“When I first got to know him at Charles de Gaulle Airport, I thought he was the most arrogant person I’d ever met.” She’s still staring at me, but her gaze passes through me into the thicket of bygone days. “Two days later we were in Sudan. A child soldier shot at us. The boy was the same age as you are now, Sam. That day I took the photo that later won a prize: the cowrie necklace lying in a pool of our dead driver’s blood.”

Her eyes are once again focused on me. She stretches out one hand and strokes my cheek extremely gently with it. Her voice has subsided to a whisper as she says, “I never took another portrait photo after that—not a single one.”

A tear trickles down her cheek, and I remember how she used to lay that cheek on mine when I was ill or running a temperature. How could I have forgotten?

“Your father saved my life by shielding me with his body. Can you imagine what it’s like to think that you’ve reached the end of your life?”

Yes, I can. That’s where my father is right now.

“The only emotions that really change your life, Sam, are fear and love. I was so afraid, and I’d never loved anyone. I had nothing to cling on to as the end approached.” She’s smiling and weeping at the same time. “Thinking of your father reminds me of the moment I realized that there’d been more fear than love in my life. I always held that against him. I was ashamed. I’m still ashamed. I’ve sought to lead a life that exposes me to as little danger as possible.”

I pause before asking, “And now?”

“Now it’s the other way around,” she says. “I have more love and less fear.”

Steve exhales. “Well, that’s a relief, Marie-France.”

“How is he?” she asks me, calmly and gravely.

“Not good,” I whisper. “Not good at all.” This time it’s my turn to have trouble controlling my emotions. I’d dearly love to throw myself into her arms, but I know that would be too much today. “He’s wearing my scoobie. He’s in a coma, and no one knows if he’ll ever come back.”

“Oh sh—” Steve exclaims, aghast.

“And that’s why you’ve been to see him so often,” my mother concludes, gulping hard.