Page 4 of One Last Goodbye

The food, thank Heaven, is quite traditional and refreshingly American. The first course is a green salad, the appetizers are breaded mozzarella sticks served with marinara dipping sauce. Perhaps this is only because the children dine with us, but seeing something as mundane and human as cheese sticks relaxes me considerably. The main course is roasted pork served with steamed green beans, creamy mashed potatoes, gravy, and dessert. I am told that it will be a scoop of vanilla ice cream topped with chocolate sauce and whipped cream.

I am determined to take this opportunity to get to know the family, so when the main course is served, I ask Frederick, “How long have you and Catherine been married?”

I feel like that’s an innocent question, but the way Catherine frowns when I ask it makes me wonder if I’ve committed some sort of horrible faux pas. Fortunately, Frederick doesn’t seem to think so.

“Twenty years ago next month,” he replies with a smile. “I hosted several of the competitors in the Geneva Fashion Show at the house. She was the one who caught my eye.”

“Lucky me,” Catherine interjects. She smiles, but it’s as cold a smile as I’ve ever seen.

“Yes, well, you certainly seemed to think so at the time,” Frederick remarks.

“How times change,” she retorts.

She laughs after that, and Frederick joins her, but it's clear their laughter is forced. I notice the children don't laugh. Olivia pouts at the wall, and Ethan stares at his plate. He seems to have shrunk within himself. His withdrawal reminds me concerningly of Lucas Carlton, a young man I cared for over a year ago. In Lucas’s case, his mother is overprotective and saps his strength away. In Ethan’s case…

Well, it’s too soon to tell. But one thing I will make a point of doing while living here is pulling the young man out of his shell.

“What about you, Mary?” Frederick asks. “Is there a Mr. Wilcox waiting somewhere for you?”

“If he is, then I sure wish someone would introduce us,” I reply.

Frederick seems to find that hilarious. He throws his head back and laughs uproariously. I join him for a moment, then notice the way his wife and children react. They all seem to… lessen, somehow. Catherine's beauty takes on an even harder edge. Her tight-lipped frown and rigid shoulders make her appear her true age of forty-eight rather than the timeless goddess I see earlier. Olivia seems frozen in her sullenness, and Ethan looks like a candle about to go out.

“Well, Franz is single if you’re interested,” Frederick suggests. “He’s already told me he likes the way you style your hair.”

The closest I ever come to “styling” my hair is choosing to wear it up in a bun or loose over my shoulders. Today, I choose to wear it in a bun.

“Fred,” Catherine interjects, casting him a warning glance.

“What? I’m just teasing her.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t,” Catherine suggests.

Frederick’s face darkens, and Catherine stiffens, but before any argument can develop, the door to the dining room opens, and a cheerful, buxom woman with curly brown hair, blue eyes and a rosy-cheeked smile steps inside carrying a platter topped with small bowls of ice cream.

“Claude wanted to bring these in, too,” she announces, referring to the butler who served the previous courses, “but I couldn’t resist the chance to see the children’s faces light up.”

She sets bowls in front of the children, then pulls back and places one hand on her hip while expertly balancing the rest of the ice cream in front of the other. “Now I’ve come all this way to watch your faces light up, and I’m not going to take these sullen frowns in return.”

The change in the children is immediate and dramatic. Ethan blossoms like a sunflower, grinning and saying, “All the way from the kitchen to the dining room?”

The cook pats her belly and says, "Carry all this extra weight around for a day, and then tell me that's not a harrowing journey."

She turns to Olivia. The girl still frowns, but it’s clear that she has to fight to retain that expression. The cook stares pointedly at her, and a smile cracks through her façade. She rolls her eyes and says, “Thank you, Sophie,” with exaggerated sarcasm.

The cook screws up her face and replies with similar exaggerated sarcasm. “You’re welcome, Olivia.”

This prompts a giggle from Olivia. She looks shocked that such a sound could escape her mouth.

Sophie places bowls in front of the parents and deliberately ignores the sullen expressions that have come to both of their faces. It’s remarkable. The children have brightened, and theparents have shrunk, as though by Sophie’s mere arrival they have lost all power over the dynamic of this meal.

I decide I like Sophie.

She turns to me, and I can’t help but return her smile with one of my own. “And you must be Mary, our new governess. I’ve saved the biggest bowl for you.” She sets the bowl in front of me, and it does indeed have the largest portion of ice cream. "You'll need it. Between these two fightings all the time"—she hooks a thumb at the sour-faced couple behind her—" and the children up to no good every time you turn your head, you'll come to appreciate the few small pleasures life affords you."

“Thank you, Sophie,” Frederick says irritably. “An excellent meal as always.”

She beams at him. “It’s my pleasure, sir.”

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