The dress was many layers of gauzy material, and it had taken her more than a month to sew it in the darkness of her room at night. When her sister Helene would ask what she was doing, she would hide the dress beneath her blankets and make an excuse. She’d always believed that on some level, Helene knew. And although Helene’s tight-lipped disapproval of Jacob bothered her, Rose also felt that in the blacked-out darkness of night, Helene was glad that one of them, at least, had found an escape from the sadness that swirled around them.
Rose had not wanted to wear white to her wedding, although she was, of course, still pure. But white represented innocence, and there was nothing innocent in Paris anymore.
And so she had arrived in her dress of many colors, all of them shades that reminded her of the sky at dawn, which was then her favorite time of day. Milky blue. Soft rose. Buttery yellow. Pale apricot. Foggy lavender. A thousand layers, it seemed, that swirled around Rose with a lightness that reminded her of clouds.
“You are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” Jacob had told her when she entered the room. And from the way he’d looked at her, she’d known he meant it with all his heart. Their eyes had met then, and in his gaze, she could see everything that lay ahead of them: a life together somewhere far from Paris, and of course children, many children. They would laugh and tell stories and grow old in each other’s arms. Life stretched before them, endless and happy in that moment. And Rose allowed herself to believe in it.
“I love you,” she’d murmured to him.
And now, as she floated in this sea, she realized it wasn’t a sea at all, in fact, but rather the thousands of sheer layers of her wedding dress, cradling her in their softness. She saw the colors she’d painstakingly layered together, and she realized that she could see through each of them, just a little bit. They were soft against her skin, just as they had been on that April day, so long ago.
She listened harder as she floated slowly up through the layers. And then, suddenly, she knew. She must be dead already. She was surprised she hadn’t realized it before; it was so obvious. Of course that was why she’d been hearing Alain’s voice for days; he was calling her home, showing her the way through the milky strangeness, the way to where her family had been all along. They hadn’t been in the sky; they’d been in this strange, layered world. But perhaps this was the sky after all. How was she to know what the clouds really felt like? Maybe this was sunrise. Maybe any moment now, the strange sea would be illuminated from within.
And then, Rose knew for sure that she had died, and that heaven was real, for she could hear the voice of her love calling for her.
“Reviens à moi.” Jacob’s voice drifted down from above. “Reviens à moi, mon amour! Return to me, my love!”
Rose wanted to reply. She tried to call back, “I am coming, Jacob!” But the sounds died in her throat.
But then she felt his hand encircle hers. She knew at once it was Jacob; she would know his touch anywhere, although it had been nearly seventy years since she’d last felt it. His hand wrapped around hers the way it always used to: warm, strong, familiar. It was the hand that had saved her, so long ago.
She knew that he was pulling her to him, after all these years, and that this must mean he’d forgiven her for sending him back to his death. Her heart overflowed, and in her eyes, she could feel tears. It was all she’d hoped for over the years.
She took a deep breath and realized that the sea smelled like lavender, the same scent she’d breathed in on her wedding day. She was home, finally home. She held tight to Jacob’s hand and began, at long last, to swim toward the surface.
Chapter Twenty-nine
It’s Annie who notices first.
“Mom!” she hisses, tugging frantically at my arm as I watch Jacob leaning over Mamie, whispering to her in French. We’d arrived at the hospital an hour ago, and Jacob has been bent over Mamie ever since.
“What is it, honey?” I ask, unable to look away from the scene, which feels futile and sad.
“She’s moving, Mom!” Annie says. “Mamie’s moving!”
I realize with a start that she’s correct. I watch in awe as Mamie’s left hand twitches a little and closes around Jacob’s. He continues to whisper to her, more urgently now.
“Is she . . . ?” Alain begins, trailing off as he stares.
“She’s waking up,” Gavin murmurs from beside me.
We all watch as her eyelids begin to flutter and then, unbelievably, open. I know that one of us should go get a doctor or a nurse, but I find myself rooted to the spot, unable to move at all.