“How did that happen?” he asked as he sat down next to her, there was a considerable amount of blood in the sand, and her foot was still bleeding profusely.

“It was under a piece of seaweed I stepped on,” she said bravely, but he saw instantly that her face was pale.

“Does it hurt a lot?” he asked solicitously, reaching out gently for her foot.

“Not too much,” she lied.

“I'll bet it does. Let me have a look at it.” He wanted to make sure there was no glass left in it. It looked like a clean slice, but it was a deep gash. And she looked up at him with worried eyes.

“Is it okay?”

“It will be, after I cut off the foot. You won't miss it a bit.” In spite of how much it hurt, she laughed. But she looked frightened too. “You can still draw with one foot,” he said, as he scooped her up. She was light as a feather and even smaller than she looked. He didn't want her to get sand in it, and was afraid she already had. And he instantly remembered her mother's admonitions not to go to his house. But he couldn't let her walk home with a gash in her foot, and he was almost certain she'd need stitches, although he didn't mention it to Pip. “Your mom may get mad at both of us, but I'm going to take you inside, and clean this up a bit.”

“Will it hurt?” She looked anxious, and he smiled at her reassuringly, as he carried her toward his house, and Mousse followed. He left all his painting equipment on the beach without a thought.

“It won't hurt as much as your mom yelling at both of us,” he said, distracting her. But they both noticed that they were leaving a trail of blood along the sand as he walked over the dune with Pip in his arms. And in a few strides, he had reached his front door, and walked straight into the kitchen, still carrying her. And they left a trail of blood on his floor too. He sat her on a kitchen chair, and lifted her foot gently to rest it on the sink. And within seconds, it looked like there was blood everywhere, and all over him as well.

“Will I have to go to the hospital?” she asked nervously. Her eyes looked enormous in the pale face. “Chad cut his head open once, and he bled all over the place and had to have a lot of stitches.” She didn't tell him it was because he had had a tantrum, and had banged his head into the wall. He had been about ten at the time, and she was six, but she remembered it perfectly. Her father had shouted at her mother about it, and at Chad too. And their mother cried. It had been an ugly scene.

“Let's take a look.” It didn't look any better to him than it had on the beach. He lifted her up and sat her on the edge of the sink, and ran some cold water on it, which made it feel better, but the water looked bright red as it ran down the drain. “Well, my friend, let's wrap this in a towel.” He took a clean one from a rack, and she noticed that he had a warm, cozy kitchen, although everything in it looked worn and old. But it seemed friendly that way. “And after we wrap it in the towel, I think I should get you home to your mom. Is she at the house today?”

“Yes, she is.”

“Good. I'm going to drive you up to the house, so you don't have to walk. How does that sound to you?”

“Pretty good. And then will we have to go to the hospital?”

“Let's see what your mom says. Unless you want me to chop the leg off right here. It'll only take a minute, unless Mousse gets in the way.” He was sitting obediently in the corner, watching them both quietly. And Pip giggled at what he'd said, but she still looked pale to him, and he suspected that the foot hurt a lot. He was right, but she didn't want to admit it to him. She was trying very hard to be brave.

He wrapped the foot in a towel, as he'd promised, and picked her up again, grabbing his car keys on the way, and Mousse followed them out behind the house, and got into the back of the station wagon as soon as Matt opened the door. By the time he set her down on the front passenger seat, there was a large spot of bright red blood soaking through the towel.

“Is it really bad, Matt?” she asked on the way home, and he tried to look unconcerned.

“No, but it's not terrific. People shouldn't leave glass like that on the beach.” It had sliced through her like a knife. And felt that way too.

They were at her house in less than five minutes, and when they got there, he carried her inside, with Mousse at his heels. Her mother was in the living room, and was startled when she looked up and saw them both, and Pip in Matt's arms.

“What happened? Pip, are you all right?” Ophélie looked instantly worried as she came toward them.

“I'm okay, Mom. I cut my foot.” Matt's eyes met her mother's. It was the first time he had seen her since the day she had implied he was a child molester when she met him on the beach.

“Is she all right?” Ophélie asked him, noticing how gently he set her down, and carefully unwrapped the foot.

“I think so. But I thought you should have a look.” He didn't want to tell her in front of Pip that he thought she should have stitches, but as soon as she saw it, she came to the same conclusion.

“We'd better go to the doctor. I think you need stitches, Pip,” her mother said calmly, as Pip's eyes filled with tears and Matt patted her shoulder.

“Maybe one or two,” he said, gently touching the child's head, and feeling the silky curls. But the disquieting event got the best of her then, and she started to cry, in spite of wanting to be brave for him. She didn't want him to think she was a sissy. “They'll make it numb first. I did the same thing last year. It won't even hurt.”

“Yes, it will!” she shouted at both of them, sounding eleven years old for once. She had a right to. It was a nasty cut, and had bled a lot. “I don't want stitches!” she said, burying her face against her mother.

“We'll do something fun afterward, I promise,” Matt said, looking at Ophélie, and wondering if he should leave. He didn't want to intrude. But she seemed grateful to have him there, and so was Pip. He had a calming influence on both of them. He was a patient, easygoing person, and it showed at times like this.

“Is there a doctor here?” Ophélie asked, looking worried.

“There's a clinic behind the grocery store. With a nurse. She sewed me up last year. How do you feel about that? Otherwise, we can drive her into the city. I don't mind taking you if you'd like.”

“Why don't we take her to the clinic, and see what the nurse says.”

Pip whimpered a little on the way there, and Matt told her funny stories and distracted them both, which was a relief. And as soon as the nurse saw it, she agreed with Matt and Ophélie. And she did just what Matt had said she would. She gave Pip a shot to numb it, and then neatly stitched it up. She had seven stitches, and a huge bandage to cover it, and she had to stay off the foot for several days, and come back to get the stitches out in a week. Matt carried her back to the car afterward, and she looked worn out from the ordeal.

“Can I take you both out to lunch?” Matt offered, as they drove through the tiny town, but Pip said weakly that she felt kind of sick, and they decided to drive home. Once there, he laid her gently on the couch. Her mother turned on the TV for her, and five minutes later, she was sound asleep.

“Poor kid, that was a nasty one. I knew it the minute I saw it. She was very brave.”

“Thank you for being so good to us,” Ophélie said gratefully, as Matt thought it was hard to believe she was the same woman who had read him the riot act on the beach. This one was a gentle soul, with the saddest eyes he'd ever seen, much like Pip's. There was the same waiflike quality to her. And it made him want to put his arms around her too. Everything she had been through and suffered was in her eyes and on her face. But in spite of it, he couldn't help noticing that she was a beautiful woman, and looked surprisingly young for her age.

“I have to confess,” he said with a look of concern, but he wanted to tell her first, and take the brunt of her anger, if there was any. “I took her into my house to clean the foot. We were only there for five minutes, and then I brought her back to you. I wouldn't have done it otherwise, but I wanted to get some water on the foot, and she was bleeding all over the place, so I needed something to wrap it up.”

“It's lucky you were there. I understand. Thank you for telling me.”

“I thought about bringing her straight here, knowing how you'd feel about it, but I wanted to take a good look at the cut. It was uglier than I thought.”

“Yes, it was.” She had felt sick herself as she watched the nurse stitch it up. She had felt that way when Chad had cut his head too. And that had been such an upsetting day. This had been far simpler, and thanks to Matt, they had gotten her to the clinic quickly, and he had kept Pip amused and distracted all the way. She could see now what Pip saw in him. He was a remarkably nice person. “Thank you for being so kind. You made it a lot easier for her. And for me.”

“I'm just sorry it happened. It's so dangerous to leave glass on the beach. I always pick it up when I see it. It leads to things like this.” He glanced over at Pip, and smiled as he watched her sleep.

“Can I offer you something to eat?” she asked graciously, and he hesitated. They had been through enough that morning.

“You must be tired. It's always hard to watch when kids get hurt.” He was feeling a little worn out too. It had been an emotional morning.

“I'm fine. Why don't I make some sandwiches? It won't take me a minute.”

“Are you sure?”

“Totally. Would you like a glass of wine?” He declined and settled for a Coke, and she put out a plate of sandwiches a few minutes later. In spite of her constant lethargy these days, she seemed calm and efficient. And they sat down facing each other at the kitchen table.

“Pip tells me you're French, although you can't even hear it. You speak amazingly good English.”

“I learned it as a child in school, and I've been here for more than half my life. I came here to college as a foreign student, and married one of my professors.”

“What did you come to study?”

“I was a pre-med student. But I never went on to med school. I got married right after graduation.” She didn't mention that she'd gone to Radcliffe, which would have seemed pretentious to her.

“Are you sorry you didn't go on to med school?” he asked with interest. Like her daughter, she was an intriguing woman.

“Never. I don't think I'd have been a very good doctor. I got squeamish just now watching the nurse sew up Pip's foot.”

“It's different when it's one of your own children. I felt the same way when I watched her, and she's not even my daughter.”

It reminded her of one of the few facts she knew about him. “Pip tells me your children are in New Zealand,” but as soon as she said it, she knew it was a painful subject. His eyes looked pained. “How old are they?”

“Sixteen and eighteen.”

“My son would have been sixteen in April,” she said sadly, and then for both their sakes, he changed the subject.

“I studied at the Beaux Arts in Paris for a year when I was in college,” he said. “What a spectacular city. I haven't been back in a few years, but I used to go at every opportunity. The Louvre is my favorite place on the planet.”

“I took Pip there last year and she hated it. It's a bit too serious for her. But she loved the international cafeteria in the basement. She almost liked it better than McDonald's.” They both laughed at the culinary and cultural perversities of children.

“Do you go back often?” He was curious about her. And she about him now.

“Usually, every summer. But I didn't want to this year. This seemed easier, and more peaceful. I used to go to Brittany as a child, and this reminds me a little of it.” Matt was surprised to admit it to himself as he chatted with her, but he liked her. She seemed simple, warm, and honest, and not like the wife of a man who had made an enormous fortune and flown his own plane. She seemed down-to-earth and unpretentious. Although he couldn't help noticing that peeking through the mane of long wavy blond hair were tiny diamond studs on her ears, and she was wearing a beautiful black cashmere sweater. But the luxuries seemed inconsequential and were outshone by her gentleness and beauty. She was a very pretty woman. And he noticed that she was still wearing her plain gold wedding ring, and that touched him. Sally had thrown hers away, she said, the day she left him. At the time, it had been a piece of information that nearly killed him. He liked the fact that Ophélie still wore hers. It seemed like a gesture of love and respect for her late husband. And he admired her for it.