Hello! Oh. My. Word. I am so sorry you guys. I had no idea when I last posted that it would take so long for me to get another update out. For some reason, I've just haven't been in the right headspace for writing this story. Thankfully, over the Fourth, I went on vacation with my family to Maine and there is something about the house we stay in up there that just sparks my creativity. (On a side note, Chapter 5 was also written there.) Soooo. Enough excuses. In recompense, I will be posting Chapter 23 tomorrow, so stay tuned! As a side note, shout out to my sister who was so kind as to proofread these two chapters. She has helped on so many of the other chapters and been invaluable when it comes to plot discussion and ideas from day one. She also gave this story it's name. Thank you, H! Cheers, y'all!
For the Dassin family (and Gleb) Monday began before the sun rose. Mme. Dassin and Elena were the first up, grabbing a quick breakfast then getting the bread ready to go into the ovens. Henri, Jean, and Gleb all came into the kitchen next. They too snatched small, mobile breakfasts and got to work. Henri and Jean headed outside to take care of the chores that needed doing and to carry in more wood. Gleb settled in his corner and started to chop root vegetables for the lunch soup. By the time Marianne stumbled in, still tying her apron, the kitchen was already steamy and hot. Mme. Dassin had set the two littlest of her children to polishing pewterware, but kept Marianne on call as a sort of errand girl. She popped in and out of the kitchen on various missions, stealing food of each trip through until Gleb complained that he would never get anywhere since she was eating his carrots as fast as he was chopping them.
The food alone took several hours to prepare. There were cuts of meat that needed to be marinated, bread and pastries to be made, the dining room needed its final once-over, all the rooms needed to be checked and the inevitably forgotten items added, and a hundred and one other things. As soon as the customers started coming, Gleb quitted the kitchen for the bar and some light waiting while Marianne and Elena helped.
The day passed in a whirlwind. Poor Henri was struggling to fill his father's shoes r and marveled at how easy M. Dassin had made running the inn to look. It made him tremble with a sense of his own inadequacy and he missed his father's reassuring hand on his shoulder.
Several new guests arrived and had to be put up and there was a full dining room and bar that evening. People had missed Le Miroir and were more than happy to show their appreciation for its reopening. In fact, some were a little too appreciative. Over the course of the evening, Gleb had to cut several people off and step in to deescalate a situation that probably would have resulted in a highly destructive bar fight.
"I haven't had to use my Intimidating Officer Voice in a long time," Gleb whispered in Elena's ear when he went into the kitchen for some fresh towels after an intoxicated patron spilled his entire drink on the bar and Gleb. He may or may not have directed several uncomplimentary Russian phrases in the man's general direction as he went to mop up both the spill and himself. Elena grimaced, looking around to make sure no one was nearby.
"When was the last time?" she queried in an undertone.
Gleb thought back and frowned.
"Paris, as far as I can remember."
It came out a little heavier than he had intended. Elena's shoulders dropped in a sympathetic sigh. She squeezed his arm gently.
"That's quite a while. You know you've been here for almost four months."
Gleb shook his head in disbelief
"Has it really been that long? It seems like a month, maybe two at most." He paused and gave a mischievous grin. "But 'le temps passe vite quand on s'amuse', I guess."
Elena laughed.
"My, my, my! Very fancy! Seriously, Gleb, your French has improved so much. When I first met you I could barely understand what you were saying."
Gleb frowned good-naturedly and was about to give a snarky reply when Marianne shouted "Coming through!" and dived between them with a loaded tray, reminding them of the work still to be done. Elena went to stir one of the soups and Gleb headed back to the bar, conscious of still being very damp. He scowled. That man was most definitely on the cut-off list now.
xxxx
After their late dinner that night, Mme. Dassin called Gleb into the vacated kitchen.
"I want to thank you for all that you've done, Gleb," she began. "Your help over the past weeks has been invaluable. If you are planning to stay as Elena tells me you are, I would like to pay you for your work here."
Gleb shook his head in disbelief.
"Pay me? Mme. Dassin, I'm just starting to work off my stay! I've lived at the inn for months completely free of charge not to mention my medical bills that you insisted on shouldering as well. I can't accept pay, I really can't."
"Gleb, my dear, you are one of the best bartenders I have ever seen! You have given the fame of our inn a serious boost and…and with all the legal help you have given me these past few days, I think it's fair to say that our score is settled."
Something pricked in Gleb's heart at the motherly words.
"But I wanted to help!"
"And I want to pay you!"
Gleb sighed. Walking over to the older woman, he took her hands in his.
"Madame, I know you want to help me, but I also know that finances are going to be…well, a bit strained for a while yet. Please, let me help as a friend for a while longer. You're already paying my bed and board."
Mme. Dassin sighed.
"Are you sure?"
Gleb nodded and gently pressed the hands he held.
"Perfectly so. I have not been this happy in years. I've done some things I'm not… proud of in the past, but this place and your family gave me a refuge and a new life."
Feeling suddenly bold, Gleb leaned down and kissed her lightly on the cheek then drew back quickly, embarrassed at his own audacity. Mme. Dassin merely smiled and reached up to pat his face with her hand, a gesture that made his heart ache.
"My dear boy, it's been a blessing to have you. Whatever your background is, always remember that your past doesn't have to define you. You can move on and become a new person. If you ask me," she smiled and patted his cheek, "you're already doing a pretty good job of it."
Something in her face brought a lump to his throat. It was so familiar, that look only a mother can give…
"Gleb…"
"Mum," his voice, already breaking as it deepened, cracked with emotion. "Mum, please, don't go."
She smiled despite the tears in her eyes.
"Death is not something to be feared, Gleb dearest. I am at peace with God and man."
Gleb held her hand tightly as if he could keep ahold of the slender thread that still bound her to the world.
"Mum…" he could say no more. Ekaterina Vaganova reached up and held his tear-streaked face between her tiny, hands.
"I'll never be far, detka."
She coughed and suddenly her eyes became almost desperate.
"Gleb, listen to me. Promise that you won't fall into the trap your father did. He died from shame and regret as much as illness. Please, never do something like that: so bound up in a cause that you do something that will destroy you. Please, promise me."
"I promise, Mum, I promise."
She relaxed back, relief painted across her features. He grasped her hand with the desperation of bitter grief.
"Thank you, Gleb. I love you, my little Zaichik…"
"I love you, Mum," he choked out.
The fingers in his own went limp. Gleb tried to speak, tried to say something, but nothing came. He touched her face with trembling fingers, then dropped his head into her lap and sobbed, his hopeless tears falling on their still clasped hands. Everything he thought was his had been ripped from his hands, leaving behind the emptiness of despair. He was alone in the world.
Gleb took in a shuddering breath, dragging himself out of the memories. Mme. Dassin was looking up at him with a concerned expression that reminded him sharply of Elena. Without a word, she guided him to one of the kitchen chairs and sat down across from him. With gentle hands she reached out and brushed away the tears that had fallen without his realizing it. She didn't say anything; was simply there for him.
"I'm sorry," he said at last, voice still broken. "I've not had anything since I was sixteen. My father and mother both died within a few months of each other and on her death bed, I promised her…" Gleb shook his head dejectedly and looked at his lap. "I made a promise that I didn't keep. She would be so disappointed in me."
Mme, Dassin smiled despite the tears pricking her eyes.
"Whatever happened, Gleb, you are a man any mother would be proud of. If you don't feel like you kept the promise you made, it's not too late. It's never too late."
Gleb looked up at her.
"I don't think you'd say that if you knew," he said. "You'd probably pack my bags."
"Oh, Gleb…" Mme. Dassin shook her head, cut to the heart by his insecurity. "Whatever happened in the past, whatever you did or didn't do, you moved beyond it. You will always have a home here. I said it before and I'll say it again: your past does not define you."
Gleb gave a little nod that was still heavy with old sorrow.
"Thank you," he said quietly and Mme. Dassin could hear the sincerity in his tone. He leaned forward and kissed her cheek once more, then stood and headed upstairs to his room.
French Traslation:
Le temps passe vite quand on s'amuse - The French equivalent of "time flies when you're having fun"