Claire sat beneath the shady arbor, her eyes red with tears that she had shed. She knew there were more where those came from … that the sobbing was only in respite, not done. She wondered if she would ever cease crying; just now, it didn’t feel as though she could.
“Both of us will be free.”
Those were the words Erik had uttered a few days before his death. He’d been in so much pain, his beautiful voice long gone. His body wracked with each miserable cough; in the end, he’d stopped trying to hide the bloody handkerchiefs from his family.
Even though Erik’s dying was expected, Claire was still devastated.
Ornella sat down next to her and took her hand.
“Mi plal … my sister. We will do what needs to be done for the funeral, Estefan and I. You must see to the child.”
Veronique stood a few feet away from her mother, her expression solemn. She was never sure what to do where Claire was concerned, although she was always so natural with her father and Estefan.
“Come here, girl.” Ornella gestured for the child to join them. “You must look after your Maman. Do you understand?”
“She’s not even four years old, Ornella,” Claire said. Her tone was quiet, dejected.
“That is so. But she will look after you, and you will look after her.” The Rom woman’s tone brooked no resistance. “Erik lives in her, Claire. He will always be with you.”
Ornella wrapped her arms around Claire and Veronique and held them as they wept.