Checking his balance as he sidesteps four large boxes in the doorway, Gustave asks, "Maman – Papa Y, what are all these?" Continuing to tear off his coat and hat, he circles the containers, examining the shipping labels and customs stamps.

Erik shrugs, removing his own coat and taking Christine's cloak, hanging all the outer wear in the armoire. "Indeed, what are all they?"

"More tying up loose ends from Raoul, I imagine," Christine answers. "When the delivery man handed me the envelope from Raoul, all I could think of was running to find you. I hardly noticed them and once the delivery men completed their task, I thanked and tipped them and rushed to the hotel to the ballroom where you said you would be working."

"And I am so happy you did," Erik chuckles, pressing her hand to his mouth.

Eying Gustave, Christine blushes and removes her hand, unable to resist giggling back at Erik.

Gustave rolls his eyes before returning to examining the mysterious shipment. "What was in the envelope?"

Despite Gustave's obvious affection for Erik – Christine still wonders about his relationship with Raoul. Had it really been so bad? He did ask her if his father loved him – that was just before the truth was exposed. These past months were so different from his life in France. As his mother, she wanted only the best for him. She had to admit the finality of the letter found her somewhat unsettled – happy as she was. Change was always such a momentous thing. Gustave was happy now, but what if he regretted the choice she made for them.

"A paper saying I am no longer married to Pere Raoul," Christine says.

Turning away from the packages to face her, he lifts himself to sit on top of the taller of the two stacks.

Erik reaches out to make sure he is secure. "Careful, I am not certain how stable they are."

Gustave smiles at him, legs splayed in front of him, arms open wide.

"Yes, I see," Erik says, "Once again you amaze me with your astute nature."

"So do I still have to call him Pere?"

"Not if you do not want to."

The boy ponders this for a moment. "I shall call him M. Vicomte then."

"As you wish."

"Does that mean you two are getting married?"

"Yes – that is, if you approve," Christine says, glancing toward Erik. "We would not act in any way you would find uncomfortable."

"Will we all live together?"

"That would be the goal, certainly," Erik says.

Christine nods in agreement.

"Yippee!" Gustave jumps down from his perch to dance a jig around the boxes, before throwing his arms around his father. "I hate when you leave us at night."

"And I hate leaving," Erik rolls back on his heels from the force of the embrace. Cradling Gustave's head in the palm of his hand, he rocks him back and forth, before tickling his ribs.

Christine smiles at her men, father and son completely in love with one another. If destiny forced them to wait for this moment, well, the result was worth it. Whether intended or not, the boxes sitting next to the door, suggest another message from the past to be addressed. Her stomach churns, her heart beat quickens. Why the fear? What memories would be stirred by their contents? Holding her stomach, she walks to the settee and sits down.

"Are you all right? Can I get you something?" Erik's voice filled with concern, walks over to feel her forehead with the back of his hand and rub her back.

"I am fine, just felt a little queasy." How would Erik feel about the oblong one sitting atop the other three? Wrapped in brown paper, frayed at the edges and tied with once white string, now darkened with age. One she herself had packed so many years ago.

Interesting Raoul sent it with the others, but then he likely had nothing to do with sorting through their things. Simply ordering the emptying of hers and Gustave's rooms of anything that spoke of their use or concern. This was the second such shipment, the first primarily clothing and books – she could not imagine there would be much more to be discovered in their quarters. That he made the effort to send these items, rather than simply have them destroyed reminded her of the kind and thoughtful Raoul she once loved.

"Do you want to deal with these boxes now?" Erik asks, following her eyes. "It seems both you and Gustave are curious as to the contents."

"Not entirely curious…this one first, I think," she says, pointing at the long, narrow box. "I never thought I would see it again."

Erik frowns. "Something of your father's."

Shaking her head, she says, "No. I have his violin, my mother's ring…the sewing boxes…" Tears flow unbidden.

Gustave joins them, sits down next to her, resting his head on her shoulder. "Do not cry, Maman. You are safe here with us."

"It really is a happy surprise…truly," she laughs lightly, patting his hand. "I do not mean to upset you, I am just finding myself so much more emotional these days."

"You do cry a lot…more than ever before," Gustave agrees. "You were crying so much over the cookies the other day, I did not know what to do."

"You ate all the burnt ones so I would not have to see them," she says, tweaking his nose. "That was most generous of you."

"Well, shall we open this box or continue to discuss your tears," Erik says. "Since we know the basis of your strong emotions."

"I do not know," is Gustave's retort. "I want to know why Maman cries so much now. We are not in that awful house anymore," he says, looking up at her. "You are happy now, why are you crying…why do you get sick?"

"Christine?"

"I think the box first." she says. "I think if we start there, the other explanation will come more easily."

"If you want to open the box first, then that is what we shall do." Erik quirks an eyebrow at Gustave when he looks to protest. "You stay put, I shall bring the box over."

"I should like to get these tears out of the way," she says, wiping her eyes with a hanky she has tucked up her sleeve.

Removing a silver pen knife from his waistcoat pocket, Erik cuts through the string, some of it falling apart in his fingers. "I am surprised it survived the journey. They were stored in a stateroom, judging from the stamps – not put in stowage. Very thoughtful of the Vicomte. The string is barely holding together and the paper is tearing just from my touch."

"I wrapped it as best I could." Removing the paper, folding it and handing it to Gustave, she sighs deeply as she lifts the lid. "Oh," she breathes as she pulls back the linen cloth covering the fine silk and lace gown. "It has not discolored…at least not terribly so."

"From your wedding?" After a moment's hesitation, Erik's recognition of the gown finds his own eyes wet and fights to blink back tears. "You kept it," he whispers falling to his knees in front of her, running his fingers over the delicate fabric. "Oh, my dear."

"What?" Gustave says, peering into the box. "It is a dress." He rolls his eyes. "Arrghh. Now both of you are crying." Throwing his arms into the air, he gets up from the sofa, shaking his head and stomps off to the kitchen. "I am going to get some root beer."

Christine leans over to cradle Erik's head on her lap. "When we arrived at the mansion, Raoul wanted me to hand the dress over to have it burned. I encouraged him to take care of his own needs. We both had to calm ourselves from what happened. At that moment in time, I wished only to have some peace. The dress was not an issue."

"He was fine with that?" Erik sits up, staying on the floor next to her.

"He had to be. I was not prepared for him to strip the gown from my body," she chuckles. "In any event, there was more going on, dealing with the police and the questions from his family…the dress was forgotten. I packed it up and stored it in a small storage area in my suite."

"The police?"

"I was questioned a number of times – how well did I know you? Where did we have our lessons? Were there other entries to the music room?"

"What did you tell them?"

Christine smiles, brushing the back of her hand against his cheek. "Nothing. I would simply start crying, telling them I was too upset. After a while, they found a body believed to be yours and the questioning stopped."

"And the Vicomte?"

The Vicomte? Oh, Erik. What did I tell the Vicomte? It has been so long since I thought about those first days. Between his accusations – why did I agree to go with the Opera Ghost after removing the mask? "Why did you kiss him? You kissed him twice. Why?" Then his sobbing, wanting forgiveness for suspecting me of such complicity. It was his own fear that was his undoing – then and later, even until these past months. He haunts us now, as you haunted us then.

"Raoul said nothing. He found his solace in the bottle, as you discovered. At first it was a single drink, but eventually, he only wanted to be numb. He never really trusted me again, but, to his credit and with my gratitude, would not allow his family to toss me onto the street. Sighing deeply, she says, "I hope this shipment is the last of these reminders."

"If the past was so easily shed." Erik says, raising her chin with a finger. "I did not mean to set any bad memories in motion for you. Our future is first and foremost in my mind."

"Are you two still crying?" Gustave calls from the kitchen. "I am bored in here and want to know what is in the other boxes. Maybe there is something of mine in there – something that will not make everyone cry."

"The coast is clear," Erik says, "I fear you will be living with two people who cry a lot, my son. I cannot promise otherwise."

Gustave strolls back into the sitting room, carrying his bottle of soda and joins his father on the floor. "That is okay, Papa Y, I guess crying is not such a bad thing."

"You do not cry?"

The boy shrugs.

"Gustave has always been rather stoic."

"Uncle Phillippe said that deChagny men must be strong – present a strong face to the public," Gustave says. "We are the nobility and must set a good example."

"And what of your father? What did he say?"

"He told me to listen to Uncle Phillippe because he was the head of the family."

"That must have been difficult for both of you."

Gustave takes a sip of his root beer. "I would go to my room and play the violin or read."

"But never cried?" Erik takes the bottle from his son's hand and places it on the table.

Gustave looks up at him from under his long lashes. "Sometimes, when everyone else was asleep."

"Oh, darling, I wish I had known," Christine says, stroking his hair.

"I did not want you to be sad because of me," he says, leaning closer to her.

"You are such a good boy," Erik says. "Your mother and I love you very much and if you should ever care to join us in our tears, you are most welcome."

Christine laughs, wrapping her arms around both Erik and Gustave, kissing them each on the top of their heads. "Since we are already looking back at our days in France, perhaps it is time to open these other boxes. I have a feeling the contents might have some relevance to other news we have to share with you."

Erik raises his eyebrows.

"Open the boxes, would you?"

The first box reveals linen wrapped packets of baby clothes…gowns, bonnets, booties…blankets, and small boxes of cloth toys…bunnies and kitties. The largest package contains a hand-knit afghan looking to be created from odds and ends of yard in every color imaginable.

The next box also holds clothing, but more suitable for a toddler, dresses with jackets and caps. Heavier outerwear and shoes.

The last container holds a small wagon, an automobile looking to be made from a Meccano set, the original box still filled with unused parts packed next to it, and a large stuffed bear.

"My old toys – from when I was little," Gustave says, opening the box of blocks. "I wondered where they got to."

"It would appear that someone wished to interest you in building," Erik says, picking up some pieces from the Meccano set. "This is a wonderful toy – we can design entirely new attractions for the park with this. There are even more pieces that can be added to these."

"Gustave was always curious about how things were put together," Christine says. "These were his clothing and toys from when he was much younger."

"Do you really think we can invent new rides with these, Papa Y?"

"I do – much of Phantasma was already here, but I designed much of it – with you by my side, who know what we can create."

Christine clears her throat and pats her tummy. "Speaking of creations."

Erik smiles, tapping Gustave on the shoulder, signaling him to listen to his mother. Both of them give her their undivided attention – a pair of golden eyes and a pair of hazel await her words.

"You wondered why I have been so emotional, crying…being ill."

Gustave nods.

"Well, you are going to have a little brother or sister."

"A baby? You are going to have a baby?" Gustave turns to Erik, who nods.

"Oh." The word is flat, emotionless.

Christine frowns…looks to Erik for support.

"What is wrong? We thought you would be happy."

"I am, I guess. I do not know." He gets up and goes to the box with the baby clothes, picking through them.

"Take your time, son," Erik says. "We have given you a lot to take in."

"Son?"

"Of course. You are my son. I am your Papa Y or just Papa now. Did you think that would change?"

"Maybe."

"You are my first born – my special boy, my friend," Christine says. "That will never be different."

Gustave sniffles, holding back the tears threatening to flow. "I want things to be like they are now – just us. I do not want to share you with a baby," he says, running to Erik, throwing himself onto his father's lap.

"You will always be my special treasure," Erik says, smoothing the hair covering the distorted flesh on the boy's head. This new child will be precious – but, you…you gave me life – a life I never dreamed I would ever have."

"Really?" The ten-year-old wipes his nose on his sleeve.

"You are crying," Erik says.

"We truly are a family of criers," Christine says.

Gustave laughs at the comment. "Babies are all criers."

"They are indeed."

"We need to buy lots of handkerchiefs."

"I suppose we had," Erik says, pulling a square of linen from his pocket, handing it to the boy. "Better than sleeves."

"I can help with the baby?"

"I hoped you would want to."

"Can I name it…him…her?"

Erik and Christine exchange a side eye.

"It will not be something dumb or mean."

"Do you have something in mind now?"

"No – I have time to think on it."

Christine sighs. "I will trust you."

Gustave grins. "Can I have another root beer?"

"Better yet, let us go back to the restaurant and have some ice cream sundaes," Erik says. "First we must all dry our eyes or the staff will frown in their concern and then the customers will wonder at the food and leave giving us a whole new reason to cry."

"Yeah!" Gustave jumps up and runs to the bathroom.

Erik gets to his feet – stretching his back and bending his knees. "I must remember chairs are for sitting, floors for walking." Bowing from the waist, he offers his hand to Christine. "My lady?"

Allowing him to pull her gently toward him, she says, "I was concerned for a moment. I never thought he would be upset, but then he has always kept so much to himself…to protect me, I suppose."

"He shall play as much as he likes now."

"You mean you will both play as much as you like," she says, straightening his tie and patting down his waistcoat.

"You are always welcome to join us," he leans down touching her lips gently with his. "None of us really had a carefree childhood. Now we have an entire amusement park to indulge ourselves."

Christine shakes her head. "I rather enjoy the play time we enjoy already."

Erik's neck and face turn pink. "You are a minx."

Christine giggles and pecks him on the cheek. "We best get ready to go, Gustave will be barreling out here at any moment. Ice cream is a great motivator for him."

"I cannot tell you how much you both mean to me."

"I know, my love." She take his hands. "Believe it or not, we feel the same about you."

"Can I have a banana split?"

"I do not see why not – if chef has all the ingredients."

"What about the boxes?" Christine asks.

"This is play time, my dear," Erik says. "Time enough to do chores when we return home."