Sleep had not come for Lucien last night. He had tried, at first, but found himself lying awake on Mattie's mattress, listening. For what, at first, he didn't know. But as he turned over and tugged the coverlet around him, he felt a pull of responsibility. Might Christopher be bold enough to seek Jean out when he thought the house was quiet? Would he go claim what he thought was rightfully his? Most of him thought not. Jean would not have married an unprincipled man. But still, Lucien would not rest. Not that he could have if he wanted to, but with renewed purpose he sat up, listened, and thought.
What could keep a man away from his wife for 14 years? And how would that wife feel when he returned?
One afternoon, not that long ago, Lucien had held Jean's hands while she cried. Pain leaked from her eyes while she told Lucien of her plans for Christopher's return. How she'd tell him he meant everything to her and the boys, how they weren't finished. There was so much to say. She must be so relieved, he thought, to be able to say it now. Lucien had wanted so much to ease her pain then, he felt he truly should rejoice for her that she's been given that opportunity, whatever comes of it. He would resolve to give her that space to mend her heart, whatever it meant for him.
When morning's weak light first broke Lucien rose to go put on a kettle. He had laid down in the clothes he wore yesterday and got up in the same ones. There hadn't been time to sort out anything else. On the way out the door he found himself patting his vest pocket – there was nothing there, of course.
In the hall, Lucien cast an eye toward his bedroom door. It remained firmly closed. He took a step toward it. He'd like just a moment with Christopher apart from Jean. But, he thought with a sigh, Jean wouldn't like that. He turned to the kitchen to get that coffee started, but Jean was already there.
"Ah, I was going to do this for you," he said.
She glanced up at him, a smile on her face that quickly faded as she turned back toward her work. "I had a hard time sleeping," she said.
"Of course," he said, resting a hand on her shoulder. She leaned into him for a moment, then stiffened, as though she remembered herself and her situation, her husband sleeping down the hall.
Lucien cleared his throat and used that hand to turn her towards him.
"This doesn't change anything," Lucien said. "It doesn't have to. We'll sort this out."
"How does it not change anything?" Jean said, looking at him with all the pain he'd seen in her eyes that afternoon in the garden. "I have a husband."
You have a man who has shown up 14 years after being declared dead who claimed to be your husband is what Lucien opened his mouth to say. But seeing the conflict in Jean's eyes, he didn't. Christopher may well be a better choice than the mess that Lucien was, he knew that. And didn't he want what was best for her?
"Yes," was all he said in reply. "Would you like some help contacting your boys?"
"Oh, I hadn't even thought… no. It would be better coming from me," Jean said, reaching into a cupboard for a coffee cup with her back to Lucien. She poured the coffee carefully. "Only…" she turned to face him now with a cup in her outstretched hand. "Would you get in touch with Danny for me. He should know his uncle has returned."
"Of course," Lucien said, "whatever you want. I'll handle that today." Jean nodded. Her eyebrows knit together like they did when she was thinking things through. She opened her mouth to say something else, but stopped as they both turned toward the hall. A door opened.
Christopher walked toward them in Lucien's blue pajamas. They hung from his shoulders – much too large on his thin frame.
"Ah, good morning," Lucien said. "I hope you slept well."
"Yes, thank you," he said. He would be the only one, then. Christopher hesitated in the doorway and Jean, as though recollecting herself to the situation rushed toward him and laid her hand on his arm. She hesitated and dropped her eyes, almost shy, Lucien thought.
"Here, come have a seat," Lucien said, gesturing at the table, his hand held wide and welcoming.
Christopher thanked Lucien and shot a look at Jean who nodded and smiled quickly. Lucien sat his own cup of coffee in front of Christopher while Jean poured another for him.
"I was just getting some breakfast on," Jean said, pulling her white robe about her a bit tighter.
"Thank you, Jean". Lucien and Christopher spoke the words in unison.
"Yes, well," Lucien said, sitting down opposite Christopher.
The men sat in awkward silence for a moment.
"You must have had a long journey," Lucien said.
"I did, yes," Christopher replied as Jean stirred eggs a bit faster than usual.
"Where did you come from then?" Lucien asked. Jean shot him a look over Christopher's head but Lucien carried on.
"I spent time in London, convalescing. That's where I flew in from," Christopher said, taking a sip of his coffee.
"That's a long convalescence," Lucien said.
Jean slid a plate of eggs in front of each of them. "There will be time for all that later," Jean said. "Christopher, you looked so tired last night. Are you well? Do you need to be looked at."
"Yes," Lucien said. "Anything I can do."
Christopher looked warily at Lucien. "No, just fatigue now. I'm afraid I'm as well as I'm going to be at this point." Jean and Lucien shared a look of concern and confusion and Lucien opened his mouth to ask another question when the phone rang.
"I'll get it," Lucien said, jumping up.
It was Frank Carlyle. A body had been found in the lake - and Lucien was needed.
"I can beg off, call in another surgeon," he said to Jean in the hall.
"No, no, we'll be fine," Jean assured him as she ushered him toward the door.
Lucien had his doubts, but he also felt it wasn't his place to voice them. He'd attend to his work. It always helped him think. Jean handed him his hat and scarf and went to nestle it around his neck but stopped short.
"I'll be back, soon," Lucien assured her as he ducked out the door.
To be truthful, it felt good to step away from the house. But he didn't like doing it. The sky was grey, the breeze bit at his cheek a bit. He pulled his scarf tighter as he watched a police car pull up the long drive. Time would sort this out, he reasoned. But he didn't really believe it. He turned back toward the front door, took a step toward it, but no. They needed time. And he needed to work. He was accustomed to losing things in his life. But this was a dull, soul-deadening pain he hadn't felt before. This was different. This was Jean.