Total pages in book: 123
Estimated words: 118965 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 595(@200wpm)___ 476(@250wpm)___ 397(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 118965 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 595(@200wpm)___ 476(@250wpm)___ 397(@300wpm)
It’s not only the consequences of being pregnant that worries me, but I only say, “Thanks,” and blink away the tears that well up in my eyes because of his kindness.
“It’s settled then.” He sticks his pipe back in his mouth and says around the mouthpiece, “Finish up in here so we can go.”
A few minutes later, Mr. Martin and I arrive at the square. A few people are gathered around the benches under the plane trees, but there’s no sign of anyone playing pétanque.
“Here,” he says in an eager voice, grabbing my arm and digging his bony fingers into my bicep as he drags me closer to the group. “Let’s say hello to everyone.”
Antoinette and Corinne are there, as well as Mrs. Campana and a few familiar faces from the market. They all seem to be bouncing on the balls of their feet with excitement.
“Here she comes,” Antoinette whispers none too softly to Corinne, nudging her with an elbow.
I look between them. “What’s going on?”
Antoinette claps her hands and utters a squeal.
“We have a surprise for you,” Mr. Martin says loud enough to make my ears ring. He winks at Mrs. Campana.
“A surprise? For me?”
Antoinette waves a few people closer. “Come on.”
The small crowd part to reveal a giant gift-wrapped object propped up against a tree.
“For me?” I say again. “Why?”
Antoinette takes my elbow and pushes me toward the tree. “Go on then. Open it.”
I stare at them before going closer.
An out-of-sync chorus of, “Open it,” sounds at my back.
I can’t help but being curious as well as a little apprehensive. I never liked surprises, but their excitement is contagious. The group form a circle around me and fall quiet as they wait with silent expectation for my reaction.
I grip the paper at the top and rip it down the middle to reveal the framework of a bicycle.
I gasp. “You got me a bicycle?”
“Don’t get too excited now,” Mrs. Campana says. “It’s a second-hand one. Mr. Martin reconditioned it.” She adds with pride, “We all clubbed in. When he said he was going to recycle it, I said you may find a better use for the old bike.”
Gratitude finally makes my tears spill over.
“It’s so you don’t have to walk so far,” she continues. “If you’re pregnant.”
I wipe away the wetness on my cheeks. “I may not be.”
“Doesn’t matter,” Mrs. Campana says. “It’s too far for a young woman to walk alone. Not to mention, it’ll be boiling hot in summer.”
“Look,” Corinne says. “It’s electric. It’s got a battery. It’s an off-road too.”
I tear the rest of the paper away, emotions clogging up my throat. “I don’t know what to say.”
Antoinette puts an arm around my shoulders. “You’ll just have to find a place to hide it from your husband.”
“Maybe in the forest,” someone suggests. “Ain’t no one around to steal it anyways.”
“Nah,” someone else says. “It’s better to leave it under a bush next to the river. All she has to do then is walk the last few hundred meters to the house.”
“She can charge it here at the village at one of our houses or at the pharmacy.”
I take in the shiny blue bike. They went to a lot of effort in restoring it. It looks brand-new. “I don’t know how to thank you.”
“You just pedal that bike,” Mr. Martin says. “That’s all the thank-yous we need.”
As I hug each of them, I can’t help but feel a little more at home in this foreign country.
An elderly lady dressed in a colorful patchwork coat and a knitted beanie hobbles toward our group. She takes my hand in her weathered one and says in a croaky voice, “Let me read your palm. I can tell your future for ten euros.”
I don’t believe in fortune telling, but I take a bill from my pocket and hand it to her.
“Go away, Josette,” Mrs. Campana says. “Don’t bother Sabella. Can’t you see we’re in the middle of something?”
“That’s all right,” I smile at Josette. “She’s not bothering me.”
“God bless you.” Josette shoves the money down the front of her sweater under her coat and takes my hand again. Drawing me closer, she whispers in my ear, “You’re near the end of the road.” Then she lets me go and shuffles away with a cackle before crying out, “The end of the road. The end of the road.”
“Don’t mind her.” Antoinette leans closer and lowers her voice. “The poor thing isn’t right in the head.” She taps her temple to stress the point.
“Although, my goldfish did die when she said it would,” Mrs. Campana says.
Mr. Martin waves his pipe. “All goldfish die if you keep them in a glass bowl the size of my teacup.”
Mrs. Campana lifts her chin and says in a haughty tone, “It wasn’t the size of your teacup.”
The glint in his eyes is mischievous. “Ah, but you haven’t seen my teacup.”