Does he not like to be touched? Or is he just not used to it? Does he have anyone to hold him, to hug him, to bring him comfort? I can’t picture his mates from the other night giving him much more than a sturdy back pat, but who consoled him after Eve died? Did Lise?
I’d wither away if I didn’t have anyone to hug me. I think that’s why I got attached to Jackson so fast—he’s been tactile with me since we were kids. My own mother hardly ever hugged me, but Jackson made me feel cared for. Mellie too.
Who hugged Étienne when Estelle no longer could? Who hugged him when she died? When she wasdying?
And then I remember thatIdid.
I’d arrived at the other side of the river and seen the nurse’s car on the drive—Étienne had told me that she was coming, but I’d forgotten. I wasn’t sure what to do. Leave? Wait? But then I saw him sitting on the grass by a willow tree, his head bowed, his arms looped around his knees. I was distressed to realize that his shoulders were shaking.
I’d never navigated the rocks so fast. He glanced up and spotted me when I was almost across and he looked momentarilyhorrified, but I didn’t give him enough time to wallow in his embarrassment—as soon as I was on the bank, I ran.
He stumbled to his feet, holding out his hand to ward me off, but I shoved past it and engulfed him in the hardest hug. A moment later his arms came around me and then he sobbed against my shoulder. I remember clutching hold of him as his weight sagged.
Eventually his grip on me loosened and he let me go, but I took his wrist and pulled him down to the grass. I couldn’t tell him that it would all be okay because it wouldn’t be. So I rested my forehead against his temple and stroked his hair as his shoulders began to shake again.
“I’m so sorry,” I said. Tears were streaming down his face in a steady flow and it was agony to witness so much pain in someone I’d come to care about. His cheeks were rough with barely there stubble as I brushed his tears away. I wasn’t thinking as I swept my thumb across his lower lip, but when he inhaled sharply and met my eyes, I suddenly felt dizzy.
A shiver travels down my spine now as I recall the way we stared at each other. I wasthatclose to leaning in and putting my lips on his when the door opened and the nurse came out.
Étienne jumped to his feet and jogged toward her while I sat on the grass, freaking out over what had almost happened.
It all felt so big and scary, what Étienne was going through. The end of summer was fast approaching and I knew I was going home soon. I couldn’t be there for him or be more than what I was: a friend. It would have been hopeless to try to be anything more.
14
Étienne turns toward the staircase.As I follow him up, the floorboards creaking, my mind is still caught on the memory of our almost-kiss. I try to box it up so I can focus on the present.
I’ve only been upstairs once before. It was the day I’d turned up in tears after realizing Jackson and Chloe had taken their relationship to the next level. Thankfully I’d recovered by the time I was leaving because his mother had called out, wanting to say goodbye.
I remember Étienne pausing before he opened the door, almost as though he was steeling himself.
He does the same thing now—I’m not sure if he’s aware of it—but I can see the set of his shoulders, the strain in his hand and forearm, the moment’s pause before the handle is turned and the door is pushed open.
The room looks the same as it did back then, but now the bed is made and there’s no woman with long dark hair lying in it, her bones unnaturally thin beneath the covers.
That was the last time I saw Estelle.
I was supposed to come back here once more before I flew home, but I’d forgotten it was Albert’s birthday dinner so I asked Étienne if he’d come and say goodbye to me in town instead.
He hadn’t been able to make it.My mother is having a bad day, he’d texted.
I’d messaged back to say that I was sorry to hear it, that I hoped she’d feel a bit better soon and asked if he would stay in touch. My message was breezy, but I was gutted not to see him again.
He never replied.
I’ve noticed that he has a different number these days. I wonder if he lost his phone back then and had to get a new one, but I suspect he intentionally cut me loose. Given the way I’d cried over Jackson and with all that he was going through, I was no doubt a complication that he just didn’t need. And what use was a friend who lived in another country anyway?
The three photo frames that were here ten years ago are still on the dresser. I remember cooing over the one of Étienne laughing in his mother’s arms—he was very cute as a little boy. The other photos are of him as a teenager and Estelle’s parents on their wedding day; they’re all coated with a thick layer of dust. Everything is, actually.
I cast Étienne a look of concern. “Have you been in here since you lost her?”
“Only a handful of times. I could barely find the energy to make the bed when she was moved to a hospice.”
Thunder rolls again outside and the pitter-patter of light rain can be heard on the roof. He opens the wardrobe and sits on the well-worn floorboards. I hear him sigh as he stares at the contents before him. Brightly colored clothes hang on the rail and beneath it are rows of shoes on racks.
“That is averyneat wardrobe,” I say as I settle down beside him.
“She wanted it to be easy for me,” he replies quietly.
