Prologue

I awoke certain it was going to be one of those days.

A bad habit of rolling around in bed for several hours before arising had been developed over the past few years, since it seemed to help the day move along much faster and to my liking. I tried my hardest to never open my eyes until I was ready, but that morning, there was no getting around it.

Forcing them open, the noises I had heard as a dreamy blur suddenly became clear, piercing my eardrums with a new power. There was a tea kettle starting to screech in the kitchen. The television was blasting and there was an overall clamor throughout the house. I didn't give my mind time for a second thought against rising out of bed.

As I entered the hallway, I took note that Matthew had set up his portable hockey net –again– just outside of the kitchen without permission. He was racing across the room in his socks, using that queer-looking stick to send a puck flying across the hardwood floors…Never would I understand such a sport. All I could do was sigh.

"Matthew." The name was spoken alone, in no other way than the pure authority I tried to use when it came to matters like these. Somehow, he still went on playing.

"Sorry Dad –I'll be done in a second." As always, I could hardly hear the boy's whisper over the noise of the house. The puck darted past my feet once again, slamming into the net for another goal. The only victory I celebrated was being able to step over the plastic posts.

The tea kettle was brought down to a simmer, finally taking an ounce of chaos out of the air. The situation could be measured now that the infernal noise was gone. Who had made tea anyway…? I poured myself a cup regardless and took a sip.

Weak. How I hated weak tea. It took all of my power not to grimace at the taste. I looked to the couch.

"Alfred, did you make this?"

The elder child only looked away from the screen for a moment. He refocused on his game with a shake of his head. What a mistake to pick up those things for him on the Black Market last Christmas…I'd been regretting the decision ever since his addiction began. I was shocked when he actually gave an answer. "Mattie did; the biscuits on the table are mine, though. You can have some if you want."

Animosity almost overcame me in my early morning grumpiness. "You know I don't like biscuits –why didn't you bake me scones instead?"

"Didn't wanna."

My eyebrow twitched, but as I sat down at the kitchen table, I instructed myself to let it go. These children were growing up quite differently than I had expected them to….I couldn't help but suppose that such things only came naturally from being a practically single parent in New Age France.

Another sip of tea. Weak tea…

…How I remembered weak tea. My first cup had been in France, and managed to become such a precious memory…it appeared to be the only reason why I tolerated the taste. Some odd feeling was eating away at my stomach, making me glad that Matthew had made weak tea that morning. Tea just like his father's. A somewhat saddened smile appeared on my lips.

"Did you sleep better?" Matthew hopped up into my lap, nearly knocking me in the head with the child-sized hockey stick. I would have let myself get smacked with such a silly thing to get a hug like this. I was so engrossed I could hardly manage an "it was fine."

Matthew was seven now.

Alfred was nine.

When I looked back on the years, I could hardly believe that my children were growing up so fast. The time ticked on without warning, which to most was a frightening concept. To me…it was a heavy comfort.

Peering over Matthew's shoulder, I saw Alfred pause his game and come over to the table. Immediately he grabbed a biscuit from the wicker basket and stuffed it into his mouth, taking a seat beside his brother and I. The look on his face told me that a thought had entered his mind.

"When's Papa gonna be back again?"

I paused in mid-drink. "Why do you ask?"

"Well, it should be getting close, shouldn't it?" He tried to swallow his food in an attempt to speak with more clarity. "He cooks a lot better than I do…and definitely better than you. I miss his breakfast…"

"It's the twenty-sixth," Matthew spoke up from my lap. "That means three days…three more until the twenty-ninth."

For the first time in weeks, our house lay quiet.

"…Lord knows we need him," I spoke through the silence, setting down my cup on the table with a slight clank. "Well, I do at least." It was a hard thing to admit, and neither child responded otherwise; Matthew only wrapped his arms tighter around my neck, Alfred's eyes becoming glued to the ground.

We all knew that our family was broken. It had been since the day it was formed. Looking into the eyes of any one of us, it was fairly obvious to see that there was something lacking…some gaping space that nothing else was able to fill.

It was the same reason that morning I so desperately needed weak tea…

I put on a fake smile for the kids, one to mask the pain I was feeling. A smile like this from me would convince everyone but Francis… "There's no use moping around until he comes," I assured them both, giving Matthew a ruffle of his hair. I knew exactly what to do. With a furtive look in my eyes, I made a proposition.

"How about until then…I tell you two a story?"

Alfred's head shot up at once, and Matthew audibly gasped. "You mean the story!?" The elder child asked as he bounced in his chair. He gave a little laugh. "I was wondering when you were going to ask!"

"I just love this story…" Matthew's cheeks went rosy at the thought. "Please Daddy, can we start now?"

A strange sound leaped from my throat –no, that was a laugh. I couldn't remember the last time I had heard the noise come from myself. "Now? Well, let's see…" I stood up, Matthew still in my arms. Together our parade began to walk towards the master bedroom. Once inside, I approached the bookshelf at the far corner of the room. My fingertips lingered on a particularly large book bound in red, gold detailing on its spine. "We'll need this," I told the two as I attempted to wave the thing in the air. A step or two over to my desk. "And we'll need those…" I lowered Matthew down a bit, allowing him to pick up the reading glasses for me. I heard both giggle; it was nice to know I could still make them laugh.

"Finally," I said as I plopped onto the bed, "We'll need a comfy seat." A feeling of joy and surprise swept over me when Alfred too even cuddled up to my chest –a rare occasion in the Kirkland household. The smile I gave was true. "Who wants to tell me where to begin?"

"At the beginning…?" Alfred shrugged.

"No, at the apartment," Matthew specified for him. "That's where it starts, right?"

"You're both right, don't worry." I ran my hand down the front page of the scrapbook, taking delight in once again seeing handwriting long forgotten . Je ne suis pas parti it read…such precious words I would never forget.

I am not gone…more and more each day I realized, Francis had spoke the truth that night, all those years ago. Even if he wasn't around all the time, he had kept his promise to us.

In that moment, I decided: this time around, I wanted to tell my children the full story –not only the pretty bits like I did every time before. They deserved more than that…

"What would you fellows say…if I told the story a bit differently this time?" I pushed past the lump in my throat. "I can't guarantee that it will be as happy, or that you'll like it any more than before, but it will be everything. The whole truth."

"You mean there's more!? And we've never heard it?" Alfred could hardly contain himself beside me. "But you always said–"

"I know what I said." The phrase came out harsher than I had originally intended. "The things I've kept from you…I've done for your own protection. I knew that I'd have to tell you sometime, and I guess…I guess now seems best."

Matthew tugged on my shirt, trying to capture my attention. "I'd like to hear…but, one thing…"

"What's that, love?"

"…Can you keep the beginning the same…? I like the beginning…"

I grinned. "For you, I'll try my hardest."

I inhaled a deep breath, flipping the page, telling myself that if I didn't start now, I never would.

"That morning, Francis Bonnefoy received a phone call…"

Wrote to: The Rainbow -Talk Talk