I peek in once. He’s sitting at the desk with a half-empty bottle of cognac and a cigar smoldering in an ashtray. The air smells of grief and smoke.
“Leave him.” Sam appears behind me. His hand finds the small of my back. “He needs the time. We all do.”
I nod. “Areyouokay?”
He gives me that faint smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “No. But I will be.”
He suggests we go out for a bit—a walk, maybe a drink—something to breathe again, if only for an hour. I can tell it’s not just for me; it’s for him, too. To escape the house and the memories pressing in from every corner.
“Come with me.” His voice is soft but resolute. “Alec needs space tonight. And I…” He pauses, swallowing hard. “I just need you.”
There’s no hesitation in me. I nod and lace my fingers with his.
The night air is cool and crisp as we leave the house behind, the faint glow of the porch light fading into the dark. Sam drives without saying much, his hand resting on my knee, thumb tracing slow, absent circles.
The silence between us isn’t uncomfortable. It’s heavy with shared understanding, both of us needing the quiet after the day we’ve had.
We head south toward Mont Mégantic, the world’s first dark sky reserve, tucked within Mont Mégantic National Park. Out here, away from the noise and light of the city, the world feels different. Vaster, quieter, infinite. With almost no competing light, the park is one of the darkest, clearest places on the planet to stargaze.
When we arrive, he grabs a thick wool blanket from the trunk, and we start walking the narrow path that winds throughthe trees. The black of night steals our sense of sight, but we move easily, hand in hand, guided by instinct and trust.
He talks as we walk—softly, reverently—about the countless nights he, Alec, and Bas came here on a whim. His memories come alive in the dark.
The three of them sprawled on the grass, naming constellations, arguing over which stars belonged to which myths, and laughing until their sides hurt. His voice carries the echo of that laughter, rich and tender, and it fills me with emotion I can barely contain.
When we reach a clearing, he spreads the blanket on the ground and sits, tugging me down beside him. His arm slides around my waist, drawing me against his warmth. Then, slowly, he leans back, pulling me with him until we’re lying on our backs, side by side, eyes turned upward.
The sky above us is breathtaking. A boundless sea of light and shadow, so vast it swallows every thought. Not just stars and planets, but the Milky Way itself, a luminous river stretching across the darkness.
“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”
I nod, unable to find words. The view steals my breath. “It’s…beyond beautiful.”
He turns his head slightly, his gaze finding mine. “Thank you for being here.”
“There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.” I reach for his hand, lifting it to my lips and pressing a kiss to his knuckles, hoping the gesture says what my heart can’t—I love you. I’m here.
“I feel close to him here. Being in his childhood home, now here under these stars—I can almost feel him around me. God, I hope I never lose that.” His voice trembles near the end, breaking my heart a little more.
“You won’t.” I press my palm over his heart. “He’s in here, Sam. Always. You’ll never lose him.”
His hand covers mine, holding it there. We lie in silence, eyes fixed on the sky, and for a while, it feels as if Bas is with us, woven into the quiet, the starlight, the very air we breathe.
Amid the vastness of the universe, it’s easy to feel small, but somehow not alone. I believe Bas is up there somewhere, watching over them both, his love as constant and eternal as the stars themselves.
Bastien’s funeral takes place on a dreary day and somehow, it feels right. Heavy gray clouds hang low over the horizon, threatening rain, while the wind cuts sharp and cold for September, whipping my hair into a frenzy.
After a few futile attempts to tame it, I surrender, twisting the wild strands into a loose, messy bun at the nape of my neck.
The church is packed, overflowing with mourners. Faces from near and far, friends, protégés, even a few chefs from France and across North America fill the pews.
Bas was, and will always be, a legend in culinary circles. A master of his craft. But to those who loved him, he was far more than that. In the short time I knew him, he made his mark on me too, deep and indelible.
The ceremony is both beautiful and brutal. The kind that breaks you quietly. Sam speaks first, his voice thick with emotion, but halfway through, it falters. Alec steps up beside him, hand on his back, and tries to continue, though his own composure cracks before he finishes. The priest steps in then, guiding the service to its close with gentle solemnity.
When we leave the church, no one speaks. The air outside feels heavier, the silence suffocating as we make our way to the cars waiting to take us to the cemetery.
At the gravesite, the wind howls through the trees, and the sky darkens further, the first drops of rain threatening to fall. The service is brief, mercifully so.
