Eileen at the end of the summer, it had been a good year.
And Francesca wasn’t prepared for the announcement Marya and Charles-Edouard made after the game was over. Marya looked at him with a hesitant expression, and he nodded.
“We’re going back to France,” she said with tears in her eyes.
“For Christmas?” Francesca asked her. It sounded like fun to her, but Marya shook her head.
“For six months, maybe longer. A year. Charles-Edouard has some business to do. He wants to close his restaurant, and find something else. He needs to tie up the details on the property settlement with his wife. And we need to spend some more time in Provence to finish the book. We just rented a house there. I hope you come and visit us,” she said, looking from Francesca to Chris, with tears brimming in her eyes. She didn’t want to leave. But she was half of a couple now, and she didn’t want to be here without him either. There were worse fates than spending a year in France, or even moving there, which they were discussing too.
Francesca looked shocked and very sad. “Are you selling the house in Vermont too?” Marya shook her head.
“I couldn’t. You can use it anytime you want. Charles-Edouard promised that we can spend a month there next summer. I don’t think we’ll be back before then.” His life was really in France, he had spent the past four months in the States for Marya, but he needed to get back. He had a lot to do there, and a business to run or sell. It was running off the rails in his absence. He had to go back and make some decisions.
Francesca couldn’t imagine the house without her now, nor could Chris. And he knew Ian would be sad too. She was like a grandmother to him, and much nicer and more present on a daily basis than the ones he had. He was the grandchild she would never have, especially since Charles-Edouard had no children either.
“I want you two to promise that you’ll come over to see us, whenever you want. We’re family now,” she said, hugging both of them. They felt that way too.
They went up to Francesca’s living room then to talk about their plans. Chris put Ian to sleep in his own bed, and the child had never stirred as he carried him upstairs. And then he came down and lit a fire.
Francesca asked them if they were getting married, and Marya smiled. “Not yet. But Charles-Edouard has been very well behaved! I’m impressed.” And so were they. He was still totally French in all the best ways, but his roving eye seemed to have been checked. He only had eyes for Marya. She trusted him completely, and he assured her she was right to do so. He had never said that to his wife. He was an honest man, even if he hadn’t been a faithful one until now. He had always admitted to his affairs when asked. He didn’t lie to Arielle, nor would he to Marya.
Marya said they had only decided to go back to France in the past few weeks. And it had been a hard decision for her. But it made sense and felt right to both of them, and was a whole new life for her, and for them.
“When are you leaving?” Francesca asked with bated breath.
“In a month. Charles-Edouard wants to be back in Paris for Christmas. We’ll probably leave on the twenty-third of December.” Francesca knew it would mean their giving up their room on Charles Street. They didn’t need a room in New York if they were living in Paris. They could stay with her whenever they came back, but there was no reason for them to pay rent in New York. It was going to be a financial challenge for Francesca, but this time she didn’t think about selling the house. She and Chris and Ian were happy there. She’d have to find a way to make it work. But she didn’t want to take in roommates again. There would never be another Marya. And she didn’t want to risk another Eileen. It had been too traumatic.
“I hope you stay here when you come to New York,” Francesca said sadly, and Marya hugged her.
“We will. And you’ll have a home with us in Paris. You can send Ian over to visit anytime,” she said to Chris. “It would be wonderful for us and exciting for him.”
“Do you think you’ll ever live in the States again if you two get married?” Francesca asked her.
“We don’t know. It depends what Charles-Edouard does when he reshuffles his business.” He had to make some adjustments after giving half of what he had to his ex-wife, which seemed fair to him. Divorce was expensive. He never complained about it, even to Marya.
Their announcement was a big change, and bittersweet for all of them. They were losing beloved friends, or at least on a daily basis. And Charles-Edouard was part of their family unit now too.
Ian cried when they told him about it the next morning, and Francesca felt that way too. She’d been depressed since Marya announced it. And Ian didn’t want them to leave. Marya told him he could come to visit in Paris and see the Eiffel Tower and the Arc de Triomphe and ride on the Bateaux Mouches on the Seine.
“But I don’t speak French,” he said mournfully.
“Lots of people in Paris speak English,” she reassured him, “and Charles-Edouard and I will help you. We’ll take care of you, and I want your dad and Francesca to come too.” He nodded, but he wasn’t convinced. It was too far away. Ian loved them both, and they loved him.
And on Sunday Chris found Francesca poring over the bills in her office. It reminded her of the days when she was trying to save her house and her business, and afraid she could do neither. Marya leaving was going to make things very tight. She was struggling with the numbers again, and they didn’t look good. She had never rented Eileen’s room again and she didn’t intend to. The top floor had been closed since August, and Francesca wanted to leave it that way. The memories in that room were too awful, and she didn’t want anyone up there, out of respect for Eileen. The rooms were clean and empty and kept locked. She hadn’t been up there herself since the murder. And Brad still hadn’t gone to trial and probably wouldn’t for many months. The police had stayed in touch with her. She had often thought of calling Eileen’s mother, but she never had. She had the feeling they wouldn’t welcome her call. She was planning on sending them a note over Christmas, and had written a heartfelt condolence letter when Eileen died, saying what a wonderful girl she was. They had never responded. Maybe they just didn’t know what to say or how to do it.
Chris saw her worried expression as Francesca went over the bills.
“Bad news?”
“Sort of. I don’t know why, but we had a bad month at the gallery in November. We hardly sold anything. October was great, and September was pretty good. Every time I think we’re getting solid, something slips. I don’t have a lot of cushion from it, and I’m still paying that damn plumber bill from the big leak.” Two thousand dollars was a lot at one gulp for her. The plumber had allowed her to do it in two payments, which helped, but she still had to pay it. “It’s kind of a blow that Marya’s leaving, in more ways than one,” she said sadly. “I’m going to miss her so much.” She was both surrogate mother and friend to her now, and good at both. Francesca loved chatting with her every day. They all did. “And I don’t want to rent Eileen’s room again. I just can’t. And no one would want it anyway. What happened there is too heavy for anyone to want to live in that room. And I don’t want to take strangers in again. It’s too risky.” In the end, she had decided that her mother was right for once, although she’d been lucky. But it seemed too high-risk now, and too intrusive.
“You did okay with me,” he teased her, and she smiled. She was so happy with him.
“Yes, I did.” But now she was losing two-thirds of her income from the house, with no Marya and no Eileen. That was a big chunk to her, and made things very difficult for her again. Marya’s lease had been about to end anyway. And so was his.
“How did you manage when Todd was here?” he asked, curious about it. He had never asked her that before.
“We each paid half of the mortgage payment. It was tight, but I managed, and it worked. I can’t carry it alone.”
“What if I split it with you, and we don’t rent to anyone, and just live here like a family, the three of us.”
“That would work,” she said thoughtfully, “but I don’t think that’s fair to you. You only live in two rooms.” He laughed when she said it.
“I was thinking I could move upstairs with you, if you like that idea. And Ian can stay in my room. I can even pay two-thirds if you like, since there are two of us, and only one of you.” He was being generous and fair, and he wanted to make things easier for her. He could afford to. He lived simply and there was nothing showy about him. His graphic design business did well, and she suspected he had family money, given who his family was. He was a modest person, but he didn’t have to struggle as she did. For her, everything was tight, and she didn’t want to sell the last of her father’s paintings if she didn’t have to. She was still sad she had sold the others.
“I think we should split it fifty-fifty, if you want to,” Francesca said cautiously, grateful for his help. “We could turn your whole suite into Ian’s room, with a playroom, use the living room downstairs, sleep in my room, and we could turn Marya’s room into a den or an office for you. It would make a nice office.” It was sunny and bright with a view of the garden. “You can smoke Cuban cigars there,” she teased him. But it all made sense and would
