Page 41 of The Sky in Summer
“You two know nothing,” Aurora volleys. “Your father and I were actuallyknownfor our style.”
The photograph shows Gaston and Aurora in an artist’s studio. A human sized sculpture partially created stands in the background. Gaston’s hair reaches his shoulders and he is shirtless. She is in a fringed vest and awesome jean bell-bottoms. Both wear psychedelic printed headbands and look decidedly stoned.
“I love it!” I say. “Where was this taken?”
“Paris. We had just met a week prior.”
“Van told me you met there. What year was this?”
“Nineteen sixty-nine.”
“Very auspicious for a couple who went on to have so many babies,” Nobel says.
“Well, actually that would be a lousy way to get pregnant,” AArgon says.
“Ha! Good one.” Scarlett punches her brother in the arm.
“Nobel!”
He laughs his mother’s comment off.
“I love all the pictures of your dogs. This guy is a beauty,” I say, pointing to the Hound with the soulful expression. It is a close shot of the dog looking up at something.
“That’s my Maudie. Great girl,” Nobel says with a catch in his throat.
“Oh, she’s a girl. Yeah, I see that in her eyes now.”
I take my time looking at them all.
I do not ask about the woman in the photo with Aargon. And nobody comments on her either. She’s beautiful. They are young, and wear two thousand and twelve New Year’s hats. They look so happy. Here’s one with Sam I think, when he was little, and who I assume is that woman in the New Year’s picture. It’s from behind as they sit on a garden swing. I will file that question for a conversation with Van.
The photo of Parish, Scarlett, and Sam is striking. All three sit on a white sand beach somewhere, looking at the camera. But this is no tropical paradise or celebration. It’s a cold day and the sea is angry. All three wear serious expressions. As if someone who just happened to be passing captured their images without them being prepared. I point to it.
“This one is striking. Very different.”
“That’s Martin’s Beach on the Atlantic. It’s where Parish and I and Sam met.”
“It’s a stunning spot.”
“Are you showing Layla my bearskin rug session?”
I turn toward his voice coming from behind.
“Yes, I am!” Aurora says. “Get over it!”
But it’s not a picture I am looking at. It’s the real thing. Yes. He looks like wonderful. The shirt clinging to muscles, shorts hiding the best one. He walks right up and slips an arm around my waist. It could be mistaken as just a friendly gesture. If you’re blind.
“Welcome to the Lyon resort. We have all claimed it as our own.”
He leans in, kisses my cheek and lets me go.
“I was wondering where you had gone to.”
“Remodeling a nineteenth century apartment in Paris. When you live in Montana, it is harder than I thought.”
“Can’t they leave you alone on the holiday?” Aurora says.
“It’s not their holiday, Mom. Besides, the flooring order got screwed up. Long story. I don’t want to talk about it. What are we drinking?”
