Waiting for Eponine
She wanted to go see Eponine.
Estrelas waited, jumping from one foot to another, as the LOTUS plane touched down and tiredly, as if some murder weighed on their shoulders, the fetching team disembarked.
She felt a little bit guilty that her French friend occupied more of her thoughts and worries than that poor sod, the Norwegian, but she tossed those trivial bites aside and waited for her Eponine. When she inquired why the French girl was not among the returners, she was told by someone (who exactly? Had Estrelas’ memory for faces and incidents failed her at such a stressed moment?) that she should not see Eponine. She was hushed out of the room as they attended to the Norwegian, and immediately, she wondered, who were these fools in charge, what buffoons they were, if they did not know it was for the best that she could see Eponine? but when Miss Shee came out, her lip split but her face resolute, all her instincts knew that there were no other two people fit for their roles than the Sians.
But why wouldn’t they let her see Eponine?
Now that Einar had recovered as the weeks crossed the windows, shouldn’t Eponine be around?
Estrelas was not the suspicious type. She knew nothing of wariness, or deceit, or doubt. How could she? She grew up in a world where face was face, where if someone were ill or sad they were ill or sad and no one tried to say otherwise. When, as a little girl, she was presented with the corpse of a stillborn sister, little Estrelas was told in the face that the infant had died and was never alive. And death was death- Estrelas accepted that. How could she stand a chance in this world, where consoling relatives that just because the brainwaves were gone but the heart still beat, the corpse was still alive and there was still life?
She had no reason to doubt anyone that Eponine was any less than okay.
Eponine, she was told, was still resting. Don’t worry. She’ll be back soon. Don’t stress yourself, Estrelas.
