Chapter 4 #2
“I’m David.” He extended his hand and smiled so broadly the two dimples on either side of his mouth dazzled her. He was so warm, friendly…handsome. His eyes were kind and trustworthy. Was he a mirage? A thief? They’d been warned about thieves. She tightened her grasp on her purse strap.
“Your name is…” He pointed.
“Oh, sorry. Um…I’m Claire.” She put out her hand. He brought it to his lips and kissed it ever so tenderly. A chill ran through her.
“You’re from the States?” He popped an olive in his mouth. “Ah! Picholines, my favorite. Do you like them?”
She nodded, like Scarecrow without a brain, for all she wanted to do was place her hand on his chest, directly above his heart, and feel it beating.
What was she thinking? Before they’d left the States, the papers were filled with news of a “date rape drug.” She’d keep an eye on her lemonade.
She was relieved he was doing all the talking.
“I’m from Boston, but I graduated University in Strasbourg, and I’ve been traveling for the past year. You?”
“I?” She peeled her skirt from her thighs, shaking out the lemonade.
“I think you’ve only been here a month, maybe two?
“Uh, huh.”
“And you just graduated from college?”
He was a mind reader. “Yes, Pratt Institute.”
“Ah, you’re here for the fashion!” He struck a model’s pose, his arm up, wrist bent, making his fingers look like they belonged to a ballerina, and gazed down his nose as he pursed his lips and batted his eyelashes.
She burst out laughing, realizing she felt as comfortable with him as she did with Marti.
She knew she should ask questions of him to get to know him better, but all she could do right then was enjoy him.
Or was he just trying to get her into bed?
She’d tell Marti never to leave them alone.
Where was she anyway? She was probably spying, giving this man all the time he needed to charm her.
Despite her determination to be cautious, she drank him in like a chilled glass of Chablis. His humor and laughter were intoxicating. She could sit across the table from this man every day of her life and never tire of him. Oh, snap—what was she thinking?
Marti returned. “What’d I miss?”
Claire wanted to say, just my falling in love with a complete stranger, but resisted. That was the craziest thought she’d had in her lifetime. Her confession could wait until dinner and Champagne.
Marti pointed. “And you are?”
“I’m David.” He stood and pulled out Marti’s chair. “Enchanté.”
“Marti.” She sat and looked from Claire to him and back to Claire. Marti smiled conspiratorially, as if David and she had arranged this meeting.
The waiter arrived with three flutes sparkling with dark pink liquid at the bottom of the glass and Champagne floating in a layer above.
“Kir Royale. I hope you like them. I spilled your lemonades on Claire, and I feel I must make up for my calamity. Please forgive my intrusion.” He lifted his glass. “The French say, ‘Santé.’ To your health.”
Claire clinked her glass to his and then to Marti’s. “Congratulations on your new endeavor as a doctor,” she whispered.
After one sip Claire thought she might forgive David anything. “Delicious!”
She might forgive David anything? She plucked up a tissue and wiped the dust from the silver frame.
The laptop dinged, jarring her. Hugging the photo, she sat down.
The welcome login screen finally appeared.
She and David shared their passwords, but she had enough trouble remembering her own, much less his.
She typed in his email address and what she thought might be the password he always used, the unpronounceable town where they were married and that year: Riquewihr1997.
The screen blinked as thousands of emails scrolled. Pages upon pages of messages from and credit card companies and investment opportunities in third-world countries.
Once she’d deleted the junk, only three remained, all from David’s former boss, asking why he wasn’t answering his phone on the day David died. The memory of that moment sliced through her as clean and sharp as the moment she’d discovered him.
She searched his Sent Mail folder for any mention of Luca, Sophie, and Soltner. Nothing.
She put her face in her hands and didn’t fight the tears. The worst had happened. Why was she scared now?
She sat up. Because if David cheated on her, she’d lost him long before he died.
She didn’t want to believe David had been unfaithful, but if he was, she would have to face losing the life she thought they’d shared and lose him all over again. She didn’t think she could live with losing him twice.
Who was this woman, Sophie? Surely she knew David was married. Didn’t she? Had Claire the courage to accept the truth? The only person who knew that truth was Sophie.
She googled Sophie Soltner, Luca Soltner, and Chateau Soltner. No website, no phone number, no email address, no physical address, just a brief description of the vineyard, a list of its varietals, and a map locating the chateau outside Colmar in the Alsace region of France.
She blew out a slow hot breath. David, too, had lied. He had a son. A son who didn’t know his father. A son who was probably missing his father.
She’d never met her father, but she did have a vague memory of a dark-haired man with a beard, cuddling her.
Was he her father? Unknown appeared in the line for father on her birth certificate.
All the while she was at the convent, there was nothing to remind her that she didn’t have a father, so she didn’t have anything to compare her single-parent existence to.
She picked up the photo. Luca had David’s dimples. Did he have David’s sense of humor and laugh?
Something in her stomach twisted. Her mouth went dry. Could Luca have inherited David’s heart condition?
David never knew he had Sitosterolemia—he had no symptoms of heart disease, had a healthy diet, and exercised—yet he died at fifty of a heart attack.
When the coroner declared the cause of death a heart attack, Claire demanded more tests be done as David had low cholesterol and no health issues.
A DNA test revealed mutations in two genes, confirming David had inherited Sitosterolemia.
David’s doctor patiently explained the test results and details of his cause of death with compassion.
She remembered thinking it was good that they hadn’t had children as David’s condition was hereditary.
Having been in shock at the time, she didn’t remember all the facts.
She typed Sitosterolemia in the search bar.
As she read page after page filled with terrifying statistics, the room darkened and closed around her.
The condition was the leading cause of sudden, heart-related deaths in young people, and their parents were never aware anything was wrong.
She imagined being a mother whose son or daughter died as a child.
She’d be devastated, as would any mother.
But early death was preventable with diet and medication—if the condition was diagnosed, which was rare as even doctors were not familiar with Sitosterolemia.
She had to notify Sophie. Luca had to be tested.
Caressing the photo of Luca, she promised herself she’d figure out how he became David’s son later. She would not let Luca die young.
She searched for cheap flights to Paris.