in the afternoon on Saturday. She’s wearing the black dress she wore to her sister’s funeral—the first time we’ve seen her in black since that day—and her mask is already down when she comes through the back gate, Clément in tow.
We’ve prepped Anouk as best we could—but I’m not entirely convinced it’ll be enough. Anouk is a ball of anger, sadness, jealousy, and love, and swings back and forth between the emotions like bouncing ball thrown into a box.
We’ve tried to steer her toward the love.
“I’m leaving tomorrow,” Lucile says once she’s standing in front of her sister’s gravestone. “I’ll be back for the autumn holidays.”
Anouk has set up right in front of her twin. Her lower legs are lost in the granite of the tomb. The two identical faces are only a handbreadth apart.
Neither Clothilde nor I speak. If Anouk is to have any hope of moving on, she has to do this part by herself.
She doesn’t say anything.
“I miss you so much,” Lucile says, her voice breaking. “I don’t want to leave you here.” A deep breath and her voice strengthens a fraction. “But I have to learn to live my life without you.”
Again silence.
I’m starting to think we’ll have Anouk with us for at least a couple of months more.
Then she starts talking.
“I miss you, too, Lucile. So much. I always thought we’d do everything together, or at the very least, would tell each other about everything. I don’t want to miss out on your life. If you leave, I’ll miss everything.”
Not the right direction, dammit.
Lucile’s hand goes to her heart. “It hurts so much,” she whispers to Clément.
“I know. It should hurt,” he tells her. “Nobody expects you to be an emotionless robot.”
Anouk switches into angry as she stares down the young man. “She could never be a robot. Lucile is kind and sweet and loving.”
“I know,” Clément says.
It might have been in response to the sob coming out of Lucile, or it might have been a reply to Anouk. We’ll never know, but Anouk takes it as a reply.
Her eyes dart from her sister to Clément, back and forth several times. The anger leaks out of her. We see a quick apparition of the jealousy but it quickly disappears.
And leaves room for the love.
Finally.
“He really cares for her,” Anouk says in awe.
“Does it surprise you that someone would care for your sister?” Clothilde says softly.
“No,” Anouk says in a whisper.
She focuses on her sister, who is fighting her tears and trying to hold back the sobs, but it’s a losing battle.
Anouk crumbles. She throws herself around her sister’s neck and lets out a sob of her own.
“Don’t be sad, Lucile. Everything will be fine, you’ll see. I’ll be fine.” She attempts to wipe away her sister’s tears, without effect, of course.
But she’s getting through. Lucile’s sobs have stopped, and the tears are slowing.
“You’re right to live your life,” Anouk says. “You’re right to continue your studies. You’re going to have to live for the both of us now, all right? So you’ll have to do all the stupid stuff that I’d normally do in addition to your boring stuff. Promise?”
A twitch in Lucile’s lips might have been the beginnings of a smile.
“I’ll be fine here,” Anouk promises. “And I’ll be waiting for you when you come back home.”
Seeing how she’s already becoming transparent, I don’t think Anouk will be able to keep her promise. But I also know that’s okay.
“And you,” Anouk says sternly, pointing at Clément. “You treat her right. Take care of her. Or I’m going to figure out a way to come and haunt you.”
Clément nods at the grave. Could be an unconscious gesture since they’re getting ready to leave.
Or a reply.
When the young couple exits the back gate, Anouk is barely visible. She’s moving on.
“It was a pleasure meeting you,” I tell her.
“Enjoy the other side,” Clothilde adds with a smile.
Surprise stretching across her face, Anouk looks down at—and through—her own hands. I’m afraid she’ll panic at not keeping her promise to her sister, but she just smiles—it’s the first time we’ve seen her do it since her arrival.
She’s beautiful.
“Thank you,” she says. And disappears.
Clothilde and I exchange a glance and move in sync toward our own graves.
We’ll enjoy the birds and the insects and the calm—until the next ghost comes along.