Read Online My October by Claire Holden Rothman - Free Book Online Page B

one son. He hadsomething like seven or eight kids, maybe more. He had never been one to refuse paternity. The scene with the Cuban girl had little to do with this aspect of his life. It sprang from Luc’s own dark fears.
    Lanctôt was a man of dreams, in fathering children as in all else. Even now, after all the years, all the failures, he clung to his ideals. Luc admired him for it. So, paradoxically, did Hannah. It took faith and stubbornness after all that had happened. The novel was set in 1995, during the second referendum on Quebec independence, when the province had failed, yet again, to reach nationhood. That autumn, in the bitter wake of that defeat, Luc had lapsed into depression. His sleep had turned fitful. He had spent mornings in bed, unable to get up. He probably should have seen a doctor, but he’d chosen not to. Instead, he spent an apathetic year doing nothing. And when the year was up, he began writing Dreamer.
    The phone rang. Hannah stood up, startled. She ran back to the kitchen and located her mother’s cordless phone.
    â€œHello?”
    â€œHannah?” It took her a moment to recognize Luc’s voice. “Hannah?”
    â€œOh,” she said, “it’s you.” She saw herself reflected in the dark panes of her father’s liquor cabinet. A thin little person, thin and tired.
    â€œSomething’s happened.”
    There was a pause, the pause of a man steeling himself to deliver bad news. And then it came spilling out: the gun, the meeting in Principal Bonnaire’s office, the suspension.
    She closed her eyes.
    â€œHannah?”
    A gun.
    â€œAre you there?”
    The thin little person in the panes of the liquor cabinet had a hand cupped over her mouth.
    â€œYou have nothing to say?” His voice was low, clipped. A dangerous sign. She pictured his forehead, the line between his eyebrows deepening till it turned black, the same way her father’s did.
    â€œNo one was hurt?”
    â€œNo. The thing was in his knapsack, in bubble wrap. He says he bought it this morning before school. In a pawnshop on Sainte-Catherine Street. The school is checking the story. Why would a pawnshop be open at eight in the morning?” He sighed. “There weren’t any bullets.”
    Hannah exhaled.
    â€œHannah?”
    â€œThat’s good.”
    â€œGood?”
    â€œNo bullets.”
    There was another pause. Hannah wasn’t sure what Luc was doing on the other end. She couldn’t even hear his breath. Was his hand over the receiver?
    â€œChrist, Hannah!” The shout was so sudden she almost dropped the phone. “He brought a gun to school! A gun! They had to call in the police. If he’d been anyone’s son but mine, he’d be in jail right now. The detective couldn’t have been clearer. It’s a crime. There is nothing good about this, Hannah. Are we clear on that? Nothing good at all.”
    â€œLuc—”
    â€œDon’t make excuses for him.”
    She wasn’t making excuses, not that she would say so now. The little person in the glass had her mouth closed in a flat, determined line.
    â€œThere is no good here, Hannah. Not even a drop.”
    She wasn’t about to argue. There was a long silence before Luc started talking again, his voice a little calmer.
    He told her Hugo was home for the week. There was a ban on video games. And television. Hugo could do homework, play music, read. He was allowed outside for two hours a day. And if he did go out, Luc had to know where he was going and with whom. Evenings were to be spent in his room. Meanwhile, Monsieur Bonnaire was making arrangements at the school for a disciplinary hearing.
    â€œYou will be there,” he said.
    â€œOf course I will.” Did he honestly think she might decide to miss it?
    â€œWhen are you coming home?” He sounded suddenly like a child. The anger was spent and now need was calling out. The need for