by Calia Read
Exhaling a shaky breath, I slowly shake my head. What I can’t seem to stop thinking about is the negative connotation attached to seeing your doppelgänger. Marie-Thérèse had a decent outcome for her story. She supposedly lived to tell her story, but maybe she was one of the lucky ones.
If I come face to face with Old Serene, if it ever comes down to that, what will happen to me? What will happen to her? I envision the two of us being two identical magnetic poles, able to hover near the other but always pushing away from one another.
Abruptly, I slam the laptop close. I exhale a shaky breath and hurry back toward the bed and slip beneath the covers. While I was searching online, Étienne had rolled onto his back with his left arm flung across the back of the pillows. Without a second thought, I place my cheek on his bare chest, wrap myself tightly around him, and tell myself to calm down.
A bunch of online conspiracy theories exists, and I probably just happened to stumble across a post with someone buying into it. But the same can’t be said about Old Serene’s missing date of death.
Instinctively, Étienne slings a hand around me, but my cold legs pressed against his momentarily jerk him awake. He lifts his head and peers down at me half out of it. “Hi.”
The residue of his night out with Ian has already begun to wear off. If I were him, I’d be feeling like shit and hugging the toilet like my life depended on it.
“Hi,” I whisper.
“Where did you go?”
“Went to the bathroom and got a midnight snack. That’s all,” I lie.
“All right.” He kisses the crown of my head and rubs my arm. My eyes remain wide open, and in the dark room, I stare at nothing in particular. Only my thoughts and panic keep me company.
I squeeze my eyes shut and try to remain calm.
Old Serene isn’t here. There’s nothing to fear. But the vise-like grip of dread around my heart takes my breath away.
Somewhere, she’s out there, potentially changing the direction my life goes.
A tense silence has draped itself over Belgrave, preventing any sunlight from coming through. We’re all afraid to make a noise, let alone whisper the truth. Étienne’s absence is glaringly obvious. I have his office door closed. There’s no one in there. However, I prefer to believe Étienne is in there quietly scanning contracts with a sharp eye, only emerging for food and rest.
Even though Étienne was remarkably quiet, he remained steady in everything he did. He kept our family running like a well-oiled machine. Without him, it feels as though we’re all floundering.
Étienne would know what to do, and he would make the correct decisions in a timely manner. Not nervously fidget for the doctor to finish his weekly visit with Livingston as I am at this very moment.
Every morning after I dress, I visit Livingston. And every morning, I hope to see him sitting up with his signature grin on his face.
It’s been nearly a month since I received that fateful telegram alerting me to Livingston’s attack, and two weeks since we’ve settled into Belgrave.
Miles’s prediction was correct. News of Livingston’s attack remained quiet but for a moment before the people of Charleston discovered the truth. And when they did, there was a veritable explosion of “callers” showing up at Belgrave’s front door.
With the exception of a few visitors, the rest were turned away. Only close family friends were allowed to see Livingston. I was beginning to restrict even those calls too because it was clear to anyone who really knew Livingston that something wasn’t right. I trusted only Rainey, Miles, and Asa. And Dr. Ruddell who visited nearly every other day since we settled at Belgrave.
The door to Livingston’s makeshift bedroom opens. I stand straighter and widen my eyes hopefully. “Do you have good news?”
The doctor softly closes the door behind him and faces me. I wring my hands together and watch as the doctor averts his gaze. He switches the handle of his bag to his other hand and shakes his head. He’s an older man with a balding head and gray hair clinging to the sides. The corners of his kind, crystal clear blue eyes are lined with wrinkles. He’s freshly shaven, but specks of gray stubble appear on his cheeks and near his chin. When Miles brought him to Belgrave and stated he was one of the best doctors in South Carolina, I had my doubts. Yet after his first visit, my opinion changed. He spoke and evaluated Livingston. Once Dr. Ruddell finished, he said he would speak with some colleagues and get back to me within three days’ time. And he did.
I requested he visit every three days in the hopes that perhaps he might discover something new about amnesia or speak with a colleague.
“Ah, Mrs. Claiborne.” Dr. Ruddell smiles wryly. “Imagine runnin’ into you.”
“How is he?” I ask.
Every three days, the doctor visits Livingston, and with every visit, his prognosis is the same. Livingston still has amnesia. But it never deters me from hoping for a different outcome and hoping to see a gleam of excitement in Dr. Ruddell’s eyes as he exits Livingston’s bedroom.
It has yet to happen.
Rainey and I have both expressed our concerns. Will my brother ever be the same? Each time the question is asked, we’ve never been given a definite answer.
“Physically, Mr. Lacroix’s very healthy, but there’s still a deficit in his long-term memory.”
At his words, my shoulders fall. A wrinkled hand gently lands on my shoulder. “Mrs. Claiborne, I know you are defeated, but you must try to be hopeful. Your brother readily answers in regard to what’s going on around him.”
He enjoys the outdoors; his new obsession, specifically is staring at the Spanish moss lining the drive. He claims it soothes him. I had the servants bring two wicker chairs from the garden and place them on the front porch for Livingston and whoever wants to sit beside him. Lately, Livingston has been spending many hours out there. He doesn’t say anything. Just stares. I often wonder if he’s waiting for Étienne to come back.
I don’t know what else I can do.
“I must remind you that experiences are powerful cues to memories. Continue as you are. Encourage your brother to go outside when he feels up to it, of course. Close friends and family should continue to visit.”
“Of course.”
“If that will be all, I will see you in three days.”
I allow Dr. Ruddell to take his own leave. In the beginning, I would escort him to the front door, but even the doctor has found his own footing in this devastating situation. I fall back against the wall. My eyes became rooted on the carpet runner along the length of the hallway. I desire to know when I will find my footing because it seems to me as though I’m attempting to try on everyone else’s shoes, namely Étienne’s and Livingston’s, but none of them fit.
This moment in time feels reminiscent of the first weeks after my parents and Julian passed away when I locked myself away in the closet beneath the stairs. Étienne was the only one who could coax me out of the dark.
It sounds sad and sorry, but I want nothing more than to go to that very spot and hide until this nightmare is over.
“Is everythin’ okay?”
Abruptly, I lift my gaze and find Asa mere steps away. Concern is etched into his features, and my heart twists because I’d like to believe that concern is for me, and he cares for me.
But I know the truth.
Standing up straight, I push away from the wall and smile brightly. “Asa, I didn’t know you’d be visitin’ today.”
“Is everythin’ okay?” he repeats.
Asa can be tenacious. Frustratingly so. He won’t stop with his line of questions until he receives answers.
“Mrs. Claiborne?”
Asa and I turn toward the sound of the voice and see Ben standing steps away. “Yes?”
“There’s a man asking to speak with you.”
Unease trickles down my spine. “Who?”
“Mr. Claiborne, I believe he said he was your husband. He said …”
His words fade away as my heart pounds f
rantically in my ears. Oh, this is not good. Not good at all. Oliver never mentioned coming to Belgrave for a visit.
When I don’t respond in a timely manner, Ben hesitates. “Should I turn Mr. Claiborne away?”
Immediately, I spring into action. “Of course not. Please tell Mr. Claiborne I’ll be downstairs shortly.”
Ben dips his head and walks downstairs. With my hand over my heart, I face Asa.
There’s nothing inappropriate about speaking with a close family friend as long as that family friend isn’t Asa Calhoun. While Oliver and I have never spoken about my feelings for Asa, I’ve wondered if he has suspicions.
Am I supposed to believe Oliver never once held a flame for a girl in Savannah? I know Serene and my brothers think I’m trusting and naïve, but I’m not simpleminded.
“Go to him,” Asa says although his eyes are lifeless.
At that moment, if my heart had the opportunity to take over my mouth, the words, “It never had to be like this,” would have slipped out.
Instead, I say, “Thank you. This shouldn’t take long. You should visit Livingston. I’m sure the company would be nice for him.”
Asa nods. “That sounds wonderful.”
I’m the first to walk away. And the entire time I feel Asa’s eyes on my back, drilling holes into my skin through my dress.
Upon stepping into the foyer, I spot a male servant holding the front door open while two other servants step through the door carrying luggage.
That’s not luggage for a night or two. Oliver intends to stay in Charleston for several weeks.
“Mr. Claiborne said to inform you he’s in the office.”
Immediately, I straighten my shoulders and hurry toward Étienne’s office. I was taught at a young age to acquiesce decisions and situations even when they didn’t sit well with me. And Oliver suddenly arriving? It doesn’t make sense. He had his mother and work tying him to Savannah, and he wasn’t keen on me visiting Livingston. I can’t imagine he’d willingly come all this way for nothing. There had to be a reason.
When I reach Étienne’s office, I find the door open and my husband openly perusing the space with his hands tucked in the pockets of his tweed pants. Every few seconds, his head dips to the left and right as he stares at the books on the shelves, objects on the desk, and the assortment of paperwork that I refuse to move. Oliver shouldn’t be here. The servants are even prohibited from cleaning Étienne’s office. I will keep this space frozen in time so when Étienne comes back, he knows he was loved even when he was lost.
My heart pounds as I step inside the office.
“Oliver,” I say, my voice catching on the last syllable of his name.
He turns and smiles. When I left Brignac House, things weren’t on the best of terms between us. I’ve sent telegrams since I’ve been in at Belgrave, but they’ve been short and to the point. Never in-depth enough to know if he’s still upset or not. Oliver certainly didn’t send a telegram to let me know he was on his way here.
I take a few steps into the office but go no further. I’ll leave the rest to Oliver.
“There you are!” he says by way of greeting as though it’s perfectly normal for him to be standing in Étienne’s office in the middle of the day.
“This is a pleasant surprise,” I say cautiously.
“I know,” Oliver replies and walks toward me. “It’s been quite some time since I’ve seen your lovely face. I had to see you.” He leans in, his hands cupping my elbows, and kisses my cheek.
My heart races, but it’s impossible to know whether it’s from seeing my husband or from narrowly avoiding being caught with Asa. My gut tells me it’s the latter.
“Have you received word from Étienne?” Oliver asks.
As I shake my head, I try to understand whether the concern in Oliver’s eye is true or insincere. He’s never given me a reason to believe he’s disingenuous, but when I left for Charleston, he truly didn’t seem to grasp why I had to go or care. Why care now?
“I’m afraid not,” I answer.
Oliver pats my arm and shakes his head. “I’m sorry.”
I take the smallest step back and square my shoulders. “There’s nothin’ to be sorry for. He’ll come back.”
Oliver’s hazel eyes are sympathetic as he stares at me. “And if he doesn’t?” he asks quietly.
“He will,” I reply, my voice sure and sharp.
Before my husband has a chance to reply, he looks over my head at the doorway, and my body locks up and nerves tingle. Only one person can elicit that response. I turn right as Oliver says, “Asa, I didn’t know you were here.”
Asa barely spares me a glance as he steps into Étienne’s office. “I stop by to visit Livingston frequently.”
With that statement, Oliver looks at me before he smiles. “Naturally, you would. I’d expect nothing less.”
Oliver’s tone remains friendly, and he keeps a smile on his face, but his eyes are emotionless. The tension between Oliver and Asa causes my stomach to churn. Not so long ago, these two men were friends. The night Asa introduced me to Oliver, he was jovial and all but shoved me into Oliver’s arms. Except I don’t think he thought I’d go willingly.
“Asa, you still work for Étienne’s company, correct?” Oliver asks.
Asa nods, his lips tight. “I do, but I have other business ventures that keep me busy.”
“Then I imagine it’s been difficult with Étienne’s abrupt disappearance.”
“No, it hasn’t,” Asa starts off slowly. In the process, he appraises Oliver. “I’m sure Nathalie has made you aware he didn’t disappear.”
Oliver looks between Asa and me. “He didn’t? So you’ve heard from your brother?”
Neither one of us replies, and it seems like the only replying Asa wants to do is with his fist. One corner of Oliver’s mouth curves upward. “Just as I imagined. As I was saying, a month is a long time, is it not?”
Asa tilts his head to the side, his eyes narrowing. Even I couldn’t figure out the direction of Oliver’s questions. What was he implying?
“It is,” Asa agrees slowly, “However, Étienne is a grown man. Free to do as what he pleases, and he trusts his companies are in able hands.” The hard look he gives Oliver brooks no argument. Growing up, I was convinced Étienne and Asa practiced that icy expression together, knowing they would use it on businessmen and adversaries alike.
Uncomfortably, I shift from foot to foot. Keeping a light conversation going is usually easy for me, but it isn’t right now. As I think of something—anything—to say, Asa beats me to it and speaks first. “I hope I wasn’t interruptin’ the two of you when I walked in.” I know this is his way of changing the subject, and for that, I’m grateful.
“Not in the slightest.” Oliver leans against the edge of Étienne’s desk. Asa watches him closely. “We were merely speaking about me staying here until Livingston gets better.”
“We were?” I say at the same time Asa says, “You were?”
“We were,” Oliver confirms.
He smiles and pats Asa on the shoulder. “I know how much family means to Nat, and I can’t bear to be away from her for this length of time. Until all matters are settled, I’ll be staying at Belgrave. I will occasionally travel to Savannah due to work, but I’ll always come back to Belgrave.”
Asa nods, though he looks far from agreeable. “I believe I’ll leave to give the two of you some privacy. It was nice to see you again.” Asa’s eyes are searing as he dips his head. “Nathalie.”
I wouldn’t dare reach out and hug him or even murmur a word about Étienne and Serene in front of Oliver. Even looking at Asa feels too intimate, so I give a small nod in his direction and watch his shadow on the floor until it reaches the door.
Once he’s gone, I spin to face Oliver. “You’re stayin’ here?”
“Yes.”
“When did you decide this?”
“On the way here. I realized I acted too harshly when you received news of Livingst
on, and I apologize. He needs you here, and I’ll stay here.”
I find myself thinking about the past months since Livingston’s attack. Many times, I thought there was no possible way I could keep going. And now that Oliver—the very man I should rely on—is here, I have a chance to compose myself. There’s no need for that, though. I was already together.
“Did I react in haste? Has my wife written me off forever?” Oliver says with a laugh.
I shake my head and walk toward him. “No, no. Of course not. I am simply tired. That is all.” To reassure him, and myself, I wrap my arms around him and close my eyes. “It’s wonderful to see you,” I say with my cheek pressed against his chest.
Oliver pulls back and smiles down at me. “You arrived alone, but I promise, we’ll leave together.”
I smile. I smile because his words chill me to the bone. I smile because they sound more like a threat than a promise.
Armed with the information I have from the night before, I decide to go back to the antique store.
Étienne and I left empty-handed the first time we went there, but like my research on Old Serene, maybe I’ll get lucky the second time around. The very possibility causes my heart to race and my stomach to churn.
Softly, I close my bedroom door and head down the hallway. I find Étienne sitting in the dining area. His elbows rest on the tabletop as he watches intently as my brother boots up his laptop. Dressed in sweats and a casual T-shirt, he’s never looked more from this time. My focus diverts from the task at hand. Nothing can calm me down and rev me up simultaneously the way Étienne can.
Clearing my throat, I step forward. Étienne abruptly stands to his full height, almost causing the chair to fall back, and his head whips in my direction. I smile broadly at him while my brother barely spares me a look. “Back here again?”
Ian takes a sip of his coffee and shrugs. His eyes are bloodshot, and his dark red hair stands at attention. Unlike Étienne, Ian doesn’t seem to be handling their night of drinking quite as well. That makes me smile wider.
