A Million Different Ways to Lose You (Horn Duet 2)

Grabbing a pair of black leggings and one of Sebastian’s white oxfords, I dressed quickly and headed down to the kitchen to see if I could help Mrs. Arnaud with any of the chores.

“What are you doing out of bed?” Mrs. Arnaud asked, her expression a combination of concern and understanding. Whisk in hand, mixing bowl cradled against her body, she beat the batter for the madeleines with brisk, efficient strokes.

“If I have to stay there another minute, I will need to be committed to an insane asylum. I beg you, give me something to do.” Slipping onto a stool, I placed my elbows on the counter and my head in my hands, gripping the roots of my short hair.

“I’ll do the toilettes for God’s sake, anything,” I whined.

A wide smile swept across her face. Taking mercy on me, she handed me the mixing bowl and let me pour the batter into the madeleine shell forms while she dressed the chicken she was preparing for dinner. Her eyes were still trained on the task at hand when she spoke. “How do you feel?”

“Depends on what you’re referring to. Physically, I feel fine, getting stronger every day. Mentally, I’m not certain.”

A meaningful silence unfurled between us.

“I had an abortion when I was twenty-five,” she announced in her usual blunt, no-nonsense fashion. I sat up straighter, my attention captivated. “I told myself it was an act of mercy. Xavier would get violent when he drank…” Her voice faded while a shade of sadness remained on her face. “The doctor was young, inexperienced. I almost bled out after he…a vein ruptured.” I was on the edge on my seat, my attention glued to her while she continued to baste the chicken with olive oil and rosemary as if she hadn’t just dropped a bomb on me. “I never conceived after that.”

Her casual admission was all the permission I needed to unburden my soul. “I wasn’t happy about the pregnancy,” I blurted out, hiding my mouth behind my steepled fingers, as if the confession could somehow absolve me of the responsibility of what had happened, wipe away the shame and guilt I was drowning in. She glanced up then. And what I found in her warm blue eyes was a bottomless supply of understanding staring back at me. “Not at first,” I added quietly.

“You think that has something to do with the miscarriage?”

Instinctively, I reached up to rub my cross, a phantom limb I desperately missed. It took me a moment to remember it had been lost. “I don’t know…it feels that way.” Tears collected in the corners of my eyes. Fighting them, I bit the inside of my cheek so hard I could taste blood.

“Because you are grieving, and you want to find a reason for why it happened where there is none.”

Those words hit home. Was I looking for reason in it? I guess I was. My analytical self needed a reason. If I could take the blame for losing the baby, then maybe somehow I had control over what happened next. “How did you deal with it?”

She shrugged. “I lived my life one day at a time. Some were better than others…then I met Olivier. Did you know he has a son?” The love and pride living on her face told me everything I needed to know. The surprise was plain on mine. Shame followed in its wake. I’d been so wrapped up in my own misery that I hadn’t even known Olivier had a son.

“Jean Pierre was twelve when we met.” Marianne spoke over her shoulder while she placed the chicken inside the oven.

“Does he not live in Switzerland? He’s never been over.”

“He’s a journalist. A decorated war correspondent. Travels constantly. A week ago he was at the India/ Kashmir border. Next week, who knows,” she said with a smile.

“You must be very proud…does it worry you, that he’s always in danger?”

“Yes. But he’s a grown man. I haven’t been able to protect him since he was a teenager.”

“And his mother?” I asked, consumed with curiosity.

Marianne’s face fell, her expression pained as her gaze steered back to me. “Murdered when they were still living in Algeria, walking home from grocery shopping late one evening.”

Tragedy and heartbreak, the great equalizers. Young, old, rich, poor––no one was safe.

“Do you want a child? I know you have ambitions for your career.” The magnitude of that question caused my breath to stall, the panic it evoked mitigated only by the gentle tone of her voice. There was no judgment in her expression while she waited patiently for my answer. My heart began to beat wildly as the truth came to light.

“Yes,” I said, nodding. “With him.”

A small, knowing smile tipped up the corners of Marianne’s lips. “All is not lost––oui?”

“Oui.”

As much as I wanted to believe my full strength had returned––it hadn’t. After helping Marianne prepare the side dishes for dinner and cleaning up the kitchen, I was ready for another nap. I hadn’t heard from Sebastian all day. The screaming silence had given me a tension headache. This chasm between us seemed to be growing wider by the minute.