Eric was sitting in his patio rocking chair, lazily enjoying the afternoon sun and the Mistral breeze. Contented, he watched his great-grandchildren run around and play in the garden of his old mansion in Aubagne near Aix-en-Provence. With his belly well-stuffed with tomatoes and pickled olives from his own garden, fresh baguette, well-matured Banon cheese and glass of his favorite Châteuneuf-du-Pape, he allowed his old body to relax and let the chirping of the cicadas lull him into his postprandial doze.

The cicadas...

This sound that would never fail to awake his most cherished memories, yet memories of his greatest regret. A regret that had gnawed on his conscience for the past forty years and loaded his heavy, ever pounding heart that seemingly refused to relieve him from the burden he had been carrying ever since that one fateful summer day the cicadas went silent.

His only reason to keep on living was his pride towards his son, his son's children, and his son's children's children whose turn it was now to fill the halls of this mansion with innocent laughter. However loaded his heart was with the deep grief he'd never been able to shake, the joy of seeing his family happy and healthy would always be a light in the dark. This and the faint, yet beaming hope of seeing her – Andrea, his brother's widow – again to finally cast away all his sorrow and remorse.

“Joue avec nous, Papi” his four-year-old and youngest great-grandchild whined in her yet slightly inarticulate wording, tugging at his pants. “Porte-moi. Tu as promis. You promised, Grampa.”

Distracted from his sleepiness, he looked at the kid with one half closed eye, smiling faintly, yet sadly.

“Give Grampa a break, will you? Laisse Papi tranquile, Anna,” her mother – Eric's granddaughter – chided.

She had married a Frenchman – a true Marseillais she had met on one of their frequent stays in this estate, hence the bilingual education of the child.

“He's tired, you know. He'll carry you on his shoulders after his nap. Papi est fatigué. Il te portera sur ses épaules après la sièste. Et toi aussi tu vas faire ta sièste, Princesse. And you too are going to take your nap."

Little Anna put up her little fight but gave in without too much of a caprice. Eric smiled at the scene his warm, clement smile and allowed his thoughts to drift back to his previous lazy daydream about days long gone when the Mistral blew hard enough to carry the faint smell of lavender from the Plateau de Valensole all the way to Aubagne, yet not enough to silence the cicadas.

***

Forty-two years earlier:

“I'm really impressed, Andrea,” a visibly marked man in his early forties said.

“Thank you, Eric,” his sister-in-law replied. “It wouldn't have been possible without your brother's and our kids' handicraft and persistence.”

They were sitting in a German sports car in front of the iron-barred gate to the mansion. The gate opened when Andrea buzzed the remote control. She slowly drove the car up the gravel driveway that led through the large garden to the small square in front of the mansion.

Eric admired the garden – rather a park to his eyes – and the solid walls that enclosed the area. It had changed a lot from his memory, yet the buzzing of the cicadas seemed to have remained throughout the years. It filled his heart with nostalgia. Memories of his deceased father who had bought the formerly ruined estate for peanuts, maybe?

“Wow, I'm amazed, I'm impressed, I'm flabbergasted, Andrea,” he exclaimed, “I never thought this would be possible. When we inherited the place from our father ten years ago, it was a total ruin. The place was so shabby when he bought it I never gave it any chance and thought Dad needed serious therapeutic counseling. That's why I sold my half to Christian right away. That and because by the time the works started, I had other troubles to deal with than to renovate a house I didn't believe in.”

“Yeah, I remember," Andrea commented. Not lingering on the subject, she added, "Wait until you see the living room, the kitchen, oh, and the swimming pool, of course.”

Puzzled by Andrea's explanations, Eric asked, “What do you need a swimming pool for? You're practically at the Mediterranean Sea.”

“Oh, you'll see soon enough,” she replied whimsically.

Once inside, Eric almost let go of his suitcase in his amazement. “Will you look at this place? Last time I was here, you could see holes through both stories and the roof from the entrance, and I'm not gonna talk about the piles of garbage and the dust, let alone the mummified spiders that probably predated the Napoleonic wars even. When our father bought this place, we thought he had gone mad. Soon after, he died and I wasn't ready to lift as much as a finger for this place. And you guys turned this into freaking Versailles. God, that really puts me to shame – as a brother, I mean.”

Andrea beamed with joy from Eric's compliments. “Oh come on, you had other stuff to deal with. And it's not even finished yet. There's still plenty you can lend us a hand with if you're interested.”

“Too bad Christian and the kids couldn't make it,” Eric frowned.

“I know,” she replied dryly. “They had that huge emergency on a building site just a day before we wanted to take off. The roofing company had botched it up and the roof came down when the electricians were wiring the place. Luckily no one got hurt, but they hired Christian's company to roof the house anew and they had to get this done quick so they really needed every available hand.”

“Yeah, he told me at the phone. Too bad. And the kids?”

Andrea lifted eyebrows and rolled her eyes. “Well, the brats are now in that age where they prefer to... uh... gain distance to their parents, so to say – although they're still living on our expense, that is. They were whining about how boring it is here. They didn't want to bring friends either. There's enough space for, like, a dozen kids here – and plenty of room to be left alone all day too. Teenagers, you know? So we sent them to stay with my parents and attend summer school. Tough luck.”

“Poor little devils,” Eric laughed. “So just the two of us for the moment. Christian said he'll be joining us as soon as the work's done? At least I get to see him, maybe. What's it been? It was the fifth birthday of your youngest, right? Emilia, isn't it? What's that? nine years now? Wow, I'm a bad uncle.”

“Yeah, I remember. That was right after...” Andrea paused, not directly mentioning Eric's divorce. Switching to a more challenging tone, she changed the subject: “Well, we offered you often enough to spend your vacation here, didn't we?”

Eric sighed. “Got it, ma'am. Seeing this place the way it is now, that would indeed have been a great idea. Will do in future and I'll also bring my son. He should spend some time with his cousins.”

“Yeah, how's he doing?” Andrea inquired. “Is he a good kid? Uh... Robert, right?”

Now it was Eric's turn to roll his eyes. “Yes. Sixteen. If you knew. Yes, he's a good kid. Too good, actually. Straight A, too nice, no coming home after curfew, no talking back, no girls, no booze, no drugs. Makes me worry about how he'll turn out in the end. Our divorce has had a huge impact on him. Tries to forget his worries by hard work, just like his dad.” Eric's facial features went slightly tense and the infamous thousand-yard stare briefly flashed in his eyes. “But let's not talk about this now. I'm pooped. Let's unpack and order some pizza or so. Can you show me to my room?”

When they were done unpacking and making up their respective beds, they met in the kitchen.

“Were you serious about that pizza thing?” Andrea chuckled. “You know, while the French cuisine really is exquisite, their approach to pizza is rather mediocre. They put this abomination they dare to call 'Emmental Français' on it. It's more like industry grade silicone than actual cheese, trust me. Unless you find me a real Italian place that offers home delivery. But I have another idea. We still got half an hour until that mom-and-pop store down the street closes. We'll find us something worthy of our first night there.”

Once back from their quick shopping tour, Andrea asked Eric to fix dinner, “Can you just boil the potatoes and prepare the salad? I still remember your awesome salad dressing. And don't be stingy with the garlic. It's just the two of us tonight. And please set the table outside, will you? Just quickly gotta go to my room and change.”

What for, he wondered as he watched her rush up the stairs. He was still wearing the same rags he had traveled in and she was a beautiful woman just the way she was, he thought before catching himself ogling her posterior and swiftly pushed the thought aside. He sighed and remembered himself he shouldn't lay eyes on his brother's wife that way.

Fifteen minutes later, as he was just done setting the table as requested and wanted to go back to the kitchen, Andrea stepped out of the house. His eyes nearly fell out of his head as they caught the first glimpse of this cougar in a most pretty summer dress. It was dark yellow – almost mustard – and had a pattern of dark olive branches bearing dark green leaves and ripe, black fruits. The pattern was printed such that it accentuated her female features in mouth-watering ways without being vulgar. It left nothing to the imagination of what lay beneath the thin fabric. To Eric's greatest visual joy, there was not the slightest trace remaining of the three births this woman had gone through.

Mouth agape, Eric dropped the tray he had earlier been carrying the glasses and plates on.

Andrea giggled girlishly, “If you're reacting that way, I guess Christian will like it too.”

“Uh, yeah, I, uh, guess...” Eric stammered, “he'll like... No, he'll love it! He'd be a fool not to. You look ravishing, Andrea. Were you not my brother's wife, I'd totally–”

He paused, frowned, pressed his lips together.

“I'm Sorry, Andrea,” he began apologizing. “I got carried away a little. I shouldn't be talking like that to my sister-in-law.”

She rolled her eyes. “Oh, don't be so prissy. You're my husband's brother. It's not like you're gonna jump me, right? Just relax. I only wanted to see if I could impress like I wanted to. Thank you for confirming. Also, I'm past forty years old. I am fully aware that evolution has – how shall I say? – calibrated men to react this way to such sights if you will. I wouldn't have dressed like that if I hadn't been expecting your reaction. Glad to see you like it so much.”

Eric looked away for a moment as if to think. Without knowing what he was searching for, his eyes found it immediately. He held one hand up to tell a puzzled Andrea to wait a minute, ran a few steps, ducked and plucked the perfect blossom of a white borage. He slid its pedicel between two strands of Andrea's long, straight, brown hair.

“Now it's perfect,” he said, slowly walking back to steps to take a good glance of how the petals perfected the ensemble. “You don't look a day older than twenty-two.”

Blushing a little, Andrea turned around, making the skirt of her dress rise to her mid-thigh.

“Thank you, Eric,” she said, brushing her hair behind her ear so the flower would hold better and smiling at him warmly. “That was very sweet of you.”

Eric pointed his hand to the set table. “Let's eat, shall we? And, I don't mean to be greedy being a guest in your house, but Christian's told me so much about your wine cellar on the phone.”

Andrea grinned knowingly as though she had been expecting the question. “I put a bottle in the fridge right after we arrived. It should have the perfect temperature by now.”

Eric went back to the kitchen, fetched two glasses and came back to the table, reading the bottle's label.

“It's a Bandol. Not even thirty miles from here,” Andrea explained. “An excellent wine. Christian was lucky enough to lay his hands on a couple dozen bottles for just a handful of Francs back then. That was before Robert Parker had his say about the smaller vineyards in this neighborhood. Prices have more than quadrupled ever since. That wine will fit perfectly with the Pieds et Paquets and potatoes.”

“I can see that the wine isn't the only thing Christian was lucky with,” Eric said with a boyish grin while toasting with his sister-in-law.

“Oh stop it, you,” she replied and playfully hit his upper arm.

They enjoyed their typically Provençal lamb tripes and caught up some of the past nine years. The discussions were lively and lead far into the night.

“Wow, look at the time,” Andrea suddenly interjected. “Good thing we're on vacation.”

Eric looked up to see the sky had already well darkened. “Just look at these stars. There are so many of them. You don't get to see the night sky so well anywhere back home. And the cicadas are still relentlessly singing their monotonous melody.”

Andrea beamed with joy. “I kinda like it when they sing. There's something romantic about it, don't you think?”

With a huge, mischievous smirk, Eric, with full intention, destroyed the moment: “You know they're just going like: 'Do me! Do me! No, do meee!'”

Andrea giggled like a teenage girl. “You're so stupid. You're even worse than your brother.”

After they recovered from their mutual laughing fit, a brief instant of silence set in during which they both listened attentively to the mating call of the cicadas.

Staring at Andrea, Eric broke the silence first: “You know you're a very beautiful woman. Christian really is a lucky guy.”

Blushing, Andrea said, “I said, stop it, you. You're making me all embarrassed.”

“I mean it, Andrea,” Eric emphasized.

“You're so stupid,” she repeated her earlier phrase, before planting a peck on his cheek. “But thank you. Now let's do the dishes and go to bed. Got some plans for the two of us tomorrow.”

Confused by her winking at him, Eric found himself staring at her bottom anew as she walked back through the dimly lit darkness into the house. When he realized he was eying up his sister-in-law again, he lifted his eyebrows, shook his head, removed the glasses and the empty bottle of wine from the table before joining Andrea in the kitchen, and made sure to write yet another mental reminder that she was untouchable.

Once in bed, although he was tired from his long trip, Eric found it hard to fall asleep. For a long time, he was revisiting his day and his casual flirtations with his brother's beautiful wife. What had he been thinking, he wondered – blamed himself for behavior he felt was inappropriate for his age, childish even. Yet, still, for the first time in almost ten years, he felt something stirring inside of him; feelings he had long ago decided to bury and forget; feelings that once had meant the joy of life to him and had enriched him; feelings, however, that also evoked a deep-going grief he had tried so hard to escape from all these years.

He was afraid Andrea would awake the infamous sleeping dogs from their fragile, dreamless slumber. He couldn't blame her. If there was anyone to blame it was no one but himself. What he feared most, nevertheless, was that he possibly had to explain himself to Andrea – something he knew would leave him deeply marked and would tear open long-ignored scars; scars that had taken seemingly forever to heal and drained the better part of his energy during that time.

With these thoughts working on his mind, Eric – spacy from the chirring of the cicadas – finally fell into his agitated sleep.

The next day, after a rich but uneventful breakfast, Andrea and Eric got ready for their first excursion.

“Wanna take the wheel?” Andrea asked, and with a hint of implication added, “The RS6 is convertible.”

“Nah, it's alright. I trust you with that car and you know the roads around here,” Eric replied.

Only when Andrea turned the ignition, he noticed she was wearing a hat that he found matched her dress perfectly. Like her dress, it was yellow too with a brick red ribbon to which painted straw flowers were attached.

When the car's roof slowly slid into the trunk while Andrea drove it at a little more than walking speed to the gate, she noticed Eric was ogling her. “Sorry, I didn't change the dress. I thought I only wore it for dinner yesterday. Plus, we're on vacation so I don't see the fuss in changing clothes so often.”

“Oh, uh, sorry I was staring. I didn't mean to,” Eric replied. “I was just thinking driving a convertible with a hat on might not be the smartest idea. It's a really pretty hat.”

“Don't worry,” Andrea said smiling, “I did this often enough to–”

At this exact moment, a heavy wind blast blew the hat from her head right towards the main street. Despite the heavy traffic and Andrea's protest, Eric got out of the car and ran after the hat.

“Eric, it's just a hat!” he heard her yell in his general direction but chose to ignore it.

He crossed the street, earning several angry honks from cars and ran across a stubble field. Eventually, the hat got caught in the branches of an olive tree which separated two fields. He climbed the tree and almost fell down reaching for the hat.

When his hand grasped the rim of the hat, he heard a voice and a dog barking just a few dozen feet away: “Ho, M'sieur! Cet arbre est propriété privée, putain! Casse-toi, connard!”

Judging from the tone the elderly farmer was yelling at Eric with – or maybe also the carbine he was waving threateningly – he probably hadn't come to sale his olive oil and offer artisan wine. Eric jumped from the tree and sprinted back towards the mansion. Luckily the farmer had not released his dog.

After crossing the street again, Eric walked back to the car laughing, yet out of breath.

Andrea looked annoyed. “Eric, why did you do this? That was reckless, thoughtless and dangerous. It's just a stupid hat. Are you even listening?”

Eric scratched his chin, thinking. “Wait here a minute. I'll go get some things and I'll close the gate on my way back.”

He ran to back to the house and came back three minutes later with the biggest boyish grin.

“I know it was stupid,” he apologized when he climbed back into the car, “but I'll make it up to you. I had an idea. I know you'll love it, I promise. But don't peek, okay?”

“Whatever...” Andrea commented with a pissed tone and started the car again.

She tried well to catch a glance of what Eric was fondling between his hands.

“Hey, no peeking! Eyes on the street!” he exclaimed when he caught her.

After about ten minutes, he said, “Don't move and please don't be startled.”

Before she could protest, she already felt her hat on her head again and Eric's hands on each side of her face. He had to lean over the gearshift to do so. His hands held a soft, thin ribbon which he gently traced down her cheeks. He could feel her tensing up and thought he heard a low sigh escaping her lips. He tied the laces together below her chin so the hat would sit tight but not bother her.

“Oh, Eric, that's really sweet of you, but it has to look ridiculous,” she said bashfully.

“No, it doesn't,” he replied. “I assure you you'll love it once you look in a mirror.”

“Thank you, Eric. It really is a nice hat and I like it a lot. Do you mind if I slide it down to the back of my head? I kinda like the wind blowing through my hair.”

“Sure, that's what the ribbon is here for.”

They kept going without much conversation. In the fifteen minutes of the ride left, the wind occasionally blew sideways hard enough for Eric to catch Andrea's scent. Every time his nose was sensing it, his belly would slightly churn. It filled him with a lightness and eased his mind from the thoughts that had kept haunting him through his sleep. In his mind, he thanked his brother for not having shown up.

Soon, the salty odor of seawater filled his nostrils as they rode down the road towards the bay of Cassis. They found a parking spot in a place Andrea knew was only frequented by locals but still was close to the harbor.

Once she had parked the car, she put her hat back on her head and took a good look at how Eric had attached the ribbons in the rear-view mirror.

“Where did you get these ribbons from?” she asked. “The color matches the one that attaches the flowers perfectly. I'm impressed.”

Eric held up his camera. The strap that was cut.

“I took cut up the strap of my camera. Was an uncomfortable strap anyway. Can't even remember where I got it from – or what happened to the original one for that matter. Looks great on your hat, though.”

“...and sits comfy too,” added Andrea. “Thank you for going through all that trouble.”

“Oh, it's nothing. You invited me to your family estate for my vacations and I showed up empty-handed.” Eric replied.

“It's alright, Eric, really,” Andrea said, still looking at her reflection, rapt by what she was looking at. “It's funny. Just a few years ago, I would have thought I look like a grandma wearing this, and look at me now. I love what you did to my hat. Guess I'm getting old, aren't I?”

While she uttered her last words, Eric wondered if he saw a slight expression of melancholy creep up her face. He knew from her tone she meant her words honestly and wasn't fishing for his attention.

“Don't say that, Andrea. To me, you're just as beautiful as you've always been.”

She took her hat off and pushed it into Eric's face. “You're impossible, Eric. Seriously!”

She stepped away in mock anger, turned around, and took her hat out of Eric's hands again. He stood there, dumbfounded but smiled softly at her as she picked a giggle that reminded him of the laughter of a young girl who had freshly fallen in love. His heart danced at her joy and his head was as light as it hadn't ever been as far as he recalled.

“Don't just stand there, you goof. C'mon! Our boat is waiting!” Andrea shouted from already a few dozen feet away, shaking him from his daydreams.

“I thought you said 'boat',” he said, not believing his eyes, when he saw the floating vehicle she was climbing into, “but that's a goddamn yacht!”

“Now don't exaggerate, will you? At a quarter million, it didn't even cost more than a couple month's salary,” Andrea nonchalantly teased back with obvious sarcasm while maneuvering the ship away from the dock.

Eric chuckled and replied, “Guess that's one of the perks that come with being the CEO of a medium-sized company and having your husband working part-time and taking care of the household and kids, isn't it?”

“Ex-,” Andrea corrected him. “The job, I mean. I'm on a sabbatical – or better: unemployed, in fact. We were doing great as a company of our size, but nothing compared to the big players. We got acquired right before our total market value hit the hundred-million-dollar-mark. I got myself a deal with corporate that our new board fires me and I'd get five years of salary as a dismissal wage. Sounds like a shit load of cash – which it sure is – but it's nothing for a company that big. That was three months ago. Now, I'm enjoying some extended vacation time until I'll start my new job as a florist in my own store. Always had a weak spot for beautiful floral arrangements and with that shit ton of money they threw at me, I'll be able to run an unprofitable store until my great-grandkids die of old age.”

By the time Andrea had finished her explanations, they had left the harbor and were headed to the cliffs – the 'Calanques' as the locals called them. Eric had listened to her story with great interest but didn't reply right away. He seemed to hesitate about whether he should really comment what was on his mind.

“Congrats on your new period in life, then,” he began, backpedaled, faltering whether he should really ask her the inappropriate question before blurting it out anyway: “Is it true what they say? Please don't get me wrong with this. I'm just being curious. It's just for the record. Not trying to sound sexist. Is it true that women can get anywhere in a company if they bend over for the right people?”

Andrea chuckled. Her answer came routinely as she'd had to deal with this question often enough in her life: “You'd be surprised. Not only for women. It's true, yes, but not entirely. Bending over can only get you so far. If you wanna go up the ladder all the way, well, you can't allow yourself such escapades. The board is very careful to choose professional and trustworthy people in charge. I don't really think you can see the professionalism in bending over for your career, now can you? Unfortunately, what still remains true to this day is that if women wanna reach the top, they'll have to work twice as hard as their male colleagues and do everything twice as well. Luckily, that last part's not so hard.”

“Does that part of your speech come as a motivational poster for my office?” Eric joked.

“If I didn't know that you're probably stronger than me, I'd throw you overboard over that remark, mister,” Andrea shot back, halfway laughing. “Lucky for you, we're almost there.” She pointed to a narrow entrance between two cliffs which lead to a most beautiful, secluded beach strip in between the towering cliffs.

Amazed about the landscape, Eric looked at the rock formations until he saw another boat that had landed next to a far less steep part of the cliff. On top of the climbable rock stood a woman in her sixties, naked, waving at him.

“The Calanques are very popular for skinny-dipping and suntanning,” Andrea explained. “Mostly couples. There's no police around to fine anyone, so most of these couples... ah yeah, there we go.”

As if waiting for Andrea's annotations, a man, also in his sixties, also naked, appeared next to the woman. They started fondling each other and feeling each other up. Eric chuckled at the sight.

“What did I say?” Andrea asked rhetorically with the biggest grin on her face.

Once the ship was anchored not too far from the secluded beach, they both got prepared to jump into the cool water. Eric felt a slight sting of disappointment when he saw Andrea had chosen to wear a full-body bathing suit over a flaunting bikini. As much as he would have loved to see her womanly features, he still thanked her in his mind for not appealing to his manly instincts.

“Watcha looking at? Like what you see?” Andrea teased as she noticed Eric was, once again, lost in his thoughts, not realizing what he was blankly staring at.

He shook his head, lifted his eyebrows and smiled softly. “I'm sorry. I was lost in my thoughts.”

Andrea bit her lower lip, stepped closer to Eric, and kept up her flirtatious tone: “Now what might that cute head of yours have been thinking about?”

Having been caught in the act, Eric blushed through an entire palette of red shades without being able to reply. Andrea gently took his head between her hands, stood on her toes and slowly pulled his face to her chest.

“Did you know that,” she began, as his face was almost touching her breasts, “the water here,” she continued, before finally pushing him over the guardrail, not giving him a chance to defend himself, “is considered the coldest in the Mediterranean sea?”

Eric resurfaced and splashed a big enough wave at her to wet almost her entire front.

Not having expected this, she shouted in playful anger, “Just you wait, bozo!”

She jumped into the water as well and Eric began to swim towards the beach, making sure she could keep up with him and would eventually catch up where the water was about chest-high. They wrestled in the water and took turns in dunking each other down, laughing, shrieking, giggling like two teenagers who were yet to discover they had fallen madly in love with each other.

A while later, they swam to the beach, still in their playful bliss. After a few steps on land, Eric, exhausted, let himself fall on the warm sand and rolled to his back, stretching all fours. Andrea ran after him and knelt between his legs. She rested her weight on her hands which she placed on either side of his face. Slowly, she lowered her soaked body on his and closed her eyes.

Not sure of what was happening, Eric stammered, “A-A-Andrea! What a-are you d-doing?”

This time, it was her turn to blush. She rolled aside and sat next to him.

“I'm sorry, Eric,” she shamefully apologized. “I got carried away. I hope you...”

A yelp from her mouth interrupted her apology when Eric seized both her wrists and he threw himself on top of her. She tried to shake him away, but both of them started rolling on the sand, laughing until they came to rest. Andrea rested her head on Eric's chest to catch her breath and then rolled aside to lie next to him. Both were panting and giggling over their childish play.

Eric was the first to speak: “Oh boy. That was fun.”

Andrea turned to her side, looked at Eric and giggled. She bit her bottom lip and when she did so, he saw her steal a brief glance at his lips before looking into his eyes again.

“Yes, it was,” she eventually said. Eric thought he was hearing a nuance of sadness in her voice when she resumed, “It's been a long time since we've fooled around like this.”

Eric wasn't sure who she meant by 'we', but didn't want to go deeper into presumably uncomfortable details. He had his own little idea who she was talking about but thought it better to keep it to himself.

“Your job, I assume.” With these words, he tried to give her a chance for an excuse.

Absent-mindedly, she replied, “Yeah.” She paused, sighed, took a deep breath and resumed, with a heavy melancholy in her voice, “I was happy when they bought our company and fired me. It had really started to wear me out. I was happy to be back with my family. Unfortunately, the kids are in that age where they don't really play that way with their mother anymore. This and...”

By the time Andrea paused, her eyes were wet and her gaze was empty. She had been tracing shapes in the sand with her fingers and left Eric suspecting there was a frustration in her far greater and more hurting than the realization her children were growing up. He wasn't sure whether her next sigh was more of a sob than an expression of simple disappointment.

Suddenly, she stood back on her feet and gave her best to give a euphoric expression, “What the hell am I talking about? We're on vacation!” She clenched her fist and threw a punch in the air, jumping. “Wooohooo! Yeah, baby!”

Eric knew better than to believe her. Her act was all too set-up to be believable to him. All it did to him was confirming something in her life was not how it should be. He had his ideas about what frustrated her so deeply, yet chose to keep his thoughts to himself and not to stir up negative emotions unnecessarily.

By the time they were back at the harbor, it was almost dinner time. Eric said he only noticed then and there they had skipped lunch over the amazement of the landscape and the lighthearted fun they had been having.

“I know just the place, you'll see,” Andrea said smiling.

She led Eric to a restaurant named 'Le Vieux Port' right at the harbor's main square. Although Cassis was practically overrun by tourists from all over the world, this very place was frequented by only a very select part of them. When Eric's eyes fell on the menu at the entrance and he saw the prices of the food, he understood why and was wondering how he was supposed to pay for his meal. Andrea told him not to worry about that which he didn't acknowledge without futile protest.

“Madame Andréa,” the well-groomed waiter at the reception greeted her, well stressing the 'é' in the French pronunciation of her name and continuing in his perfect, even if heavily accented, English, “What a pleasant surprise. Who is the charming man who is giving you company?”

“Gaston, Charming yourself as always,” Andrea replied, leaning in for a kiss on each cheek as it was custom in Provence. “Ceci est mon... my brother-in-law... mon beau-frère, Eric.”

“Wonderful, Andréa, you're making progress with your French as I see,” Gaston complimented her equally heavily accented French. “The same table as always?”

“Oui, s'il-vous plaît, Gaston,” Andrea replied in the customary form of courtesy despite having traded first names. “Et une carte sans prix pour Eric. Ce soir, c'est... how do you say? Uh... My treat.”

“Very well, Madame Andréa. Marcel will escort you to your table,” Gaston said pointing at the very young waiter who was already waiting next to them. He further instructed the latter, “Une carte sans prix affichés pour le Monsieur s'il-vous plaît, Marcel.”

“Très bien,” Marcel said and did as told.

When he handed out the menus, he gave his suggestions for the aperitif: “Voilà, Madame, Monsieur, vos cartes. Puis-je vous offrir un apéro? Je peux vous recommander notre Chapagne Veuve Cliquot brut avec ou sans crème de cassis pour en faire un Kir Royal. Ou prefereriez-vous un Pastis par exemple?”

Andrea laughed at the priceless expression on Eric's face. He hadn't understood a single word of what the waiter had told them. For all he knew, Marcel might just as well have offered him a hand-woven Persian carpet.

“My sincerest apologies, Monsieur, Dame. How most embarrassing of mine,” the waiter insecurely mumbled, he too bearing the distinctive French accent. “I should have paid more attention. I shall offer your first drink on the house for my misbehavior.”

“Allez, Marcel,” Andrea replied, trying to calm the kid. “Ne vous en faites pas. You have to be new. Vous... devez être... nouveau? Is that right? Ne soyez pas... uh... Don't be so hard on yourself.”

The young waiter bowed. “Merci, Madame. Can I offer you an aperitif? A Champagne maybe? Veuve Cliquot brut. With a crème de cassis if you wish to have a Kir Royal. Or would you rather have a Pastis? Or anything else?”

“Un Kir Royal, s'il-vous plaît,” Andrea ordered.

“Same for me,” Eric said and added, “And can we also have a decanter of tap water, please?”

“Très bien, Monsieur, Dame. Deux Kirs Royaux et une caraffe d'eau. Tout de suite.”

While they waited for their drinks, both were studying the menu card.

“Can you suggest anything?” Eric asked. “Even if my rusty French was better, I'd have a hard time understanding the names they give their food.”

Andrea grinned as if knowing Eric wouldn't be too fond of her suggestion. “I'll have the snails for starters. Don't give me that look. It's not even half as nasty as you'd think it is. They're really tender – almost melt in your mouth like butter – and they serve it with an olive oil-based parsley sauce with lots of garlic. Or I can highly recommend their mixed salad with baked goat cheese and honey-vinegar dressing. It comes with paper thin-cut smoked duck breast and poultry gizzards. All their ingredients are either fresh from the market or from local organic farmers. As for the main course, I'll have the Bouillabaisse and you should take it as well. It's a local dish – a rich and thick soup from typically Mediterranean fish. The detailed composition of the ingredients varies according to the daily catch. It's traditionally served with a small cup of red mayonnaise... with loads of garlic as well, of course. They appropriately call it 'la rouille' – the French word for rust.”

Eric thought about it for a while and then said, “Okay. Thanks for explaining. As much as I'm disgusted about the thought of eating snails, I'm curious. How about we order that goat cheese salad and a set of snails together and share both. I do agree with the main course. I'll take that soup too. And what will we drink with that?”

“We'll have a white Vacquéras and have Marcel chose the varietal. He's pretty new, probably just graduated from the 'Ecole d'Hôtellerie' in Marseille. The boy will be delighted to flaunt his expertise.”

During their meal, Andrea and Eric chatted, laughed, flirted even. In his mind, Eric couldn't shake the question whether Andrea's behavior was an act and why she played it, yet he had no intention whatsoever to ruin their beautiful evening together which would have given a terrific date hadn't she been his sister-in-law. Every now and then, their legs touched and they wouldn't bother to break the contact between them. A few times, he thought he even felt her leg slightly rubbing against his – or were his rubbing against hers? For the moment, he didn't care all that much.

When the Bouillabaisse arrived, Andrea leaned in and with a low and hesitant voice said, “Listen, Eric, there's something that's been bugging me since I got you at the airport yesterday. You don't have to reply now, not even at all if it's too personal. I really don't mean to invade.”

Eric felt his heart pound all the way up to his throat. He braced himself to be forced to confront what he had been dreading the better part of the past day.

“Christian never mentioned any new woman in your life,” Andrea started, carefully watching Eric's facial expression and trying to fathom whether she was overstepping the boundaries of discretion. “You do – or at least did – have someone since the divorce, right?”

For a moment, Eric could neither move his eyes nor close his mouth that stood agape from the unexpected confrontation.

“No, I didn't,” he answered dryly.

“Are you saying you didn't have any adventures for the past ten years almost? Not even an affair?”

“Look, Andrea, it's not like it wouldn't have happened,” Eric, visibly cornered, tried to excuse himself.

“But you didn't want to? Is that what you're saying?” Andrea completed his excuse. “But, Eric, you're a good man, nice, friendly, funny, witty, you have a stable, well-earning job. You could have any girl.”

“I know, Andrea, but listen, it's none of your business,” he snapped, his tone becoming more defensive and unfriendly with each word. “Also, it's a lot more complicated than–”

Not amused by his answer, Andrea didn't leave Eric the chance to finish his sentence: “Don't you give me that 'it's complicated' bullshit, Eric! I'll tell you what's going on: you're the one who can't move on and who's still clinging to his ex-.”

“Thank you for telling me what I already know, alright?” Eric shot back, irritated, offended. He tried to begin a new sentence, but struggled to find words which resulted in an imprudently formulated, rather angry remark: “And why is that so important to you? God damn it! Can't we just change the fucking subject already? I'm trying to eat here.”

Shocked by his language, Andrea exclaimed, “Eric!”

“Don't you 'Eric' me that way, Andrea. You're walking on mighty thin ice here,” Eric cut her short. He paused to let his words sink in, and then resumed, in a much softer tone: “And now, can we go back to enjoying our meal? Pretty please.”

The last words left his lips reluctantly. They were almost stuck in his throat. His eyes were burning and he prayed Andrea wouldn't see the tear that was forming in the corner of his eye.

“Sure,” she almost whispered with a crackling voice, with a hint of shame in her tone.

For the rest of their meal, they tried to resume their initial unworried conversations. From outside they were no different from a couple that was still slowly discovering each other's characters, yet both of them knew there was a huge elephant right there, sitting at the table with them – and they gave their best to exclude it from their company. Although they were still trying to act casual, their way of discussing eventually changed from flirtatious to awkward and overly formal.

When they left, Andrea exchanged a few more words with Gaston, the chief waiter: “Merci, Gaston, pour l'hospitalité. It was a pleasure, as always.”

The waiter bowed and replied, “You are always welcome here, Madame Andréa. I hope to see you again soon. And give my best salutations to Monsieur Christian as well.”

“I will, Gaston,” Andrea said before they exchanged their goodbye kisses. “Oh, et avant que j'oublie...” She rummaged in her purse and grabbed out two fifty-Euro-bills. “Le pourboire. One is for the staff, and the other is for your new boy, Marcel. He's doing a terrific job.”

Gaston bowed again. “Thank you, Madame Andréa. You're being too generous. I will not fail to tell him. By the way, Madame Andréa, compliments on your new hat. Very fashionable indeed.”

On their way home, Eric and Andrea didn't talk much during the first ten minutes.

Eric then broke the ice: “Ugh! I'm so full I'm gonna burst.” He slid his shirt up and tapped a rhythm on his belly. “Look at that food baby. It's gonna burst out soon.” He voiced a mock explosion and made a fart noise with his tongue and emphasized his little act with his hands that traced the trajectory of imaginary bits of his entrails splattering the entire car from the inside.

Andrea giggled, “Oh stop it, Eric. I'm driving.”

“Sorry, I couldn't resist,” he laughed. “Thanks for the meal. It was exquisite, really. You were right, Andrea. I should have followed your invitations a lot sooner.”

“Nevermind, Eric. I'm glad you're here now,” Andrea replied and gave his hand a squeeze.

In order not to create another awkward silence, Eric inquired, “So what's the plan now? It'll only be half past ten when we arrive at the mansion. I'm tired as hell, but I don't wanna go to bed just yet.”

A playful smile flashed over her lips. “I know just the right thing for two people who are tired but unwilling to go to sleep.”

Andrea had the most girlish giggle and it made Eric all giddy not to know what she was up to. Her unwillingness to share her idea only added to his excitement. By the time they arrived, he was slightly annoyed by her behavior he found childish, yet amusing.

She opened the trunk and threw his swimwear and towel at him, ordering, “Put these back on and meet me at the pool in five.”

Eric stood there, dumbstruck, not sure what to expect. Without wasting too much thought, he followed the instructions and was waiting at the pool in his swimming trunks with the towel over his shoulder just a few moments later. He was listening attentively to the chirring that surrounded him and closed his eyes for a brief instant.

He had just put his towel over the backrest of a deck chair when he heard Andrea clear her throat. He turned around only to have his jaw drop as he saw her wearing a black bikini with leaf patterns in plum and dark green. To his greatest delight, she had removed the push-up inlays which made her nipples prominently poke through the polyamide fabric and allowed her breasts to snuggle into the cups just the way it made him drool. His gawk went down to the navel on her tone belly, down the V that lead to...

“Wow, listen to this. The singing of the cicadas is crazy loud,” Andrea said, before grinning knowingly. “But you didn't hear it, right? Am I too distracting?”

Saying this, Andrea lifted her eyebrows and then winked at Eric.

Embarrassed, the latter shook his head and chuckled sheepishly, “Busted. Well, since you caught me red-handed, I can at least stand my ground and compliment you on your looks. You truly are a stunning woman, Andrea. I bet Christian constantly all over you. Lucky bastard!”

Andrea sighed in a way which had Eric once more question whether it was from mock annoyance or true melancholy. Only a low 'yeah' escaped her mouth before she smiled a smile which he could tell looked more fake than honest.

After a short moment of silence, Andrea raised her voice again: “I'm not mad at you. You know, for ogling me. I kinda... uh... enjoy it. Also, I wouldn't have dressed like that if I hadn't known how you would react. You know, I could tell you were disappointed when you saw me in my bathing suit back in the Calanques. I know that men are, well – as I already said – calibrated to enjoy the sight of exposed skin.”

Slowly, she stepped towards the pool and down the steps that lead into the water. She waded until she was in shoulder-deep. Then, she turned around and waded back.

“Are you just gonna stand there and ogle me? The water's not getting any cooler,” she said, paused and added, with a mischievous smirk, “And you better come here if you wanna get a closer look of me.”

She reached out for his hand and pulled him with her. He didn't give much resistance although he was still unsure of why she was acting like she wanted to be seen as 'game' by her husband's brother. He was lost deeply enough in his thoughts that he didn't realize she splashed a wave in his direction.

His male ego challenged, Eric nearly jumped her just the same way he had earlier that day at the beach, shouting, “Just you wait, hun!”

He almost landed on her and managed to push her shoulders down so she got fully immersed in the water, but softly enough to allow her to resurface and retaliate the assault. She moved to his side and tried to jump on his back and pull him underwater but he shifted his weight such that only half her body landed on the right half of his back. He used her momentum to slide his right shoulder under her hips and lift her outside the water. She tried to free herself by paddling with her legs and, laughing, hitting his chest with both her fists.

“Let me down, you big oaf! That's not fair!” she managed to exclaim in between her laughs.

“As you wish, dear,” he replied and slammed her onto the water surface.

When she resurfaced, she jumped him from the front, pressed her chest against his and approached her face to his close enough for him to feel her breath on his wet lips.

That was the moment he backed off and pushed her away from him.

As a reaction, she giggled girlishly. “I knew you'd fall for the seductress act.”

Eric's lips formed a crooked, insecure smile. He wasn't sure what to think of all of this: his beautiful sister-in-law, her obvious approaches, her acting like a bored and sexually neglected housewife. To his great discomfort, it all seemed to spark ablaze feelings he had chosen to bury in the deepest abyss of his heart. However excited this small flame of hope made him feel, he knew better than to fall for her charms. He was fully aware that he had to do something before the hormones that felt like butterflies in his belly would take the upper hand and make him cast aside all his good intentions towards his brother.

He tried to step back from Andrea, but soon, his back hit the border of the pool. Andrea, obviously misinterpreting his backing off as playing along, slowly approached him, gave him her best love-crazed gaze and pressed her breasts together with her upper arms to emphasize her act.

Eric swallowed the lump that had been growing in his throat, brusquely grabbed Andrea on both sides, lifted her and carried her away from the border.

“Eric, please be gentle. That hurts a bit,” she complained, a distorted expression over her face.

He put her down, looked at her and hesitantly tried to speak, his voice carrying a noticeable timbre of insecurity: “Look, Andrea. Uh... Could you not? I mean... um... drop the... uh... act, please.”

Startled, she looked at him as he retracted his arms from her shoulders. “Eric? You okay? What's the matter?”

He in- and exhaled deeply once, twice, three times before he gave his best shot at explaining himself: “Andrea, I'm sorry. Could you please not tease me like that. As much as I enjoy all the banter and all, it stirs up feelings I shouldn't have towards you. You're my brother's wife! You have three kids! You shouldn't be fooling around with me that way, Andrea.”

A brief instant of silence set in. The cicadas were chirring louder than before – almost deafening.

Unsure of how to fix the awkward situation he had evoked, Eric imprudently chose his next words: “You're acting all weird, Andrea. It's a lot like, you know, like you were kinda trying to make up for some kind of frustration... uh... sexually. It feels like you were trying to use me to compensate. Me, your husband's brother.”

Eric could see her jaw trembling and her eyes redden before she reacted offended, hurt even, “Oh yeah? Is that so? What do you know about it? You, the guy who hasn't been able to move on from his divorce. After nine fucking years! Seriously?”

“Andrea!” Eric almost yelled, him too feeling the same anger as earlier surging in his guts. He attempted to keep his rage at bay and speak more calmly: “Do you really have to bring this up all the time? I'm trying to enjoy some vacation here. I'd rather work on a change of ideas than dealing with the same shit as back home. Why are you doing this to me? Is it because I won't screw you and betray my brother?“

He wanted to say more but caught a slap on his cheek. In shock, he looked at Andrea who was fighting her tears.

“How dare you talk to me like that?” Her voice was low, heavy, and loaded with anger.

“Andrea, I...” Eric began but struggled to look her in the eyes. “I'm sorry. Please. I didn't mean to...”

“Yes, but you did! And now I'm really curious about your excuse. Do you wanna tell me how 'complicated' it is all over again? It looks pretty damn clear to me. You just can't get over Annie dumping you like that. Boohoo! Let me tell you something: the world keeps turning, Eric. Like it or not. And you should finally move on and leave this all behind. It's been a fucking decade, Eric!”

“What's your problem, Andrea? Why do you keep popping that subject? Is hurting me so enjoyable? I can't make sense of you. First, you're all over me and then you gotta dig out these old hats? If you're so desperate to get laid why don't you–”

Andrea cut Eric short, “That's so unfair! You can't just change the subject because you're too much of a coward to face your demons.”

Eric shook his head and struggled to keep his composure. “That's enough, Andrea. If you were trying to vent your frustration on me and hurt me, well done! Good night, Andrea.”

He waded towards the stairs at the edge of the pool but stopped when Andrea shouted at him, “I'm not done with you, Eric! You can't just walk away from your past! This won't bring your daughter back!”

Eric turned around and with a cry filled with anger, hatred and the sadness of years of suppressed guilt yelled, “Fuck you!” as a tear rolled down his cheek.

Andrea covered her mouth with her hand, incredulous of the accusation she had just thrown at him.

“Eric, I'm sorry,” she sobbed, but he preferred to ignore her and awkwardly wade out of the water and leave her behind in the little misery she had brought upon herself.

***

Old man Eric was thrown out of his dream by his youngest great-granddaughter Anna tugging on his pants. He had fallen asleep in his rocking chair.

“Allez, Papi. On a fait la sièste tous les deux. No more nappy time! Porte-moi maintenant.”

He smiled at her tiredly. He had promised her to play with her after his nap and never would he ever be able to reject any wish of that sweet little girl. So he lifted her up from behind, slowly stood up with a strained gasp and, – with another, heavier gasp – lifted her over his head for her to sit on his shoulders, straddling on his nape.

“You will soon be too big for me, like your sister, Princess,” he told her, chuckling, “Enjoy it while you still can. Where shall we go?”

“Là-bas, Papi. Over there,” she said, pointing into the garden.

“I can't see where you're pointing, dear.”

“Tout droit, Papi! Allez, hop, au gallop!” she commanded like a real princess.

“No, no gallop, little Princess. Your great-granddaddy is too old for this.”

While playing with his great-granddaughter, Eric's mind still kept circling around his cherished, yet unprocessed memories. He knew he'd have a hard time falling asleep that night and his dreams would – as they always did – pick up where the previous one had ended.

To be continued...