“As soon as the war ended,” Gemma said, “and he'd fulfilled his responsibilities, Paul returned to America and found you here in Maine. He professed his undying love and asked you to marry him. You professed your undying love to him and accepted.”
“You and Dad married at a church in Caribou,” Colette said, “up north where your sister lived.”
“You treasured Maine and your family here,” Gemma went on. “This is where you wanted to live and raise your children. Great-Grandpa said that he'd have been happy living anywhere in the world, so long as you were there. So he gave up the fancy career he could have had in the Bettencourt family company back in France and the two of you settled in Bayview. He was a high school teacher. You worked as a statistician.”
“Nine months after the wedding,” Colette said, “Warren was born. Then me. Then Marie. Then Joseph.”
“You had a very long, happy marriage,” Mom assured her.
“That's your love story in a nutshell,” Grandma Colette announced.
Gracie rubbed her lips together thoughtfully. “What else do you know about our love story during the war years?”
The other three women exchanged glances. “Not much more,” Colette answered. “That's about it.”
Gracie's posture deflated. “I have a feeling, here.” She set a weathered hand over her heart. “That there is much more to it, that there are things I ought to know, things I've forgotten.”
When Gemma was little, she'd counted on these women to know things for her that had been impossible for her young mind to grasp. How to protect her. How to care for her. Now it was her turn to know things for Gracie that were impossible for her old mind to grasp. Not only was Gemma's love for Gracie motivating her to fulfill Gracie's request, but she understood, to the center of her being, that Paul would expect nothing less of her.
She pictured her great-grandpa's kind, elegant face looking at her with expectation. He wasn't here to love Gracie in a tangible way anymore. He was relying on them to stand in the gap.
“My memory is failing me,” Gracie said softly.
“I'll be your memory,” Gemma said to her. “That is to say, I'll do everything I can to find out more about your love story during the war years so that I can share the details with you.”
“I'll help, too,” Simone said.
“And me,” Colette promised. “What about your diaries? I think you started keeping diaries when you were a teenager. Those would be an excellent source of information.”
Hope lit within Gracie's expression. “My diaries.”
“Where are they stored?” Gemma asked.
Gracie straightened in her seat, causing her bun to teeter. Several long seconds went by. Finally, she admitted, “I don't know where the diaries are stored. You don't know either?” she asked Colette.
Colette shook her head. “Every once in a while, I'd see you writing in a leather-bound diary. But, as far back as I can remember, your diaries were never kept in an ordinary, accessible spot. Stevie and I have been living at your place for two years now and I haven't run across a single one of them.”
“It's . . . distressing to think they might have been lost.”
“I'm sure they're somewhere safe,” Simone said. “We'll just need to figure out where.”
“Other than the diaries,” Gemma said to Gracie, “do you have any suggestions about where to look for information about your love story?”
“Hmm.” Gracie looked up and to the side.
The rest of them waited. When Gracie remained silent, Grandma Colette asked Mom about Ronan’s struggles in his college math class and the conversation swung to other topics.
Gracie did not join in. Nor did she consume more coffee or OJ. In the middle of chitchat, Gracie suddenly stated, “My desk.”
At once, Gemma understood she was answering the earlier question. “We should look for information about your love story in your desk?”
“I think so.”
“Where in your desk?” Colette wanted to know. “And what are we searching for exactly?”
Gracie looked up and to the side again. “I don’t know. But I believe there might be something important inside my desk.”
Colette drained her second mimosa and craned her neck, looking for their server so she could order a third.
