They returned ho before dawn.
The car pulled up to the estate as the sky was beginning to pale at the edges, the first hint of light bleeding through the darkness. The house was silent. Aunt Estella wouldn’t be up for another hour. The twins were still asleep, their bedroom door closed, no light beneath it.
Franz carried his bag to the foyer and set it down. He was already dressed for travel — dark sweater, jacket, the clothes he’d laid out the day before. His scarf was still in the car, draped over the backseat where Arianne had left it. She was still wearing it when they’d walked out of the hotel. He hadn’t asked for it back. He didn’t need it. It was hers now, whether she acknowledged it or not.
She stood in the kitchen making coffee. She’d changed out of her dinner dress and into comfortable clothes — soft trousers, a sweater that was too large for her. The sleeves were pushed up to her elbows. Her hair was pulled back loosely. Her feet were bare.
The coffee machine humd and sputtered, filling the quiet with the sll of dark roast.
Franz appeared in the doorway. He leaned against the fra for a mont, watching her. She was scooping grounds into the filter, asuring with the sa precision she brought to everything. The kitchen was dim, only the light over the stove casting a warm glow across the counter.
"Car’s here," he said.
She didn’t turn. "I know."
He crossed the kitchen. Stopped behind her. His hands found her waist, his chest pressing against her back. He didn’t speak. Neither did she. They stood like that for a long mont, the coffee machine finishing its cycle, the steam rising, the house quiet around them. His chin rested on the top of her head. Her hands covered his where they rested on her stomach.
"I’ll call when I land," he said.
"Okay."
"Six to eight months. Maybe less if they compress the schedule. Daryll’s still negotiating so of the location dates." He paused. "The hospital episode is in about three months. That one’s here. In the city. It’s a full week of filming. I’ll be ho every night."
"I know. I approved the permit."
"I know you did." His arms tightened around her. "I’ll try to co ho when there are gaps. Weekends. Days off. Nothing’s guaranteed except the hospital date."
"You don’t have to promise anything."
"I’m not promising. I’m telling you what I’m going to try to do."
She turned in his arms. Faced him. Her hands rested on his chest, flat against the fabric of his sweater. "Then I’ll be here. When you try."
He looked at her for a long mont. The woman who’d walked into his brother’s funeral and changed everything. The woman who’d stood beside him at a press conference and told reporters they’d be liable for lies. The woman who’d worn a wedding dress for him a week after their anniversary because they’d never taken photographs the first ti. The woman standing in his kitchen at dawn, wearing his sweater, promising nothing except that she’d be here.
He kissed her. It was a brief kiss, but not a hurried one. The kind of kiss that said goodbye without using the word.
Then he picked up his bag. Walked to the door. Paused.
He turned back. She was still standing by the counter, her coffee forgotten, her hands at her sides.
"I’ll call you," he said.
She t his eyes. The words landed in the quiet kitchen, simple and certain.
"I know," she said.
He smiled. Small. Private. The smile he only gave her. Then he walked out.
The front door closed. The car pulled away down the drive. The kitchen was silent except for the hum of the coffee machine and the distant sound of birds beginning to stir in the garden.
Arianne stood where he’d left her. Her coffee was getting cold on the counter. Outside, the sky was slowly lightening from black to gray to the first pale gold of morning.
She picked up her coffee. Drank it. It was cold already. She drank it anyway.
She opened her tablet at the kitchen table.
The production schedule was in her inbox — Daryll had sent it last week, and she’d skimd it then, but now she read it properly. She pulled up the docunt and scrolled through the tiline.
Six to eight months of principal photography. Location shoots in three cities, one of them the remote site Franz had ntioned at dinner. Soundstage work in between. Press obligations scattered throughout. The hospital episode was scheduled for approximately three months from now — a full week of filming at the Rochefort Group facility, the permit she’d approved last month before everything.
He’d be close then. A week at least, coming ho every night. The rest of the ti, he’d be wherever the production needed him. He’d try to visit during gaps. She believed him. But trying and succeeding were different things, and she’d learned a long ti ago not to plan around uncertainties.
Her phone buzzed on the table.
I’ll call when I land.
She typed back: Okay.
She set the phone down. Looked out the window. The garden was beginning to wake — the hedges that had been overgrown when she first arrived now trimd and neat, the fountain that used to be dry now running. She’d done that. She’d repaired things here. She’d put down roots in soil she’d never expected to call her own.
The coffee was finished. She poured another cup. This one she drank while it was still hot.
The twins woke an hour later.
Lily ca down first, Petal under her arm, her hair a tangled ss from sleep. She was wearing her pajamas with the rabbits on them, the ones that were getting too short in the legs. She’d need new ones soon. Arianne made a ntal note.
Leo followed a few steps behind, the whale in one hand, his tablet in the other. He’d left the Lion upstairs. It sat on his pillow, the nded arm visible, the new button eye catching the morning light through the window. He’d been sleeping with both of them. He couldn’t carry both down the stairs. He’d chosen the whale.
Lily stopped in the kitchen doorway. Looked around. Looked at Arianne at the table with her tablet and her coffee. Looked at the empty chair where Franz usually sat, the one he’d occupied every morning since they’d returned from the northern trip.
"Uncle Franz is gone."
Arianne looked up. "Filming started. He left before sunrise."
Lily absorbed this. She crossed to the table and climbed onto the chair across from Arianne, settling Petal in her lap. Her feet didn’t reach the floor. They never did. Leo followed, sliding onto the bench beside his sister. He placed his tablet on the table but didn’t type anything yet. He was waiting. Listening.
"When does he co back?" Lily asked.
"He’ll visit when he can. There’s an episode filming here in three months. He’ll be ho for a whole week then."
Lily’s brow furrowed. She was calculating. Arianne could see the math happening behind her eyes — the days, the weeks, the months. Lily had always been like this.
"Three months is long," she said.
"Yes."
"Is he coming ho before that?"
"Maybe. If there are gaps in the schedule. If he can get away. Nothing is certain."
Lily processed this the way she processed everything — seriously, thoroughly, turning it over in her mind until it made sense. "Three months," she repeated. "That’s like — that’s from now until almost sumr."
"Almost."
"That’s a long ti." She looked at Arianne, her dark eyes steady. "Are you sad?"
Arianne considered the question. Lily wasn’t asking for comfort. She was asking for information — the way she always did, direct and unafraid. She wanted to understand what was happening. She wanted to categorize it correctly.
"I miss him," Arianne said. "That’s different."
"Different how?"
"Sad is when sothing feels broken. When you can’t see a way through it. I don’t feel broken. I feel his absence. It’s not the sa thing."
Lily thought about this. Her small brow was still furrowed. Then she nodded slowly. "Like when Leo goes to therapy and I stay ho. I don’t feel broken. I just feel like sothing’s missing."
"Yes. Like that."
Lily seed satisfied with this answer. She slid off her chair and went to the pantry, retrieving the box of cereal she liked — the one with the honey clusters, the one Leo wouldn’t eat because he said the clusters were too crunchy. She carried it to the table, then went back for a bowl and spoon.
Leo stayed on the bench.
He didn’t type anything. He didn’t reach for his tablet. Instead, he slid off the bench, walked around the table, and placed the whale beside Arianne’s coffee cup.
The blue plush fabric was worn soft from months of constant contact. The tail was slightly frayed where he’d gripped it too many tis. The whale had been everywhere with him. He’d held it through the fight with Lily. He’d slept with it every night.
He’d never left it anywhere before. He’d never offered it to anyone.
He sat back down on the bench. Folded his hands in his lap. Looked at her.
Arianne looked at the whale. At the boy who’d given it to her. At his steady gaze. The sa gaze he’d given Lily when he’d forgiven her on the playroom rug.
"Thank you," she said.
Leo nodded. He didn’t type anything. He didn’t need to.
Lily returned with her bowl and spoon. Poured her cereal. Picked up her spoon.
"We should make a calendar," she announced. "So we can cross off the days until Uncle Franz cos ho. That’s what Mommy used to do when Daddy went on business trips. She put a calendar on the refrigerator and we crossed off every day with a marker. Leo and I took turns."
"That’s a good idea," Arianne said.
"I know. I have lots of good ideas." Lily poured milk over her cereal, the liquid splashing slightly over the rim of the bowl. She didn’t notice. "We can start today. Do we have a marker?"
"In the study. Top drawer."
"I’ll get it after breakfast." She took a bite of cereal. Crunched. Swallowed. "Aunt Aria?"
"Yes?"
"You said you miss him. That’s different from sad."
"Yes."
"Do you think he misses us too? Right now? While he’s on the plane?"
Arianne looked at the whale beside her coffee cup. The frayed tail. The worn fabric. Leo’s most precious thing, given to her without explanation.
"Yes," she said. "I know he does."
Lily nodded. Satisfied. She returned to her cereal.
Arianne picked up her coffee. The whale sat beside the cup, its button eyes staring at the ceiling. Leo was on the bench, his hands folded, his tablet dark. Lily was crunching her honey clusters, already planning the calendar in her head. Outside, the sun had fully risen. The garden was gold with morning light.
The house was quiet. The first day without him had begun.
User Comments
0 comments from readers