“What do you like to do?” he asked with interest, glancing over at her from time to time. Most of the time he talked while he painted, and Ophélie liked that. They could talk to each other without her feeling overly focused on or scrutinized. It was almost like therapy as she opened up to him, just as Pip did.

“You know, it's embarrassing, but I'm not sure. I haven't done anything for myself, or that I wanted to do, in such a long time. I was always busy with my children and my husband. And Pip seems to need me much less than Ted and Chad did.”

“Don't be so sure,” Matt said quietly. He wanted to tell her that the child was obviously lonely, but he didn't. “What about some kind of volunteer work?” It was obvious from the house they were renting, and the fact that her husband had flown his own plane, that she didn't need the money.

“I've been thinking about that,” she said, looking pensive.

“I used to teach a drawing class in a mental hospital. It was wonderful. One of the best things I've ever done. They taught me more than I taught them, about life, and patience, and courage. They were terrific people. I stopped doing it when I moved here.” It was more complicated than that, he had stopped when he had been overwhelmed by depression himself, when he stopped seeing his children. And by the time he'd come out of it, or felt better at least, he was happier here alone, and rarely went into the city.

“People with mental illnesses are sometimes extraordinary people,” she said softly, and the way she said it made him turn to look at her. He could see instantly in her eyes that she knew more than a little about what she was saying. Their eyes met, and then he turned back to his painting. He was suddenly afraid to ask her why she had said it, but she sensed his question.

“My son was manic-depressive… bipolar…it was a struggle for him, but he was very brave. He tried to commit suicide twice in the year before he died.” It was an enormous gesture of trust that she had shared that with him, but she knew from what she had seen of him with Pip that he was compassionate and understanding.

“Does Pip know that?” He looked shaken.

“Yes. It was very hard for her. I found him the first time, and she found him the second. It was very traumatic.”

“Poor kid… both of them… how did he do it?” His heart went out to her as he watched her and listened.

“The first time he slashed his wrists, and made a botch of it, thank God. The second he tried to hang himself, and Pip went into his room to ask him something, and she found him. He was already blue, and he had nearly done it. But she came and got me, we got him down, and his heart stopped. I kept him going with CPR until the paramedics came, and they saved him. They had to defibrillate him, and it was a close call, a very close call. It was terrifying.” She seemed almost breathless herself as she said it. The memory of it was still haunting. Even now sometimes, she had dreams about it. “He was doing much better when he died, which is why I had sent him to L.A. with his father that day. Ted had meetings, and I thought it would be fun for Chad to go with him. They didn't spend a lot of time together. Ted was very busy.” And had almost total denial about Chad's problems, although she didn't say that. Even after the suicide attempts, Ted steadfastly insisted it had been a play for attention, and not something far worse.

But Matt knew men, and children. “How did he relate to your son? Was it hard for him to accept his illness?”

She hesitated, and then nodded. “Very. Ted always thought he'd outgrow it. He refused to accept how ill Chad was, no matter what the doctors said. Every time things got better, he thought the war was over. And so did I, at first. Ted never even thought there was a war, he kept saying it was growing pains, or that I was spoiling him, or he needed a girlfriend. I think it's hard for parents to admit sometimes that they have a sick child, and it's never going to go away, or get better. It gets better for a while, with the right medication, and a lot of work and effort, but it doesn't go away. It's going to be there forever.” She seemed to have a good grip on it, but she had learned her lessons at a high price, and had never had denial about it. She had believed since Chad was small that he had serious problems, no matter how bright and charming he was. He was brilliant, like his father, but also very, very sick. It was Ophélie who had been relentless in ferreting out the problem, until they had a diagnosis. And even then, Ted refused to believe it. He said the psychiatrists were quacks, and the tests inconclusive. There had been nothing inconclusive about Chad's suicide attempts, his manic episodes, sleepless nights, or crippling depressions. And for him, medication and therapy had taken the edge off, but never solved the problem adequately. By the time he died, Ophélie had accepted that Chad would be sick forever. Only Ted hadn't. He had resisted facing it to the end. Having a mentally ill son was unacceptable to him.

And her greatest grief, her biggest sin, as far as she was concerned, was that she had sent him to L.A. with his father. She had wanted a break, and to spend some quiet time with Pip, without worrying about Chad for a change, or being distracted by him. He needed so much attention. Only she knew that she had sent the boy away for two days, not so much to foster the relationship between Ted and him, as to get a breather herself. She knew that, however long she lived or how many groups she went to, she would never forgive herself for it. But she said nothing of that to Matt. She had to live with it now, whatever it cost her.

“You've all been through a lot, not just the tragedy of the accident. It must be particularly hard knowing you saved the boy twice, and then lost him to a fluke accident like that.”

“Destiny,” she said quietly. “We are all in the hands of fate, and can do nothing to control it. Thank God I didn't send Pip too,” although it had never been an issue. Ted hadn't even wanted to take Chad, the boy always irritated him and made him nervous, and Chad hadn't been enthused about the trip either. They'd both agreed finally, at Ophélie's insistence. But Ted would never have taken Pip. She was too young to go on a trip with him, in his estimation, and he rarely paid attention to her. He had in their early days of poverty, but since then, he had been far too busy. The only better solution to what had happened, barring the accident not happening, which would have been the best of all worlds, would have been if they had all been on the plane, and died together. There were many, many times now when Ophélie wished that that had happened. It would have been so much simpler.

“Would you want to do volunteer work with mentally ill kids?” Matt asked kindly, trying to get off the immediate subject of the son she'd lost and her late husband. Inevitably, he could see in her eyes that it was excruciatingly painful.

“I don't know,” Ophélie said, looking out to sea and thinking about it, as she stretched her legs into the sand. “I had so many years of it with Chad, and it was so intense at times, in some ways I'd like to use what I learned, to help others maybe, or it might just be better to do something else. I don't want to fight that war forever. For me anyway, it's over. It may be better to do something different. I suppose that sounds selfish, but it's honest.” She seemed to be that above all, and wise, caring, and wounded. Who wouldn't have been after what she'd been through? Matt had nothing but compassion and respect for her, and more for Pip now. She had been through a lot too, particularly for a child her age.

“You could be right. Maybe you need a break from all that, and to do something a little more cheerful. What about some kind of work with kids? Runaways, homeless kids or families? There's a lot of good work to be done there.”

“That would be interesting. It's amazing how many lost people you see now on the streets, even in France, not just here. It's a problem all around the world.” They talked about homelessness for a while then, and the political and economic issues they both felt had caused it. For the moment at least, the problem seemed insoluble, but it made for an interesting conversation between the two of them, and it was obviously far more adult than the things he discussed with Pip, while he taught her to draw. He liked both of them, and felt lucky that their paths had crossed and he had met them both.

Ophélie got up eventually, and said she had to get back, and he told her to say hello to Pip for him, and then she had a thought.

“Why don't you do that yourself?” She smiled. She had enjoyed the time she'd spent talking to him, and she wasn't sorry she had told him about Chad. It was an insight into Pip as well for him, she liked him so much, it seemed important to Ophélie to let him know how brave her daughter had been, how much she'd been through, and what she had lost. Heavy baggage for a child to carry, and for Ophélie too, and he had his too, far more than she knew. At a certain age, no matter who it was, people had baggage and wounds and scars and lives that had hurt or sometimes even broken them. No one ever went unscathed, sometimes even a child Pip's age. Ophélie liked to think that it would make Pip stronger in the end, and more caring perhaps, she just wasn't sure anymore what it would do to her. The pattern of scars on anyone's soul determined who they were. Sometimes it enriched the spirit, and sometimes it broke it. The secret of life seemed to be surviving the damage, and wearing the scars well. But in reality, no heart went unscathed. Life itself was all too real. And in order to love someone, whether lover or friend, one had no choice but to be real.

“I'll give Pip a call,” Matt said in response to what she'd said. He felt badly that he hadn't called yet. But he didn't want to intrude on Ophélie.