by Natasha Boyd
“And leave the big city for the one that got away …? Yes, I believe she would.”
“Are we calling Charleston the big city now?” I asked.
“Well, when you come from horse-country-Aiken, South Carolina, yes, Charleston is the big city.”
“But she has a business—”
“That she can run from anywhere.”
“Hmm. That’s a good point. But you guys have been looking at apartments by the yacht club. Tabitha seemed into it.”
“I think I was mostly driving that bus. I’ve been getting the feeling lately that she was homesick since her parents retired back to where the rest of her family is. And let’s face it, you weren’t into the idea of a move either. Anyway, you won’t even be living here by the end of the year.”
My eyes widened, and I choked on my drink. “Excuse me?”
She shrugged. “Just saying. You’ll be living the cush-life in France.”
My belly twisted, and I set my drink down, positioning it to line up perfectly straight with my water glass. “No, I won’t. Don’t say that.”
“I give it two months tops.”
“Until what?” I rolled my eyes. “Until I throw away my self-respect and beg his mother for a job just so I can be near him.” I added a dramatic shudder at the ridiculousness she was suggesting. Not that it hadn’t crossed my mind in my weakest moments.
She flicked her long, auburn hair behind her shoulder. “No. Until he comes for you.”
My stomach dropped into free fall. The idea that he would ever do that was impossible while also intoxicating and dangerous thinking. It was a daydream. An easily crushed fantasy. An idea made worse by the fact that in the deepest, most buried part of my heart—a place where I’d stuffed my love for him under a pile of self-ridicule at being a nanny falling for her widowed billionaire boss—a little flicker of hope pulsed to life. Fuck. I’d never get over him if I couldn’t stop fantasizing he missed me and couldn’t live without me.
I gritted my teeth. “Just stop it, okay. It fucking hurts, Mer. I told him how I feel. He knows. He knows and he isn’t capable of meeting me there. He’s too damaged. He’s untrusting. His heart is closed to me. It’s not happening. And I can’t afford to even entertain the idea that he’s thinking about me. I can’t. I’ll break apart. I’m barely hanging on here. Please, as my best friend, help me forget him, help me heal, don’t stick a lever in the cracks in my chest to pry them open.” Tears had sprung to my eyes.
Meredith’s face grew slack. Her hand covered mine where I’d pulverized what was left of the coaster. “Dammit. I’m so sorry, Josie. I’m so thoughtless sometimes. I… I didn’t realize that you really and truly fell for him. Shit.”
“I told you I did,” I whispered and swiped a hand across my cheek.
“And I guess I just thought it was lust and a massive crush … shit, I’m sorry.”
I laid my head down on my arms.
“Okay. I’m closing us out and then we’re going home to Taye Diggs. I’m sorry.”
Nodding, I mumbled, “Thank you.”
A few minutes later, we were walking down King Street toward home. The fall evening was still warm and balmy, but the breeze was laced with a cool undertone.
“I’m sorry,” Meredith said for the fourteenth time.
I slipped my arm through hers and linked us together. “I know.”
“So how was your first week at the new job,” she asked.
“Great, actually. I’m definitely among my people. Half the salary, of course, but twice the satisfaction level. Also, I’ve dusted off my old blog I started in college. I sent out an email to my old subscriber list and they’re all still there, been missing me.” My chest filled again with warmth at how awesome it had been to send out those cold emails after so many years and to have the responses start pouring in.
“Wait. Your Gargoyles and Medallions blog? That’s great. You really had something there, it was sad when you let it go. It was growing so fast, you could have monetized it.”
“I know. I got so caught up in the soulless competition of working for the architectural firm, thinking I could make a difference that way, I forgot the passion that got me into architecture in the first place.” I had Xavier to thank for waking me up to that. “I’m doubling down on doing what I love.” Then I rattled off the titles of the next five niche topics I planned to write about regarding foreign influences on classic architecture by country.
“I have no idea what you just said, kinda zoned out there, but it sounds great.”
“It just means I’ll be focusing a lot more on my interests. And if, big if, I happen to visit France one day again or anywhere else in Europe, I’ll be doing so for legitimate research purposes. And maybe I can even consult on building projects that are trying to conform to local architectural ordinances or aesthetics. Wherever the projects may be.”
Meredith glanced at me sidelong, and I could sense her biting her tongue. Instead, she squeezed my arm to her side. “Great. I’m happy for you.”
We approached the corner to our street, and I fished in my purse for the keys to the apartment. My phone vibrated, and I pulled it out. I had three missed calls and a voicemail from an unknown number. “Ugh,” I said. “Someone trying to sell me a warranty on that car I don’t own.”
I handed Meredith my keys and swiped over to the voicemail page where a message was transcribed. Josie, set stuffing. Silty play. Unable to transcribe remainder of message.
“Weird,” I said aloud to Meredith. Then I stopped still. Silty play? S’il te plait?
“What is it? Are you coming up?” Meredith stood holding the door open.
“Um. I think … I think Dauphine just left me a message. I can’t tell.”
“Listen to it then. Did you give her your number?”
“I did. I told her she could call me anytime.”
Meredith stared at me, her eyebrows raised expectantly. “As much as I like to stand on street corners …”
“Sorry.” I shook my head. We went inside and I pressed play and held the phone to my ear as we took the narrow carpeted stairwell up to our third floor apartment. Sure enough it was Dauphine’s voice, thick with tears and whispering. “Josie. It is Dauphine. S’il te plait, please you call me. I am so sad. I had a very bad dream. And I am awake. S’il te plait?”
“Oh, God.” I put my hand to my chest. “It is Dauphine. She woke up from a bad dream. I’m going to call her back.”
“So no Taye Diggs for you?”
“Start without me?”
Meredith rolled her eyes with a knowing smirk. “Fine.”
“What was that look for?”
“Nothing, Josie. You go and call back the daughter of the guy you’re in love with.”
I frowned. “Why is that bad? I—”
“It’s not. Go.” She shooed me into my bedroom and closed the door on me.
I stared at the wood, then walked to my bed and sat down. I looked up Dauphine’s contact where I’d saved it on my phone. Then I kicked off my shoes and waited as it rang.
Chapter Forty-Eight
My phone screen opened to darkness. “Allo?” a tiny voice answered.
“Dauphine? It’s me, Josie, calling you back.”
There was a squeal and some rustling. She was obviously in bed. “Josie!” The brightness of the tablet she held gently lit her soft features. I looked at my watch, it was around two in the morning there. “Are you okay? You said you had a bad dream.”
“Oui. But now I do not remember.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “I must be quiet.”
“Yes, um, why do you have your iPad in bed?” I knew her father didn’t like her sleeping with her electronics in her room.
“I took it from Papa’s room while he was sleeping.”
I tutted a gentle reprimand. “So, you woke up from a bad dream and went to your father’s room, but you didn’t wake him up?” My eyebrows were raised.
“Non. I wanted to talk to you. I wish you we
re here, Josie. I miss you so much.”
I pressed and released my lips, a hand coming to my chest. “I miss you too, sweetheart. Where are you right now? At home or on the boat? It’s so dark, I can’t see where you are.”
“At home. Today I started school again. And the girls were so mean! I told them I had an American friend and they told me I was lying. You are my best friend. Tu sais? Tu me manques. I miss you,” she said again.
“I miss you too,” I repeated and bit my lip.
“Mémé even told Papa he is irritable because he misses you too. And he got very angry at her. But en secret, I think he does.”
Ah, my gut clenched, along with my teeth. “Well, I’m sure he’s irritable because he’s stressed with important work things.”
“Josie? Why could you not stay?” Her nose scrunched up and her chin wobbled like she was trying very hard not to cry.
“Oh, sweetheart. I—I don’t live there, I live here and I—”
“But you could live here. With us. I—I thought maybe you and my papa could fall in love and maybe you could be my belle-mère. Can you come back?”
Oh, God. “Dauphine. Honey.” My voice failed me, and I blinked away the tears that pooled in my eyes. Pursing my lips, and then mashing them together, I tried to stifle the wrecking ball that was crawling up my throat. Especially when I heard the soft sniffle that told me Dauphine was now crying too. The tears in her eyes glinted in the glow of the iPad.
“Please, Josie?” Her voice was so small and shaky, it felt like my chest might crack. “Do you not love me very much?” she asked.
“Oh, Dauphine.”
Fuck.
I let out a wobbly breath and sniffed since my whole head was now liquefying. And she would see I was crying. I squeezed my eyes shut and got it together with superhuman force of will. “I love you. I love you so, so much.”
“Then why can you not come here?”
“It’s not so simple. Just because people want to be together, doesn’t mean it’s always right.”
“Do you love, Papa?”
I swallowed. “Sweetheart. I, that’s … that’s between your father and me.”
“But if you come here then maybe you can fall in love.” She hiccupped.
Suddenly she disappeared from the screen in a rustle of sheets.
“Dauphine?” Xavier’s gruff and sleep-infused voice thumped me in the solar plexus. He murmured to her in French, confused, questioning. It was muffled. She’d obviously hidden her device.
Shit.
Should I hang up?
I chewed my lip, debating. I should. But I didn’t want her to think I’d hung up on her, or leave her to try to explain our conversation by herself. I also, God help me, wanted to hear his voice again. I wanted to hear the low rumble of his throat and soft soothing French words I would probably not understand as he calmed his daughter. My fingers hovered over the end button when all of a sudden a lamp in Dauphine’s room flicked on and Xavier’s face filled the screen.
My chest ballooned with the overwhelm of seeing him. I stared, drinking my fill for endless moments. He seemed equally stunned though perhaps not for the same reasons. His eyes were tired, bloodshot, and I wondered if he’d been having his midnight whiskeys again. His bed hair made my palms itch to reach through the screen and smooth it down. Warmth unraveled through my insides. “Josie,” he whispered, then cleared his throat.
We stared for two long beats.
His features hardened.
“Wait,” I said.
But the screen went blank.
I flung my phone on the bed next to me as I fell backward.
“Goddammit,” I yelled and covered my eyes, pressing away the sting in them. The impact of seeing him kicked like an old bruise on my ribcage. And the tiny imploring voice of Dauphine who saw things so plainly, like only children could, had near ripped my damn heart out.
There was a soft knock at the door. “Josie?”
“Yeah. Come in.” I scrubbed my hand down my face and sat up.
The door opened, and Meredith’s face was twisted in sympathy. “Do you want to talk about it?”
I scooted over wordlessly, settling my back against the headboard and folding my legs up to squeeze them against my chest.
Meredith crawled onto the bed and lay next to me. “You know that story about the big rig that gets jammed in the tunnel and only the kid can figure out how to get it loose?”
“Um, no. I’m sorry, I thought we were talking about my heartbreak here. If we’re going back to fifth grade physics, I’m out.” I sat up.
She picked up a throw pillow and tossed it at my head.
“Fine. Go on.” I settled back.
“So all these company executives and highway patrol come out, coz, you know, the damn rig has blocked the tunnel completely, like, really wedged in there. They organize a towing situation, but there’s just not enough strength to get it out. It doesn’t budge. They call the engineers, and the engineers talk about removing pieces of the tunnel ceiling. But that could cause a lot of structural damage and mean a lot of rebuilding. And at this point, the mayor of the local town is out scratching his head because this situation has blocked the road in and out of his town. People are upset.”
“Did you smoke something?”
“Shh. Someone says let’s get the blow torch in here and cut the roof of the truck off, and everyone thinks that’s a great idea. But then someone mentions sparks, and people worry the whole thing could explode. So of course, then it’s really getting out of hand because someone else is all ‘let’s blow up the mountain,’ you know?”
“Is there a point here?”
“Hush. So with all this going on there’s a bit of a traffic jam. And word is starting to travel down the lanes that there’s a truck wedged into the tunnel and no way to get it out. We all have to turn around and go home because they are going to blow up the mountain and we’ll be stuck in our town, cut off, isolated for years with no supplies until they can rebuild the tunnel.”
“Meredith,” I growled.
“Patience, grasshopper. So then this little kid—”
“Don’t tell me. Fifth grade?”
“Sure. So this fifth-grader timidly raises her hand. But of course, no one’s paying attention. She’s small, and her voice is small, and all the grown-ups are emotional and panicked and basically having an existential crisis. The mayor is crying about the loss to the town, the engineers that they’ll have to destroy everything they built, the trucking company about losing a truck. So the little girl talks louder, and eventually, goes right up to the head of the trucking company whose truck is wedged in the tunnel.” Meredith winked. “I mean, it’s really wedged in there, and we’re only talking a difference of six inches here. Maybe seven? And that truck could get loose.”
“Oh my God, only you could make this story sexual.” I rolled my eyes.
“Symbolic, not sexual. Anyway,” she exaggerated. “So the little girl gathers her courage and her loudest voice and marches up to the people in charge. The ones who are the actual decision makers. And she says ‘Excusez-moi?’ She’s French. Like Dauphine. This is a French town. Did I tell you that?”
“Meredith.”
“So she says, ‘Excusez-moi? But why don’t you just let the air out of the tires?’ Everyone grows quiet and the mayor laughs and says, ‘Yeah, we tried that.’ And he looks to the engineers who look to the trucking company, who, in turn, look at the driver of the truck. The driver shakes his head a bit sheepishly. Actually, no one has tried that, it seems. So they all frown at the child. I mean, it’s a little girl offering an opinion, you know? And all these important blustery men aren’t used to that. I mean, Lord, give me the confidence of a mediocre white man, amirite? But they’re desperate, so they try it. And lo, wouldn’t you know?”
“It works.”
Meredith nodded. “It works. They tow the truck free and everyone celebrates, and everyone loves everyone, and the mayor, let’s call him Ja
vier Rascale, falls in love with the mother. She’s called Mosie. And the little girl, her name is—”
“I get it.”
“Right, well, and everyone lives happily ever after.” Meredith frowned. “Well, mostly everyone. The engineers, of course, go home and realize they’re not actually that smart, and they all get super depressed. But everyone else is happy.”
I pursed my lips, fighting a smile.
“The point is,” Meredith said. “The grown-ups are making this complicated. And really it’s quite simple.”
Letting out a long sigh, I let my head fall back to the headboard to stare at the nineteenth century carved molding. “How does the little girl get the mayor to listen to reason?”
“I don’t know.”
“This was super helpful,” I deadpanned. “Thank you.”
She squeezed my hand. “You’re welcome.”
But Meredith had made me sort-of smile, and that was something.
“Can you look up what belle-mère means?” I asked her, spelling it out while she typed it into her phone.
“Stepmother. Did Dauphine ask you to be her stepmother?”
I nodded, mute, my eyes filling.
“It actually means beautiful mother. Trust the French to fully romanticize a replacement mother. My idea of a stepmother is Cruella De Ville.”
“Same with my stepfather.” I picked at a stray thread on my pillow. “Although he wasn’t exactly cruel, not to me. Just a money grubber.”
“Maybe it’s different when one parent dies as opposed to one of them having an affair.”
“Maybe.” I lifted a shoulder. Then I shivered. “The way he looked at me when he took her tablet. I feel guilty all of a sudden, even though Dauphine called me, and not the other way around. Maybe I shouldn’t have called her back.”
Meredith brought her knee up and rested her cheek on it, looking at me sideways. “It sounds like you have a good relationship with her. You guys are friends. If you hadn’t called back when she was obviously upset, that would have been cruel.”
I sighed. “You’re right.”