The cabin we entered was clearly the master stateroom—a huge bedroom, spanning the width of the boat. A king bed centered the space. On one side, closest to us, was an office area and desk with papers piled neatly and the other had a large sofa and seating area. There was also a treadmill and some workout equipment in one corner. Her father was nowhere to be seen, and while I knew he was using a cabin downstairs to sleep rather than this one, I still entered cautiously. He obviously worked and got dressed here too, if the men’s dress shirt hanging on a valet hook in the corner was any indication. Dauphine danced across the room and disappeared through a door. I followed her into a bathroom and walk-in closet. While not huge, the bathroom was luxurious and certainly bigger than the ones downstairs.

The closet was full of both men’s and women’s clothes. My stomach shifted uncomfortably as I looked over what had probably been Dauphine’s mother’s things that had never been cleared away. Two years and they were still here?

Dauphine fingered several of the dresses as she passed, then whipped her hand away as if she’d remembered she wasn’t supposed to touch them. She opened a deep wooden drawer on a soft hiss to reveal an array of sunscreens. “Ici,” she said. Here.

I selected a thirty sun protection factor. There was a hairbrush on the counter, but there were no toothbrushes or anything that made it seem like the bathroom was currently being used on a daily basis.

I fingered the hairbrush. “Your mother’s?” I asked. But surely not after all this time.

Dauphine nodded, and then looked toward the clothes, her face marred with a pained emotion. I doubted a ten-year-old could really define the feelings that must be stirred up by having to see this reminder of their loss every day. For that matter, what about her father? Was that perhaps another reason why he slept downstairs?

“Do you like to braid your hair?” I asked to try and switch her attention.

“Oui. Andrea does it for me sometimes, but I do not know how to do it myself.”

“May I?”

Dauphine nodded at my reflection. “But my hair is … I don’t know the word. It gets stuck?” She frowned and said something in French that I presumed meant tangled.

“I have something for tangles.”

“Tangles?”

I picked up a particularly rats-nesty lock of her hair. “Like this. You have beautiful curls, but you must keep them from being knotty.”

“You have curly hair?”

I glanced at my reflection and made a so-so hand gesture. “Wavy. But it’s wet right now. Did your maman have long hair like you?” I asked, fingering the dark blonde curls.

“Yes, but it was different.” Her brow furrowed as if trying to remember. “She liked my hair. She liked to use the comb.”