Chapter 8
The taxi sped by rolling hills dusted in snow and valleys covered in rows of grape vines, brown tangly things without color, fruit, or leaves—barren.
She massaged the base of her thumb. How would she tell Sophie about David’s death?
She didn’t want Sophie or Luca to witness her grief—but how could she hide it? Grief still gnawed at her heart.
She shook the tension from her fingers. She had to get David’s medical records to Sophie so Luca could be tested and live a very long life.
If David had been a donor, she would ask Sophie the name of the clinic where he donated, so Claire could give them his medical records, and they could notify other families.
If there were other families who’d received David’s donations, would she also want to meet those children?
Trying to calm the brawl in her gut—roiling with anxiety, trepidation, nervousness, despair, an odd sense of hope that David had been a donor, and the terror of him having had an affair—she concentrated on the dazzling stream curving its way down the valley, crystalline ice capping boulders.
Frost framing the windows of cottages, snow-dusted pine boughs, smoke curling like ribbons from chimneys.
Little wonder the Alsace region claimed to be the Christmas capital of the world.
She had always loved the holiday season.
At the sight of a white steeple in the distance, she wondered if she could find the tiny stone church in Riquewihr, where they were married.
Or the former mill made into a guest house they stayed in prior to the wedding—where a bat had made his home amongst the eighteenth-century rafters.
She laughed, remembering David, holding a towel over his head while snapping another at the poor creature to chase it out the window, all while she cowered under the bed.
She would have to figure out how to say the unpronounceable Riquewihr; David had tried to get her to say it, but was it RIke-veer? Or REEK-vir? She had laughed too hard to pay attention.
The taxi turned and climbed a hill to a building surrounded by vineyards.
Sunshine glared off an ice-coated stone roof at its pinnacle.
Slowly, a butter-colored chateau with blue shutters and trim appeared beneath the roof.
A waist-high, stone-walled well with an ornate pulley system above it stood in the center of a courtyard, surrounded on three sides by the chateau.
“Voila, Madame.” The driver flicked his hand toward the house.
“Please wait.”
“Bien.”
She took that for an OK and got out. Pine perfumed the crisp air, reminding her of the frigid night breezes that drafted into her dormitory at her Vermont boarding school.
She pulled her purse strap onto her shoulder and cautiously stepped onto the icy gravel path and headed to the front door.
She forced her lips to smile, but fear shivered through her.
Her whole idea of her marriage could come crashing down around her ankles, and on top of that, she had to deliver terrible news and a potentially threatening medical report.
A rustling of bushes and a woofing stopped her, mid-step. A dog the size of a bear bounded, his black and brown curly fur flouncing, his tail vibrating. She reached for the well, but her hand slid on the icy stone wall.
The force of the beast knocked her flat on her back, and the weight of him sitting atop her kept her there. Her chest ached. He slurped her face with his surprisingly soft tongue. He seemed to smile at her. Drool dripped from his chops onto her coat.
“Remy! Vien ici!”
The dog turned, looked at a man, who she took as his master, and whined, as if to say, But I’m having so much fun.
The man clapped his hands, and the bear-of-a-dog pressed his paws further into her chest, practically cracking her ribs, before bounding off.
“Madame!” The dog’s master knelt at her side speaking French at the speed of light, his tone kind, concerned. “Désolé!”
Sparks circled her vision as she blinked. The man was about her age, salt and pepper hair in need of a good cut and styling, and a matching shaggy moustache. His eyes were bright blue-gray and deep laughter lines curled across his weathered cheeks.
She sucked in air, enabled by the absence of the beast. “I…I don’t…parlay French.”
“You’re American.” His tone was accusatory. The laugh lines disappeared as a frown pleated his forehead.
“Is that a crime in France?”
“Non! No, no, no, no, no.” He offered his hand. “Are you hurt?”
“I don’t think so. Just had the wind knocked out of me.” She pushed herself up on her elbows. Pain zagged across her shoulders.
He scrunched his eyes. “The wind?”
“It’s an idiom.” She patted her chest. “My breath.”
He nodded, held her hand, and gripped her arm as he pulled her to her feet.
She welcomed his help, stood, and caught a scent of pine and…bergamot, perhaps?
He gripped his hands in prayer. “Désolé. I mean, sorry. Remy is terribly friendly. He didn’t hurt you?”
She shook her head. The dog lay to the side of the path, ears raised in curiosity, nose quivering.
“Bon. How can I help you?”
She swiped at the muddy paw prints and puddle of saliva on her coat. “Is Sophie home?”
Lines gathered across his forehead like storm clouds. “Non.”
“When will she return?”
“Who are you?” He crossed his arms.
His eyes drilled into hers, making her take a step back. She was glad she had thought of a story if Sophie had a husband. She had rehearsed this and had it down pat. “We met at a wine event a few years ago, and Sophie told me to visit her when I returned, so, here I am.” A nervous laugh escaped.
“You are…?”
She tapped her head. “Sorry, I’m Claire.” Her hand shot out, but he stood rigid. “You are?” she asked.
“Where was this event?” His lips pressed into a tight line.
He had to be Sophie’s husband. Claire would not say anything that would reveal Luca’s true father.
The man might not know, and, even if David had cheated on her, she couldn’t enlighten this man and wreck his marriage.
Her fingers shook as she wiped hair from her eyes.
“I have a terrible memory. But she sent a photo of Luca with her last Christmas card and invited me to meet him.” She smiled, proud of her plan.
The man neared. “You a child-napper?”
“What?” She backed away. “No. Whyever would you say such a thing?”
His eyebrows hooded his eyes. “You Americans think your country is the best, so you think America is the best country for Luca?”
“No. Of course not.”
“Go back to America.”
“I just wanted to say hello to Sophie and meet Luca.” His eyes held fury but why? “Who are you?” she asked.
“None of your business. Get out of here. Leave. Now!”
“You’re quite rude, do you know that?”
“Americans are the rudest people on earth,” he growled.
If he was Sophie’s husband and knew about David, she wouldn’t blame him for hating Americans.
“I really need to see Sophie. It’s very important.
” Claire pulled her head back. “Would you kindly tell her I stopped by?” She squared her shoulders, dug out the business card from the hotel and held it out.
He pointed at the taxi.
Why was he being so obstinate? Did he know Sophie had been unfaithful?
In her heart and mind, Claire had promised David she would deliver his medical records to Sophie—if Luca inherited David’s heart condition the child was in extreme danger.
She’d flown five-thousand miles, and she wasn’t about to give up, but she did need to be cautious.
This guy could be an ax murderer. She stood tall, walked to the front door, shoved the card under it, and smiled a fake smile as she returned to the taxi.
She opened the taxi door and turned to the inhospitable, handsome man. “My name is Claire Didier, and I’m staying at L’h?tel la Rivière.” She got in the taxi, slid across the seat, and slammed the door. “My hotel, please.”
“Oui, Madame.” The driver backed away.
Claire stared at Sophie’s husband as he clapped his hands, releasing the dog who leaped up and licked the man’s face.
At least one creature liked the jerk. She couldn’t help but feel a bit of compassion for him.
He might have been cheated on. Betrayed.
But he also was threatened, and protective of Luca.
She failed David once again. She failed at her invention, failed at her job, failed at giving David a family. Now she’d failed to protect his son.
The countryside undulated as they drove, but Claire didn’t appreciate it. Tears slid off her jaw as the spires of Colmar churches appeared in the distance. I promised I’d get your medical records to your son’s mother, David. And I won’t leave France until I do.