Marya said they had only decided to go back to France in the past few weeks. And it had been a hard decision for her. But it made sense and felt right to both of them, and was a whole new life for her, and for them.

“When are you leaving?” Francesca asked with bated breath.

“In a month. Charles-Edouard wants to be back in Paris for Christmas. We’ll probably leave on the twenty-third of December.” Francesca knew it would mean their giving up their room on Charles Street. They didn’t need a room in New York if they were living in Paris. They could stay with her whenever they came back, but there was no reason for them to pay rent in New York. It was going to be a financial challenge for Francesca, but this time she didn’t think about selling the house. She and Chris and Ian were happy there. She’d have to find a way to make it work. But she didn’t want to take in roommates again. There would never be another Marya. And she didn’t want to risk another Eileen. It had been too traumatic.

“I hope you stay here when you come to New York,” Francesca said sadly, and Marya hugged her.

“We will. And you’ll have a home with us in Paris. You can send Ian over to visit anytime,” she said to Chris. “It would be wonderful for us and exciting for him.”

“Do you think you’ll ever live in the States again if you two get married?” Francesca asked her.

“We don’t know. It depends what Charles-Edouard does when he reshuffles his business.” He had to make some adjustments after giving half of what he had to his ex-wife, which seemed fair to him. Divorce was expensive. He never complained about it, even to Marya.

Their announcement was a big change, and bittersweet for all of them. They were losing beloved friends, or at least on a daily basis. And Charles-Edouard was part of their family unit now too.

Ian cried when they told him about it the next morning, and Francesca felt that way too. She’d been depressed since Marya announced it. And Ian didn’t want them to leave. Marya told him he could come to visit in Paris and see the Eiffel Tower and the Arc de Triomphe and ride on the Bateaux Mouches on the Seine.

“But I don’t speak French,” he said mournfully.

“Lots of people in Paris speak English,” she reassured him, “and Charles-Edouard and I will help you. We’ll take care of you, and I want your dad and Francesca to come too.” He nodded, but he wasn’t convinced. It was too far away. Ian loved them both, and they loved him.

And on Sunday Chris found Francesca poring over the bills in her office. It reminded her of the days when she was trying to save her house and her business, and afraid she could do neither. Marya leaving was going to make things very tight. She was struggling with the numbers again, and they didn’t look good. She had never rented Eileen’s room again and she didn’t intend to. The top floor had been closed since August, and Francesca wanted to leave it that way. The memories in that room were too awful, and she didn’t want anyone up there, out of respect for Eileen. The rooms were clean and empty and kept locked. She hadn’t been up there herself since the murder. And Brad still hadn’t gone to trial and probably wouldn’t for many months. The police had stayed in touch with her. She had often thought of calling Eileen’s mother, but she never had. She had the feeling they wouldn’t welcome her call. She was planning on sending them a note over Christmas, and had written a heartfelt condolence letter when Eileen died, saying what a wonderful girl she was. They had never responded. Maybe they just didn’t know what to say or how to do it.

Chris saw her worried expression as Francesca went over the bills.

“Bad news?”

“Sort of. I don’t know why, but we had a bad month at the gallery in November. We hardly sold anything. October was great, and September was pretty good. Every time I think we’re getting solid, something slips. I don’t have a lot of cushion from it, and I’m still paying that damn plumber bill from the big leak.” Two thousand dollars was a lot at one gulp for her. The plumber had allowed her to do it in two payments, which helped, but she still had to pay it. “It’s kind of a blow that Marya’s leaving, in more ways than one,” she said sadly. “I’m going to miss her so much.” She was both surrogate mother and friend to her now, and good at both. Francesca loved chatting with her every day. They all did. “And I don’t want to rent Eileen’s room again. I just can’t. And no one would want it anyway. What happened there is too heavy for anyone to want to live in that room. And I don’t want to take strangers in again. It’s too risky.” In the end, she had decided that her mother was right for once, although she’d been lucky. But it seemed too high-risk now, and too intrusive.

“You did okay with me,” he teased her, and she smiled. She was so happy with him.

“Yes, I did.” But now she was losing two-thirds of her income from the house, with no Marya and no Eileen. That was a big chunk to her, and made things very difficult for her again. Marya’s lease had been about to end anyway. And so was his.

“How did you manage when Todd was here?” he asked, curious about it. He had never asked her that before.

“We each paid half of the mortgage payment. It was tight, but I managed, and it worked. I can’t carry it alone.”

“What if I split it with you, and we don’t rent to anyone, and just live here like a family, the three of us.”

“That would work,” she said thoughtfully, “but I don’t think that’s fair to you. You only live in two rooms.” He laughed when she said it.

“I was thinking I could move upstairs with you, if you like that idea. And Ian can stay in my room. I can even pay two-thirds if you like, since there are two of us, and only one of you.” He was being generous and fair, and he wanted to make things easier for her. He could afford to. He lived simply and there was nothing showy about him. His graphic design business did well, and she suspected he had family money, given who his family was. He was a modest person, but he didn’t have to struggle as she did. For her, everything was tight, and she didn’t want to sell the last of her father’s paintings if she didn’t have to. She was still sad she had sold the others.

“I think we should split it fifty-fifty, if you want to,” Francesca said cautiously, grateful for his help. “We could turn your whole suite into Ian’s room, with a playroom, use the living room downstairs, sleep in my room, and we could turn Marya’s room into a den or an office for you. It would make a nice office.” It was sunny and bright with a view of the garden. “You can smoke Cuban cigars there,” she teased him. But it all made sense and would work.

“I like that idea. I don’t want you taking tenants in again either,” Chris said simply. “I think it’s too risky too.” And at least the house was hers now. If Chris ever left, and they broke up, she could think about roommates again, but if he paid half, for now she wouldn’t have to.

“That would work,” Francesca said again, gratefully. “I was getting worried.” He could see that she was, and he was sorry it was so difficult for her. He had suspected that Marya leaving would put an additional burden on her, and didn’t realize how heavy. Francesca lived with very little to spare. And Chris wanted to help her. He would be by splitting the mortgage payment with her, although it doubled his rent, but he’d have use of the whole house now. And they were going to be living there like a couple with a child, not just four roommates. “I’ve got some other ideas about how to make things easier for you,” he said simply. “Maybe we can talk about that another time.” She nodded, wondering what they were. But for now he had solved her problem, and she was deeply grateful.

Marya asked her if she was going to be okay, when they cooked dinner together that night. “I feel terrible leaving you in the lurch on such short notice, but Charles-Edouard kind of sprang it on me a few weeks ago, and I didn’t agree to it till last week. Will you be all right here?”

“I will now,” Francesca said, looking relieved. “Chris is going to help me.”

“I was hoping he would. What are your plans now, the two of you?”

“No plans for the moment.” Francesca smiled at her. “We’re just going to live here and hope for the best and see how it works out.” Marya hoped they would get married eventually, and Francesca was hoping the same for her. Charles-Edouard wanted to marry her as soon as his divorce came through. The dissolution papers were going to court in a few weeks, to be stamped by the judge, and then he’d be free. But Marya was in no hurry. Nor was Francesca. She’d been avoiding marriage all her life, and didn’t want to change her mind about it now, no matter how much she loved Chris, and she did. “I don’t want to be like my mother.” She had said that to Marya before, and to Chris.

“You couldn’t be in a million years,” Marya reassured her. “She’s a completely different woman than you are. I like her, but you’re just not playing in the same league she is.” Marya saw Thalia for what she was, a frivolous, spoiled, selfish, superficial woman, even if she was amusing, and a bit of a caricature of herself. But Marya respected Francesca profoundly, and loved her, like a daughter or a niece. “Even if you got married ten times, you wouldn’t be anything like her.”

“I’d rather not risk it. I wonder if she’ll ever find another victim. She’s been shopping for number six for years. You’d think she’d get tired of it and forget it, but she never will. She’ll want to get married again when she’s ninety.” They both laughed and suspected it was true.

She and Chris talked about their plans for the house that night. She was wondering when they should tell Ian.

“Do you think he’ll be upset if you move upstairs with me?” She looked worried, and Chris kissed her.