Paris Summer by April Lynn Kihlstrom Page B

fetch
their boats whenever they came to a halt on the other
side of the pond.
    It was Sandy who first noticed the little boy crying.
“What’s wrong?” he asked. “Would you like to play
with a boat?”
    The child just stared at him until Sandy held out the
boat. Then he said something in rapid French that
neither Janine nor Sandy could understand. “Boat,”
Sandy repeated, “would you like to play with the
boat?”
    Finally the boy seemed to understand. He nodded
and smiled wistfully. When Sandy handed him the boat
he grinned and said “merci” several times. Soon Sandy
and the boy were friends. Janine let Sandy have her
boat and she watched. After a few minutes she sat on
the ground cross-legged with her arms resting on the edge of the wall containing the pond. Then she rested
her chin on her arms.

    Janine awoke with a start as someone nearby
laughed. Sandy! “Wake up, Jenny. You’re going to be
sore sleeping in that position.”
    Janine tried to shake off her drowsiness. “How long
was I asleep?”
    “About half an hour,” Sandy said cheerfully. “And I
think you’re going to have a sunburn. Maybe we
should get in the shade.”
    That woke Janine up quickly. “Sunburn?” she
groaned. “I forgot about that possibility.”
    Still laughing, Sandy helped Janine stand up. She
felt a bit shaky. He looked at her anxiously when he
returned from giving the boats back to the woman.
“We really better get you out of the sun. I didn’t know
anyone could sunburn so fast!”
    Stretching, Janine answered wryly, “You were right
about my being sore …boy, do my muscles ache! As
for the sunburn, that’s one of the penalties for being
blonde. I almost always burn instead of tan.”
    As they walked along a shady path Janine
remembered to ask, “What happened to your little
friend?”
    “His mother came and took him away.” Sandy
grinned as he recalled the scene. “I gathered from her
tone that she was mad at him. And it turns out his name
is Pierre. At least I think that’s what she called him. It
was right after that I discovered my sleeping beauty.”
    Janine blushed and Sandy smiled. Confused, she
looked around and pointed to some of the small chairs
along the path. “Let’s sit down.”

    “Wouldn’t the grass be more comfortable?” Sandy
asked.
    “Not allowed,” Janine answered firmly, “and the
French take it seriously.
    Sandy shrugged and sat on the chair next to
Janine’s. Curious, she said, “You really do like
children, don’t you?”
    “Yup,” he replied, not looking at Janine as he tossed
a pebble across the path. “I’d like three or four of my
own someday. You like kids, too, don’t you, Jenny?”
    “Yes.” Then after a moment, “Wait a minute! Didn’t
you tell me the other night you only wanted two?”
    He grinned. “Aren’t I allowed to change my mind?
Seriously, I don’t think I could marry a woman who
didn’t want children. When I marry I want my wife to
spend her time at home, taking care of me and my
children.”
    “Suppose she has other ideas? Suppose she wants to
work?” she asked stiffly.
    Sandy looked at Janine steadily. “She won’t. Not
deep down. Deep down a woman is happy if she has a
husband and kids. Oh, I know, lots of women think
they want a career. They’ve been made to think they’re
copping out or stupid if they don’t have one. They
think they’ve got to compete with men and accomplish
something. But my wife’ll know I love her and respect
her just for being a wife and mother; that that’s enough.
Given a choice between working eight or nine hours a
day at some kind of career or spending her time taking
care of kids-her own-and being protected and
pampered, what woman would pick a career?”
    Janine was silent. She had to admit it did sound
attractive. It would be more fun to play with a baby
than teach algebra to college students. And it would be nice to be loved and protected. Sandy