“Where are you going?” Amy asked responsibly for once, as she saw Pip walk off the deck onto the sand, and Pip turned to look at her innocently.
“Just on the beach with Mousse.”
“Do you want me to come?”
“No, I'll be fine. Thanks,” Pip said, and Amy went back to her call, feeling that she'd done her duty to Ophélie. And a moment later, both child and dog were bounding down the beach.
She had run for a long time when she saw him finally. He was in the same place, sitting on the folding stool, working at his easel. He heard Mousse barking in the distance, and turned to look at her. He had missed her the day before, surprisingly, and was relieved to see her small brown face smiling up at him.
“Hello,” she said, as though greeting an old friend.
“Hi there. How are you and Mousse?”
“We're fine. I would have come sooner, but I was afraid you wouldn't be here if I came too early.”
“I've been here since ten o'clock.” Like Pip, he had been afraid they'd miss each other. He had been looking forward to the meeting just as much as she, although neither of them had in fact promised to be there. They just wanted to be, which was the best way.
“You added another boat,” Pip commented, examining the painting carefully. “I like it. It's pretty.” It was a little red fishing boat in the distance, near the sunset, and it added punch to the painting. She liked it instinctively and he was pleased. “How do you imagine them so well?” she asked admiringly as Mousse disappeared in the sandgrass on the dune.
“I've seen a lot of boats.” He smiled warmly at her. She liked him. Very much, in fact, and there was no question in her mind that he was her friend. “I have a little sailboat I keep in the lagoon. I'll have to show it to you sometime.” It was small and old, but he cherished it. It was an old wooden boat he went out in alone whenever he could. He had loved sailing since he was Pip's age. “What did you do yesterday?” He liked hearing about her, and looking at her. More than ever, he wanted to do a sketch of her, but he loved talking to her too, which was rare for him.
“My godmother came to visit, with her baby. He's three months old. His name is William and he's really cute. She lets me carry him, and he giggles a lot. He doesn't have a father,” she said, looking matter-of-fact.
“That's too bad,” Matthew said carefully, taking a break from his work and enjoying her. “How did that happen?”
“She's not married. She got him from a bank or something. I don't know. It sounds complicated. My mom says it's not important. He just doesn't have one, that's all.”
He got the drift of it better than she had and was intrigued. It sounded very modern to him. He still believed in traditional marriages, and mothers and fathers, although he was well aware that life didn't always work out that way. But it was generally a good place to start. He wondered again what had happened to Pip's father, if anything, but he didn't get the feeling she was living with him, and he was afraid to ask. He didn't want to upset her unnecessarily, or pry. Their budding friendship seemed to rely on a certain amount of discretion and delicacy, which was both her nature and his.
“Do you want to draw today?” he asked, watching her. She was like a little elf hopping around the beach. She seemed so light and lithe, sometimes her feet barely touched the sand.
“Yes, please,” she said, ever polite, and with that, he held a sketch pad and pencil out to her.
“What are you going to draw today? Mousse again? Now that you know how to do the hind legs, it should be easier,” he said practically, and she looked pensive as she glanced up at his work.
“Do you think I could do a boat?” It seemed a stretch to her.
“I don't see why not. Do you want to try and copy mine? Or would you rather do a sailboat? I can sketch one for you, if you like.”
“I can copy the ones in your painting, if that's all right.” She didn't want to put him to a lot of trouble, which was typical of her. She was used to being cautious not to make waves or cause problems. She had always been careful with her father, and it had served her well. He never got as angry at her as he did at Chad. Although most of the time, once they lived in a bigger house, he didn't pay much attention to her at all. He went to an office then, and came home late, and traveled a lot. He had even learned to fly his own plane. He had taken her up in it several times when he first got it, and even let her bring the dog, with Chad's permission. And Mousse had been very well behaved.
“Can you see from down there?” Matthew asked, and she nodded, from where she sat near his feet. He had brought a sandwich to the beach with him, and unwrapped it. He had decided to eat lunch on the beach that day, in case she came by at lunchtime. He hadn't wanted to miss her, and he offered half the sandwich to her, from his perch on his stool. “Are you hungry?”
“No, thank you, Mr. Bowles. And yes, I can see very well.”
“Matt will do.” He smiled at how polite and formal she was. “Did you have lunch?”
“No, but I'm not hungry, thank you.” And then a moment later, as she sketched, out of nowhere came a bit of information that surprised him. It was easier talking to him while she wasn't looking at him, and was intent on her sketch of the boat. “My mother never eats. Or not very often anyway. She's gotten very thin.” It was obvious that Pip was worried about her, and Matt was intrigued.
“Why is that? Has she been sick?”
“No. Just sad.” They went on drawing for a while, and he refused to pry. He figured she would tell him as much as she wanted to, when she was ready. And he was in no rush to press her. Theirs was a friendship that seemed to float in space, independent of time. And he felt as though he had known her for a long time.
And then finally, it occurred to him to ask the obvious. “Have you been sad too?” She nodded silently, and never raised her eyes from the sketch. And this time he purposely did not ask why. He could sense painful memories wafting around her, and he had to resist an urge to reach out and touch her hair or her hand. He didn't want to frighten her, or appear inappropriate by being overly familiar. “How are you now?” It seemed a safer question than other possibilities, and this time she looked up at him.
“I'm better. It's been nice at the beach. I think my mom is better too.”
“I'm glad to hear it. Maybe she'll start eating soon.”
“That's what my godmother said. She worries about my mom a lot too.”
“Do you have brothers and sisters, Pip?” Matt asked her. It seemed a safe question to him, and he was totally unprepared for the look in her eyes as she turned her face up to him. The look of sorrow in her eyes seared him to his very soul, and nearly knocked him off his stool.
“I…yes…” She hesitated, unable to speak for a moment, and then she went on, still looking at him with those sad amber eyes that seemed to draw him into her world. “No…I mean sort of… well, it's hard to explain. My brother's name was Chad. He's fifteen. Well…he was…he had an accident last October.…” Oh God, he hated himself for asking her, and now he understood why her mother was so devastated and wasn't eating. He couldn't even fathom it, but there was nothing worse than the loss of a child.
“I'm so sorry, Pip.…” He didn't know what elseto say.
“It's all right. He was very smart, like my father.” And what she said next nearly finished him and explained everything. “My dad's plane crashed, and they were both… they both died. It exploded,” she said with an audible lump in her throat, but she was glad she had told him. She wanted him to know.