Chapter THREE
Clarisse woke up feeling disoriented. Her head felt heavy and though she couldn't place it, she felt something was very wrong. She glanced at the clock on her nightstand. It told her it was nearly noon. Why would she sleep till noon? Pushing the covers away, she sat up and her gaze fell on a picture of her sons in their teens. In a rush it all came back. The pain of the night before gripped her insides and she felt like she was going to be sick. Rushing to the bathroom she managed to reach the sink just in time before she lost the supper from the evening before.
Wiping her mouth with a towel Clarisse stared at her image in the mirror. The person staring back at her frightened her. She looked old. Defeated and weary. And it was hard to accept that it was her.
Walking back to the bedroom she grabbed a robe from the back of a couch and wrapped it around herself. She sat on her bed for a moment, trying to make some sense of the multitude of random thoughts running around her head. Finally she picked up the phone and asked the maid on the other end if Pierre had arrived. After receiving an affirmative answer she requested that someone find him and tell him his mother was waiting to see him. She replaced the receiver and wondered if she should put on something more presentable. Then telling herself that this was her son after all, she decided against it and just sat there, waiting for him.
A short while later there was a knock on her door.
"Enter," she called.
Her son entered the room and her arms opened wide, welcoming him. Pierre rushed to his Mother and they fell into an embrace, both holding on for dear life.
"Oh, Mama."
At first Clarisse struggled against the tears threatening to fall, but the soothing words Pierre whispered broke through her walls. She'd been sure she wouldn't be able to cry anymore, and yet fresh tears rolled down her cheeks freely. And so they sat, a mother and her son, while they comforted one another, drawing strength from each other and sharing their grief.
Later they sat together, still on her bed, not unlike they used to when the boys had been growing up. Clarisse leaned against the headboard of the bed while Pierre sat in the middle of the bed, his long legs crossed. They reminisced the good times, both recalling funny stories about the years the boys were children.
"Have you called Helen?" Pierre suddenly asked.
Clarisse bowed her head, thinking of a best way to answer that question. "Not yet, I haven't. I know she must be told, but darling, I couldn't even tell you last night and now-"
"I understand, Mama. Perhaps I should call?" he suggested.
"No, Pierre. But thank you for offering. I'll call her myself. Could you be a dear and have Charlotte find me her number?"
"Of course. It's still very early in San Francisco, though. Maybe you should wait a few more hours."
"Oh, of course yes," Clarisse said. "You know I haven't spoken to her since before Amelia was born. That one time, I'm not sure if you remember…"
"I do."
"She must blame me for what happened between her and Philippe."
"Why would she? Mama, Philippe told me he explained her how he felt. He made sure she knew it was his decision and no one else's."
A knock on the door interrupted their conversation.
"Yes?"
The door opened and revealed a tired Charlotte, holding a pen and a notebook in hand. "Your Majesty. Father Pierre. Your Majesty, Prime Minister Motaz has called. He expressed his deepest condolences and asked if it would be possible for Your Majesty to meet with him at some point today?"
"Oh," Clarisse sighed. The heavy duty of ruling a country at a time like this was almost like a physical weight on her shoulders.
Pierre watched, fascinated, as his Mother unconsciously squared her shoulders and told Charlotte that she would meet with Sebastian Motaz in two hours time. The woman never seized to amaze him, always making sacrifices in her own life so others could benefit. In a way, he supposed, what his mother did was not that far from what he tried to do himself in his congregation. Giving to others was something his Mother had installed in him when he was just a small child and he prayed he could one day say with pride that he had truly followed his mother's footsteps on the path she had shown him.