Page 34 of Forget Me Not
Bastien felt as if the rug had been jerked out from under him.
Syve
Syvesteppedintotheloft, then to the side to allow Bastien to enter. She closed the door behind him, watching as he studied Erhard’s boots before deftly stepping around them. Once he was securely past, he turned toward her, and Syve gasped as his legs seemed to give out beneath him. He barely managed to catch himself against the washer, turning his face immediately toward the ground and covering his face with his free hand.
“Bastien?” She rushed to his side. “Are you okay?”
Worried, she placed a hand on his shoulder, ducking her head so she could see his face. He was taking slow deliberatebreaths. Syve looked up, trying to figure out what had happened.
Then, she saw the massive thirty-six-inch canvas and deflated. Daily, literally daily, she saw the picture. She was so used to it, she didn’t even think about it anymore.
It was one of Erhard’s favorites—a beautiful span of trees and one ethereal, black wolf standing just inside the tree line. The wolf’s body blended in with the shadows in a haunting way while its bright, copper eyes all but bore into your soul.
Oh. Now she understood.
“Who is that?” Syve whispered.
Bas took a shuddering breath before muttering, “Brother. It’s my brother.”
Brother? She thought hard to remember their previous conversation.
“I thought you had a sister?” The question was soft, intending to cure her confusion without distressing him any further.
“I do have a sister, but I alsohada brother. A twin.”
Had. That awful, horrid word she knew too well. He dropped his hand and finally raised his head, looking anywhere but at her or the photo. She reached out and smoothed the hair out of his eyes, not realizing she was doing it until he stilled, slowly turning his head to look at her.
Fingers still pressed to his temple she spoke softly. “I’m so sorry, Bastien.”
His throat bobbed and they remained transfixed on each other.
In her periphery, the sight of twisted, faded black ink coiling around her finger registered—and she dropped her hand as if burned. “I don’t really want to talk about him,” he croaked out, as he straightened himself and faced the dryer.
She supposed she could understand that.
“But...” He cleared his throat. “Where? Where did you get this?” How the tables had turned.
“My husband—” She curled her lips between her teeth, noticing as his eyes grew wide, “My husband is, or rather,wasa photographer.”
She exhaled a shaky breath, one side of her mouth pulling up into a forced smile for half a second.
Bastien’s shocked expression immediately morphed to one she was all too familiar with seeing.
Pity.
“Syve.” Her name came out in a breath.
Shehatedthat look—like she was broken. Though she could not argue against it.
“I don’t really want to talk about him.” She parroted his words then swiftly stepped past him, pulling open the door to the living room. “If you want the picture, it’s yours. Living room’s right through here.”
She left him standing there and made her way to the kitchen, calling over her shoulder as she went, “I have water, wine and coffee. Want anything?”
She almost felt bad about walking away, but it seemed like neither of them wanted to continue that conversation.
“Water would be great, thank you.” His answer preceded the soft click of the laundry room door closing.
A few minutes later, they were sitting on either end of the couch, each holding a glass of water.
