All Those Things We Never Said

by Marc Levy

  “But that doesn’t mean anything, at least not to me. You still haven’t told me how your father ruined the wedding. Should I expect him to kick down this door and break my jaw again?”

  “I was eighteen years old, Thomas. I didn’t have any choice but to follow him; I was still mostly just a kid. And you don’t have to worry about my father. He’s dead. We buried him the day I was supposed to get married. That’s how he ruined things.”

  “Well . . . I’m sorry to hear that. And I’m sorry for your loss.”

  “There’s no need to be sorry, Thomas.”

  “Why did you come back to Berlin?”

  “You know why. Knapp told you everything. I got your letter a few days ago. I came as soon as I knew the truth.”

  “Had to give it one more go? Just to clear the way before you get married, is that it?”

  “You don’t have to be cruel.”

  Thomas sat down at the foot of the bed. He took a deep breath.

  “I had to learn to tame the loneliness over the years. It took an incredible amount of patience. I walked through cities the whole world over, just longing to find the same air you might have breathed. They say that when two people are truly in love, their thoughts are connected, intertwined. I often wondered about that as I laid my head down to sleep at night. I wondered if you were thinking about me while I was thinking about you. I came to New York even, walked the streets, hoping against hope I’d somehow run into you and absolutely terrified of the idea at the same time. I thought I saw you a hundred times. My heart would skip a beat every time I saw a woman who bore any resemblance to you. I swore to never fall in love like that again—it’s too dangerous. Time has passed, and . . . time has passed us by. You had to know that, didn’t you? Before you even got on the plane.”

  “Stop, Thomas. Don’t ruin this. Please. What do you want me to say? Every time I looked up at the sky, day or night, I told myself you were looking down on me. So, no—I never had the chance to make up my mind about us, because you were gone!”

  “So, what, Julia? We stay in touch, as friends? I call you when I’m in New York, and we have a drink together and reminisce about the good old days? You show me pictures of your kids—not our kids, of course. I say that they look so much like you, trying to ignore how much they also look like their father. While I’m in the bathroom, you’ll call your future husband, and I’ll let the water run, so I don’t have to hear him say ‘Hello, baby.’ Does he even know you came to Berlin?”

  “Stop it!” shouted Julia.

  “What are you going to tell him when you get home?” Thomas asked, turning back to look out the window.

  “I don’t know. I have no idea.”

  “See? Like I said. Same old Julia.”

  “No. I’ve changed, Thomas, I have. But all it took was a sign. Fate led me here and made me realize that even if I have changed, my feelings haven’t . . .”

  Out on the sidewalk below, Anthony Walsh was pacing back and forth, checking his watch compulsively. He peered up at his daughter’s window, his impatience visible even from a great height.

  “When did you say your father died?” asked Thomas, closing the blinds.

  “He was buried last Saturday.”

  “Fine. Done, don’t say another word. You were right. Let’s not ruin what we had. You can’t love someone and lie to them. You just can’t. We can’t.”

  “What do you mean? I haven’t been lying to you . . .”

  “Take your bag and go run along home,” muttered Thomas.

  He put on his pants, his shirt, and his coat, not even bothering to tie his shoes. But when he turned back to Julia, he took her by the hand and pulled her into his arms one last time.

  “I fly to Mogadishu tonight. I’ll be thinking about you constantly, every minute I’m over there. Don’t waste your time on regrets. I pictured this in my head, being back with you, so many times. It was even more breathtaking than I could have imagined, my love. Just being able to call you that again—one last time—was more than I could have hoped for. Julia, you are the most beautiful thing that ever came into my life, the woman at the heart of my most cherished memories. You can’t know how much that means. All I ask is that you promise me you’ll try to be happy.”

  Thomas gave Julia one last tender kiss, then walked out the door and didn’t turn back.

  Exiting the hotel, Thomas walked by Anthony, who was still waiting impatiently by the car.

  “She shouldn’t be much longer,” he said, waving goodbye.

  21.

  Julia and her father said nothing to each other during the entire flight back to New York, save one question Anthony kept repeating under his breath: “Could it really be that I messed up again?” The question left Julia perplexed. Midafternoon, they arrived in Manhattan under pouring rain.

  “Look, Julia, you have to say something eventually!” Anthony protested as they entered her apartment on Horatio Street.

  “No, I don’t,” Julia replied, dropping her bag.

  “Did you finally see him last night?”

  “No!”

  “Just tell me what happened. I might have some advice that could help.”

  “You? That’s rich.”

  “Don’t be so pigheaded. You’re not five years old anymore. And I’m nearly out of time.”

  “I didn’t see Thomas. Period. Now I’m going to take a shower.”

  Her father stepped into the doorway, blocking her way.

  “So, now what? Or were you planning on staying in that bathroom for the next twenty years?”

  “Get out of my way.”

  “Not until you answer my question.”

  “You want to know what I’m going to do now? What do you think? I’m going to try to pick up the pieces of my life, or what’s left of them. You should be proud—in one week, you managed to ruin everything, to the point where some things may be damaged beyond repair. And don’t give me that innocent look; you know exactly what I’m talking about. You spent half the flight talking about how badly you messed things up.”

  “That’s not what I meant.”

  “What then?”

  Anthony said nothing.

  “That’s what I thought,” Julia shot back. “While I’m waiting for your response, I think I’ll go slip into something really skimpy that shows off my curves, then give Thomas a call and see if I can get him into bed. We’ll see if I can keep up all the lying, and maybe, just maybe, he’ll still want to marry me.”

  “Thomas. You just said ‘Thomas.’”

  “What are you—”

  “Thomas, instead of Adam. You can’t possibly tell me this was another simple mistake.”

  “Get out of my way, before I put you out of your misery once and for all.”

  “Sorry, dear. Nature already beat you to it. And if you think you can shock me by going on about your sex life, think again.”

  “First thing I’m going to do when I get to Adam’s place,” she continued, looking her father up and down, “is thrust him straight against the wall, tear off his clothes, and—”

  “That’s enough!” shouted Anthony. “Spare me the details, will you?” he added, calming down.

  “Sure. If you get out of my way and let me shower.”

  Anthony rolled his eyes and let her pass. As soon as she had disappeared into the bathroom, he put his ear up to the door and listened as Julia made a phone call.

  “No, no; there’s no need to interrupt Adam if he’s in a meeting. Just please let him know Julia is back in town and would like to see him tonight if he’s free. He can pick her up at eight; she’ll be waiting downstairs outside her building. If he can’t make it, just give Julia a call.”

  Anthony crept away from the door and moved into the living room, plopping down on the couch in front of the TV. He grabbed the remote and was about to hit the button when he realized he had grabbed the wrong one. He glanced at the little white button on his own remote control with a knowing smile, and laid it down carefull
y on the couch beside him.

  Fifteen minutes later, Julia reappeared with a raincoat thrown over her shoulder.

  “You’re heading off?”

  “Yes, to work.”

  “On a Saturday? In this weather?”

  “There’s always somebody there over the weekend, and I have a lot of emails to catch up on.”

  As she was preparing to leave, Anthony called to her.

  “Julia?”

  “What is it now?”

  “Before you make some foolish mistake, don’t forget that Thomas still loves you.”

  “And how would you know that?”

  “We crossed paths this morning. He was very civil. He gave me a little wave as he was leaving the hotel. He didn’t seem too surprised either. Perhaps he noticed me on the sidewalk from your window . . .”

  Julia’s heart dropped. She glared at her father, furious.

  “Get out. When I get back, I want you gone.”

  “Where? To that awful attic?”

  “Back to your house!” cried Julia, slamming the door behind her.

  Anthony grabbed an umbrella off the hook near the door and slipped out onto the balcony overlooking the street. Leaning over the railing, he watched as Julia stormed away down the street. As soon as she had disappeared from view, Anthony left the balcony and entered her bedroom. He found the phone and hit redial.

  He introduced himself as Julia Walsh’s assistant. Of course, he was aware Ms. Walsh had just called and Adam was in a meeting. However, he needed to pass along an urgent message: Julia wanted Adam to come earlier than planned, at six o’clock, and to meet her upstairs at her place and not out on the street in the rain. Yes, Anthony said, he was aware that was only forty-five minutes from now. All things considered, perhaps it would be prudent to interrupt the meeting and let him know. Also, there was no use in trying to reach Julia, since her phone had died and she was out running an errand. Anthony got the secretary to promise—twice—to promptly deliver his message. Anthony laid the phone back down with a smug little smile on his face. Even more smug than usual.

  Julia pivoted in her desk chair and turned on her computer. Her emails loaded up on-screen, forming a seemingly endless scroll. The letter tray on her desk was also overflowing, and the voicemail light on her office phone was blinking frenetically.

  She took out her cell phone, knowing exactly who could help save the day.

  “Am I keeping you from your customers?” she asked Stanley.

  “The only customers out in this weather are the type with gills! What a waste of an afternoon. Just horrid.”

  “Tell me about it. I’m soaked down to my underwear.”

  “Wait—you’re back?” exclaimed Stanley.

  “For about an hour now . . .”

  “Well, you should have called sooner!”

  “Think you could close that empty store and meet an old friend at Pastis?”

  “Order me tea, piping hot—no cappuccino today. Or whatever you want. I’m on my way!”

  Ten minutes later, Stanley joined Julia, who was waiting for him at a table tucked in the back corner of the old neighborhood restaurant.

  “Tell me everything. I’m assuming that no news from you for two days means you found Thomas, but judging by that look in your eyes, it didn’t quite go as you hoped.”

  “I hadn’t really hoped for anything.”

  “Bullshit.”

  “Brace yourself, because I don’t know if you’ve ever seen pure stupidity personified, but you’re about to . . .”

  Julia told him nearly every last detail of her trip. She recounted the visit to the press syndicate, Knapp’s poisonous lies, the truth about Thomas’s double identity, the art opening in the borrowed dress and the last-minute limo that took her there . . . When she got to the part about the shoes she’d been wearing, Stanley let out a mortified gasp. He shoved aside his tea and made an emergency order for a glass of white wine. The rain outside fell increasingly harder. Julia told him about her visit to East Berlin, the street where all the old buildings from her memories had been torn down, the vintage decor of the bar that somehow survived the sweeping changes, her intense confrontation with Knapp, the crazy dash to the airport, seeing Marina, and—at last, with Stanley on the verge of fainting—her fateful encounter with Thomas at the Tiergarten.

  Julia continued: her meal on the terrace at the world’s best seafood restaurant, though she had hardly tasted any of it, the moonlight walk around the pond, the hotel room where they had made love last night, and, finally, the last breakfast . . . or lack thereof. When the waiter came back a third time to check on them, Stanley threatened to stab him with a fork if he interrupted again.

  “I should have come with you, baby-doll,” said Stanley. “If I had any idea what was going to happen, I would’ve never let you set off solo.”

  Julia idly swirled a spoon in her cup of tea. Stanley looked at her intently and reached out to touch her hand, stopping her midswirl.

  “Julia, you never take sugar. Feeling a little lost?”

  “Sure, except for the ‘little’ part.”

  “Well, it may come as small comfort, but I can’t imagine he’ll go back to that Marina woman. Unlikely, from my experience.”

  “What experience is that?” replied Julia with a smile. “Besides, by now Thomas is sailing through the clouds for Mogadishu.”

  “And here we are in New York, drowning in the rain,” sighed Stanley, gazing wistfully out the window at the endless downpour.

  A few passersby had taken refuge under a terrace awning. An old man held his wife close, doing his best to shelter her from the rain.

  “I’m going to pull my life together, as best I can,” continued Julia. “I suppose it’s the only thing I can do now.”

  “You know, you’re right. Stupidity personified! You should count yourself lucky to have that kind of mess, and you want to ‘pull it together’? That’s about as stupid as it gets, baby-doll. Now dry those eyes this instant. It’s wet enough with the rain, and I still have so many questions to ask.”

  Julia wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand and gave her friend a teary smile.

  “Start by telling me: What are you going to say to Adam?” asked Stanley. “For a while there, I was worried he was going to show up twice a day for me to pity-feed him. He even invited me out to his parents’ country house tomorrow. By the way, if he asks? The food poisoning still has me down for the count. Do not blow my cover, baby-doll.”

  “I guess . . . I’m going to tell Adam as much as I can without hurting him.”

  “Some might say the most hurt you can cause is through cowardice. Are you really going to give it another shot with him?”

  “As awful as it sounds, I just don’t think I have it in me to be single again. Not right now.”

  “I thought you said you didn’t want to hurt him! Sooner or later, your plan is going to wind up hurting you both.”

  “I’ll find a way to protect him.”

  “Can I ask you a very personal question?”

  “Nothing’s too personal between you and me.”

  “The night with Thomas . . .”

  “It was tender, gentle, magical . . . and heartbreaking the next morning.”

  “I meant the sex.”

  “It was tender, gentle, magical . . .”

  “Then how can you not know what you have to do?”

  “I’m in New York. So is Adam. There’s a whole world between Thomas and me now.”

  “Baby-doll? You love somebody, I mean really love him, it takes more than that to keep you apart. You’ve got one life to live, and you better live it right.”

  When he heard the buzzer, Anthony got up from his seat and looked out the window to see Adam waiting in the pouring rain with the gutters overflowing onto the sidewalk. The buzzer rang three more times in rapid succession.

  “All right, all right already, I’m coming,” he grumbled as he buzzed Adam in and waited.

  He hear
d footsteps echoing in the stairwell and stepped out to welcome his visitor with a broad smile.

  “Mr. Walsh!” Adam cried, jerking back with a mix of shock and repulsion.

  “Adam! To what do I owe the pleasure?”

  Adam froze in place on the landing, jaw moving but not a word coming out of his mouth.

  “Cat got your tongue, old boy?”

  “You. You’re. You’re dead!” he stammered.

  “Come now, no need to be crude. I know we’ve never been all that fond of each other, but that’s perhaps taking it a bit too far.”

  “But . . . you had a funeral. At a cemetery. I was there!” Adam said, faltering.

  “Well, if you’re going to carry on like that—as horribly rude as it is—best not do it on the landing. Come on in. You look pale as a ghost!”

  Adam practically glided into the living room, beside himself. Anthony suggested he take off his dripping trench coat.

  “I’m sorry, but . . . ,” Adam said, trying to compose himself as he hung up his coat. “I’m sure you can understand why I would be so surprised, considering I canceled my wedding for your funeral.”

  “Your wedding? I seem to recall Julia being involved as well.”

  “My God . . . don’t tell me . . . she couldn’t have cooked up all that just to . . .”

  “Find an excuse for leaving you? Don’t flatter yourself. Our family may have overactive imaginations, but if you truly knew Julia, you’d know she’d never do such a thing. I assure you, there’s a plausible explanation for all of this. If you’d just pipe down for two seconds, I’ll provide one or two—”

  “Where’s Julia?”

  “Alas, it’s been nearly twenty years since my daughter let me keep tabs on her whereabouts. To tell you the truth, I thought she’d be with you. We did land over three hours ago.”

  “Wait—you were traveling together?”

  “Of course. Didn’t she tell you?”

  “I’m not sure that would have been the easiest thing to explain. I was there when the plane brought your corpse back from Europe, and even rode to the cemetery in your hearse.”