Chapter Thirty-eight - The Salt of Dried Tears
Meg closed her eyes and let her head rest against him, listening to the sound of his heart beating a counterpoint to his echoing footsteps.
Then there was another sound, of water lapping against stone.
Have we gone back there?
But when he gently slid her onto her feet, she saw they were beneath a low arched opening beyond which she saw the pale gray of the sky.
Only dawn then? It seemed so much longer…
They were standing on a small stone landing beneath one of the old bridges crossing the Seine.
Looking at the buildings on the opposite bank, Meg tried in vain to determine where they were. She saw nothing familiar, she knew too little of the city beyond the Place de l'Opera.
Erik leaned back against the wall. Almost the moment he had stepped out of the shadows of the tunnel, he'd raised his hand to cover the right side of his face.
She remembered the mask she carried for him, wondering if she should offer it to him.
Not unless he asks…and even then…
She could see he was exhausted. He sat down on the landing, his back against the wall, his eyes closed.
Setting the leather case and mask down, Meg sat, too.
There was a hint of smoke in the cool air. She knew it came from the Opera Populaire.
She closed her eyes, too, wondering what had become of her mother. She was certain her mother had made it safely from the burning theatre. Where was she now? Was she searching for her only child?
"Meg, give me that mask."
His eyes were still closed. One palm was still pressed to his face, the other was extended for the mask.
She picked up the mask, ready to hand it to him. Then she stopped. It would be so easy to toss that disguise in the river, let it sink into the water.
She slipped it into the leather satchel instead.
"Give me the mask," he repeated.
"No!"
He opened his eyes, startled by her abrupt defiance.
She slid towards him, clasped his wrist and pulled his hand away from his face.
She leaned close to him, resting one hand on his knee.
When she moved to kiss his lips, he pressed back against the wall.
But she did not let go of his hand. Instead, she pressed her lips to his face.
She tasted the salt of the dried tears there on the twisted cheek…tears he had shed for Christine, she knew.
