Free Listening to Dust by Brandon Shire Page B

you,” Miss Emily stated firmly. “Accept it.”  
    Stephen simply nodded. There was no arguing the point. Dustin was dead, and what he may have found and what he may have lost were of absolutely no significance now.  
    “You don’t understand, do you?” she asked him gently.  
    “No, Miss Emily, I don’t. I don’t understand any of this. I don’t understand why he could leave me for... this; why he would come back; why he would stay. If they hated him so bloody much, why would he come back? Why?” he whispered softly. Robbie couldn’t be the only answer, there were ways around that predicament; they had discussed them together, argued over them.  
    At that moment, Stephen understood only that Miss Emily had been the person that had reinforced the idea within Dustin that he had been a good and decent person; that who he was did not depend upon the opinion of man or god, just as Colette had done for him once upon a time.  

Chapter 13
    Aix en Provence  
     
    Colette and the still young Stephen were at their neighbor’s house attending a late afternoon anniversary celebration in the dwindling light of the evening sky. It had been seven months since the death of his parents and Colette had thus far been unsuccessful in drawing him from his anguish. And though she hadn’t said anything directly, she was becoming increasingly worried that she had not been able help him find the vibrancy of his life once again. She knew it would take time but the boy seemed to be moving back into his grief instead of out and away from it. Even a promise that they would attend that September’s Bénédiction des Calissons d’Aix had not pulled a reaction from him, despite the fact that he had been asking about it every summer since he had been old enough to visit her on his own.  
    Their neighbors, the Dominès, were a simple young family who had inherited the land beside Colette’s cottage and had a romantic notion of raising their young family among the lavender and thyme that surrounded the small estate. They had two very small children, a boy and a girl, and a phalanx of friends that came by to fill their celebration with food, warmth, and laughter.  
    But twelve-year-old Stephen hadn’t wanted it, any of it. Despite the Dominès’ best attempts, he had shunned their affections and felt more than a little jealous that their children still had parents in their lives. He was not proud of that feeling, but he couldn’t help it either.  
    And so he had wandered from the jovial group, slightly bitter with the thought about how he would have curled up with a shy smile beside his Mum during such a celebration and watched the antics until he felt comfortable enough to participate. He had pushed his way along the edge of the lavender field until he had come upon the old granite barn Mr. Dominè planned to restore and turn into a rental property.  
    The decision that came upon him when he opened the door to the barn wasn’t something he had considered before, at least not in depth. He had wished death upon himself many, many times since his parents died. But when he saw the rope and looked up at the still solid oak beams, he just knew that the time was right. But the beams were too high for him to reach at that age, so he had spent a good deal of time trying to figure out an alternative. When he did, and just as he was about to slip the noose over his head, he heard a noise behind him and spun around to find three-year-old Danièle teetering at the door.  
    “Stephen,” she had chirped as she started toward him on her small, fat legs.  
    Stephen dropped to one knee to meet her at her own level and held his arms out to scoop her up, suddenly feeling desperate for one last hug; even if that hug came from a child that he resented for not sharing his own parentless existence. But she stopped her approach suddenly and looked up at the rope he’d strung. She looked at it curiously for a moment then dropped her gaze directly