by Pam Jenoff
“You can’t picture yourself doing it, but once you have you can’t imagine life otherwise,” he replies. “My daughter was the most wonderful thing in the world. How she looked at me, the way she saw the world. But to lose that . . . ” He shudders, not finishing the sentence. I squeeze his fingers harder in my own.
“I still can’t believe it was Conti,” Nicole says as she and Jared join us at the table.
Ari shakes his head, at a loss for words. Despite the old man’s confession, he is having trouble accepting that this lifelong family friend was the culprit. “It seems that he did it to protect his wife.”
“But I thought Signora Conti was the daughter of the winemaker,” Nicole says, her brow furrowing.
“Apparently not,” Ari replies. I stare at him, surprised. “I spoke to a friend of mine who is a researcher at Yad Vashem just now and they’re still trying to piece it all together. But it seems that the real Ella Cerfberre died in Terezin during the war. So Signora Conti was not who she claimed to be, and that, whoever she was, she was somehow implicated by the wine.”
I remember then how nervous the Contis had seemed when we visited their home that morning. I assumed it was because of the mob, but they were really terrified of us and the possibility that we were getting too close to the truth.
“Signor Conti must have wanted to destroy the wine to hide his wife’s secret,” Jared offers. “He knew he was going to die in a few months anyway. So he did the only thing he could do, protect her while he was still able.”
“No, he didn’t,” I blurt out, more sharply than I intended. All heads turn in my direction. “Killing himself and leaving her alone isn’t protecting her.” I stare at the table, feeling my cheeks flush.
“He could have surrendered,” Ari interjects, as if interpreting for me. “An older man like him, he might not have even gone to jail. Instead, he took his own life . . . ”
“Leaving her to deal with the consequences,” I finish pointedly, and I know then that for all of the answers I might get here, some part of me would always be angry at Jared for abandoning me.
“He almost got away with it, too,” Jared observes, either not getting or choosing to ignore the parallel I’ve drawn. “Fortunately, the last bottle wasn’t destroyed.”
“Thanks to Jordan,” Ari remarks, his voice full of admiration. “That was really something, the way you dove after that.”
“Rather impressive for one who can’t swim well,” Nicole adds drily.
“Well, I had to get the wine,” I reply.
“Seems like a lot of trouble to go to for a fight that isn’t yours,” she observes evenly.
“It wasn’t, I mean isn’t,” I fumble, feeling my cheeks grow warm. “But Ari needed . . . ” Despite all that has happened to ease the tension between us, Nicole still enjoys setting me back on my heels, feeling in control. “Anyway, I remembered what you said about the water being shallow.”
“Oh, that was a different part of the harbor entirely. The place where you jumped in was at least fifteen feet deep.” I scan her face for some sign that she is joking and find none. Suddenly, the magnitude of what I had done crashes down upon me.
“You in the water, me on the ledge in the cave,” Ari observes. “I guess we both overcame some fears today.”
I nod in agreement. Of course our biggest mutual fear—of commitment, of getting close to someone again, lies unspoken between us, a giant question mark.
We eat in silence for several minutes. “So what now?” I ask.
“I’ll arrange to have the bottle securely transferred to Tel Aviv,” Ari replies. “It should get there in a few days. And with the wine as evidence, the prosecutors should be ready to issue an indictment. I expect to see it announced in the press in a week or two.”
“So that’s it?” I ask.
Nicole’s brow furrows. “Not exactly. I’m sure the Austrian police are investigating Heigler’s death.” A strange look crosses Ari’s face and I wonder if he has done something to make that go away. Nicole continues, “The debris from Conti’s yacht in the harbor likely won’t go unnoticed, either. And eventually someone is bound to realize that the cave imploded.”
“And then there’s the question of the money from the original sale that Heigler stole,” Jared points out. “It’s still out there somewhere.”
“I can file a report with Interpol on that,” I suggest, knowing Lincoln would help me. Ari could do it as well, but I’d hate to ask him to do anything that might enmesh him further with Mosaad when he’s trying to get out.
“No,” Jared protests and I see the conflict on his face, the unwillingness to risk putting me in harm’s way once more.
“We can do it,” Ari intercedes, touching my forearm lightly. We. My heart quickens. There is a moment of silence as he and Jared exchange competitive looks. Jared is jealous, I realize, that Ari can be with me and protect me in a way that he no longer can. “I’ll make sure everything is okay,” Ari adds.
For a second I am annoyed. I don’t need either man to protect me. I’m not a child; I’m a trained government operative, or was anyway. It’s all right, a voice inside me says then. To have someone want to look after you is hardly the worst thing in the world.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Nicole. Her face is impassive, but she grips the edge of the table, knuckles white, as she watches the two men, her husband and her cousin, vying to protect me. No wonder she hates me so.
I clear my throat. “Ari’s right. Let us do this for you. We’ll be fine.”
“No,” Jared insists, unwilling to let go. I am aware for the first time his need to be right, to control the situation, no matter what. In my memories, blurred by the passage of time, Jared had been perfect. Seeing him here in the cold light of present day, his flaws loom into full view, impossible to ignore. I understand now that no matter how much I loved him, we would not have worked out in the long run; even if he had not disappeared, our relationship would never have survived in the cold realities of the real world, stripped of the downy cradle that was Cambridge. Part of me wishes I had not come here and learned the hard truth that was the price of our reunion.
I look from Jared to Ari and back again, remembering the question Ari posed on the boat: If Jared were not married, who would I choose? I know the answer now. My feelings for Ari, imperfect and messy, are real, not based on a memory kept beneath glass, like those I have for Jared.
But that does not mean I do not care about him. “Jared,” I say, catching his gaze and holding it. And then it is as if we are alone in the room, speaking in the wordless way we once had. Let me go, I tell him silently. Let me do this; I can help.
I see his protestations—putting me at risk is contrary to everything he fought for years ago. But then his gaze darts around the cottage as he reminds himself of Nicole and Noah and all of the things that must come first now. It isn’t his job to protect me anymore. His shoulders slump in defeat and I can tell that he has heard me and accepts what he has to do.
“You won’t stay here, of course,” Ari says. It is not a question.
“No,” Jared agrees. “Too much has happened. We’ll move on as soon as you go.”
“The quicker the better,” Ari replies. It seems that on this point, at least, the two men can find common ground.
I look around the room. The beloved cottage that had become home to Jared, allowed him to finally stop running, is no longer safe. For a moment I am filled with remorse. Had my quest to find him destroyed his sanctuary? No, it was Nicole’s actions that brought danger here.
“So where will you go?” But even as I ask this, I know that he cannot tell me.
He gives a faint, almost imperceptible shake of his head, unwilling to jeopardize my safety, or theirs. “I’ll get in touch with my contacts again,” he says, referring to the Master. “They’ll help us figure out where to go.”
Sadness washes over me in great waves. Part of the comfort I found in seeing Jared again was knowing where he was, where he would be
after I left. Even if I could not come here again, I could see him in my mind’s eye, imagine his life from afar. But now he will disappear once more, like smoke, and it will be as if I had never found him at all. As if he were still dead.
Ari clears his throat. “I don’t mean to be rude, but we have a long journey ahead of us and we should get started. I’m going to get the boat ready,” he says to me. “I’ll meet you there.”
He is giving me time to say good-bye to Jared. He walks to Nicole, kisses her on both cheeks. “Be well, my cousin.”
As Ari leaves the cabin, Nicole busies herself in the kitchen, filling a small sack. “For you,” she says, bringing it to where I sit and setting it down on the table. “Some food for your return journey.”
It is my cue to leave. “Thanks.” I stand and pick up the sack.
“No, thank you,” she says, grateful to me for letting Jared go as much as for helping to save her son’s life. I nod. We will never be friends, but we care about the same men and that, at least, is something.
“I’ll walk you out,” Jared says, picking up the sack. Neither of us speak as we leave the cottage and start down the rocky hill to the beach.
At the bottom, he stops and hands me the sack, an indication that this is as far as he will go. “Here,” he says. From behind his back he produces the copy of The Two Towers I had seen on his bookshelf. “You should finish it, and the last one, too, when you can get a copy.”
Time for the story to finally have an end. “Thanks,” I say, taking it from him and tucking it in my bag.
We stand facing each other for several seconds. “So how do we do this?” he asks, his voice slightly jagged at the end.
“You go first,” I say. Even with the passage of time and the questions answered, I still do not have the strength to walk away from him.
“Thank you, Jo,” he says.
“For what?”
“For coming all this way. Caring enough to find me.”
And enough to let you go. All of the doubt and regret rises up anew. Don’t go, I want to shout. Stay with me. No matter how much has changed, how much time and distance has come between us, the notion of saying good-bye for good is still unbearable. I wish I could stop the clock, hold on to this moment for which I have waited a lifetime. But then what? Even if I could keep him from going for a minute, an hour, nothing would change. His life would be waiting, and mine, and we would have no choice but to walk away.
This is England all over again, I think. Forces beyond our control, pulling us apart.
No, this time is different, a voice not my own seems to say. We are no longer children. This time we are making the choice to say good-bye, because it is the right thing to do. We cannot hold on to the past by refusing to move forward. Only by choosing to take that step can we reclaim what was taken from us so many years ago.
And suddenly my relationship with Jared is no longer a gaping loss or a larger-than-life should-have-been. I see it for what it was: a sweet, simple love in a more innocent time. The final piece of the puzzle snaps into place and I understand where Jared fits in to the larger tapestry of my life and what people really mean when they speak of closure.
Over his shoulder I glimpse a figure at the cottage window. It is Nicole, watching us, and even from this distance I can feel her tortured expression, as though her fate hangs in the balance, wondering what we are saying, whether I will walk away. Then she is gone, darkness filling the spot where she once stood.
Suddenly weary, I swallow. “Go. Go now.” Jared opens his mouth as though he wants to say something else, then closes it again and starts to turn.
“Wait,” I call a second later, before he can complete his first step. He looks back and in his eyes I see a light, a certain hope that I will try to keep him from leaving. I know then that he shares all of my doubts about letting go of what we shared, that he is fighting the same current as I am in order to keep moving forward, away from each other.
But that is not why I have stopped him. “Here.” I reach into my pocket and pull the ring from the chain. “I think this belongs to you.”
I watch as he recognizes the engagement ring he left in the bank vault so many years ago, his face a mix of confusion and surprise. “Keep it,” he says. “It’s yours. It always was.”
But I shake my head. The ring is a piece of Jared and it doesn’t belong with me any longer. I press it into his palm, close his fingers around it. “It was real, you know,” he says. “Not just a clue to finding my research. I did want to ask you to marry me.”
And though some part of me already knew, it is still good to hear. “Good-bye, Jared.” I reach up and brush my mouth against his.
He hesitates, then presses his lips smooth and warm against mine, a promise sealed. A second later we break apart, and he turns away, this time for good. I watch as he walks down the beach, shoulders low, not looking back.
There are questions I did not get to ask him, I realize. Was it him beneath Hammersmith Bridge that day, following me through the London mist as I ran, checking to make sure I was all right? Could he possibly have cared enough to risk everything to protect me? And if so, how could he bear to have gotten close enough to touch me, yet still not have let me know that he was there? I take a step toward him, then stop, closing my mouth again. There was a time when I needed all of the answers, but it doesn’t matter anymore. The things that I have learned are enough.
I fight the urge to call after him again as he climbs the hill. But I do not, and a moment later the impulse subsides. It is replaced by a pang of longing and loneliness that hits my stomach and breaks wide open, threatening to swallow me whole. This time, though, the ache is not for Jared, but someone else.
Taking a deep breath, I turn and start in the other direction, retracing my steps toward the dock. In the distance I can see the boat, Ari silhouetted against the late-day sun, waiting for me.
An hour later the island has receded behind us and we are surrounded by calm blue waters once more. The afternoon sun is still high in the cloudless sky.
I drop to the deck where Ari lies shirtless. “You ought to consider some sunscreen,” I remark, taking in his bronzed torso. I open my bag and pull out the tube he had given me on the boat. He opens one eye and stretches his arms above his head, ignoring me.
As I start to return the tube to my bag, the Tolkien book that Jared had given me falls out. Ari looks from me to the book, then back again to the place around my neck where the ring once hung. A strange expression flickers across his face and I wait for him to say something about it, but he does not.
I gaze out across the horizon. In my mind, I see Noah, playing on the beach in front of the cottage. Then, as if in a dream, another boy appears beside him. Though the resemblance is strong, he is several years older, with my coloring instead of Nicole’s.
“What are you thinking?” Ari asks, jarring me from my thoughts.
I look down at him. “Children.” He wrinkles his brow, not comprehending. “Earlier you asked if I wanted a child. I’m sorry I snapped.”
“I shouldn’t have asked such a personal question.”
“It’s not that.” And then I am telling him everything, about the secret I have never shared, the pregnancy I ended. “I wasn’t brave enough to have a child on my own,” I conclude, watching his face for signs of judgment.
But I find none. “You were very young and you made the decision you thought was best at the time,” he says. “It couldn’t have been easy.”
“It wasn’t. But if I had told Jared . . . ”
“You thought he was dead. There was simply no way you could have known.” There is a firmness to his voice, and while I know that the absolution he offers is not really his to give, I welcome it nevertheless.
I gaze up, seeing again the little boy, this time against the clouds, and ask a silent prayer of forgiveness of him for having been too young and afraid to believe. Then I set him free on the wind. “I should have been braver,” I add.
“We all have times when we wish we’d been stronger,” Ari replies, and I can tell by his faraway expression that he is lost in memories of his own. “After my wife and daughter died,” he says softly, “I didn’t want to go on, that is, I tried . . . ”
“Oh!” I exclaim aloud in spite of myself. Ari had tried to kill himself. How far had he gotten? Suddenly I can see the depth and blackness of his pain. I throw my arms around him, as if trying to smother out the sparks of anguish that seem to dance around him like fireflies. He drops his head to my shoulder and I hold him tight, rocking him like a child.
A few minutes later he looks up. His face is calm now, his eyes clear. “So what are you going to do now?” he asks.
“You mean, with the rest of my life? No clue.”
“Would you ever go back?”
He is talking about returning to government work, I know. I consider the question. “That’s a tough one.” A day earlier, I would have said no. But helping Ari set things right with the wine made me realize how big a part of me that really was. “I couldn’t go back to State after the things that have happened. But . . . ” Taking a deep breath, I tell him about the encounter in the taxi in Vienna with the CIA agent, the entreaty from Van Antwerpen to return in a different capacity. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you earlier.”
“It’s okay. We were both feeling each other out, and I don’t think learning to trust is instinctive to either of us. I’m glad you told me, though. Would you consider his offer?”
“I don’t think so, at least not now. I think it was Isaac Newton who said, ‘If I have seen further, it is by standing on the shoulders of giants.’ That’s what I’ve done. Don’t get me wrong, the Director has been a great mentor and I’m grateful for the places that he’s enabled me to go, but I think it’s time to stand on my own for a while.”
“Agreed.”
I look up at him. “Really? Does that mean you’re out, too?”
“For good this time. Plus, I don’t know how either of our agencies would feel about this . . . ” He waves his hand between us, his voice trailing off. A faint blush creeps up from his collar. “That is, maybe it isn’t too late, even for two old adrenaline junkies like you and me, to really have something.”