CHAPTER 21
How do you console someone who is inconsolable? Shaundra had no clue.
After Nathanael dropped his bombshell, his poor, stunned mother had collapsed onto the couch, letting her face fall into her arms as she burst into tears. Shaundra hastened to wrap her arms around her, too shocked herself to speak.
Because what did you say? How did you react when you learned that your husband had been viciously abused as a child? Her mind was a swirl of incoherent thoughts and graphic, hideous images that made her quake, made bile rise within her throat.
All she could see was the gritty vision of a small, scrawny child quaking in his bed in the darkness and the bedroom door opening.
She sucked in a breath, feeling it rasp in her throat and burn her lungs. She glanced up at Nathanael. He was a statue standing at the window, staring out into nothing. She wished he would turn around to look at her, but his shoulders were stiff, his back unbending.
Beside her, Coralie’s sobs worsened, and she began to choke out herI’m sorrysandI didn’t knows. Shaundra grieved for her pain. As a mother, she could only imagine the horror of discovering that your precious child had suffered harm—prolonged abuse—right under your nose.
The terrible, terrible guilt she must feel at having been so wrapped up in grief, loneliness and misery to be oblivious to such a monstrosity.
Coralie’s sobs degenerated into anguished, incoherent moans and she doubled over, striking her breasts in a declaration of guilt, clutching her abdomen like a woman going into labor for the second time with the same child.
Her mother used to say that whenever something went wrong with her child, no matter how old he was, a woman felt it deep in her belly. Shaundra herself had felt it, that terrified torsion of the innards, while she watched Benji submit to a frightening barrage of tests.
She understood.
After God alone knew how long, Nathanael peeled himself away from the window and took his mother in his arms. He literally lifted her, like she was an infant, and cuddled her to his chest, whispering to her in French.
Shaundra couldn’t hear what he was saying, didn’t want to. It was a private conversation between son and mother.
After a while, Nathanael settled himself awkwardly on the couch, still cradling his mother on his lap, until she fell into a doze.
Hours later, when they prepared to return to the hotel, the poor woman’s face was swollen and red, streaked with tears, and she clung to her son as if she never wanted him to leave her again. They promised to bring Benjamin to meet her soon, said their goodbyes, and left. Shaundra held a foil-wrapped parcel in her hands.
It was the quince pie Coralie had baked for Nathanael’s uncle. She guessed he would never enjoy another sweet treat from his sister-in-law’s hands.
The drive home was completely silent. Not even the radio was on. But oddly, it wasn’t uncomfortable. Nathanael seemed almost relaxed, as if he had unburdened himself of a torturous secret—which indeed he had—and felt lighter somehow.
Shaundra allowed him his silence, staring out the window into the encroaching darkness. At one point, she reached across and let her hand lightly rest on his. She was surprised when he pulled his away.
Back at the hotel, they were met by a smiling Samia, who regaled them with stories about the walk down the main street she and Benjamin had taken, about everything he had eaten that day, and about the squirrel they’d spotted in the park, which Benjamin seemed to want to take home with him.
Nathanael didn’t say much, but lifted Benjamin into his arms and held him as if trying to sync their heartbeats through contact alone. He pressed his cheek against his son’s and closed his eyes.
Not for the first time today, Shaundra felt tears gather in her eyes.
As Nathanael proceeded to the third bedroom to put his son to bed, Shaundra went to shower away the grime and tension of this awful day.
When she emerged from her room, the suite was silent. She peeped in on Benji. He was sleeping in his crib, so she guessed that Samia had gone downstairs for dinner. Again, her acute emotional intelligence had probably told her that something was up, and that her employers would prefer to be alone. The woman was a blessing.
She found Nathanael in the small seating area, hunched forward in a recliner, hands clasped, elbows resting on his knees. He was staring at the pattern on the carpet, but she was pretty sure he wasn’t seeing any of it.
She came to him and got down on her knees before him.
He didn’t look up.
“Look at me, Nathanael,” she begged. “Don’t shut me out now.”
For several seconds she feared he wouldn’t obey, but when he did, his eyes were red-rimmed and lined with exhaustion.
She waited for him to speak, afraid that if the first word out of her mouth was wrong, everything would crumble.
“Now you know,” he said dully.