“Take a nap and then go enjoy the Christmas markets. David would want you to. And call me if you need to talk.”
“Thanks. I will.” Claire turned off her phone. Images of David playing with his son swirled in her mind and bruised her heart. She wouldn’t be able to sleep. She washed her face, put on her coat, and headed for the markets. Maybe she could find a toy for Luca for Christmas.
Chapter 13
Walkingoutintothebrisk air and bright sunshine cleared Claire’s vision. She tried to ignore her own voice, taunting her: It was her fault David had kept Luca a secret—she was the one who procrastinated having children until it was too late. A tiny fissure opened in her heart and love for David blossomed through the old pain. She was glad David had had a son in his life, even if it wasn’t her who gave birth to him.
Clouds scuttled, dimming the sunshine. Was she really glad? She wished with all her heart he’d been able to spend more time with Luca. And that he had shared Luca with her.
Blue and white lights crisscrossed towering evergreens that lined the ancient buildings, welcoming her to the Christmas market. Along the cobbled streets wooden huts with red and white striped awnings displayed glass ornaments, wooden toys, wreaths of rosemary and lavender, woolen hats and mittens. She skirted the scent of sauerkraut and grilled sausages, following her nose to copper pots of steaming Vin Rouge Chaud, a warm, spiced red wine served in mugs.
Crowds jostled her as she purchased a cup of wine and sipped. David would say the wine was a bit raw, but the spices were complex and interesting. The memory of their first cup together brought her to a stop. He’d been educating her palate since the beginning. She sipped again and found the cloves bitter and the cinnamon overcooked and a bit woody.
The sky darkened and a chill breeze fluttered the red and white awnings. As she walked between the stalls, a gray-haired woman smiled from a booth, offering a sample of cheese. Claire accepted it and chewed. Munster, the regional specialty. Strong, but it complemented the wine. “Merci.”
David loved traveling to France, but after his son was born, he must have loved it all the more. Knowing how David loved kids, she could not fathom how he managed to leave Luca.
The joyous sounds of the crowd irritated her. Why did they have to shout?
Glass ornaments shivered in the cold, tinkling like bells. After he’d made his final invitation to join him in France, when she proclaimed she wasn’t ready to have children, David must have felt Sophie’s offer was his last chance to have a child. The reflection of her face in a scarlet round ornament stretched her cheeks like a clown’s. She rubbed her eyes. She’d been such a fool.
The licorice scent of anise in the wine grew cloying. She threw the rest of the wine in a trash can.
The aroma of sauerkraut pricked her nose. People closed in around her, waiting for their plates of choucroute. She pushed her way around them. Had she used her life-saving swimsuit obsession as an excuse not to have children?
A little girl twirled her cone of peppermint candy floss high in the air, whacking Claire’s coat sleeve, which was now covered in a streak of sticky pink sugar. The child screamed with glee. The cacophony of languages clashed against booming American Christmas songs. It was good to know that Crosby and Sinatra were still popular in France, but didn’t Édith Piaf record any Noël albums?
Stalls selling hand-carved wooden toys reminded her of Luca. Seven was too old for wooden trains and soldiers, wasn’t it? Sadness tinted her imaginings of David playing with his son and caused her to stumble. She would have enjoyed being with them. Or would she? How would she have felt? Left out? Jealous? Regretful? Would she have begun to long for her unknown father? She turned around, searching for an exit, but a display caught her eye.
A long wooden stall filled with marionettes that looked like reindeer, elves, cats, dogs, and birds lured her. A balding, white-whiskered man, wearing a leather apron embossed with white flowers and red berries, reached up and removed a cross of pine sticks with myriad strings attached. He climbed up on a stool and began working the sticks and strings. A black and brown furry dog sprang to life, cocking his head toward Claire and wagging his tail.
He looked just like Remy and was nearly as big. Uh-oh. Too late to back up. The puppet dog galumphed along the counter, his fur shivering, his tongue lolling, his large round eyes staring right at her. Before Claire could pull away, the dog’s paws pounced on her arm, his velvet-soft tongue licked her face, and he leaned his head upon her shoulder, his long eyelashes batting around his big brown eyes in total flirtation.
She laughed. “Adorable.”
The puppeteer peered down. “He likes you.” He jiggled the sticks, making the dog’s tail wag in delight.
She ran her hand over the dog’s soft fur. “I like him, too.”
“Very reasonably priced.”
“He would be a unique Christmas gift.” Claire continued to pet the puppet as if he were Remy.
“For a little boy or girl? Or a big boy?”
Claire blinked at the vendor, wondering at his insightfulness. “Big and little boy.” Visions of Gilbert and Luca playing with the puppet dog and teasing Remy made her smile. She would also get some treats for Remy. “Can you wrap him, please?”
“First I must show you how to work him, so you can all play together.” He climbed off his stool and held out the sticks.
Why had she not included herself in her imaginings? Did she not want to meet David’s son? She’d only seen a photo of Luca and her heart squeezed with longing to meet him. Longing faded to regret, and she blamed herself for missing out on an opportunity she prevented with her own fear.
The man wrapped a string around her pinky, showing her how to wag the dog’s tail. He taught her how to tilt and rotate the sticks to make the dog walk and pounce and sit. What if Gilbert didn’t want her to meet Luca? What if Luca didn’t like her? Her heartbeat quickened. She was feeling desperate. She wanted more than anything to meet David’s child. She wanted to know David through his son, the part of her husband she’d missed.
She swallowed against a tightening in her throat. “He’s so handsome. What is his name?”
“Oh, Madame, I carved him, and my wife sewed his fur. If we named him, we would never give him up. It is for your little boy to name him.”
Herlittle boy. Love flowed through Claire, warming her to her toes. She could have felt love like this a long time ago—if she’d not been so fearful.
