Forgiving Paris: A Novel(2)

She could hear their voices, feel herself shrinking toward the back of the classroom. “What about you, Marie?” her best friend had asked. “What does your daddy do?”

“He’s a soldier.” The answer was out before Marie could stop herself. And that’s what she told herself every day after that. Right up until high school, when her mother told her it wasn’t nice to lie.

“Your father wasn’t a good man.” Her mama had put her hand on Marie’s shoulder. “Stop calling him a soldier.”

And so, Marie was left with the truth. Her daddy had done just one thing in his role as a father—he had gotten her mother pregnant. After that he had disappeared.

Even now Marie missed the imaginary soldier father she had created. But as she worked her way through high school, and as she met friends like her with single mothers, Marie promised herself one thing—she wouldn’t repeat her mother’s mistakes. Not ever. When she fell in love it would be for life and the children she bore would know what it meant to have a father.

In her last year of lycée, Marie attended a dance at the community center and met a real-life soldier. Philippe promised to marry her and show her the world. Three months later Marie was pregnant, and Philippe had shipped out. Never to be seen again.

Marie stared at a photo of her younger self holding baby Alice. That was the main thing missing from the photographs: Alice’s father.

Tears stung her eyes. Years had passed since she’d cried about her own story, the way she’d repeated her mother’s mistakes and become a single mom to Alice.

The next page of the book showed her and Alice at a Paris playground, side by side grinning from the swings. Despite her watery eyes, a slight smile tugged at Marie’s lips. Before Alice started using heroin, Marie had felt proud of the work she’d done as a single mom. She didn’t believe in God back then, not really. But often she felt like she had some sort of invisible help. Maybe because of the things her own mother would constantly tell her.

“You’re never alone, Marie. Alice isn’t alone, either. Your Heavenly Father is only a whisper away,” she would say. “Who could ask for more than that?”

Her mother had felt that way right up until her death last year from cancer. Peace had filled her face even as she took her last breath, off to meet the One who had carried her all her life. But Marie had none of that assurance.

She turned the next page and the next. More pictures of her and Alice, making a life for themselves. I didn’t see it coming, baby girl. How could I have seen it coming?

The change in Alice happened midway through her first year of secondary school. That’s when students were allowed to have cell phones in school. Overnight it seemed Alice was different. She ran with a wilder crowd and lied about where she’d been. Months later Marie was rummaging through Alice’s room, looking for signs of trouble, when she found tiny bits of balloons and other plastic pieces, along with miniature fragments of tinfoil and short sections of string.

Her heart in her throat, Marie moved to her bedroom telephone. A quick call to a drug counseling office and she had the truth. Alice was doing heroin. The man who spoke with her said addiction could happen the first time a person tried the drug. Before long, heroin was all a person knew, and buying and using became a full-time obsession.

Cold chills had run down Marie’s arms. She confronted Alice that day and after a spate of lies, her daughter left in the dark of night and didn’t come home for a week. When she did, her clothes hung on her shrinking body and her eyes were sullen, framed by dark circles. Alice tried to run past Marie toward her bedroom down the hall. But Marie grabbed her daughter’s arm. “Where are you going?” Stay calm, she had told herself. Alice won’t talk to you if you’re hysterical.

“To my room.” Alice glared at her. “Leave me alone.”

“No.” Marie’s grip tightened. “We need to talk.”

“There’s nothing to talk about.” Alice jerked her arm free and that’s when Marie saw the marks. Needle tracks up and down the inside of her daughter’s left arm. Alice must’ve realized what her mother had seen because she ran to her room and slammed the door.

Marie didn’t give up. She followed Alice and tried to open the door, but Alice must’ve been sitting against it because it barely budged. “Move, Alice! Let me in!”

“No. I said leave me alone!” Alice’s voice was muffled.

“I know about the heroin.” Marie’s voice had grown louder. “I want to help you.”

“It’s my life.” Alice started crying. “I don’t want help.”

And so it went for five minutes until Marie had no choice but to wait it out. She returned to the kitchen and an hour passed. When it was long after dark, Marie tried again. This time when she pushed her way into her daughter’s room there was no resistance. Alice was passed out on her bed, still in her dirty clothes, her stringy hair strewn across her beautiful face.

Marie wasn’t sure if she should wake her daughter up and finish the discussion. For several minutes she stood there and watched her sleep. Just staring at her precious Alice. Baby girl, how did this happen? Why would you do heroin? She barely noticed the tears falling onto her face. Didn’t I give you what you needed? Wasn’t this life enough for you? In that moment a thought had occurred to Marie. Something else her mother had always told her. Without God, life would only be a series of meaningless efforts and irredeemable failures. You need Him, Marie. Alice needs Him. This life is empty otherwise.