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She shows me a gathering of women who look like mermaids without the tails.
We walk around, and I get lost in the fantasy world she’s created, but I stop when I see a sculpture with a familiar face.
It’s Giselle.
She’s here, like a ghost haunting me. I walk up to her, and my blood runs cold all of a sudden.
This sculpture is no less perfect than the others in here, but I can tell from the crafting techniques that it wasn’t done by Elodie. It was sculpted by Knight.
This must be one from the same collection in New York and is the most beautiful.
Giselle is sitting on a rock with a rose in her hand. She always holds a rose, whether it’s intact or the petals are falling.
She’s looking ahead, gazing out to the distance with a thirst for life in her eyes.
Elodie comes up to me and rests her hands on my shoulders.
“Are you okay?” she asks, looking from me to Giselle.
“Yes.” I offer a half smile, but I know it looks forced. “Knight did this one?”
She seems surprised that I know that. “He did.”
“I've seen others of her at home.”
“I am hoping he’ll send those to me for the show. He gave me this one many years ago. It was the best in the collection. He’s supposed to be working on the final one, but he’s been doing so for the same amount of time I’ve had this.”
That sounds like a long time. She said years.
“Do you know who this girl is?” There’s a carefulness in her voice.
“Giselle.”
“Yes. Has Knight ever spoken to you about her?”
I won’t tell her that today was the first time Knight has opened up to me aboutanything.“He hasn’t, but I figured she must be somebody who meant a lot to him.”
“She was.”
“Who was she?”
“His first and last girlfriend.” The carefulness returns, but there’s a hint of sadness hidden in her words.
“What happened to her?”
“She died five years ago.”
My heart folds in on itself like a glove, then something sharp grips my insides, squeezing then pulling as if attached to tight ropes.
In all this time, I’ve never once thought that Giselle was dead. God, I even thought she was Chelle.
“She died?” I search her eyes.
She nods with the slowness of a mourner at a funeral. “It was a combination of different things, but that’s a discussion I think Knight should have with you one day.”
Translation—whatever happened was so bad she can’t talk about it.
“I hope so.” Invisible threads pull on my nerves, tightening my scalp with a combination of emotions that assail me. Sadness, shock, and…good old envy. I feel ashamed for feeling the latter.
