Page 93 of Memories of the Lost

“How did I miss the fact that it was Arlette? All this time?”

Levi said, “You trusted her.”

“Did she really help us look? That seems so bold. And surely, Rosemary would have protested.”

“Maybe. Children do what they’re told, don’t they? And she knew her, so maybe she just trusted that she was supposed to follow directions.”

“The girls never stayed with her one at a time.”

“She probably had a good explanation.”

Clare sighed, pressing three fingers to her chest. “I feel so guilty. And so furious.”

“You couldn’t have known, Clare.”

“But my poor girl, lost forever. Lost to her sister, to me.” She shook her head. “How can she not remember?”

“Meg doesn’t remember her mother. She was six. Tillie was younger, wasn’t she? And to survive, she’d want to forget.”

“It breaks my heart. For both of them.” She looked at her husband. “And she seemed so aloof, didn’t she? Like she wasn’t sure about us at all.”

“Consider it from her side. It must be overwhelming. Give her some time.”

“I suppose.” She spread her hands, looking at her rings, her nails, which were like her daughters’. “I wonder how Sage is doing.”

“I’d wager she’s making chocolate, working it out.” He touched her knee. “Perhaps you should bake some bread for supper.”

“Yes. That’s a good idea.” But she felt winded. Empty.

He stood and held out his arms. Clare let herself be enfolded in his warmth and good smells, in the solidity of his presence. “Things will work out,” he said, his voice rumbling into her ear through his chest. “You’re strong.”

“Mm.” She just melted into him, letting go of everything else. “What would I do without you?”

“It would be miserable,” he said.

She couldn’t dredge up a chuckle, as she was meant to do, but she leaned against him and sighed.

CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

Sage was indeed in the kitchen of her shop. She’d left Paula and gone straight there. Unlike her mother and her sister, she was not conflicted. Her mood was one of the purest joy.

All these years she’d punished herself, diving into the relief of addiction to assuage her guilt over losing her sister, and now, here she was. Sage was absolved. Her sister had returned.

But to work through the things she couldn’t say aloud, the things that had tattered her soul and made her weep long in the dark, her hands knew she needed to make chocolate. She listened, letting them lead the way. First a ganache, made with extra-rich cream and the best chocolate, melted with a few shavings of orange, then walnuts. She let it cool, then rolled it into balls, rolled the balls in walnuts, and set them in rows to go through the tempering machine. She started it up to let the chocolate warm, taking pleasure in the scent rising out of it, richness and promise, the darkest of the dark chocolates she made, 70 percent Belgian couverture.

In her belly, the baby slept, and Sage sang to her, a lullaby she remembered only by humming. It had no words, but the tune shaped around memories of her sister, calling up visuals of the child she’d been.

Rosemary had been the leader between them, ten minutes older and a half inch taller, always. Rosemary was the one who’d spun fairystories about the woods where they played, and created a cat kingdom just beyond the river.

Movement at the front of the shop caught her eye. Through the door, she saw a figure in front of the plate glass window. Not unusual, of course. People loved chocolate. But the person lingered, peering inside. Sage wiped her hands and walked through the darkened front room.

It was Tillie, her face framed by the arch of the gold lettering,Rosemary’sa crown over her head,Chocolatesa smile over her chest. She simply stood there, looking.

Sage located the big skeleton key that still fit the old-fashioned door, and unlocked it. Stepping out into the damp day, she said to her sister, “Why don’t you come in?”

Tillie nodded. Sage stood back, holding out a welcoming hand to direct her through the door, and followed her, relocking the door and pulling the shade. The gloom was not thick but very quiet, even the ghosts holding their breath as Tillie turned, arms loose, and took in the room. “It smells heavenly in here.”

“Come into the kitchen.”