Illuminated by Erica Orloff Page A

few visitors for the beautiful beach. But to be honest, I like the solitude, though I am certainly glad for your company.”
    “Can I help you with anything?” August asked, as he walked into the kitchen.
    “No. You and Callie just go over to the table and sit. I like having people to cook for. I used to cook all the time, you know. Other wives in our social circle had personal chefs. But I liked cooking. It was the one connection Thomas and I kept. I cooked for him even when he was awful to me. It was a way, I suppose, to keep our marriage alive. To spoil him a little.”
    “I cook for my dad,” August said.
    “Professor Sokolov?” she asked.
    “You know him?”
    “Know of him. He’s . . .” She left the comment hanging there.
    “He’s the one who doesn’t leave the house.” August smiled sadly, like he was used to people knowing that about his father.
    “Yes.” Miriam turned to face him. “He doesn’t leave the house. But he’s absolutely brilliant. I own all his books.” She looked directly at August, her eyes bright, warm. I liked her even more for her kindness to August just then.
    “That smells great,” I said, watching as she fussed over a pan.
    “And tell me,” she said. She tossed garlic into the olive oil. “How long have you two been involved?”
    I felt my cheeks turn bright red. “We’re not really . . . involved. We just met a few days ago.”
    “Yes, we are,” August said. “It’s like fate this summer. A. brought us together.”
    Miriam sighed. “I remember that feeling of fate. I felt it once with Thomas. But I was wrong about him. I only experienced it one other time, with Etienne.” She paused before putting the tomatoes into the sizzling oil.
    “It’s not too late, Miriam. Come to Paris with us,” I urged.
    “Yes!” August said. “Come with us.”
    She shook her head. “I think I’m meant to just live out my days alone. But I can be happy for you two on the hunt of this great find.”
    She finished cooking. I felt so horrible for her. Love wasn’t supposed to be that way.
    The three of us sat down to eat. Miriam lit a candle. The storm continued to howl.
    Miriam asked us about school, our hobbies and interests. She asked about my parents.
    “My mother died of cancer when I was a little girl. I don’t really remember her.” I had some memories, but they were all mixed up with Harry’s stories. “I know . . . I know she and my father weren’t happy with each other. And that he and Uncle Harry fought for a long time after she died. I think Harry really would have loved to raise me. Especially since my father travels a lot. And he’s really not terribly cut out to be a dad. But now they have an uneasy truce. Dad works all the time, and I spend summers with Harry. One week of the summer, my grandmother on my mother’s side flies in from Toronto, where she lives with her husband. I don’t know him well at all; they just got married about four years ago.” Really, I’d met him once or twice, and that was it. “So I still have ties to my mom, and her family. And Dad . . .” My voice trailed off. “My dad and I . . . we avoid each other. He’s currently with girlfriend I’ve-Lost-Count and contemplating getting engaged.”
    “Do you think he will?” she asked gently.
    “He’s gotten engaged three times and never gone through with it.” I laughed slightly. “The breakups are always ugly. But no, I don’t know that he will get married to this one. Why ruin a perfect record? Plus it’s not like he cares what I think.”
    “Maybe your mother was the love of his life?” Miriam suggested.
    “I don’t know. It doesn’t sound like they had a single thing in common but me.”
    “Love can be a mystery,” she said. “I often think of Heloise and Abelard. Their love spanned decades and morphed and changed, faced tragedy . . . and produced a child, and still endured.”
    “I don’t know,” I said. “I think people do crazy things for love.” I