SYNTHESIS
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Chapter 11 - "Choice"

When Dr. Chaudry had signed off, Bobby looked thoughtful, reaching out to lay the tips of his fingers on Alex's shoulder.

"What do you think, Eames?"

"If Luisa was staying on...this would be more difficult, but if Laurent is correct, if she's truly leaving...I think of Mignon having to cope with a new nanny, no mother, no father, just a little dog and some friends at boarding school." She looked at Bobby with thoughtful eyes. "We did have such fun the past three days. But once we get home, it won't be visiting museums and having picnics any longer. We'd be parents, we'd have to set boundaries, make rules, supervise homework and bedtimes...say no when necessary. Say no to those big eyes." Alex shook her head. "Then in a little more than three years she turns thirteen...oh, Bobby, I remember me at thirteen—let the fun begin!"

His expression were so reflective that she wondered if he was thinking about his behavior at thirteen, but instead he asked gently, "Did...you and Joe think about kids?"

"Sure." Suddenly her eyes were wistful. "In fact we'd...we'd talked about me going off the pill a few weeks before he died. We even talked about names if we had a son...he didn't want a Joe Junior if we had a boy, but wanted to name him after his father. Edward."

Bobby flashed a small grin. "So that's how Eddie got his name. I didn't think there were any Edwards in your family."

She shrugged. "I told Lizzie I thought it was a nice name. I didn't know she'd really go through with it until the day he was born."

He looked shyly at her. "I...um...never told you back then--it wouldn't have been appropriate--but you were beautiful when you were pregnant. I mean...you were always beautiful, but when you were carrying Eddie...I remember when my m-mother and the neighbor ladies would talk about how so-and-so who was pregnant was...was 'glowing,' and I thought they were joking, but when...um...I saw you, I understood."

She flushed to the roots of her hair, which made him avert his eyes. "It's funny, isn't it? We were Nicole's most persistent nemeses. And yet in the end she left us the most precious thing she owned."

Now he took Alex's hands, along with a deep breath. "There's one more thing, Eames—and I have to ask, no matter how it sounds, or if it makes you angry...she is Nicole's child—and you and Nicole–" Here he shook his head. "Last year, both times, you were kind to Mignon, even praised her. The entire time we've been here you've defended her, several times like a proverbial mama bear...but...when you must hear Nicole's name every day, coming from Mignon's lips, 'Maman did it this way,' 'Maman would have allowed me to do this,' to that inevitable day when she reminds you 'You're not my real mother! I don't have to listen to you!' as she will, the same way as she will someday hurt me for not being Marcel Pepin, will you be all right with that? Can you truly divorce the child from the mother? Because...it will be difficult..."

"I meant what I said to Harry Cavanaugh last year," Alex said fiercely. "I don't believe that bullshit about 'the sins of the father.' I'll admit that sometimes when Mignon mentions Nicole it bothers me. But she loved her mother, and for me to expect Mignon to forget her is cruel. I don't want to wipe that love or that memory away. I won't do it."

Now she met his eyes. "Mignon is not her mother. I already...care for her--and not because of or despite her being a particular person's child." And then her eyes turned soft. "Damn, Bobby, we can't leave her here. Not with the Dragon Lady. What if it were Ana?"

His eyes were still grave. "This is forever," he reminded.

She tapped at the intertwined AR medallion at his throat, the one she'd given him at Christmas. "Just like me and Mr. G," she answered soberly.

He gave a fleeting smile, lifted both her hands, kissed them one at the time. "If it pleases you, Princess Ozma, shall we see if Mignon Olivia wishes to live with you and me in our 'quaint cottage'?"

Alex squeezed his hands tightly. "Yes, please, Oscar Diggs."

. . . . .

When Luisa answered the door to Mignon's suite, she smiled at them broadly at first, then, unable to make out their decision in their facial expressions, sobered. "Miss Mignon, your American friends are here."

Mignon popped out from the schoolroom. She was in a violet pullover shirt and blue jeans, in stocking feet, and had a book under her arm. "Good afternoon, Monsieur et Madame Goren."

"Hey," Bobby said softly, and Alex smiled at her. "We hoped we could talk with you."

Now Luisa caught on and offered in rapid staccato, "You have come just in time. I am going to the kitchen to get Miss Mignon and myself an afternoon sweet. They served cake and fruit punch after the will was read today; I was told there is a surplus downstairs. I will be back with some for all of us." And she vanished through the double doors of the suite. Mignon blinked when they clicked shut, confused. "Luisa is acting very strangely this afternoon. Please sit down!"

"I think it has something to do with your papá's will," Alex said gently as they sat next to her on the sofa.

"They read it this morning," Mignon agreed, "as Luisa said. And you both were there?"

"Yes. You know what a will is, don't you?"

"Of course. I read about them in one of my books. It's a document that lawyers make," the child answered, "so when you die you give away your important things to the proper people. Renata at school inherited some money from her uncle's will. She bought an electric bicycle and some tack for her show jumper with it."

"Did you know that your papá left you money in his will?" Bobby asked.

She shook her head. "No one said. Will they give it to me?"

"It's set up as an educational fund," Bobby explained. "It will pay for your boarding school until you are old enough to go to a university. And then it will pay for your university education, all the way until you are twenty-five, or until you have a job, whichever comes first."

"Twenty-five?" Mignon with amazement. "I will be very old by then!"

Alex suppressed a smile and Bobby chuckled in spite of himself. "And very well educated." Then he sobered. "When you are not in school, there is also a provision for summer camp. Laurent said you went to a literary camp last year."

"It was a good camp," Mignon returned agreeably. "I came in first, with the most books read!" Then she added, reluctant, "But when I am not at school and not at camp? I will stay here?"

"That is...what was planned by your papá."

Mignon gulped, then put up her chin as she had done at the funeral. "Well, I'll be at school most of the time, and here I shall have Tipsy and I shall have Luisa–"

Luisa, having returned with a tea tray on which there was a pitcher of punch and slices of cake, made a small sound of distress, her step faltered, and the tray tilted, the items on it rattling ominously. Bobby leaped to his feet and rescued the tray, and Mignon stared at her curiously. "Luisa? Did you have trouble sleeping again?"

Luisa met Bobby's eyes and he nodded at her minutely, then she took Bobby's place on the sofa beside the child while he laid the tray down on one of the armchairs, taking Mignon's small hands into her own. "I'm quite well, but—do you remember my sister, Miss Mignon, the one who had the baby–"

"Simone! With the bushy patch of hair! Maman said she'd never seen a newborn baby with such hair!" Mignon said, eyes bright. "She said he looked like a kewpie doll, whatever that is. And your sister Francesca."

"Well..." Luisa stopped, bit her lip. "I've had bad news, Miss Mignon. Francesca is ill. She may be ill the rest of her life. She has seen doctors and was told she has a muscle disease. It won't get any better, and it will confine her to a wheelchair someday. I...I was hoping to go to her, to live with her. To help her with the baby, and to prepare her house for when she needs the wheelchair."

Mignon looked stricken. "You mean...you'd leave." They'd expected this, since Luisa had been her nanny for as long as Mignon could recall, and couldn't blame her when she began to cry. But she quickly swallowed, roughly swiped the tears with the back of her left hand, and said determinedly, "But your sister...it's your sister and she's ill and you have to go. She needs you...and I'm not a baby anymore who needs a nanny, after all, and I'll be mostly at school. It will be all right if you go."

But still she buried herself in Luisa's arms and the two of them wept on each other for a few minutes, each promising to write—"Once a week!" vowed Mignon—until Luisa caught Alex's eye and she nodded back. Then the nanny concluded, "Of course, Laurent would be here for you during your holidays, and he would hire someone else kind to help you until you are old enough to look after yourself..." and when Mignon looked at her apprehensively at the idea of a new caretaker, Luisa said, carefully, "But your maman, I understand, had another idea—would you like to hear what she had to say?"

Mignon pulled away, sitting up straight and licking her lips, and Luisa rose, motioning to Bobby to retake his seat between Mignon and Alex. "Maman's idea?"

Alex began, "Your maman left a will, too," as Bobby let himself down gingerly.

"She did? But Maman was not rich. I thought only rich people left wills."

"Yes, they read it today, after your Papa Marcel's will. Anyone, poor or rich, can write a will. Now, first she wanted you to have the jewelry your papá had given her," said Alex, testing the waters.

"Oh," Mignon said, clearly not impressed. "Yes, some of it is tres jolie."

"And all her books," Bobby added gently.

A little smile flickered. "I would like Maman's books."

And now it came. Bobby's eyes met Alex's. He took a breath, began, "Your maman also made a...request. It is...something she wanted to happen, but only if everyone concerned agreed--and that...that includes you." And here his voice was so husky that Mignon tilted her head in curiosity, in an eerie imitation of Bobby in an interrogation room.

"What...did she want me to do?"

"It was m-more what she wanted Alex and me to do," Bobby told her. "She hoped...that if something ever happened to both her and to your Papa Marcel as well, if they couldn't be here to care for you—if you were or-orphaned, that Alex and I would...be your guardians...bring you home with us. Raise you as our child. Adopt you."

Mignon looked momentarily dazed, and he continued with emphasis, "Mignon, I want to speak to you as if you are an adult. This is very important. You have to think about this...listen carefully—and think about how this could affect you at age twelve...and sixteen...and university-aged...and I know...it's a lot to expect of you, but please try. You have a choice. You can remain here, in this beautiful home in your very own suite," and here he gestured toward the satin painted walls and the pristine woodwork, "with the sitting room, the bedroom, the schoolroom, all to yourself, fine meals brought to you from the kitchen, a new nanny or governess to help you. While you live here you will be free to ride any of the horses in the stable, have one of the chauffeurs take you and any friends anywhere you ask. You could visit the Louvre every day if you like, be here when Notre Dame reopens, revisit all the special places your mother showed you. You can go back to the Creatwood School, be with your friend Renata and all your other schoolmates until you're ready for university."

Now he had to pause, then continued in level tones as if he were briefing someone at work. "Or...we can do as your maman asked. You saw...our house last year, Mignon. It's nothing like Maison Duplantier. It's small. The room next to the kitchen would be yours. You'd have to learn new rules, and would have no nanny, no big closet, no ski trips in Chamonix, no trips to the shore at Nice, no boarding school—with the money your Papa Marcel left you, we could send you to St. Gregory's Academy; it's an excellent school, they accept all children, regardless of denomination, and have advanced placement classes so you wouldn't be bored--but it would be nothing like what you're used to."

Only then did he allow his emotion to betray him slightly. "But...there would be new things, different ones—many museums near where we live, and bookstores, and libraries, and so many books, the seashore—Hammonasset, Waterford Beach, Watch Hill—and we go into New York City twice a month, and y-you would have cousins...you could make new f-friends and have sleepovers and play soccer with Carlos and Ana, and they can show you how to play basketball—that is, if you want to learn...and–"

Words failed him, and Alex finished simply, holding out her hands to Mignon, "And you'd be our little girl."

Mignon stared at Alex and then at Bobby, back and forth, her face a study of surprise and hope and a tiny bit of fear.

Bobby asked quietly, "We know a two hours' visit at our home and three days of sightseeing doesn't make us any less practically strangers—and we're a little old to be first-time parents, but...what do you think? Would you be willing to take a chance on us? We might...make mistakes at first."

Mignon whispered, "You would...really want me?" and now Alex felt tears stinging her own eyes. "You would love me? Like Maman did?"

Alex's memory suddenly flashed on something she had said to Bobby after they'd announced their engagement: "Home. I have a home again. Forever?" And he had answered "As forever as we can manage."

"Mignon," she said with a deep breath, truthfully. "I don't know if anyone will ever love you the very same way as your maman did." Then she repeated, "But you would be our daughter...and we would love you--forever."

Mignon's smile wobbled even as she blinked away more tears. "Maman trusted you. I could...I mean- I–" Then, finally, "Yes, please. Please let me go with you."

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