Page 6 of After the End

The shock was instant. Agonizing. Brutal.

Tiphaine felt the ground give way. Her legs, suddenly deprived of all vital substance, felt like they were liquifying. In a fraction of a second her pulse went from a normal rhythm to an uninterrupted hammering, and everything around her began to spin. She reached out an arm to try to grab hold of something, but her hands closed around nothing. She felt herself falling backward and tried to regain her balance by tipping the weight of her body forward. Through her raging inner confusion, she saw the child’s curious stare, and then a woman’s voice slammed into the silence of her panic.

“Nassim?”

In the next-door garden she saw her new neighbor making her way from the deck toward the boy.

“Nassim, what are you doing?”

She caught sight of Tiphaine behind the hedge. “Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t see you there.”

“Hello,” Tiphaine managed to utter through ragged breaths.

The woman came closer, then stood on tiptoe, as if trying to get past the obstacle of the hedge that separated them.

“I’m Nora, your new neighbor. And this is Nassim, my son. Did you say hello to the lady, Nassim?”

“Hello.”

Tiphaine swallowed.

“Hello, Nassim,” she stammered, slowly regaining her composure.

There was a brief, polite silence, which Nora soon filled. “We just moved in today. I hope the movers didn’t disturb you too much.”

“Absolutely not,” Tiphaine assured her. Then she added, “My name’s Tiphaine.”

“I’m so pleased to meet you.”

There was another, longer silence, now filled with a palpable awkwardness.

“How old is your little boy?” Tiphaine asked in a tone of polite curiosity.

“He’s eight,” Nora answered with that peculiar parental smugness that suggests the age of their offspring is a source of particular pride. “Do you have children?”

Tiphaine nodded. “I have a fifteen-year-old son. Milo.”

“Oh!” exclaimed Nora. “My daughter’s thirteen.”

“What’s her name?” asked Tiphaine, thinking that the girl had looked older than that.

“Inès.”

“What a pretty name.”

“Thank you.”

Between polite compliments and neighborly courtesy, the two women rapidly exhausted all possible topics of conversation and, once more, silence fell between them.

“Well,” said Nora with a little sigh, “I’m so happy to meet you. I hope you have a lovely evening.”

“And you, too.”

Nora turned and went back into the house with her son. Tiphaine watched them walk away, her heart still thumping from the shock she’d felt when she thought she heard the child say his name was Maxime. Even if Nassim wasn’t the same age as Maxime had been when he died, his presence made her feel uneasy.

Just as Nora and Nassim reached the deck, Tiphaine called out, “Excuse me!”

Nora turned.