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‘Come in,’ she smiled politely, but no more

Beauvoir and Nichol followed her into the kitchen Every pot was out, either in use or in the sink On the stove stood a brown earthenware jar with handles on either side Beans baked in ar and pork rinds A classic Québécois dish The room was filled with the rich, sweet aroma

Baked beans were a lot of work, but it looked as though Hazel’s drug of choice today was hard work Casseroles lined the counter, like a battalion of tanks And Beauvoir suddenly knehich battle they were fighting The war against grief The heroic and desperate effort to stop the eneoths were on the hill and were about to sweep down, burning and destroying everything Unrelenting, without rief, but she wouldn’t stop it Sheaway

Jean Guy Beauvoir looked at Hazel and knew she was about to be overcome, overwhelmed, violated Her own heart would finally betray her, and open the gates to grief Sorrow, loss, despair were snorting and trae Would this woman survive, Beauvoir wondered? Sorew rew hard and bitter Closed off Never again risking this loss

‘Cookie?’

‘Oui, merci’ Beauvoir took one and Nichol took two Hazel’s hands fleard the kettle, the tap, the plug, the teapot And she talked Putting out a covering fire of words Sophie had twisted her ankle Poor Mrs Burton needed a drive to her chemo later this afternoon Tom Chartrand was poorly and of course his own children would never come down from Montreal to help On and on she went until Beauvoir didn’t know about grief, but he himself was about to surrender

The tea was placed on the table Hazel hadit to the stairs

‘Is that for your daughter?’ Beauvoir asked

‘She’s in her room, poor one Can’t move very easily’

‘Here, let me’ He took the tray and mounted the narrow stairs, lined with old floral wallpaper At the top he walked along to a closed door and knocked with his foot He heard two heavy steps and the door opened

Sophie was standing there, a bored look on her face, until she saw hihtly and slowly, slowly lifted her hurt foot

‘My hero,’ she said, li him to put the tray on a dresser

He looked at her for athat Slim, her skin clear and her hair shiny and full Beauvoir found her revolting Sitting in her bedroo mother to wait on her And Hazel did It was insane What sort of person, what sort of daughter, did this? Granted Hazel was difficult to be around just noith the , but couldn’t Sophie at least be with her? She didn’t have to help necessarily, but she sure didn’t have to add to her mother’s burden