Page 23 of The Number of Love
“Margot, come away from the window.”How many times had Maman said that to her, trying to draw her back into the world of which she wanted her to be a part? Eighty-one. Eighty-one times. But not lately. Because lately Margot hadn’t had much time to stare out windows. To calculate the number of bricks in the buildings across the street. To wonder. She’d been too busy. Always busy.
The rain had slowed, though it hadn’t stopped. The pedestrians were splashing through puddles as they hurried about in search of their midday repast. Every time Margot breathed out, a cloud of vapor settled on the cold pane of glass and then shrank again as she drew in new breath. She could calculate the rate at which it disappeared if she wanted.
But what did it matter?
“Margot.” The hand on her shoulder squeezed. “Come,ma sœur. You need not stay here. Come home with me—we have canceled the concert tonight. You can let Willa fuss over you.”
“No.” Droplets still clung to the windowpane. Not racing along their tracks now and joining with other drops in a mad dash fordown, but just clinging there. Stubborn and small and sure to evaporate into the air if ever the sun decided to break through the clouds.
“Margot.” Lukas wrapped his arms around her and, despite her inability to move even a muscle to accommodate him, held on tight. His breath rasped, and his chest heaved. This was how her brother mourned. How he had mourned when their father died, when the world had crumbled even before war had shattered what was left.
It was how he mourned now, when their mother joined Papa in heaven. When the last vestiges ofnormalturned to dust.
She managed to lift a hand, to rest it against his arm. The movement hurt, deep inside. Stillness was her natural state in moments like this. But Lukas needed a touch, so she dug down, despite the pain, and forced one.
She loved him. He knew it. It would be enough for him. Just as his arms around her, though shedidn’tneed the touch, was his love for her. She knew it. It was enough.
His tears wet her hair where his face rested against her head. It was only the second time she had ever seen her brother cry. For their father. For their mother.
Then, when one ambitious drop on the windowpane decided to use the wind as an engine and slide a slow, painful inch, he pulled away. “Come. You cannot stay here alone.”
Cannot?“No.” More likemust. This was home. This was where she and Maman had made a fresh start. She couldn’t justleave.
“Margot.” Mournful. Not for Maman now, but for her.
Didn’t he understand? “No.”
He sighed. And he moved away.
The clouds raced over the city. Slate to grey to white. Lightening, turning to fluff, and finally breaking apart enough for a sliver of sunlight to shine through. She ought to move. Help. Make preparations. But her head was foggy and her throat was on fire and thatstillnesswouldn’t let her go.
“Margot?”
She hadn’t seen Dot coming along the street below, but then, she’d been looking at the clouds. One particularly swift one tumbled overthe sky now, its edges shifting and changing and losing bits of itself to the vast expanse of air around it.
Mutters from behind her. Two voices. Three. Dot, Lukas, the landlady. Three. Three of ... what had it been? Six.
Eighteen.
Only three, when it should have been four. Maman should be standing there with them. Worrying over something with them. Planning something with them.
The racing cloud covered the sun, plunging the street back into midday shadows. The muttering stopped. Silence, then the soft padding of light footsteps. Too light for Lukas. Too light for the landlady, who was as wide as she was tall, within an inch and a half. Dot.
Scraping, scuffing behind her. Beside her. “There.” Dot settled into the chair she’d just pulled over. One of them. “If you need to sit.”
Her legs did ache. So did her back and her neck and her throat and her eyes and her head. But it didn’t matter. She couldn’t make them move. Couldn’t tell her knees to bend.
Dot said nothing else. She drew a book from the bag hooked over her arm and started reading. With her eyes still locked on the window, Margot couldn’t make out the title.
It didn’t matter. She was there, and she wasn’t talking. This was Dot’s love.
The sun emerged again, and it did valiant battle as it tracked across the sky, struggling to fend off the clouds and set the puddles to steaming.
Lukas was by her side again, his hand on her shoulder again. “I need to meet with Father Foster. Did you want to come?”
When she blinked, she saw Louvain out the window instead of London. Felt her childhood home around her instead of this flat with 3E on the door. Heard Maman posing the question, only not. Because it had been Father Pudois she’d been going to see, arrangements for Papa’s wake that needed to be made.
She blinked again to clear it. She’d gone with her mother then. She needed to go with her brother now. She nodded.
