When she first moved into 7 Mycroft Avenue, Jean likened the house to a hollowed out shell of what it had been once; everywhere she went, ghosts followed.
Oh they weren't her ghosts - though Christopher's memory haunted her still - no, they were Thomas Blake's. Memories - usually told over a shared drink after dinner (whiskey for him, sherry for her) - lingered in the dark halls of the house, settling in the dust on the studio doors and over pictures of a curly-haired blond boy with mischief in his eyes. Thomas spoke of his wife fondly, never harshly even when he'd had one too many to drink, and painted a picture of a vivacious woman who had lived life to the fullest.
Jean loved the stories of Genevieve Ettienne Blake - an adventurous woman, full of light and creativity, a mother who loved her son and husband deeply, passionately. Jean was envious of her, of her courage, her passion, her disregard for convention; she was envious and yet dearly wished she'd met Genevieve while she lived. Everywhere she walked, Genevieve followed - her memory suspended in the stories of those she left behind after a far too short life. Immortalized by Thomas Blake, brought to life by Agnes and Nell Clasby, and worshipped by Doug Ashby and Genevieve's son - Lucien Blake.
With the arrival of Thomas' son, the pain of Genevieve's untimely death entered the house like a spectre - skulking in the shadows and the slam of bedroom doors. The chasm between Genevieve's boys echoed with harsh arguments of the past, lingering hurt, regret, and unsaid words. It wasn't until years later that either would get peace and Genevieve's memory allowed to be celebrated by her loved ones instead of hidden away in a darkened studio.
After marrying Lucien, Jean visited her mother-in-law's grave often - moreso after his disappearance. She told Genevieve how she missed Thomas' quiet discussions over whiskey - the crinkling of the newspaper at the breakfast table as he read out the sports column and any interesting tidbits within its pages. She told Genevieve what mischief her son got up to lately - strange smells from the study, exploding glasses, the leg of lamb used as target practice, and how often they had to replace the dishes. She told Genevieve how the garden bloomed - how she'd love the colors and fragrances that filled the sunroom. Jean asked Genevieve to look over Lucien - wherever he was - and to find peace beyond the grave.
From her own mother, Jean learned how to work hard. From her Abigail, Jean learned how to find hope beyond tragedy. From Genevieve Ettienne Blake, Jean learned how to seize the day - seize the chance - and just live.