Chapter 3: The Name in the Drawing
Adrien lifted his head. For a moment, he looked at Sophie as if she had said something in a language he understood but had hoped never to hear.
Then he looked at the drawing.
“You’re right,” he said.
Sophie stayed close to Mara, her small hand tucked into her mother’s. She didn’t seem frightened. She seemed to be waiting for him to explain.
Mara gave Adrien a chance to change the subject. When he didn’t, she crouched beside Sophie.
“Some things can make people feel sad, sweetheart. You don’t have to ask him about them.”
“I know,” Sophie whispered. “I just told him.”
“I know.”
Adrien’s gaze remained on the crooked figures. The father’s arms stretched almost to the girl’s shoulders, as if the child who drew them had tried to make them touch.
“She drew it when she was little,” he said. “The girl is Nora.”
Sophie considered the name. “Your daughter?”
“Yes.”
Mara felt the room tighten around that single word. She watched Adrien’s face, waiting to see whether he wanted the conversation to stop.
Sophie asked, “Is Nora at her house?”
“No.” Adrien paused. His voice stayed gentle, though it sounded less practiced than his usual commands. “Nora died a long time ago.”
Sophie’s fingers curled around Mara’s. “Can she come back?”
“No,” Mara said softly. “When someone dies, they don’t come back. It’s okay to feel sad about that.”
Adrien looked down. Mara couldn’t tell whether the answer helped or hurt him.
Sophie studied him with the serious attention she gave a scraped knee or a broken crayon. “You miss her.”
“I do,” he said. “Every day.”
“Then you can be sad.”
His mouth tightened. “Yes. I can.”
Mara touched Sophie’s shoulder. “That’s enough questions for now.”
“All right, Mommy.”
No protest. No attempt to wander closer to the drawing. Sophie had heard the sadness in Adrien’s voice, and for once curiosity had yielded to care.
Mara straightened. “We can go whenever you’re ready.”
Adrien nodded, though he didn’t move toward the door. His attention had returned to the wall, but he still didn’t meet the drawing’s gaze.
A quiet knock sounded from the hall.
Teresa appeared at the open doorway with a folded stack of linens in her arms. She stopped when she saw them.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t know anyone was in here.”
“I brought them,” Adrien replied.
Teresa’s eyes flicked to Sophie, then to Mara. She didn’t ask why they were there. “Of course.”
Sophie leaned against Mara’s leg. “Is this Nora’s room?”
Teresa adjusted the linens against her hip. “It was. I keep it clean.”
“Do you come in a lot?”
“Not often,” Teresa said. “Just enough to make sure nothing gets dusty.”
Sophie looked around at the neat bed, the books lined along the shelf, the bowl of dried flowers. “Why doesn’t anybody change anything?”
Mara started to step in, but Adrien answered first.
“Because I couldn’t bear to.”
The words came without decoration. Teresa’s eyes dropped to the linens.
“It’s been a long time,” she said carefully. “But some days, it doesn’t feel like it.”
Adrien looked at her. There was no anger in his face, only a question he seemed not to know how to ask.
“How often do you come in?”
“Every few weeks, usually. Less when the house is busy.”
“And you leave everything where it was.”
“As much as I can.” Teresa glanced at the dresser. “You told me not to move her things.”
“I did.”
“You said you didn’t want anything to change.”
Adrien’s eyes shifted back toward the drawing. “I know what I said.”
Teresa didn’t defend herself or offer comfort he hadn’t asked for. She gave a small nod and stepped back into the hallway.
“I’ll leave these downstairs.”
“Thank you,” Adrien said.
When she was gone, Sophie looked up at him.
“Do you want to change it now?”
Mara caught her breath. The question was simple. The answer, she suspected, was not.
Adrien rested his hand on the doorframe. “I don’t know.”
“That’s okay,” Sophie said.
The small permission seemed to catch him off guard. Mara could see him search for a response that wouldn’t sound like an order or an excuse.
“You don’t have to know everything today,” Mara said. “And you don’t have to decide anything because we’re here.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
He met her eyes. “I’m trying to.”
Mara believed him, or wanted to. She also knew that trying was not the same as changing the rules that made everyone in the house watch their every step. For now, though, the question wasn’t what he would do with the room. It was whether he could let them leave without turning the visit into another test.
Sophie tugged gently at her sleeve. “Can we go see the music box again?”
Mara looked down. “Not today.”
“Okay.”
Adrien lowered his eyes to the girl in the drawing. “You can ask before you touch anything,” he said. “You did that.”
“I didn’t touch it.”
“No. You didn’t.”
Sophie seemed satisfied with the distinction. She looked once more at the blue house and yellow sun, then reached for Mara’s hand.
Mara took it. “We’re ready.”
Adrien moved aside, leaving them a clear path to the hall. He didn’t ask them to stay. That mattered more than the invitation had.
At the threshold, Mara glanced back. “You said this room shouldn’t be a test.”
“It shouldn’t.”
“Then don’t make the next visit one.”
A beat passed. “I won’t.”
Mara wasn’t sure whether he could keep that promise. But she didn’t ask him to repeat it.
She and Sophie left the room. Adrien remained behind, standing beside the dresser. Teresa’s footsteps faded down the stairs, and the house settled into its usual hush.
Sophie leaned close to Mara as they walked. “Nora was little like me.”
“I think so.”
“Did she have a mommy?”
Mara squeezed her hand. “Yes, I’m sure she did.”
“And her daddy misses her every day.”
“Yes.”
Sophie absorbed that as they reached the landing. “That’s a long time to miss somebody.”
Mara had no answer that would make it shorter. She kissed the top of Sophie’s head and guided her toward the stairs.
Behind them, a floorboard creaked.
Mara turned. Adrien stood in the doorway of Nora’s room, one hand holding a narrow paper booklet. He stared at it as if he had just discovered it beneath the dust.
“What is that?” Mara asked.
He didn’t answer at first. His thumb moved over the faded print on the cover. Then he opened it.
A recital program.
The paper had yellowed at the edges. Inside, a date was printed above a list of children’s names. Adrien’s gaze stopped on one.
Nora Vale.
Sophie leaned against Mara, peering up the hall but staying where she was.
Adrien turned the page. A penciled note, written in a child’s uneven hand, crossed the bottom margin.
He went very still.
“What is it?” Mara asked again.
His eyes fixed on the date.
“This was Nora’s recital,” he said.
May you like
He swallowed, but the words that followed came out clear.
“The night I promised I’d come home—and didn’t.”
