Biting my bottom lip to keep myself from sobbing, I can feel the tears streaming down my face as my shoulders shake. I remove my hand from her palm and raise it to cover my mouth again as I let myself feel the pain of each agonizing stroke he made.
Stepping back slowly, I realize something else through all of the sadness and pain. He does trust me. This is him trusting me. I can feel it just as strongly as I can feel her presence here with me. She’s sharing in my moment of clarity and insight. I realize this is him trusting me with her.
Wiping the tears away from my face, I turn to go and find him. I’m determined to tell him that I understand now. I have everything I need. I know how incredibly wrong they all were.
After her death, Chantel’s parents had been the most vocal of his accusers. They pointed to him as the man who had brainwashed, manipulated, and trapped their poor blind daughter who had no knowledge of his wicked ways.
What irony it is that their daughter saw life and love more clearly than either of them did. Nothing about Chantel was explored. No one asked how she felt. No one looked beyond the surface. Everyone saw the finality of her life and made assumptions.
I now know that assuming was the biggest deception of all.
Chapter Twenty-Seven ~ Truth
I race down the stairs and grab my coat from the rack by the door. Heading outside, I know exactly where he is—the river. He’s got to be down by the river.
Stopping for a moment, I look to the sky and feel the warmth of the sun as it beams down over my face. It’s just turned noon, and there isn’t a cloud in sight. It’s cool, but there’s no wind. The air is still.
Zipping my coat, I start to make my way to the small path through the vineyards, and as I get closer, I find myself picking up pace until I’m jogging. Reaching the last bend in the path, I make the turn and spot him immediately.
He’s over by the edge of the water with his back to me. As usual, he’s wearing his long dark coat. The collar has been turned up against his neck. His hands are clasped and drawn into tight fists behind his back.
I realize that I’m holding myself as still as a statue. I’m barely even breathing, not wanting to disturb him. I try to think of some way to let him know that I’m there without startling him. I’m surprised when his deep voice reaches between the empty space.
“I know you’re there, Gemma.”
Swallowing and shaking my hands out by my legs, I tell myself, Move. Put one foot in front of the other and move. Go to him.
Just as I make that first step, he mumbles, “I always know you’re there.”
That’s when I feel myself falter. My foolish heart starts to thump at the idea that he notices me until I remind myself of everything he’s told me and everything he’s done over the last few days. He sees me only because of her.
Compelling myself to move again, I manage to make it as far as a couple of feet behind him, but I lose my nerve and stop. I wait patiently for him to either acknowledge me or pretend I don’t exist. I know that no matter which option he chooses, it will cripple me in some fundamental way.
It feels like hours are passing by as I stand there on the bank of theFleuve Sauvage de Fleurs, staring at the strong shoulders shrouded in black wool, but in actuality, it’s not much longer than several minutes.
His voice finally breaks through the thick silence. “It was a day just like today, you know. Only, it was warmer.”
I don’t question which day he’s talking about because I already know.
“There was not a cloud in sight,” he tells me. Following that statement, he lets out a small laugh. “I had this idea to paint her here in the water.”
Looking over his shoulder, our eyes connect. He’s waiting for me to comment. Perhaps he wants me to make some kind of accusatory statement, but he won’t get that from me. I know he has done nothing wrong. When it’s clear that I’m not going to say anything, he once again turns back to face the running river.
“The weather was perfect. The sun was up, bringing you warmth when you stepped outside. It was blue. The sky was such a brilliant shade of blue that day. I didn’t think to check the weather that day. Pretty fucking stupid of me since I knew the water table had risen with all the rain we had received.”
I shift my feet slightly, looking up at the cloudless sky, and I realize that it looks exactly as he is describing from that day. The sky is a brilliant shade of blue.
“It was around two thirty in the afternoon when we came down here. I clothed her as I wanted to paint her. She wore a white dress that flowed down to her toes. Her beautiful...” Pausing, he seems to be trying to gather himself before continuing. “Her beautiful hair was left out. I wanted it to float around her.”
Shaking his head at himself, I know somewhere deep inside he’s villainizing his actions. He’s blaming himself for bringing her down here, blaming himself for dressing her, and blaming himself for ultimately letting her go.
Over and over, he watches the scene playing out in his mind. As he stands there by the river where she finally let go, leaving him, he closes his eyes and sees every detail with startling clarity.
Chantel stepped out of the chateau.
“You look like an angel,” he told her as he moved toward her and looked her over. He had bought the dress the other day when he’d been in town. It had been hanging in the window of a little boutique, and as soon as he had seen it, he’d visualized her wearing it while somehow floating. She had then told him about her dream. It wasn’t until they had gone down to the river when he had realized he wanted to paint her in the water.
She laughed. “An angel?”
He reached out to take her hands in his own.
Entwining their fingers, Chantel smirked. “I think I proved last night that I’m no angel.”
Pulling her forward, he leaned down, unable to resist, and pressed his lips to hers. After kissing her gently, he smiled. “And let’s not forget this morning.”
Leaning her head away from his, she arched an eyebrow. “Oh, that was you?”
“Oh yes, Chantel.” He let his eyes move to her plump red lips. “That was me deep, deep inside of you as you screamed my name.”
Letting her head fall back, she parted those lips as she basked in the warmth of the sun. “Hmmm, that’s because you set me on fire.”
He wrapped his arms around her waist. “Don’t start that. I want to get down to the river before we lose the light.”
Sighing dramatically, she shook her head. “Fine, Mr. Artiste. Lead the way.”
Taking her hand, he guided her down the small dirt path through the rows of vines. As they rounded the bend, he let go of her hand and moved forward until he realized that she had stopped.
“You okay?”
Chantel nodded as she tilted her head to the side. “Yellowhammers, right?”