“No waiting for my twin. I’ll call her and she’ll happily squeeze you in.”

“Thanks, Libs.”

“My pleasure.”

In the rough seas of her own confusion and pain, it felt good to be able to do something for Alice.

Karen bid farewell to her senior year French class and wished Alice or Peter was at home so she could share the buzz. Since none of her students had been to France, they were struggling with some of the conversation topics that were part of their oral exam, so Karen had obtained permission to bring them back to Pelican House. She’d cooked them coq au vin and tarte tatin and finished with a platter of French cheeses. As they’d sat around the table set with Provençal-style crockery and linen, she’d discussed the food, its origins and their reactions to it in French, helping them construct conversations about the importance of cuisine in French culture.

It had been a golden teaching moment and she’d loved every minute of it. The only thing that marred the experience was the impending return of the permanent French teacher, which meant Karen’s return to retirement. Over her long career many of her colleagues had often said in bewildered tones, “It’s a vocation for you, isn’t it? You really love it.”

“I really do,” was always her response. Not once had she confessed to any of them that the joy she got from teaching had been a surprise, or that her decision to enter the profession had been a pragmatic one, far removed from any altruism. At the time, the government had been offering scholarships to boost teaching numbers and that money, combined with a part-time job, allowed her to leave home. Or to be more accurate: escape.

Thoughts of Lisa drifted into her mind. For some unknown reason, Karen had been thinking about her sister more and more lately. Was it age? Did the dull ache of regret start to sharpen again when the years ahead added up to less than the years lived?

Karen gave herself a shake. Sixty is not old! But it wasn’t enough to disperse her melancholy thoughts. She went into the laundry and dragged out the step ladder before climbing it and opening the top cabinet. Pushing aside vacuum-sealed summer duvet and blankets, she pulled out an old box and carried it into the living room. The photo album was on the top and she lifted it out, rifling through the meager pages.