was glad that he would never know such pain. The overwhelming despair to see a loved one fade away like his mother had.

He would never be like his father, crushed by her death, unable to go on. It was fortunate enough he and his sister had been adults at the time.

No. He was a man of church, Father to his people, forever protected by God’s love and his calling. He would watch and guide from afar, sympathise and make friends. But no one would ever hold sway over his heart like the Martin’s.

So why did it feel like something was missing? That his life of prayers and devotion missed a pair of very fine eyes.

Why was Frances in his thoughts night and day? Why did he think of her when he prayed? When he walked? When he ate … especially when he ate.

Physical love was forbidden; that young woman just called for his soul. That was it, the compatibility of two souls who loved to exchange, and had found companionship. She needed his guidance, he couldn’t give up because of his earthly attachment.

What would happen to her if he didn’t stand by her side? If he didn’t look for her, bestow his wisdom, teach her the love of the almighty and the righteous path? She had been so lost the first time she appeared in his church, he fed her with the love of God. Nothing more. Like a companion holding her hand as she walked until she was old enough to run on her own, right?

And God knew she needed guidance; her relationships were a disaster, and her boyfriend rather callous. Albeit he could sense she was getting better and choosing new friends – except for Luke, bah! Perhaps Frances would be able to stand on her own two feet soon.

Something stirred in his chest. He could almost see Frances’ interrogative eyes upon him as he pondered those matters, her warm brown irises flecked with golden, catching the light of the candles. Her beautiful voice when it rose in church, that angelic quality that caused his eyes to mist over. The long ringlets, sometimes tied up in a dancing braid that seemed as wild as she was. Her reddened cheeks after a walk in the sunshine, her peaceful expression when she watched the landscape.

Tristan’s hands touched the stone as he bowed further, hard and cold under his fingers. And he prayed, and prayed some more. He prayed for clarity, and to be shown the path. Had not God sent Frances in his church, was it not HIS will that she would be looked after, and supported?

Prayer brought him a little solace. But the fiery braid still danced in his mind when he walked home.

At the same time, in the city.

— “I got it!” Thomas exclaimed, jumping from the sofa.

Two very tired gazes greeted his statement, hop burning brightly within. The young man pointed to a specific fault in the stratigraphic sequence, and followed the heavy line further down.

— “See, it’s truncated in the middle.”

Frances’ eyes widened, checking the theory in a heartbeat. The tectonic had superimposed twice the same sequence, thrusting one part of the mountain over the other.

— “Oh! I should have seen it, of course. I’m so stupid, damn it!”

And she cringed at the words before realising that Father Tristan wasn’t there to scold her for swearing. In the background, the soothing voice of the choir reminded her that, no matter what, the priest always supported her. He had certainly never scolded when her expressions turned to blaspheme.

Maëlle literally sunk by her side, relieved.

— “Phew! Thomas, you saved our lives.”

The dark-haired man bowed dramatically, dark eyes sparkling with glee.

— “What can I say, thank you ladies!”

— “She didn’t thank you yet,” quipped Maëlle while Frances rolled her eyes.

Thomas only grinned.

— “It’s all in the eyes.”

Frances smiled; Thomas was one of these people that always seemed happy. The perfect counterpart to her negativity. Sometimes it brightened her. Other times, she just wished she could bash him across the head, and tell him to shut the hell up.

She exchanged a smirk with Maëlle, observing the flat brown hair and sunken eyes of her comrade – lack of sleep.

Maëlle was a possibility, for the moment. Nothing more. She had yet to disappoint Frances, and kept coming. Like a wave upon a shore, she suggested, week after week, that Frances came around for lunch. Or dinner, or that they go out for a drink. She never pushed, just opened the possibility. And for the moment, Frances retreated; she wasn’t ready to trust another female yet. Her past relationships had brought too much disappointment.

Stupid, because, at home, she had her best friend Nad. Nad, who behaved wilder and wilder. Nad, whom she couldn’t comprehend anymore, and piled up lovers, soirées, and smoked pot. Aherm. Perhaps that particular friendship was also coming to an end… Everything, it seems, was in the process of renewal. Little by little, Frances awakened to a new life. New friends, new home…

The front door suddenly opened. Spotting a familiar face, Frances darted from her seat with a big smile.

— “Matthew!”

What a pleasant surprise! She didn’t expect him so early. Her boyfriend engulfed her in a long, sensual kiss that left her blushing; she wasn’t one for public displays of affection. When he released her, her cheeks were burning from embarrassment, and his brown eyes twinkling.

— “Happy birthday!”

Matthew shed his coat and strode to her friends, greeting Maëlle – that he had never met – cheerfully before he sank on the sofa.

— “Phew, I’m dead. The road was horrible, I took the deviation because of the rain. Got something to drink?”

Frances nodded, and fished a beer out of her fridge before she settled by his side. He was wearing his dark grey shirt, the one she preferred. Neat! His dark, intelligent eyes took a look at their stratigraphic sequence, trying to make sense of it while Maëlle and Thomas started pointing the landmarks again.

— “So, how long is this mess going to take?" he asked in a low voice.

Frances bit her lip, the buzz of his arrival running through her veins.

— “Long enough for you to have a shower if you want to.”

Matthew gave her a lopsided smile.

— “OK then. I’m taking you out this evening, I want to see you in a dress and I’ve got a little something to adorn it.”

Frances glared mockingly, perfectly aware that her birthday present was probably a new set of lingerie. But she so badly didn’t want her friends to be subjected to THAT conversation. Too late, Maëlle was already smirking.

— “We can finish another day, you know?”

Frances cringed. Private life was private life.

— “No. Let’s do this. I want my mind free so I don’t have to mull over it.”

— “Fair enough,” Thomas retorted.

And they worked, one more hour, upon the blasted stratigraphic sequence. From top to bottom, annotations filled the drawing, written in Frances’ neat handwriting – Maëlle was just too messy. His beer empty, Matthew disappeared in the bedroom to shower and pamper himself. The sudden noise of a hairdryer sent Maëlle in peals of laughter.

— “Wait, is he really doing his brushing?”

Frances grinned, amused.

— “Yeah. Funny, that out of the two of us, he’s the only one that travels with a hairdryer.”

Thomas sent her a blank look; he’s probably never used the device in his life, aside from drying socks after a trip in the snow. And even then … maybe not.

Suddenly, her mind flew to another man’s hair… Father Tristan’s light brown hues, loose strands that seemed soft as silk as they danced in the breeze. Probably effortless, since she couldn’t imagine the man blowing his hair dry with a device, or slicking it back. “The reproaches” were still playing in her bedroom, the volume so low that one could barely head it. But Frances knew that disc by heart now, and found that the image of Father Tristan, standing before the altar was better suited to the music.

— “So, Ordovician here?”

Oops, her mind was wandering. Maëlle send her a mock look.

— “Focus, Frances. I know you’ve got an eventful week end ahead, but…”

— “Shut up.”

She didn’t want to talk about it. Yes, Matthew was here, he’d driven the four hours up and surprised her. Nice enough. But lately, things had been difficult between them. She wanted, very badly, to hope that her birthday week end would be filled with love and laugher.

Frances’ eyes returned to the dark green colour from the book she’d been perusing, her mind cross-referencing the past two hours findings – fish fossils, in particular, characterised this period where life had evolved in the oceans to the point of having vertebrates. Right before another glaciation and meteorites landed on earth. Again.

— “Yes, later Ordovician,” Frances nodded.

Satisfied, Thomas gestured for the map, and opened it wide on the floor.

— “Right. Now let’s lake that cross section.”

Two heavy sighs responded. Phew. Amused by the exaggerated display, the young man sprang to his feet and gathered his hand, blowing inside to muster a trumpet like sound.

— “One stratigraphy map, coming right up! Come on soldiers, give it your all. You can do it, it’s the last stretch! The home run… Go, go, go!”

This time, the goofball effect caused Frances’ lips to quirk and Maëlle to outright laugh.

It was a good trio.

— “What’s that music? Are you turning into a bigot or what?”

Startled, Frances whirled around to find Matthew, hair blown dry, buttoning his new shirt. A blush crept up her cheeks; she had not said a word about Father Tristan at all. In this room, Thomas was the only one who had met him. Funnily enough, he was the most anti-religious man she knew … but didn’t quite care if she was friends with a priest.

Maëlle, being the subtle woman she was, caught up on the tension at once.

— “Oh, I like it,” she said. “It’s good to concentrate.”

— “Where did you get that?”, Matthew asked.

To lie, or not to lie? Opening that can of worms felt wrong; the spiritual friendship she shared with Father Tristan was hers. No, she settled for a half-truth.

— “A concert last year. They are quite fantastic.”

A nonchalant shrug graced Matthew’s shoulders as he roamed around her kitchen.

— “Well, that’s a change from heavy metal. Your communist side of the family is probably twisting in their tombs.”

Frances exchanged a look with Thomas; they had first bonded over said communism. His head cocked aside, he was trying to make sense of the interaction. Watchful, but never judging; she liked him for it. A smile stretched Frances’ lips as she marked another landmark on the sequence.

— “Bah. I don’t think they care about the music I listen to.”

Maëlle fished out the chain she wore around her neck, showing them the neat silver cross. Frances nodded; she had no idea her comrade was religious.

— “I’m Protestant as well. We’re more into Gospel than this, but I find the effect rather nice.”

And that settled the discussion. Frances prayed, to whomever was listening, that Matthew would not question her on her beliefs; she had no idea where she stood at the moment, except that she was straying from the atheist point of view rather radically.

When Thomas and Maëlle left that evening, she was looking forward to a romantic dinner in town, and the next few days – work free.

She refused to let Matthew’s jealousy spoil the evening – she was SO NOT interested in Thomas that way – nor the countless hours he spent watching TV series impair the cuddles.

Refused to accept that the beautiful lingerie he had got for her, if really looking great, was exceptionally uncomfortable.

Refused, even, to feel the sting of his words when he pushed her to embrace a career in an oil company. “The world is harsh,” he said. “If you want money and a career, you’ll have to shed your ethics aside for a moment. Be realistic, you see how I struggle with my own company. It will be good that one of us as an engineer salary. Forget the PhD”.

Frances refused to see the drift, intent on having her great week end.

She had no idea how those days would change her life forever.

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