Chapter 17
Three messages from Gilbert awaited Claire when she arrived at her hotel room. She put her packages in the closet, washed her face, and retrieved the wine and cheese from the minifridge. The housekeeper had carefully wrapped the cheese and corked the wine, and Claire opened both.
At least Gilbert wanted to talk to her. What did she want to happen?
She poured the wine, filling the glass. She wanted to know why David hadn’t told her about Luca, but she didn’t think Gilbert would know the answer to that question.
Perhaps he could tell her more about how David behaved with Luca and that would give her some clues.
But she knew David had been loving and kind and gentle and fun.
And those actions wouldn’t give her an explanation.
She ate a piece of cheese and opened the drapes.
A family played together in the courtyard, two small children and a mom making angels in the snow.
Part of Claire longed to have shared a loving family with David, yet another darker part of her was terrified, but of what, she wasn’t certain.
She didn’t want to be anything like her mother, but there was something else that frightened her.
She knew the fear emanated from her mother, but why would her mother’s coldness cause Claire to be frightened of having children herself?
Claire didn’t know how to be a mother, but David would have helped her figure it out.
She sipped the wine, noticing the faint fragrance of an unfamiliar fruit—it wasn’t citrus, a little bit plummy—lychee, that was it. She raised her glass to the photo of David that she’d placed on the bedside table.
Her appreciation of him turned to sadness. She wanted to meet Luca but was afraid his resemblance to David would bring tears. And she didn’t want to cry in front of the boy.
If Gilbert didn’t want her to meet Luca, how would she feel?
She massaged her neck as she paced. Left out.
Alienated. Even if Luca wasn’t her child, he was David’s, and she wanted to meet him, even if she cried her eyes out.
She’d just have to keep it together and wait to have a melt down until after her visit. She closed the drapes.
After another fortifying sip of wine, she dialed his number.
“All??” Gilbert’s voice was urgent.
“It’s Claire. I’m sorry—”
“I was so worried. Are you okay?”
“Yes, I’m sorry. I was in such a state of shock, I didn’t know what I was doing. I’m sorry I worried you.”
“It’s okay. You are feeling better now?” A dog barked in the background and Gilbert shushed him.
After finding the photo, she’d thought she’d never be the same again, and after learning David knew about Luca, she was devastated, confused, exhausted; but she didn’t want to further worry Gilbert. “Yes. Were you able to read the information I gave you?”
“Yes! From the bottom of my heart, I thank you. We have an appointment tomorrow morning for Luca to be tested.”
The splinter of worry she’d carried in her heart dissolved. “I am so glad.”
“Claire…” A song played in Gilbert’s background, and she recognized the words, Petit Papa Noel. He cleared his throat. “I don’t think we should tell Luca about David’s…passing now.”
How would they ever tell Luca about David’s death? “I understand. I am so sorry for him losing his mother and David.”
“I am too, but Luca is resilient and a joyful child. I always reward him after a medical visit, and he would like to go to Strasbourg for a boat ride to view Christmas lights. Would you like to join us?”
Words stuck in her throat. She wanted to yell yes, but darkness encroached, squelching her words.
She squeezed her eyes and opened them, searching for something to focus on.
The gilt-framed photo of Frédéric Bartholdi had occupied the same place on the wall when she and David honeymooned here, inspiring them to visit his home and view his models for his Statue of Liberty.
“Claire? Are you there?”
She shook her head to free herself of memories. “Yes. I…”
“Are you worried you will become upset?”
“How did you know that?”
“I would feel the same. If we meet at your hotel, I’ll bring the envelope for you.
After I introduce you, you can excuse yourself to take the envelope to your room, which will give you time to collect yourself.
If it’s not enough time, I will send Luca to speak to the owner about a wine delivery. We will wait. Is that an okay plan?”
She laughed. “You are so very kind and thoughtful, Gilbert. Yes. I think that is a very good plan. Does Luca speak English?”
“Better than I do. We will arrive at ten, if that is good?”
“Yes. Of course.” She drummed her fingers on the glass. “Gilbert?”
“Oui?”
She took a long swallow of wine. “Did David see Luca every time he visited the winery?”
“Yes.” His voice was soft, as if the word might bruise her.
“Luca must miss him very much.”
“He does. He asked about David nearly every day before…Sophie passed.”
Something twisted in Claire. The poor child was still grieving for his mother. This was no time to give him another shock.
“Does Luca know David was married…not to Sophie, but to me?”
“No.”
“But when he learns the truth, he’ll know we lied to him.” Her heartbeat raced.
“If he knows you are David’s wife, he will ask you about him.
Better he does not know that David passed.
Luca has been mourning his maman for the past year.
The anniversary of her death is Christmas Eve.
I don’t know how much more he can take. And I cannot bear to see the anguish on his face, again. ”
Claire ran her hands over the shiny and rough damask fabric of the armchair. She had done plenty of lying in her life, but never to a child. She couldn’t imagine herself telling a child whose mother had died that his father was also dead.
“I think it best we do not tell him now. Let him get to know you as a friend I met at the hotel who is interested in wine. That is not such a big lie.”
She massaged her thumb. “You know what is best for Luca.”
“Bien, à demain, sorry, until tomorrow.”
She inhaled and forced her lips around the words. “Bien, à demain.”
She stared out the window, trying to fathom how David could laugh and play with his son and leave him.
And not share Luca with her. Why did David agree to something that must have brought him such joy, yet also pain?
Visiting Luca must have filled his heart with joy to overflowing yet torn his heart every time he left.
Claire wanted to call Marti, but due to the time difference she didn’t want to interrupt her work with her patients.
Texting her would disrupt her day, and she didn’t want to infringe on her clinic time.
Would Marti think not telling Luca about David’s death was okay?
She turned out the lights and sat on the couch opposite the window, Elvis crying about a blue Christmas faintly echoing in the courtyard.
Sister Georgette’s kitchen had so warmed her.
She’d not thought about Lucille and Carmine in such a long time, yet the memory brought tears and longing and regret.
She would try to reconnect with them when she returned.
Lucille had been warmer to her in one day than her mother had been in Claire’s entire lifetime.
And she imagined Carmine as the dad she never had.
Had Claire’s mother’s mother been cold to her daughter?
Except when Claire confronted her on Christmas, her mother never spoke of her parents, and Claire never met them.
Until that conversation, she hadn’t known she had grandparents.
She’d searched for photographs of her grandparents in her mother’s papers but not found any photos, documents, mementos, souvenirs.
It seemed her mother had not wanted to leave so much as her footprint on life.
Had her mother spent her childhood in the same convent Claire had?
She punched the couch cushion. She knew trying to figure out her mother was fruitless, and wasting thoughts on her mother prevented Claire from understanding herself.
But maybe exploring her mother’s actions would be the beginning of facing her own fears.
Snowflakes slid down the window and piled up on the ledge. There was a very dark place in Claire’s mind, which she was afraid to explore, but even if she had the courage to face it, she didn’t know how to get there. She hoped she’d find a way to enter and control that darkness.
First, she had to muster the courage to meet Luca.