But, I knew you’d be back. You never last more than a few weeks doing any one thing.’
She paused for a reaction. Charlotte wouldn’t understand—she was incapable of understanding—I couldn’t have told her I wanted to leave.
‘And what do you think about this?’ Charlotte said, whirling her finger around the room.
‘The wine bar?’
‘It’s because of you.’
I poked my thumb into my chest. ‘I’m responsible?’
‘You cast a rock into a calm lake and then you turned your back.’ Charlotte’s brow furrowed, and the light brown curls she usually kept pinned behind her ears sprung from her head. ‘Papa left Mama when he realized she helped you, that she planned your escape to the nunnery. She told Papa she was a Gaullist. Now they must lie to everyone, pretend he’s only in the city because of the wine bar, when we know they are separated. Our parents, separated!’
‘And being a Gaullist is bad?’
She gasped, putting a hand to her chest. ‘Whose side are you on, Adèle? Charles de Gaulle is diverting all the progress Pétain has made. We stay the course, like Papa says, follow Pétain, and we will be back to normal sooner than later.’
‘Normal?’ I was surprised how everyone in my family used the same words to prove their point of view. ‘Is it normal for your father to betroth you against your wishes?’
‘Papa did you a favour! Couldn’t get a proposal on your own—you’re the most erratic person I swear—so Papa got a man for you. A good one, too. French police, stable pay, calling the shots.’ She looked at a split in her fingernail before folding her arms tightly across her body. That’s when I noticed how thin she was, her body back to the shape she always had been. She wasn’t pregnant anymore: she must have had her baby.
‘Charlotte!’ I smiled. ‘You’ve had your baby! Was it a girl like you hoped?’ I remembered the pink and blue blankets she needled months ago, wondering which one she ended up keeping. The pink one had lace sewn around the edges, whereas the blue one had ribbon. ‘Or a baby boy?’ I moved to kiss her, but she pushed me back.
‘You would have known had you been here.’ Charlotte paused, looking down at the ground before standing very straight. ‘The baby was stillborn.’
‘Stillborn? As in…’ I couldn’t say the word aloud even if I wanted to. Dead. ‘My God, Charlotte.’ I closed my eyes briefly. ‘I’m sorry. I’m so sorry…’
Charlotte shrugged, trying to look unaffected by the tragedy, but her eyes swelled with tears, and I could tell she was absolutely devastated. ‘A girl.’
‘You already buried her?’
She nodded. ‘Claudeen’s hill.’
Claudeen’s hill had been around for a century. It was a mountainous pile of dirt and rock with thick green grass growing at the top. If the grass was hair, then the white fence that bordered it was the crown. Only the rich or the lucky had family tombs at that cemetery.
‘I’d like to go,’ I said, ‘to where she’s buried and pay my respects—’
‘No,’ she said, shaking her head.
‘But why?’
Charlotte looked to the ground again, unable to answer. That’s when I saw Gérard standing on the corner waiting for a car to pass. I felt woozy and sick from Charlotte’s news. Now I felt something else. She went to leave, but I stopped her by the elbow. ‘Don’t leave just yet…’ I said to her, with my eyes set on Gérard as he crossed the street.
Charlotte shook her head. ‘No, sister. This is your hole. Not mine.’ She kissed my cheek and then whispered in my ear. ‘Insufferable as you are, I missed you terribly.’
My knees shook watching Gérard take his last few steps across the street; I was sad then frightened and at a loss for words. All I could do was reach for Charlotte, and we threw our arms around each other, squeezing lovingly and hard. Then she was gone, and I found myself standing alone among the tables, wishing Papa would stop looking for that damn glass and get back downstairs.
Breathe. I counted, thinking of the sun, and the grass like Marguerite had taught me.
Gérard looked through Papa’s window, and I stood straight up. He brushed a lock of hair from his eyes, which had turned beady and red as a flare when he spotted me holding on to one of the tables. He pulled open the door, Papa’s bell chiming frantically.
‘Adèle.’ A snarl turned on his lips. ‘You’re back.’