Story
La Maison de Vacances
Not startedThe road ran alongside the sunflower fields. Sophie had been driving for two hours. She knew every curve, every tree, every stone house along the way. It was the road of her childhood.
She parked the car in front of the small house. The garden had grown. The tall grass almost touched the windows. No one had come for weeks. She got out of the car and breathed in the warm air. It was the end of August. The summer vacation was coming to an end.
The door creaked when she opened it. Inside, the smell of the house reminded her of everything. The wood of the furniture, the old fireplace, the curtains her mother loved so much. Sophie put her bag on the entry table. She wasn't coming to rest. She was coming to make a difficult choice.
Her parents had decided to sell. They wanted to move to an assisted living residence. 'It's better for us,' her father had said. 'You'll understand.' But Sophie didn't quite understand. This house was her childhood summers. Meals on the terrace. Games in the garden. Her parents' laughter when they had friends over.
She walked through the living room. Everything was in place. The photos on the fireplace showed a happy family. She picked up a photo. She and her brother Thomas, as children, in front of the house. Thomas was seven. She was thirteen. They were smiling at the camera.
She put down the photo and sighed. She had to sort through the objects. She had to decide what to keep and what to give away. It was her job for this weekend. She had come alone to reflect. To say goodbye.
She opened the living room window. The air came in gently. She sat on the old sofa. The silence was peaceful. She closed her eyes. She thought about next summer. Would the house still be there? Would it still belong to her family? She didn't know.
Suddenly, the sound of a car was heard. Sophie opened her eyes. A blue car stopped behind hers. She stood up and looked out the window. Thomas got out of the vehicle. A woman was with him. She had a travel bag in her hand. Thomas was carrying a bottle of wine.
Sophie remained frozen. She didn't understand. Thomas hadn't said he was coming. He hadn't asked if she would be there. The house was her refuge for this weekend. And now her brother was arriving with a stranger.
Thomas knocked on the door. 'Sophie? Are you there?'
She opened the door. Thomas was smiling.
'Hi!' he said. 'I didn't know you were coming this weekend.'
'Neither did I, I didn't know you were coming either,' Sophie replied.
The woman next to Thomas nodded politely. 'Hello,' she said. 'My name is Camille.'
Sophie nodded. She tried to smile. But inside, something was tensing up. Her solitude was over. Her house, her weekend, her moment of reflection—everything had changed.
'Come in,' she said finally.
Thomas entered with Camille. They put down their bags. They looked at the house like tourists. Sophie watched them. She felt a sudden weariness. The weekend she had imagined no longer existed.
The afternoon passed slowly. Sophie tried to resume her work. She opened a box in the living room. Inside were old toys, postcards, letters. She looked at them one by one.
Thomas and Camille settled on the terrace. They opened the bottle of wine. Thomas was speaking loudly. He was laughing. Camille was smiling. Sophie could hear their voices through the open window. She couldn't concentrate. She closed the box.
She went out onto the terrace to get some water. Thomas raised his glass.
'Do you want a glass?' he asked.
'No, thank you,' Sophie replied. 'I have work to do.'
'It's the weekend,' said Thomas. 'Relax.'
'I didn't come to relax,' said Sophie. Her voice was drier than she intended.
Camille looked at Thomas, then at Sophie. She could feel the tension.
'It's a beautiful house,' Camille said gently. 'There's a lot of potential.'
Sophie frowned. 'Potential?'
'Yes,' Camille continued. 'One could do beautiful renovations. The terrace, for example.'
'The terrace is just fine as it is,' said Sophie. 'My father built it himself.'
'I didn't mean to...' Camille began.
'Let it go,' Thomas said to Camille. He turned to Sophie. 'She's just trying to be nice.'
Sophie went back inside without answering. She could feel the anger rising. This wasn't Camille's house. It wasn't her place to comment. Every word from Camille seemed to erase something—a memory, a trace, a piece of family history.
That evening, Sophie prepared a simple meal. She didn't want to make an effort. Thomas and Camille sat at the table. The atmosphere was heavy. No one spoke much.
During the meal, Thomas opened another bottle. He had one glass, then another. He became more talkative.
'You know,' he said, 'I've been thinking. About the house.'
Sophie put down her fork. 'What?'
'I think we should sell it,' said Thomas. 'It makes sense. Mom and Dad don't need a big house anymore. And me... I need money for my project.'
'Your café,' said Sophie. 'You want to sell the house for your café.'
'It's a good project,' said Thomas. 'And the house is a burden. No one comes. It costs a lot.'
'It's not a burden,' said Sophie. Her voice trembled slightly. 'It's our family. It's our history.'
'It's a house, Sophie. Walls. A roof.'
'It's not just walls!' Sophie stood up. 'You don't understand. Everything is here. Our memories. Mom and Dad. You want to throw it all away like that?'
'I'm not throwing anything away,' said Thomas. He spoke calmly, but his eyes were tired. 'I want to move forward. Mom and Dad would agree.'
'You don't know that,' Sophie replied. 'You were never here. You never took care of them. You just want the money.'
'Enough,' said Thomas. His voice was harder now. 'You think you're the only one who has the right to suffer? You think I don't care about them?'
'Then why do you want to sell?'
Sophie was breathing slowly. She hadn't wanted to shout. She hadn't wanted to be angry. But Thomas didn't understand. For him, the house was a building. For her, it was a place of memory.
She heard footsteps behind her. She turned around. It was Camille.
'Can I sit?' Camille asked.
Sophie nodded. She didn't want to talk, but she didn't say no.
Camille sat down beside her. The bench creaked under their weight.
'I'm sorry,' said Camille. 'I didn't know it was... complicated.'
'It's not your fault,' Sophie replied.
They remained in silence for a moment. Then Camille spoke softly.
'Thomas showed me photos,' she said. 'Of this house. Of the two of you, when you were little. He told me stories.'
Sophie looked at Camille. 'Really?'
'Yes. He talks about this place with a lot of love.' Camille hesitated. 'He told me it was his parents' favorite place. That he spent all his summers here.'
Sophie said nothing. She had thought that Thomas didn't care. That he had forgotten.
'I don't want to meddle,' Camille continued. 'But I think he cares about this house. Just... differently.'
Camille stood up. 'I'm going back inside. Good night, Sophie.'
Sophie remained alone on the bench. She thought about Camille's words. Thomas talked about the house with love? She didn't understand.
Later, Sophie went back inside to get some water. The kitchen was empty. But she heard voices coming from the guest room. The door was slightly ajar.
She stopped. She heard Thomas speaking softly.
'I know,' said Thomas. 'I didn't handle that well.'
'It's hard for her,' Camille replied.
'It's hard for me too.' Thomas's voice was tired. 'Every time I come here... I see Dad. I see Mom. I see them as they were before. And now...'
There was a silence.
'You asked me why I want to sell,' Thomas continued. 'It's not for the money. Not only that. It's because... if I keep this house, I'm forced to look at what we're losing. Every day. Every summer. I can't do that.'
'I understand,' Camille said gently.
'Sophie thinks I don't care,' said Thomas. 'But I do care. I just want... I don't want to be sad all the time.'
Sophie remained motionless in the hallway. She hadn't known. She had thought Thomas just wanted the money. She had thought he was selfish.
But now, she understood something else. Thomas wasn't indifferent. He was suffering too. Just differently.
She went back to her room without making a sound. She lay down on the bed. The house was calm. But her head was full of thoughts.
The next morning, Sophie woke up early. The gray light of dawn came through the window. She heard the birds in the garden. She stayed lying down for a moment. The conversation from the night before still echoed in her head.
Thomas wasn't insensitive. He was suffering too. Those words kept turning in loops.
She got up and went down to the kitchen. She made coffee. The familiar smell filled the room. She sat at the table and looked out the window. The garden needed maintenance. Her mother's flowers had grown freely. It was a bit wild, but it was alive.
She heard footsteps on the stairs. Thomas entered the kitchen. He looked tired. His hair was messy. He stopped when he saw Sophie.
'Hi,' he said.
'Hi.'
There was a silence. Thomas went to get a cup. He poured himself some coffee. He sat across from Sophie. They weren't looking directly at each other.
'I...' Thomas began.
'Listen,' said Sophie at the same time.
They stopped. A small smile passed over Thomas's face.
'Go ahead,' said Sophie.
'I wanted to say... I'm sorry. For last night.' Thomas looked at his cup. 'I shouldn't have talked about selling like that. Not in front of everyone.'
Sophie nodded slowly. 'Me too. I shouldn't have said you didn't care. That wasn't fair.'
Another silence. But this time, it was less heavy.
'I heard,' Sophie said softly. 'Last night. When you were talking to Camille.'
Thomas looked up. He said nothing.
'I didn't know,' Sophie continued. 'That it was so hard for you.'
Thomas lowered his eyes again. 'Yes. It's... it's hard to come here. I see Dad and Mom everywhere. But not as they are now. As they were before.'
'I understand,' said Sophie.
'You understand?' Thomas seemed surprised.
'Not completely,' Sophie admitted. 'But more than before.'
She looked at her brother. He had grown up. She hadn't noticed. He carried the same weight as her, but differently.
'Thomas,' she said. 'I don't want to sell. Not now. But I also don't want you to suffer every time you come here.'
'Then what do we do?'
Later, Sophie went out into the garden. Thomas and Camille stayed inside. She walked to the end of the property. There, under the large oak tree, was an old wooden table. Her father had built it for summer picnics.
She placed her hand on the wood. It was rough, worn by the years. But it was still there. Solid.
She thought about the house. She thought about her parents. She thought about Thomas. They were all aging. The house was aging too. But for now, it was still there.
Sophie didn't know what would happen. Maybe they would sell next year. Maybe they would keep the house longer. Maybe Thomas would succeed with his project. Maybe not.
But this morning, she wasn't carrying everything alone. Thomas was there. He understood, in his own way. And Camille too, in her place.
She went back to the house. Thomas and Camille were on the terrace. Thomas had brought out an old card game found in the living room. He was showing Camille how to play.
'Are you coming?' Thomas asked when he saw Sophie.
Sophie smiled. It was a small smile. But it was a real smile.
'Yes,' she said. 'I'm coming.'
She sat down with them. The sun was warm. The cards were worn. But the moment was calm. For the first time since her arrival, the house didn't feel empty to her. It was full—of past, of present, of uncertain future.
And for now, that was enough.