Someone was shaking my shoulder. I tried to rise from the deep fog of sleep pulling me under, wondering why I needed to wake. Hadn’t I just gone to bed? Catherine stood over me in her blue silk robe, her face drawn and pale, eyes ringed in red. The hospital. Bridgette. My body contracted with pain, as if someone had kicked me in the abdomen. “No,” I moaned.
“It’s nine o’clock. Maîtresse called to say Bridgette’s funeral will be in an hour, before the heat gets worse. We must hurry. Julian went to your work to tell them what happened, and that you won’t be back for several days.”
Still half asleep, the string of events slowly played in my mind: clinging to Bridgette’s cold, clammy hand after the life had drained from her body; the hazy memory of Julian lifting me from the hospital chair and leading me and Catherine home; Mali bringing me to my room and easing me into bed. Then the escape of sleep.
In the bathroom I splashed cold water over my tear-stained face, shocked by the grotesque ghost staring back from the mirror, my eyes tiny slits surrounded by puffy red skin. I didn’t own anything black so I pulled my new green dress from the armoire to wear to the funeral, sure Bridgette would love it.
Mali brought me a cup of strong coffee then picked up my brush and slowly ran it through my hair, soothing me. Bridgette’s lovely face stared out from the framed photograph on the dresser. Her prescient words the day I’d left the orphanage echoed in my ears: Be sure to take this, so you don’t forget what I look like.
I retrieved my silver bracelet that Bridgette had always loved and slipped it into my purse. Somehow Catherine and I arrived at Sacred Heart Church in a haze of disbelief, slipping into the pew behind Maîtresse Durand and four girls from the orphanage. Madeleine and Lucienne turned to me with tear-stained faces, reaching out to squeeze my hands.
A simple wooden casket rested near the altar, the cover open. Pulling the silver bracelet from my bag, I walked to the front. Bridgette lay in a crudely made box of light-colored planks, but it wasn’t really her, only the empty shell of her body. Maîtresse had dressed her in her one good dress, a pale pink linen, trimmed in navy, as if she were going to a tea party. Frangipani blooms had been scattered over her in an attempt to mask the odor of decay already setting in. I gently placed the bracelet under her folded hands and softly kissed her icy cheek. “Dear sweet Bridgette, I’ll never forget you,” I whispered. “You will always be in my heart.” My shoulders heaved with sobs, tears rolling down my face, as I made my way back to the pew. Catherine handed me a handkerchief and put her arm around my shoulders.
Julian and Marguerite arrived at the last minute, sliding into the pew on the other side of us as Father Jérôme stepped to the front. He recited the funeral Mass, a jumble of unintelligible Latin words spilling over the room. When he finished, his eyes scanned the small group of mourners. “It’s hard to understand God’s will, when one is taken from us so young,” he said, switching to French. “Do not despair. God has called this innocent, pure soul to heaven for a special purpose.”
I stopped listening to the rest of Father Jérôme’s meaningless words, envisioning the coffin lid being nailed down, the box lowered into the ground, Bridgette trapped in darkness for eternity. Alone. Waves of panic rippled through me, and I gasped for air, my head spinning as if I’d been hanging upside down and suddenly sat upright.
Julian placed a hand on my back. “Put your head between your knees,” he whispered, “and breathe slowly in and out.” I did as he suggested, and my breathing gradually calmed.
When the service ended, the small group of mourners filed out to the cemetery and gathered around the freshly dug pit. Time and motion and senses became distorted: the creak of ropes lowering the casket into the ground, the scent of the lotus flowers dropped by each person into the open grave, the thud of each shovelful of dirt thrown on top of the casket. My knees buckled, and Julian caught me as I wailed and sobbed. Lucienne, Madeleine, and the other girls stopped to hug me and whisper their sympathies. Maîtresse simply held me close for a moment, wearing an expression that required no words. I knew she felt culpable for not saving Bridgette, but I didn’t blame her. Only Director Bernard.
Maîtresse pulled an envelope from her pocketbook. “I found this letter addressed to you on Bridgette’s dresser this morning.” I stared at the envelope with my name written in her familiar handwriting and dropped it into my pocket.
Julian took my arm, murmuring that we should head home. Then, somehow, Director Bernard was standing before me, his face as pale as the new moon, distress etched into the lines of his face. His eyes remained on the ground, as if he were mesmerized by the scraggly grass and yellow-flowering vines climbing across gravestones. At first I thought he must be a hallucination. How could he dare to show his face on this day? If there truly was a God, he would punish this man for his callous indifference, for being the instrument of Bridgette’s death.
“I’m so terribly sorry for your…unimaginable loss, Geneviève,” the director said, his voice cracking midway.
I wanted to rail against him and expose his guilt to the world, to tear at his hair, to slap his face the way he had slapped mine so many times. But I couldn’t find the energy to respond. It wouldn’t bring Bridgette back. So, I simply stood there.
His eyes finally met mine. “I truly regret what happened. I never imagined she could be so ill.” He sounded near to tears. “Please forgive me.”
I shook my head slowly. “You’ll have to live with what you did.” And I turned and walked up the path to where my friends were waiting.
We returned home and had a light lunch before Catherine insisted we retire for naps. It was after five when I woke from a dark, terrifying dream, my heart racing. I had fallen into the Mekong River, where the swift current had swallowed me and pulled me down into the depths. Bounmy was swimming toward me with his hand stretched out, but he remained just beyond my reach. It took me several moments to clear my head, to remember why I was sleeping in the late afternoon. Bridgette. The crushing ache of loss returned.
The house was quiet. I dressed and took Bridgette’s letter, slipping down the back stairway, needing to breathe fresh air, hear the pond’s swirling waters, and smell the sweet scent of jasmine. Sitting on the bench in the back corner under the banyan tree, I slowly opened the envelope and pulled out Bridgette’s last words to me, written on Thursday, a day and a half before she died.
Chère Vivi,
I keep reading your latest letter, and every time it brings me to tears. You’ve heard from Antoine. What greater joy can there be than finding your brother?
Can you believe I actually passed that impossible algebra exam? I am capable of great things if I apply myself. Of course, it would never have happened without Catherine.
Only three weeks to freedom!! I thought it would never arrive, but it’s so close now I can almost grab it from the air and wrap it around me. I’ll leave Director Bernard behind.
My valise is already half-packed, and I’ve made a list of all the things I want to do—touring the covered market and the prettiest Buddhist temples (with you as my guide). Maybe a boat ride down the Mekong River. I plan to eat all the almond croissants and chocolate tortes that I can stuff in my mouth at Estelle’s! Then I’ll visit your office and give the evil eye to those mean men you work with. I’m so excited to meet Bounmy and Julian, and of course Antoine, whenever he comes. Who knows, in another year, perhaps we’ll go to Paris!! Oh, we’ll have such fun.
This annoying fever keeps coming and going, getting worse at night, so I wake up soaking wet. It makes me very tired. Maîtresse says we’ll go to the doctor on Monday if it persists.
I await a full report on your next date with Bounmy. Will he finally give you a proper kiss? Don’t keep me in suspense!! I hope I’ll meet someone as wonderful soon.
Love and hugs,
Bridgette
I had the oddest sensation that Bridgette was sitting above me on a branch in the banyan tree, telling me her thoughts, smiling and laughing. But the only companion I spotted was a dove cooing in the dense leaves. My mind fought to grasp reality. It was a mistake. Tomorrow I would wake to find Bridgette was fine. She’d want to know more about Bounmy, and I’d write her a letter for Catherine to deliver. As quickly as these thoughts brought a smile to my lips, the vision of Bridgette lying in the casket washed them away.
I leaned over with elbows on my knees, holding my head in my hands. How could Bridgette be dead? Vanished. It wasn’t possible that someone so young, so full of humor and love and grace, could be gone.
A hand touched my shoulder, making me jump, and Julian sat down beside me. “Did you sleep at all?” he asked.
“I woke up from a nightmare.”
“It takes time, Vivi. A lot of time.” He paused. “I know how much you’re hurting and how hard it is to believe it’s real. But I’m sure Bridgette would not want you to suffer.”
“Yes. I can hear her scolding me.” A new rush of anguish spilled down my cheeks. I handed him Bridgette’s letter. “She wrote this just…” I couldn’t finish.
He passed me a handkerchief and took the letter, reading it through. He closed his eyes for a moment, his expression pained, as if fighting back tears of his own, then patted my back. I placed my head on his shoulder, needing the comfort of his touch, a shelter from the pain. He ran his hand down the back of my hair. “Oh, Vivi.” After a moment, he cleared his throat and pulled away.
His tenderness touched me and left me oddly disquieted. Silence wrapped around us as I dabbed my tears and blew my nose.
“I lost someone very dear to me last year in Paris,” he said at last, his voice shaky and strained. “A woman I planned to marry.”
“I’m so sorry.” Suddenly the world did not revolve around me and my loss. How little I knew of this man, beyond his good looks and lighthearted humor. He, too, was in pain. “Do you mind telling me what happened?” I asked.
“Her name was Lily. She was only twenty-one, but that didn’t stop the cancer that took her life. It’s something you can’t imagine happening to one so young and beautiful.” He gave a sad little smile. “We met in the Louvre one afternoon. I immediately fell in love, a true coup de foudre.”
I placed my hand over his. “I had no idea.”
“I don’t mean to take away from your grief, but I want to assure you that it does get easier with time. You think you can’t possibly go on at first, yet you do. It forces you to rethink life and map out a different future. I hadn’t planned on returning to Laos until I lost Lily.”
His words were meant to ease my suffering, but I couldn’t imagine how this pain would ever diminish.
I looked up as Mali crossed the bridge over the pond. She stopped not far from us. “Mademoiselle Vivi, Prince Savang is here to see you.” I quickly withdrew my hand from Julian’s and followed her back to the house.
Bounmy stood in the salon dressed in a suit, as if he’d come from his office. He turned to me, his face a pattern of sadness and worry, then enveloped me in his arms, holding me close. “Geneviève, I’m so sorry. There is nothing I can say to ease your loss, but I am here for you.”
Sinking into the shelter of his arms, I was grateful he didn’t offer the same useless platitudes I’d been told repeatedly. Bridgette is in a better place now with God. It’s good she went quickly and didn’t suffer. Empty words that filled me with anger. I closed my eyes and breathed in his comforting scent. “How did you know?”
“I tried calling you at your office this morning to ask if you wanted to have lunch. Kham told me.” He continued holding me, rocking me gently back and forth, as if I were a small child.
Julian came around the doorway and started on seeing our embrace. “Prince Savang.”
Bounmy stepped back. “Monsieur Courbet.” He nodded ever so slightly. “I came to offer my condolences.”
Julian crossed his arms. “How thoughtful of you. Would you like a drink? We’re all a bit raw right now.”
“No, thank you. I only want to be with Geneviève for a bit,” Bounmy answered, his tone icy.
Julian shrugged. “Of course.” But instead of leaving us alone, he poured himself a drink and sat down in one of the chairs. How could he be so obtuse? Or was it on purpose?
I turned to Bounmy. “We could go out back.”
“Why don’t we take a short walk, if you feel up to it?” Bounmy said.
We left the house and wandered down the lane to the river. He stopped for a moment, folding his hands around mine. “I understand how much Bridgette meant to you, and that no one can ever replace her.”
I could hardly speak, fighting back tears once more. “It isn’t possible she’s gone.” I rested my head on his shoulder until I got hold of myself.
“It takes time. Allow your tears to heal your heart,” Bounmy said softly, handing me his handkerchief. “When I was twelve, my older brother died of typhus. He was two years older, my best friend.”
Hearing of Julian’s and Bounmy’s losses, I understood I was not unique. Everyone faced tragedies at some point in their life. “I’m so sorry for your family.”
“Be kind to yourself, Geneviève.”
We continued down the lane, and I tucked my hand under his arm, needing to tether myself to his strength.
“Will you go to work Monday?” he asked as we reached the river.
“I’m not sure. Perhaps it would be best to keep busy.”
“Take as much time as you need. I’ll talk to Kham. Whenever you return to work, I’ll take you to dinner. Or, if you don’t feel up to it, I’ll simply walk you home.”
“Thank you.” I squeezed his arm with appreciation, and the thought of dining with him lifted my spirits. Then a twist of guilt struck my gut. How could I think with pleasure about a date with Bounmy at a time like this?
“Bridgette and I had so many plans: we were going to live together once she left the orphanage; she was going to help me find my family; we planned to go to Paris to university.” My voice wavered, and my throat tightened. “What will I do now?”
“I’ll help however I can,” he offered. “If you need to talk to someone…” His words trailed off.
We idled our way along the river path as daylight faded from the sky, listening to the waves lapping on the shore and birds crying out as they circled overhead. The ache in my heart momentarily eased.
After half an hour, we returned home in the dark. “I’m grateful you came.”
“I wish I could ease your pain.” He sighed. “Call me if you need anything.” He kissed my forehead and left.
How caring and kind Bounmy had been in my darkest moment. It broke my heart anew that Bridgette would never meet him.