Emma gave him a broad grin. “Just how much of a party do you think we’re having?”
“Never hurts to have a backup,” Jérôme said, taking a seat on his barrel, setting two bottles on the floor, then removing the foil wrapping from the neck of the third. “We can always take a bottle home with us.”
“Sure,” Emma murmured, “because there’s no champagne to be found there.”
Rosalyn watched, intrigued by the grace of his calloused hands, as Jérôme skillfully untwisted the wire and removed the cap. He pointed the bottle away from them and pushed on the cork with his thumbs, resulting in a satisfying mutedpop. A little mist escaped from the bottle, but the precious wine didn’t spew out in a frothy explosion of bubbles. He poured them each a glass.
“You’re not half bad, Monsieur Comtois,” Emma said, raising her glass in a toast.
“Call me Jérôme. Please. Otherwise I think you’re talking about my father.”
“Here’s to your father,” Emma said, holding her glass high.
Rosalyn noticed Jérôme’s mouth tighten, as though he wasn’t sure that he wanted to drink to his father. But he joined them nonetheless. They chatted companionably for a long while, Emma describing the wine business in her region of Australia, Rosalyn comparing it to Napa, and Jérôme comparing it to Champagne.
After a while, the muffled sounds drifting down the corridor suggested the party was winding down.
“Okay, I suppose it’s time to bribe some hale young men to hoist me backupone hundred and sixteen stairs,” said Emma, rising and hopping on one foot, careening slightly to one side before getting her bearings on her crutches. “Either that or we steal the key to the freight elevator again.”
Rosalyn stood up and felt the champagne go to her head.
“Are you sure you’re okay on those crutches, Emma?” Jérôme asked as Emma led a slightly crooked path down the corridor.
“Oh, sure,” said Emma. “You know, F. Scott Fitzgerald said that too much of anything is bad, except too much champagne is just right.”
Jérôme let out a low chuckle and met Rosalyn’s eyes. “Let’s just hope that holds true in the morning.”
Chapter Thirty-five
On the way home, Emma sat in the front passenger seat while André drove, and Rosalyn sat in back. Emma lowered her seat and tilted her head back to make eye contact.
“So, you’ve been holding out on me,” said Emma in a gently teasing tone. “You let me think you and your husband had split up. Not that he’ddied.”
“I wasn’t keeping it a secret, exactly. It’s just... hard to talk about. It’s been nice not having to carry that weight for a while.”
André met Rosalyn’s eyes in the rearview mirror. He didn’t say anything, but she read sympathy and understanding in his steady gaze.
Emma blew out a long breath and looked out the windshield for a moment. “Did you know the word ‘grief’ comes from an old French word,grever, which means ‘to burden’?”
“I didn’t know that.”
Emma nodded. “From the Latin wordgravare, meaning ‘to make heavy.’ Something impossible to carry, and yet carry it we must.”
“You just happen to know the etymology of the word ‘grief’?”
“Long story, not worth going into. The point is, losing someoneyou love, such as your husband... that can be a crushing burden. Do you want to talk about it?”
Rosalyn felt tears well up, but otherwise was surprisingly composed. Perhaps it was the lingering effects of the champagne; perhaps she felt safe with Emma, and André, too.
“It was cancer, caught too late. We tried everything, from chemo to power smoothies to acupuncture. He didn’t last long. Only ninety-seven days.” Her breath caught in her throat. “Ninety-seven days, from diagnosis to death.”
“Tell me something about Dash.”
“Dash was... larger than life. He found joy in everything; everything was a cause for celebration. I’d never met anyone like him. He was older than I was, and a lot more worldly; we married right after I graduated from college. He had made money in an Internet start-up, and invested in a small winery in Napa. That’s how we met. I was a marketing intern in his company.”
“Married an older man, eh? The boss, no less.”
“I know people thought the age difference was strange, but it was lovely. He taught me so much.”
