Don't Speak (A Modern Fairytale, #5)(76)
And I wish it didn’t, but it made me sorry to see it.
That said, it didn’t make me cry.
Merry Christmas, my Erik.
Laire
***
The Fifth Christmas
Dear Erik,
I write to you from my hotel balcony in Paris.
Yes, Paris.
I have been here for two weeks, and though I have loved every moment, I have missed Ava Grace with an ache that borders on panic, and when I leave tomorrow—Christmas Eve—to fly home, I will be so happy to hold her in my arms once again.
This is the longest I have ever been away from her, but when Madame Scalzo, who taught a one-semester course in European trends, announced she needed an assistant to join her at the annual No?l à Paris fashion show, I put my hat in the ring and was chosen. Once I found out, I almost turned it down, but Judith and Samantha, Patrick’s fiancée, insisted that, between the three of them, they could manage Ava Grace’s schedule and that I shouldn’t pass up a chance like this one.
I have loved Paris. So much. But I have missed North Carolina desperately. My surrogate family, of course, but most of all, our daughter.
How can I describe her to you, Erik?
Let’s see . . . she has a fringe of bangs across her forehead and wears her hair in two dark-red braids that Nana fastens every morning with twin rubber bands the same color as the outfit she’s wearing. She is tall like you, but slight like me. She still has your grin and your warm, brown eyes. She hasn’t lost any teeth yet, though Katie, Ava’s best friend at preschool, just lost her first, and Ava is desperate to be next. She’s like that—wanting to keep up. Wanting to be first, or at least next. I wonder how that quality will develop? As ambition and drive? I hope so.
She is musical and artistic, and she loves her ballet class more than anything. It was at ballet class, in fact, where Uncle Patrick met Ava’s instructor, Miss Samantha. She’s Ava’s ballet instructor and, now, soon-to-be auntie. They are good together, Patrick and Samantha, and she has become one of my closest friends. Not to mention, Patrick has a dashing new haircut. Turns out, he was very handsome under all that scruff. Maybe I should have married him when he asked! LOL!
My father had a stroke in October, and though I wanted to go see him, Issy and Kyrstin insisted it wasn’t time yet. But my card to him wasn’t returned this year, so I hope he is softening. Kyrstin, who’s made the Chateau le Poisson into a thriving little getaway inn, says he only works at King Triton now. The stroke stole his upper body strength, which makes it all but impossible for him to crab. Maybe by next summer my sisters will tell me that I’ve been forgiven and that he’s ready to meet Ava and know me again. I pray every night that it will be so. The Sebastians have truly been family to me these past five years, but I miss my father and sisters. I want time with them before time runs out.
And now I’m sad, and Paris, the City of Light, is nowhere to be sad, especially on your last night. I worked hard to lose most of my Corey accent and have been taking French for two years at college. My French isn’t good, but passable, and yet I’m constantly asked if I’m from Australia. LOL. I guess that accent isn’t totally gone, after all.
This is the first year I didn’t look up the Governor’s Son.
Not once.
Not at all.
Even my dreams of you, Erik, come less and less frequently, and when they do, I don’t wake up crying.
I will always miss you, of course.
But it doesn’t hurt as desperately as it did before.
And for that, I am grateful.
Merry Christmas, Erik.
Laire
***
The Sixth Christmas
Dear Erik,
I have an hour to write—Ava is a sheep in her ballet recital tonight, and Patrick is picking up me and Judith soon.
Judith. My Judith, my surrogate mother, my daughter’s only grandparent, has been diagnosed with cancer. It is quite advanced, and the doctor’s prognosis was not good. When we first learned of her condition over the summer, I railed and cried, furious at God for letting this happen again. But then I remembered that my mother brought Judith to me when I needed her. She was there for me when I had no one else. So now I will be the strong daughter that Judith needs during these final months. Ava and I will make them as happy as possible.
Ava is in her final year of preschool, bubbly and beautiful, a minx some days, and yet so vulnerable others, she breaks my heart. I love her to the moon and back, though I find myself sorting out which traits are from the Cornish family and which must have come from yours. When she bats her eyes at Uncle Patrick and gets her way, it’s you. When she refuses to jump off the diving board because she’s “ascared,” it’s me. And damn, but I won’t have my daughter be scared like I was. (Between you and me? I pushed her off that diving board, then jumped in right behind her.)
She finally asked about you in earnest, and Erik, I was so flummoxed for a minute, I just stared at her with my mouth open. But then I told her about the prince with dark hair and dark eyes. I said Mama loved him and he loved Mama. She asked when she could meet you, and tears filled my eyes when I told her that the prince was gone. She asked if he was dead, and internally I had to acknowledge that Ava’s biological father, the Governor’s Son, is still alive. But I won’t ever share her with him. Never, ever. So I lied. I told her I didn’t know. And the most amazing thing happened: she nodded her head and went off to play with her LEGOs. I breathed a sigh of relief, knowing I had just dodged a bullet. Oh, Erik, one day she will be eight, or twelve, or fifteen, and what in the world will I say then if she wants to know her father? What will I do when I am certain he will only break her heart as he did mine? I can barely think about it—it makes my chest tight.