*Polly*
The Christmas season is lovely; the city dances, as only Paris can. I find myself increasingly aware of a bleak fear in my heart. Could it be true that something frightful has happened to Fennec?
It would be awful if I had forced him to leave England and he had died on some foreign shore. Or worse, aboard a sinking ship. I find myself waking in the night, unable to sleep as I imagine the Percival capsized in a storm, Fennec’s last gasp as he slides under the waves. I push the image away, sleep… only to wake again with the realization that death would explain why Fennec never contacted his father.
It is bewildering to discover that I care so much for an absent, less-than-truthful spouse.
Finally, I sit up one morning and find I am weary of the guilt, the grief, the pesky longing
