She began pacing again, shaking her hands and flinging a pulsing rage from her fingers. “So many doctors and nurses tended to me, asking question after question about my mother, who wasn’t there. Why wasn’t she there?”
She fell into an overstuffed chair, bent over, and rested her head in her hands. Her anger dwindled. “My mother left me there for three days.”
Gilbert knelt before her and swept her hair from her eyes.
“These memories keep coming. I can’t stop them.” A moan seeped out. “I was glad for the good food and the warmth of the nurses and doctors. I remember looking for the dark-haired man in the hospital, wondering where he and his little girl were. I wanted to thank them, but they never came.
The nurses played memory games and cards with me, got me to sing songs with them…” She tapped her forehead. That’s where she knew thePretty Little Horsessong. “They made jokes and used sock puppets with funny names to remove my bandages. Without the nurses, I’d have been all alone.” She gulped for air. “For the first time in my seven years of living, I was having fun.”
“You were about Luca’s age.” Gilbert caressed her cheek.
She nodded. “I can’t imagine not loving a little seven-year-old girl.” Her heart ached as another memory crested. “Then my mother and a woman dressed in a stiff suit, like the ones my mother wore, carrying a purse stuffed with papers and wearing shoes that were the shape and color of bricks, arrived. I wondered if she was in the Army—she had a mustache. The Army woman told my mother to dress me. My mother held out my clothes to a nurse, and the nurse helped me into my church dress, sweater, and shoes.”
Claire thought it was sorrow creasing Gilbert’s cheeks and dulling his eyes. She was sorry her story was causing him pain, and she was grateful to him for being with her.
She wiped sweat and tears from her face, stood on shaky legs, walked to the couch, and collapsed onto it. “Without a word or smile, the two of them drove me to a convent in Vermont. What a fun pair they were; neither of them spoke during the whole trip, and it took five hours.”
Gilbert sat next to her.
Claire pounded her fists into the couch cushions. “And my mother left me there. The nuns explained my mother was too ill to care for me, and she was going to a hospital. I thought the Army woman was helping my sick mother, but now I comprehend she was there to ensure my mother didn’t take me swimming again.”
A sob convulsed her. She curled into a tiny ball, as if hiding from the monster who was no Kraken, but her mother. “She never loved me,” Claire’s voice was distant, like it wasn’t coming from her. “All my life, I thought I was unlovable, unworthy of love. But children are worthy of love just by being born. It’s taken me fifty years to recognize that it didn’t matter who her child was, my mother was incapable of loving anyone.”
Gilbert gave her his handkerchief and kissed the top of her head.
A strange laugh seized her. “I was grateful to my mother for taking me to the convent, but now I realize she didn’t do it out of kindness, she was forced to. The woman who I thought was from the army was probably from Child Protective Services. The nuns saved my life. They loved me and cared for me and nurtured me.” Sobs ebbed and flowed until Claire lay on her side, panting on the couch. Gilbert gathered her into his arms and sat with her nestled against him.
She pressed her head to his chest, the sound of his strong, steady heartbeat comforting her, making her feel safe. She wiped and opened her eyes to the sparkling lights of the Christmas tree, glistening roast chicken, and ruby red wine. “I need a drink.”
Gilbert’s laugh rumbled.
“I’m ravenous, too.”
He sat her up and handed her the glass of wine.
She sniffed and sipped. “A hint of nutmeg?” She drank. “Definitely nutmeg.”
His eyebrows arched. “Maybe one in a thousand people notice that. I can’t taste or smell it, but Sophie could.”
“And David?”
He shook his head.
Claire took a long drink and set the glass down. “Now I think I know what David was protecting me from. He must have at least suspected my mother didn’t love me and didn’t want to force me to acknowledge such a painful truth.” She brought her shoulders up and let them drop. “My mother hated me.” She took another drink. “She was sick and inhuman.”
She rubbed her hands along the embroidered flowers of the robe. “I was terrified to be a mother, because I guess subconsciously, I thought I’d be a monster, just like her. And I’ve lived enshrouded by this darkness that has prevented me from fully living.”
“Even people who know how to swim can get caught in strong currents and drown. You may know how to swim. Nevertheless, you risked your life to save Luca. Every loving mother would have done that, Claire. Never fear becoming anything like your mother.” He spread some cheese on a baguette slice and offered it.
She bit and closed her eyes. “Mmmm. Nuttiness…and pear?”
“No taste will ever escape your palate.”
“At least my tastebuds have been living a full life.”
He offered her a drumstick. “Now that you are in France, you’ll discover they’ve only just begun to live.”
She kissed his cheek. “Merci. For being with me. For helping me through the dark.”
