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.
Chapter 18
Dawn’spink,thenviolet,then golden light bathed the courtyard. Snow covered everything like a layer of sparkling icing. The silence was as blissful as a cup of hot chocolate. Despite spending the night staring out the window, searching her childhood memories, Claire had no deeper insight into her mother.
In her heart, she knew she was nothing like her mother. Claire had made certain of that because her mother was not liked by anyone. Even as a child, when neighbors saw them walking down the sidewalk, they crossed the street. In church, she and her mother often sat alone in the pew, not joined even by members of the clergy.
While her mother had no confidants, Claire befriended nearly every girl at boarding school. Her mother was an attorney, obsessed with words. Claire was a designer, obsessed with colorful fabrics, sensual textures, and the mechanics of a built-in life preserver. Her mother never cooked. Once David taught her how, they cooked together most every meal, and David complimented her onhaving the knack.
She guessed her knack came from sitting in front of the kitchen fireplace while the nuns whipped up hearty stews and wholesome desserts. They often involved her in sifting and stirring and chopping, although, unlike Sister Georgette, none of them offered her a teacup of brandy. A warm fondness filling her heart made her promise herself to pay Sister Georgette another visit before she returned home.
Brenda Lee’sRockin’ Around the Christmas Treeerupted in the courtyard and pushed Claire to get ready to meet her husband’s son. She closed the drapes. Eyeing the beribboned package holding the dog-puppet, she decided to save it for another day. If the meeting didn’t go well, she could use delivering the gift as an excuse to see him again.
She picked up the box of Sister Georgette’s cookies and wished she’d bought two more, but she was glad she had one to give Gilbert. She’d have something to hold onto. Omitting the truth wasn’t exactly lying to Luca, but her agreement with Gilbert still bothered her. The boy had lost so much, and she didn’t want to worsen his grief with news of his father’s death, as Gilbert had cautioned her. But would Luca feel betrayed when they finally told him? She didn’t know how children think, much less how they process grief. She was not Luca’s mother, and she needed to honor Gilbert’s decision.
At the top of the steps, Claire clutched the cookie box and gazed down at her husband’s son. Standing below the chandelier, Gilbert held Luca’s hand. Both sported red berets. Luca’s smile warmed her like Sister Georgette’s kitchen.
Lured by his smile, she descended.
As she reached the last step, Gilbert removed his cap. “Claire, may I present my son, Luca?”
Luca whipped off his cap and gave a quick bow. “I am enchanté to meet you Madame Claire.” His brown eyes and curls glowed against his white parka.
Her heart battered her ribs. His accent was sweet, like syrup on crêpes. “I am enchanté to meetyou, Luca.” She descended the last step and extended her hand to shake.
He lightly held her fingers and kissed them, his eyes sparkling.
“You are a very charming gentleman.” Her voice cracked. “And you speak English so well.”
Luca’s dimples intensified his dazzling smile. “You are very pretty, like Papa David said.”
Her legs weakened. She stepped back, dropped the box of cookies, reached for the balustrade, and lowered herself onto the third step. The hotel lobby pressed around her.
Gilbert rushed to her, gripped her elbow. “Are you feeling unwell?” Lines creased his forehead.
“You said he didn’t know,” she whispered.
The pain in his eyes answered her. He hadn’t known Luca knew about her.
She wiped perspiration from her upper lip. Her legs stretched over the steps before her, like a toddler’s. “Just a bit dizzy. I guess I should have had a bigger breakfast.”
Gilbert picked up the cookie box and placed it on the step beside her. “Can I get you a glass of water?”
“No. I’m fine. Just need a minute.”
Worrying his hat, Luca looked up at her. His eyes held pure innocence. “You are Papa David’s wife.”
She glanced at Gilbert, but he closed his eyes. She was on her own. Something hard, like a chunk of ice, sat in her throat.
Luca’s smile was broad, proud.
She was sure Gilbert told her Luca didn’t know David was married. She swallowed against the lump. “Did…” she struggled to find words. “Did your Papa David tell you about me?”
“He showed me pictures of you, and your maillots, on his mobile.” Luca climbed the first two steps until he was face-to-face with her. “Where is Papa David?”
