can be honest,” Daniel added. “We want to know how you really feel. Because there have been some times before when you’ve said okay but it’s actually made you very sad.”
Emily thought of her previous meltdowns. She hoped Chantelle didn’t feel attacked by Daniel’s comments and understood they were coming from a place of concern and love.
“I suppose it depends on who babysits me,” Chantelle said, thoughtfully.
“Who would you like?” Emily asked.
“I’m happiest when I have a sleepover with my friends,” she explained, sounding more mature than ever. “With Bailey and Toby. And also I prefer it to be short. After two nights I start to get worried.”
“Okay,” Emily said, nodding, pleased with how well Chantelle was able to articulate her feelings and needs now. “So shall I see if I can arrange a sleepover with either Yvonne or Suzanna? And only stay away for the weekend?”
“I think that would be okay,” Chantelle said with a nod.
To Emily’s great amusement, Chantelle held her hand out to shake Emily’s. Emily took her hand and gave it a hearty shake.
“Deal!”
Just then, they reached the island and Emily saw the trawler Daniel had mentioned moored beside the gorgeous new jetty. Even though it hadn’t been a particularly long time since they’d last been here, Emily was still very excited to see the progress to the cabins. The main structures were now complete, and even some of the landscaping work had started. It was so exciting to see everything coming together. And a relief too, since their income at the moment was relying on the island! Stu, Clyde and Evan had really surpassed her expectations and the company Daniel had employed to manage the project really were fantastic.
“I’d better go and check in with the guys,” Daniel said, looking in the direction of the sound of sawing and hammering. “See how it went today with that new building supplies company. I’ll be back in a minute.”
He went off towards the cabins.
Emily and Chantelle settled down on the rocks, looking out to sea. The water was calm today, and the sight of the Maine coastline looked very beautiful. It was a tranquil moment, a slice of peace within an otherwise hectic life.
“Can we call Papa Roy now?” Chantelle asked after a moment. “You know we haven’t spoken to him in three days now.”
So Chantelle had noticed, Emily realized. Of course she had. The child was extremely observant, and the fact that she and her father’s daily calls had ceased had not gone unnoticed.
“Do you think he’s okay?” Chantelle asked.
Emily felt a heaviness weigh on her shoulders.
“I think he is,” she told Chantelle. “I just think he’s slipped back into an old habit.”
Though Roy had promised to stay in touch, Emily knew old habits died hard, and there were still times when her efforts would be met by radio silence from him. It stung just as much now as it had when she was younger, when his long, slow disengagement from the family had begun following Charlotte’s death. He’d drifted away from her bit by bit then and as a scared, confused child she’d just let it happen. Not anymore. She had a right to her father, to demand him to be in her life, to share with him her life and expect to hear the same from him.
She took her cell phone out and dialled his number. She listened to it ring and ring. There was no answer. She tried again, aware of Chantelle watching pensively from the corner of her eye. Each new attempt she made to get in touch with him made her stomach twist with anguish. On the fifth attempt, she slung the phone down into her lap.
“Why won’t he answer?” Chantelle asked, her voice sad and frightened.
Emily knew she had to put on a brave face for the child but it was a real struggle. “He’s asleep a lot,” she said, weakly.
“Not for three days straight,” Chantelle replied. “He should check his phone when he wakes up and see he’s missed your calls.”
“He might not have thought to check,” Emily told him, attempting a reassuring smile. “You know what he’s like with technology.”
But Chantelle was too smart for Emily’s excuses and she didn’t rise to her feeble attempt at humor. Her expression remained serious and sullen.
“Do you think he’s died?” she asked.
“No!” Emily exclaimed, feeling anger take off the edge of her worry. “Why would you say such an awful thing?”
Chantelle seemed surprised by Emily’s outburst. Her eyes were wide with shock.
“Because he’s very ill,” she said meekly. “I just meant…” Her voice faded away.
Emily took a breath to calm herself. “I’m sorry, Chantelle. I didn’t mean to snap like that. I get very worried when I haven’t heard from Papa Roy in a while and what you said would be my worst nightmare.”
Roy. Alone. Dead in bed with no one beside him. She cringed at the thought, her heart clenching.
Chantelle looked tentatively at Emily. She seemed unsure of herself, as though she was treading on eggshells, worried that Emily would erupt at her again.
“But there’s no way for us to know, is there? Whether he’s still alive?”
Emily forced herself to be the grown up Chantelle needed her to be, even though each question stung like a fresh wound being sluiced. “We know he’s alive because Vladi is taking care of him. And if Vladi hasn’t called then nothing is wrong. That was the deal, remember?”
In her mind she conjured up the weather-beaten tanned face of Vladi, the Greek fisherman her father had struck up a friendship with. Vladi had promised to keep her informed of Roy’s condition, even if Roy himself wanted his deterioration to be kept from her. Whether Vladi kept good on his promise was another thing, though. Who would he be more loyal too, anyway; her, a young woman he’d known for a few days, or his lifelong friend Roy?
“Mommy,” Chantelle said softly. “You’re crying.”
Emily touched her cheek and found it was wet with tears. She wiped them with her sleeve.
“I’m scared,” she told Chantelle. “That’s why. I miss Papa Roy so much. I just wish we could convince him to be here with us.”
“Me too,” Chantelle said. “I want him and Nana Patty to live in the inn. It’s sad that they’re so far away.”
Emily reached her arm around her daughter and held her tightly. She could hear Chantelle gently sobbing and felt awful for her part in the child’s unhappiness. Crying in front of her was never the plan. But it some ways she wondered whether it helped Chantelle to see her mother’s emotions, to see that it was okay to be weak sometimes, to be scared and worried. The child had spent so many years of her life having to be strong and brave, perhaps seeing her mom cry would show her it was okay to let go of control sometimes.
“Why do people have to die?” Chantelle said then, her voice muffled by the way her face was pressed into Emily’s chest.
“Because…” Emily began, before pausing and thinking very deeply about it. “I think because their spirit has elsewhere to be.”
“You mean Heaven?” Chantelle asked.
“It could be Heaven. It could be somewhere else entirely.”
“Daddy doesn’t believe in that,” Chantelle said. “He says no one knows whether you go somewhere after you die, and that in Judaism it’s up to God to decide whether you get an afterlife or not.”
“That’s what daddy believes,” Emily told her. “But you can believe whatever you want to. I believe something different. And that’s okay too.”
Chantelle blinked through her wet eyelashes, her big blue eyes on Emily. “What do you believe?”
Emily paused