Chapter 19

As we sailed slowly into the enclave of Marseilles’ busy old port, I opened my eyes and that was when I saw her.

The Notre Dame de la Garde Basilica. La Bonne Mère, as the Marseillais call her. The Good Mother. Built in breathtaking Byzantine Revival style, the basilica stood almost five-hundred feet over the sea, welcoming her sailors home from the hill she commanded.

That afternoon, as I’d gazed up at the golden statue of the Blessed Mother and Child towering above the basilica, all the anguish I’d been feeling at home came flooding my being once more. Trying to conceal my pain, I’d bit my lip, blinking the tears away.

Nick asked if I was all right. I squeezed his hand and lied. Told him it was just so grandiose, that I was overwhelmed by the beauty of it. Of course he believed me. He never made the connection between that statue of Mother and Child and the fights we’d had before leaving for France.