Hugo nodded. “I was lucky to have him.”
I skimmed the letter. “It looks like he responded to her, asking her to change her mind, but he never actually sent it.”
“I wonder why?” Hugo bent forward to look at the letter, and I caught the hint of cedar and cypress.
“Maybe just writing these letters gave him closure,” I said, noticing a small hole in the shoulder of Hugo’s sweater. “Or he was respecting her space and her choice. It’s kind of honorable when you think about it.”
Hugo looked down at the table, disappointed. “It just kills me knowing that he lived most of his life with a broken heart. Is it weird that I wish he’d fought for her?”
I couldn’t help smiling. It was endearing how viscerally he empathized with his grandfather’s longing.
“It shows how much you wanted your grandpa to be happy. I think that’s really sweet.”
Determination wrinkled Hugo’s forehead. “He must’ve tried to tell her that he was in America, otherwise what was the point of him moving all the way here, especially in the 1950s? I know my grandpa—he wouldn’t give up that easily.” He rifled through the letters. “This looks like the only one we haven’t read.”
He cleared his throat and began to read.
My dear Claudia,
You’ll always think that the last time we saw each other was through the window of your departing train as it pulled out of the station in Marseille on that humid day in July.
Really, it was in New York City on a windy day in November a year later. I went to that bookstore in Midtown, the one you told me was your favorite. The one where you said you went whenever you needed to feel comfort and safety.
It was a way to still feel you even if you weren’t there. To perhaps touch the same books that you once touched, to admire the same architecture that you loved so much.
But you were there in the flesh, with him. I stood upstairs on the mezzanine watching with envy. He placed his hand on the small of your back and you smiled up at him with that glint in your eye—the one that I selfishly thought existed only for me.
I came to New York for you. If you couldn’t live in France, I would move here for you. But that day in the bookstore I saw that you were better off without me. You were cared for and happy. And so I said nothing. I just watched you walk away with your hand in his.
You were right—this life isn’t the right one for us.
I’ll see you in the next one.
“Wow,” Hugo said, leaning back in the oak chair, which seemed to shrink against his tall frame. “So that’s it. He moved here for her and never told her.”
“They were so close to being together.” The thought of such a near miss made it even sadder.
“He must’ve wanted me to know about it, or he wouldn’t have left that box in the boat.” Hugo took the shoebox and began sifting methodically through the letters to make sure we hadn’t missed one. When no more materialized, he piled them back in and pushed the lid on, frustrated.
Then he grabbed both my hands and looked me firmly in the eye.
“Clover, you’ve got to tell Claudia he still loved her.”
46
Selma usually answered Claudia’s front door, but when I arrived at the townhouse the next day, it swung open to Sarah, Sebastian’s eldest sister. I’d never met her, but my first impression was that Sebastian’s description of her was accurate—tall, pointy, and perpetually disapproving.
“Clover, right?” The deep lines between her eyebrows indicated that a frown was her neutral facial expression. “Grandma’s been asking for you. We should go upstairs.”
She turned briskly, beckoning me to follow.
On the third-floor landing, two women who looked like distortions of Sarah stood stage-whispering, their faces red and hair astray. Jennifer was the middle sister, Anne was the stockiest and youngest, and both gave me a conspicuous once-over. All four siblings shared a similar hawkish nose.
“Can we go in?” Sarah motioned impatiently toward Claudia’s door.
Anne stood imperiously in front of it, as if stationed there by some higher authority. “Dad’s in there with the doctor. You’ll have to wait until they’re done.”
“Is she conscious?” I spoke softly to defuse the obvious power struggle.
The sisters’ heads snapped toward me.
“Yes,” Jennifer said solemnly. “But she’s been sleeping a lot.”
“That’s pretty normal,” I said. “Her body is getting weaker, especially if she hasn’t been eating much.”
“She refuses to eat anything but doughnuts,” Sarah said, face pinched. “I tried to convince her to drink a green smoothie but she wouldn’t even consider it.”
I hid a smile—I would have loved to see Claudia’s reaction to that proposition.
The door opened and a man with the same hawkish nose walked out, another balding man close behind him.
“Dad, Roger, this is Clover,” Sarah said tersely. “She’s been helping Selma and Joyce take care of Grandma.”
“Ah, the death doula,” Roger boomed. “I’ve been encountering more and more of your kind recently. Good folk, you are.”
“Thank you.” I blushed, avoiding the sisters’ collective expression of judgment. “How is she?”
Roger pulled the door shut behind him. “Not great, I’m afraid. I’d say she has only a day or so left.” He looked around at Sebastian’s family. “I’ve advised everyone to say their goodbyes while they can.”
Anne snorted a sob and pulled a tissue from the pocket of her culottes. Her father watched her stoically but said nothing. Nobody tried to comfort her.
The hallway felt cramped with so many of us standing close together, and I could smell cigarettes on Roger’s blazer. The wall blocked my attempt to step backward and reclaim some personal space.
“Is Sebastian on his way?” No matter how I felt about seeing him personally, he needed to be here for Claudia. I’d never want him to miss the chance to say goodbye.
Sarah rolled her eyes. “He said he’d be here soon, but he’s taking his sweet time as usual.”
The more I interacted with Sebastian’s sisters, the better I began to understand him. No wonder he spent so much time at Claudia’s house growing up.
“Okay,” I said. “I can keep Claudia company if there’s anything you need to take care of?” She likely needed a break from all her visitors. “I’ll let you know if anything changes with her condition.”
“Thanks.” Sarah herded everyone else along the hall. “We’ll be downstairs in the kitchen with Mom.”
* * *
Claudia looked even smaller than when I’d last seen her two days ago. When the door clicked shut, her eyes fluttered open and she managed a slight smile.
“Oh, thank the Lord. I thought it was my granddaughters back to inundate me with their overwrought opinions and emotional hysterics.” Shallow breaths punctuated her sentences. “I’ve been dying to see you, Clover—pun absolutely intended, because what’s the point of being close to death if you can’t make use of wordplay.”
I sat in the chair closest to the bed and pressed her hand between mine. “I’m happy to see you too.”
“From the looks on everyone’s faces, it seems as though my knell is sounding.” Claudia shifted her head to catch my eye. “Tell me the truth, my darling. You’re the only one who ever does.”
I smiled back calmly. “Yes, I think it’s almost time. How are you feeling about it?”
It was always hard to acknowledge this moment, to look someone in the eye and affirm that their entire existence was coming to an end. But the conviction that I was giving them the chance to navigate their final moments with clarity and grace always helped me temper my own discomfort.
“Honestly? I know my family means well, but I can’t take all of their fussing.” The signature glint briefly returned to Claudia’s eyes. “I’ve been pretending to be asleep so they would leave me alone for a while.”