Page 16 of One Last Regret

I don’t feel good about hesitating, but considering the disdain she showed for her husband up until his heart attack, I am interested to know exactly how Audrey is doing.

“She’s barely coherent, apparently,” Etienne replied. “I guess their marriage hadn’t been doing well, and she feels guilty that they fought so much before he died.”

Amelia releases a soft sob, and Etienne lowers his head. “Mary, will you take the children away, please? This isn’t a conversation they need to hear.”

Heat comes to my cheeks. I knew that, but I allowed my own selfish curiosity to get in the way. There's no indicationthat there's foul play involved in Claude's death. For Heaven's sake, I saw him die with my own eyes. There's no murder here. For the first time, I have to agree with Sean. I'm simply being a busybody.

“Come along, children.”

I take them away again, but this time, instead of going upstairs, I take them outside to the gardens. Fresh air can work wonders for grief.

It seems to help Amelia. She stops crying after a few minutes and looks around at the delicately pruned trees and carefully cultivated flowers arranged in pleasing patterns. This garden is small compared to most of the estates I’ve worked for, but I rather enjoy that. It doesn’t seem to swallow you up or overwhelm you the way so many larger estates do.

Gabriel, on the other hand, still seems to be in shock. His eyes are large and staring, and his shoulders are slumped. He shuffles his feet rather than walks, and several times I have to call to him when we turn because he continues on in the direction we’re walking without paying attention to us.

I decide I must talk to them. We reach a bench, and I sit both of them down on either side of me. “I am so sorry for your loss, children. I know you loved him very much.”

“He was nice,” Amelia says. “He was really kind to us when Grandpa died, and he’s always encouraged us and talked to us when no one else would. People always treat us like we’re stupid because we’re kids, but he’d listen to what we had to say and talk to us like we had a right to have an opinion. I know that seems silly, but that meant a lot to us.”

“That doesn’t sound silly at all,” I tell her. “Adults have a difficult time remembering childhood. We want to protect children, and that colors all of our interactions with them. It’s hard to understand that sometimes what children need is to feel validated and appreciated.”

I turn to Gabriel. “How are you feeling? I know that sounds like a foolish question, but when we’re grieving, it can help sometimes to express that grief.”

He blinks but continues to stare straight ahead. When he replies, his voice is wooden. “I’m sad.”

"I know. I'm sad, too."

“Why?” Amelia says, a slight edge to her voice. “You didn’t know him.”

That reaction is common, too. Children don't understand their grief, and it's natural to resent people who act as though they do.

“I’m sad because Claude has left behind several people who love him very much. Those people will have to mourn him and carry on with their own lives without him, and that’s always a sad and difficult journey. I’ve lost both of my parents and my younger sister. I was very sad to lose them. I feel sorry that you two have to feel the same way.”

That is a lie, but a noble one. I felt some grief when my father died, but I don’t miss my mother at all. As for Annie, losing her was more than just grief. It broke me, and I’ve come to learn that not all of the pieces were put back together.

That being said, my role here is not to convince the children that I suffered a worse tragedy than they have but to show them that I do understand grief and really do sympathize with them.

Amelia’s lip trembles. “Audrey’s going to be sad. I know she was angry with him, but she loved him. She’s going to feel really sad.”

“Yes,” I agree. “She will have perhaps the most difficult journey of anyone.”

That isn’t quite a lie since I don’t know for sure whether to believe Audrey’s disdain, Audrey’s grief, both or even neither. But it’s probably the truth regardless of the answer to that question.

I turn to Gabriel. I really would like to engage with him a little. I know I shouldn’t push for him to break out of his shock, but the sooner he can do so on his own, the easier things will be for him. If I can just nudge him in the right direction, then he’ll recover sooner.

“What’s your favorite memory of Claude, Gabriel?”

Gabriel doesn’t say anything. He only stares blankly ahead into the distance.

“He dressed up as Santa Claus one year,” Amelia said. “And brought us presents. He bought me a brand-new horsehair bow for my violin, and he gave Gabriel a framed picture of Herbie Hancock.”

“Oh?” I turn back to Gabriel. “Who’s Herbie Hancock?”

Gabriel doesn’t answer. Instead, he gets abruptly to his feet. “I’m sorry, Miss Mary. I don’t feel well. May I go lie down?”

“Of course, dear. But before you go, I need to make this clear to you. You didnothingwrong. Regardless of anything else, you need to know that this wasn’t your fault.”

He holds my gaze for a moment. When I don’t say anything else, he says, “Okay,” almost as an afterthought.

---