Page 10 of Nineteen Eighty

Gradually, he stopped thinking of the hazy swoon in her eyes as she sat astride him. He could hardly remember her big moony eyes when she’d ask, for the thousandth time, if he loved her.

Time, though, had also changed Charles.

With Catherine, he’d had love. With Lisette, he’d forced love. And now, he understood, neither had been real, in their own ways.

Nothing was real anymore, except the love he had for his cherubic baby girls.

Nathalie, with her dark hair and wide, curious eyes.

Giselle, with bouncy blond curls and an interest in everything.

Lucienne, still a baby, but already so sweet and lovely.

And what would his Adrienne be like? He’d named her, of course, as he’d named the others, in the spirit of his French ancestors. He knew she’d be a little girl, just as he’d known the others would be. He no longer needed Lisette to love him, only to give him more of something to love.

Catherine was telling a story about her job as a transcriptionist. She was supposed to write down everything said, verbatim, and the doctor she worked for gave her some tapes earlier that week that were filled to the brim with expletives.

“I don’t know if this patient had Tourette’s or what!” she cried, laughing, wine glass dangling precariously. “But, oh my, I had to find another room because I was afraid that even through my headphones someone might hear!”

Colin laughed so hard he had tears in his eyes. Whatever problems in their marriage had led Catherine back to Charles for the last time, over four years ago, they were forgotten. His covert hand squeezes, his peripheral longing gazes… Colin was a man in love, again, and this time, with the woman she was, not the woman he hoped her to be.

Cordelia smiled tightly and sipped her own wine. “Lots of fucks, I take it.”

“Every last one in the universe, I’m afraid,” Catherine responded, grinning.

“Where’s Lisette tonight?” Colin asked. “She’s due soon, right?”

“July,” Charles replied. “She’s still nursing Lucie, so she’s tired all the time.”

“God, I remember that exhaustion,” Catherine lamented. “Exhausting, but so worth it.”

“I don’t,” Cordelia said with a bored look at her nails. “Nicolas had a wet nurse.”

As was always the case when Cordelia decided to share something, the air was sucked from the room.

“Well, as long as a baby gets fed, what does it matter?” Colin chimed in, ever the diplomat. “And I don’t think Carolina is nursing Cameron, either, isn’t that right, darling?”

“He didn’t take,” Catherine said. “She tried pumping, but her milk production is low.”

“Doctors say that’s because of how hard it was, after Clancy. Robyn didn’t breastfeed either,” Colin said.

“Breastfeeding is such a riveting topic,” Charles muttered.

“Only when you’re not the one suckling the teet, eh, dear?”

Colin dabbed at his mouth and folded the napkin. “Anyhow, we best be hitting the dusty trail.”

Catherine rolled her eyes, but was smiling. “You sound like your father.”

Colin laughed. “We wouldn’t want to leave Oz with Patrick and Isabella for too long. Might scare them off having their own little ones.”

“You’re still trying for another?” Cordelia asked.

A quick, dark look passed over Colin’s face. “Trying, but the Lord hasn’t seen fit to give us another. And if he doesn’t, Oz is enough.”

“I’ll just use the ladies’ room first,” Catherine said, standing. On her way down the hall, she called back, “Oh! I nearly forgot. Cordelia, that book I borrowed is in my purse.”

Cordelia grinned at Charles. “You can do the honors.”

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