I kept my voice even. “Huh, I never really noticed that.”
As decent as I liked to think I was, I still felt like I was lying with abandon these days.
“I can totally see Game of Thrones on someone’s TV. Should I warn them not to waste their lives getting hooked on something with such an infuriatingly unsatisfying conclusion? They probably only watch it for the horny sex scenes anyway.”
“Ha, yeah, maybe.”
Sylvie grabbed the binoculars from between the jars of animal fetuses. “Should we take a closer look?”
My feet felt stitched to the rug. Was she being serious? Did she somehow know?
Swinging the binoculars by their straps, Sylvie laughed. “God, you should see your face!” She put them down on the windowsill and plonked back on the sofa. “Of course I know you’d never spy on anyone—you’re such a good human!”
As I walked over to put the kettle on, shame rippled through my body.
* * *
Two hours later, I lay in bed, my mind refusing to disengage from its endless spin cycle. Sylvie was right. I owed it to Claudia to bring her some kind of closure if I could—and I knew I’d regret it if I didn’t at least try. But I also didn’t want to be the reason she died with even more of a broken heart. The details Sylvie tracked down were vague at best.
I tried everything I could to quiet my thoughts. I flipped my pillow to the cooler side. I cycled through a series of deep-breathing exercises. I counted backward by sevens from one thousand, first in English, then in Japanese. But sleep still eluded me.
Frustrated, I hauled myself out of bed and padded barefoot out into the living room.
There on the windowsill, exactly where Sylvie had left them, sat the binoculars. Maybe a few minutes of Julia and Reuben would be the salve my racing mind needed.
Lights out. Blinds open. Heart swelling.
Even though it was past midnight, they were still up—I knew they would be. They were night owls, after all. The TV was turned off and they were standing in the middle of the room embracing, swaying. I didn’t need to hear the music to feel its rhythm. It was there in the movement of their hips, in their steps from side to side as their bodies pressed closely together.
The two of them, lost in a world of their own.
And me, alone in mine.
35
Given my history of running into Sebastian when I didn’t want to, I wasn’t surprised when he materialized outside Claudia’s bedroom door early the next afternoon.
“Hey, Clover.” The bags under his eyes aged him a little.
It was the first time I’d seen him since the concert and I was still conflicted. I wished I’d had more time to mull things over, but I’d been distracted lately.
“Oh, hi.” I closed the bedroom door and ushered him down the hall. “Claudia’s been sleeping most of the day. A doctor came this morning and spent quite a long time with her—Selma can fill you in on the details. I think it’s good that your family is coming down this weekend.”
“Yeah, I just spoke to my sisters,” Sebastian said. “They’re driving here tomorrow night after work.”
“What about your parents?”
“They’re arriving on Sunday. I think my dad’s putting it off as long as he can.”
“It’ll be really hard to see his mother like this.”
“I get that.” Sebastian frowned. “But it also seems kind of selfish, you know? Avoiding being here for her just because he doesn’t want to deal with it.”
“Everyone has different ways of processing their grief.” Sebastian’s father did still sound like a jerk.
We stood silently in the hallway, the space between us pulsing with the weight of what wasn’t being said. Things were so much simpler when I had no social life. I knew I had to address it.
“Sebastian, I’m sorry I left so quickly after we went out for drinks,” I said, practically forcing out the words. “And after the concert.”
He stuffed his hands in his pockets and shrugged. “That’s okay, I get it—things were moving kind of fast. We can just take it slower.”
As my thoughts spun, I realized that the only thing I was sure of was that I wanted to be completely present for Claudia—especially now she was nearing the end. “Actually, I think it might be better if we just keep things professional for now. My focus needs to be on your grandma.”
“But—”
“I’m sorry, but I’ve got to go—I’m meeting my neighbor.” I felt like a coward as I scooted past him toward the stairs.
“Clover, wait.” He grabbed my arm, then dropped it quickly.
I reflexively put my hands behind my back as I turned. “Yes?”
“Who is Hugo?”
The bottom of my stomach dropped like I was on a carnival ride. “What?”
“I heard you talking to Grandma about some guy named Hugo. It sounded … personal.”
As my armpits dampened, I considered my options. I’d already developed a pattern of dishonesty with Sebastian, but this was a chance to remedy that. Plus, I didn’t want him thinking the reason I wanted to pause things was because of someone else.
I looked him firmly in the eye, the way Grandpa had taught me to do when owning up to things.
“Last week when we were going through some of your grandma’s old photos, I found a picture of this guy from when she was living in France.”
“Who was he?”
“I wasn’t sure whether to tell you—but he was…” I lowered my voice even further. “Her lover.”
“What?” Startled, Sebastian gestured for me to follow him down the hall and then continued in a stage whisper. “How? Wasn’t she engaged to my grandfather when she lived in France?”
“Yes.”
He shook his head vigorously, as if doing so would change the truth. “Wow. I mean, I’m pretty sure my grandfather was unfaithful—he didn’t have the greatest morals—but Grandma? I never would’ve predicted that.” He actually seemed slightly impressed.
“Apparently, she was really in love with this guy. She even thought of staying in France permanently instead of coming home to marry your grandfather.”
“No wonder they had such an unhappy marriage.” Sebastian rubbed the back of his head distractedly. “But I guess it helps me understand her a little better.”
“There’s actually more to it.” I figured I’d already ripped off the bandage so I may as well tell him everything.
“Oh, God, don’t tell me there’s, like, a secret child or something?”
“No, nothing like that.” At least his mind had gone to something more controversial than what I had to say next. “It turns out that this guy, Hugo, ended up immigrating to the United States in the late 1950s. And he might still be living in a small town in Maine.”
Sebastian failed to hide his skepticism. “How do you even know all this?”
Guilt crept further under my skin. “I told my neighbor, Sylvie, because…” I struggled to explain why. Because it was nice to feel like I had something interesting to share with a friend? “Because it was a really romantic story.” It didn’t feel like a good enough excuse for invading someone’s privacy, but it was all I had. “And she’s an art historian, so she has access to all these resources. She looked into it for me.”
“So, what are you saying?”
“The thing is, even though she’s so grateful for your dad and you—for all her grandkids—Claudia told me that Hugo was, well, the love of her life. And part of her still wishes she’d told him that.”
Sebastian’s brow furrowed. “I see.”
“I know that’s probably hard for you to hear, but I was thinking maybe I could try to contact him.”
Despite his frown, Sebastian’s tilted head hinted at curiosity. “Do you have a phone number for him?”
“No, unfortunately. We tried to find one, but all we came up with was an address in a town called Lincolnville.”
He shoved his hands back into his pockets. “What were you planning to do then?”
Was my idea ridiculous? I’d only come up with it a few hours earlier and admittedly hadn’t thought it through. “Since your family will be here this weekend, maybe…”
“Yes?” He was getting impatient.