That Spring in Paris

by Ciji Ware

  To his right, Avery and Jamie Thayer walked side-by-side, their boots leaving a trail of slushy footprints. Finn had found Jamie to be a courteous houseguest on the barge, and from everything he’d observed thus far, the video editor and Avery appeared to be enjoying each other’s company. This was a great relief to Finn, as he’d been vaguely worried that Avery, in her fragile state, might misinterpret his own genuine concern for her wellbeing as something... romantic. There were times when she seemed very needy—an emotional state that, from Juliet’s descriptions, was not her friend’s ordinary way of behaving. Her sole dependency on him regarding her diagnosed PTSD could have developed into a situation that would have made them both highly uncomfortable. He was grateful that Jamie had arrived at just the right moment.

  The best news, as he reported to Juliet in their regular email exchanges, was that Avery’s sessions with Dr. Abel also seemed to have helped bolster her psychological wellbeing. Fortunately, her left hand, arm, and shoulder had been unaffected by her injuries the night of the massacre, and with each day that she painted at her professor’s private studio, she’d begun to recover some degree of normalcy in her life. In fact, Finn noticed that Avery currently spent more daylight hours at Professor Devereux’s atelier than she did at her own flat, which was a good sign, he figured. He’d told Juliet that week that he imagined in a month or so, Avery might even be ready to return to her formal classes at art school.

  As their little group reached the street, the wind picked up. Snow began to fall more heavily, coating the massive cathedral’s outstretched flying buttresses with a mantel of white.

  “Ah, there’s a taxi!” Claudine exclaimed, startling him from his wandering thoughts. She pointed a gloved hand at a vehicle heading in a direction that would take them to her flat on the Left Bank. Finn already had his hand up and, as soon as the cab drew to the curb, they all piled into it and he gave the driver his aunt’s address. Claudine had earlier proposed that they come to her apartment for midnight supper this Christmas Eve, a meal that she and her nephew had spent the day preparing. From his position in the front seat, Finn listened to the three backseat passengers’ friendly chatter and felt gratified that Avery appeared to be taking his advice to guard against the instinct to “isolate... and call it self-preservation.”

  “I’ve had to fight shying away from other people all the time,” he’d confessed to her recently, “but the good Doctor A urges me to keep in touch with those I know wish me well.”

  After he’d said that to Avery, the first image that had come into his head was a vision of Juliet. Her understanding and empathy had been obvious from the start, and she’d even seemed to accept his confession that he was very attracted to her, even if she felt uncertain if he were “fit for duty” in a new relationship. She’d appeared immediately to grasp the issues and repercussions associated with his having PTSD and had been supportive of his need to understand the whys and wherefores of his failed marriage to Kim.

  Why was it so hard for him to admit to Juliet the underlying reasons his marriage to Kim had blown up? One thing is for sure—I can’t totally blame everything that had happened on PTSD, he thought with a stab of guilt. God Almighty... why does life have to be so complicated?

  His meandering thoughts came to an abrupt halt when the taxi drew up to Claudine’s front door.

  “Ah, good!” declared his aunt. “Here we are.”

  “I’ll get this,” Jamie insisted, quickly handing their driver some cash. “I’m finally getting the hang of these euros.”

  Once the group arrived inside the door to Claudine’s flat, Jamie suggested they call Juliet—San Francisco being eight hours behind Paris time—and wish her an early Merry Christmas.

  Avery glanced at her watch and clapped her hands with delight. “Yes. It’s just past midnight here, so it’s officially Christmas—in Paris, at least. Oh, how I miss that girl!”

  “This is the first Christmas I haven’t celebrated the holiday with her,” Jamie said, handing over his cell phone. “Go on, Avery... you call her. She’ll be thrilled to hear your voice.”

  As for Finn, he felt a deep pang of regret that he wasn’t spending his first Christmas with Jamie’s sister—and wondered at the strangeness of it all. When it was his turn to say hello to Juliet, he immediately sensed that she might be the one feeling depressed. Turning his back on the group at Claudine’s, he took a few paces toward the apartment’s foyer for privacy’s sake and asked in a low voice if everything was all right.

  “Actually? No... it’s not. In fact, it’s pretty grim around here,” she said. “There’s a big power struggle going on at work—and at home, too. I dread meeting everyone at church tonight, and then at my parents’ suite tomorrow morning to supposedly celebrate Christmas Day.”

  “Trouble in a family business has gotta be tough.” Finn wished again they weren’t across the world from each other. “I’m really sorry you’re going through something like this, Juliet. I’m sure it only feels worse since it’s Christmastime.”

  Silence rang in his ear. She finally spoke, an audible catch in her throat. “It is the worst! You cannot know how much I wish I was in Paris with you all.”

  “So do I, mademoiselle... so do I.”

  “Tonight I’m going to walk down Taylor Street on Nob Hill with my family for evening service at Grace Cathedral. It’s usually so beautiful there on Christmas Eve, but it all feels so hypocritical. This year is horribly different with Jamie away and... all the other stuff going on.”

  “Your brother is a great guy, and he seems to be enjoying himself, but I’m sure you miss not having him there for Christmas.”

  “I do.” Her melancholy palpable, she said barely above a whisper, “I miss you, too, Finn.”

  “Same here. In fact, I’ll double that.”

  In a small voice she promised, “Shall I light a candle in your honor at Grace Cathedral later tonight?”

  “I just did the same thing for you at Notre Dame.” He hoped the truth of this would cheer her a bit.

  “You did?” He was startled to hear tears edging her words. “Oh, Finn... that means... a lot. Thank you so much!”

  “Well, I’ll thank you in advance for returning the favor... and I’ll picture you there in San Francisco, asking for forgiveness of my sins,” he said with a wry smile she could not see.

  “Oh, please, Finn... ,” she murmured, “You’re no sinner. Just look at the glass house I’m living in right now. No one is speaking to each other these days and we’re still about to release the most grisly video war game ever, yet... off we Thayers will go to church tonight.”

  In a rush she told him about the coming release of GatherGames’ Sky Slaughter 2: Drones in the Desert, and described a series of heated arguments she’d had with Brad over the violence depicted in every aspect of the latest war game, its packaging, and especially its promotion.

  “I tried to make him tone it all down, but I’ve lost every battle. The hell of it is, now that I’m back home and know the details of what’s going on around here, I can’t quit until the struggle for control of the company is settled. My father and mother don’t agree on anything that’s going on, and I feel so guilty about what I’m doing at work, and the money I’m making, and I can barely drag myself to office every day.” She paused and then said, “Why am I burdening you with this? There’s nothing you can do and you probably think I’m—”

  “Look, Juliet,” Finn cut in. “That’s exactly how I felt before I resigned my Air Force commission. Believe me, I feel for you and I can tell that you are trying your very best to figure it all out. No one can tell you what to do, and certainly not yours truly. Just know this, though,” he said, wishing he could reach through the phone and take her in his arms to offer comfort for the misery she was clearly going through, “I have full confidence you’ll find your way through this tangle... and out the other side.”

  He could tell Juliet was covering the microphone on her mobile so he wouldn’t hear her cryi
ng.

  Finally she whispered, “Thanks for that. You’re really a wonderful guy, you know that?”

  “Why, thank you, ma’am,” he said, wishing for the hundredth time that the two were in the same time zone.

  “I’ve done one good thing, however,” she said.

  “Just one?” he teased, thinking of her many kindnesses to Avery—and to himself. “And what is that?”

  “I am officially no longer thought of as Jed Jarvis’s girlfriend.”

  Finn felt an unexpected rush of relief that hit him right in the gut. “Ah-ha. Glad to hear it. Was it hard?” he couldn’t resist asking.

  “So easy, it was kind of indicative of our entire relationship. Our discussion turned out to be a sort of ‘Frankly, Scarlett, I-don’t-think-he-gives-a-damn’ experience.”

  Finn roared with laughter, followed by her muffled voice telling someone she would meet them in the hotel lobby in a couple of hours.

  “You gotta go, right?” he confirmed.

  “Not for a little while yet,” she assured him. “But there’s something else I want you to know. Remember what I said when I first met you: that I’d never cast the first stone at you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, it’s truer than ever, given our latest video. I had to go to the final screening this week and the images haunt me night and day. All I can think of is that you lived it all for real.”

  Finn replied in a manner he hoped she’d interpret as humor, “Hey, you’re a girl. You females are a superior species and your brains are wired to want to protect what you love, not destroy it.”

  “Is that ever true,” she murmured. “Please tell everyone in Paris I miss them so much and that I’m sending all my Christmas love... and especially to you, too, flyboy.”

  “Thank you. The same back. And by the way, it’s already Christmas in Paris so may yours—when it officially arrives—turn out better than you fear.”

  “And enjoy yours, you lucky duck. Bye,” she said, her voice barely audible and with a wistfulness that made his throat tighten—and then she clicked off.

  When Finn awoke a few hours later, he saw a message and a photo on his cell phone featuring a close up of a glowing, ruby-red votive candle sitting on an altar in a side chapel of Grace Cathedral. Below the picture was a text from Juliet.

  Dearest Finn:

  Here’s your very own candle, lighted in your name.

  Merry Christmas, cher monsieur...”

  The following day, Juliet knocked on the door of her parents’ suite hoping the traditional Thayer family breakfast on Christmas morning would be as uneventful as the church service they’d attended the previous evening. She’d managed to sit at the far end of one pew and avoided all but the most perfunctory conversation with the rest of the family. Afterward, her parents and she walked the four blocks down Taylor Street to the Bay View while Brad wandered off to a friend’s Christmas Eve party. Her hope was that her brother would have had his fair share of potent eggnog and would sleep in, giving the morning meal a pass.

  A few moments after her knock, her father’s voice rang out, “Come in!”

  She entered the beautifully appointed rooms facing San Francisco Bay and exchanged air-kisses and “Merry Christmas” with her parents. Sage green satin draperies and a matching collection of loveseats and chairs positioned around a marble fireplace gave the family quarters the turn-of-the-century beaux arts elegance that Juliet had known at the Bay View all through her childhood. In one corner stood a small, stylishly decorated Christmas tree installed, as it was each year, by the hotel’s decorator.

  “No Brad, yet?” she asked in what she hoped was a cheerful, nonjudgmental tone.

  Her mother sent her a look that bordered on a scowl. “He just called. He’s running late, putting out a number of fires, he told me. On Christmas, mind you!” She raised her index finger and pointed it in Juliet’s direction. “I hope you haven’t been discussing anything with other employees about the... ah... issues regarding the unpleasantness going on right now.”

  “Frankly, I have no idea what’s going on ‘right now,’ other than getting yelled at by my sainted brother at every turn.”

  “Now, Juliet... Mildred,” her father stepped in. “Can’t we not talk about business for at least this one day in the year?”

  Her mother tossed her head and walked over to a sideboard that had to be a hundred years old, but whose mahogany had been painted a pale sage to match the drapes. She poured herself a glass of orange juice. “Well, at least without Jamie here,” she said over her shoulder, “we don’t have to listen to you and him whining in stereo.”

  Juliet shot a look at her father who returned a sympathetic gaze but remained silent. With a sigh, she reached into a colorful shopping bag she’d brought with her and placed three presents under the tree.

  “Coffee, pet?” her father asked her, and Juliet could tell he was doing his best to try to smooth things over.

  “Absolutely,” she responded and crossed to the cart brought up by room service before her arrival. She was cheered to see the hotel’s famous popovers—crisp and warm—nestled on a linen napkin in a silver bowl, along with soft, sweet butter and raspberry jam.

  Twenty minutes later, after everyone had poured a second cup of coffee, Juliet’s father glanced at his watch. “Well, it’s obviously taking Brad longer than he thought. Luncheon will be served downstairs at one, so why don’t we start to open our presents?”

  He reached for a small box from under the tree. Juliet immediately recognized the familiar wrappings that identified the package having come from Gumps, the venerable department store that had prospered in downtown San Francisco ever since gold and silver were discovered in California in the mid-nineteenth century.

  “Dad?” Juliet breathed. “What naughty thing have you done?”

  “It’s for you... from your mother and me.”

  Her mother merely cocked an eyebrow and remained silent as Juliet untied the silk bow. Inside was a small, jade dolphin on a delicate gold chain.

  “Oh... it’s beautiful!” Juliet breathed. “I love it!”

  She had first seen the creatures as a little girl when a pod swam just offshore on a warm day near Baker Beach.

  “I still have the dolphins you drew when you were seven, framed in my office downstairs,” her father said with a chuckle. ‘I knew, then, you’d be an artist or architect someday.”

  Juliet smiled at the memory. A few days after her excitement over the sighting, she’d created her first seascape on a piece of paper she’d found on her father’s slanted drawing board. She’d used his colored pencils to draw several of the mammals arching above the water.

  “Here, help me put this on,” she said, turning toward her mother to fasten the clasp. “Thank you so much,” she said over her shoulder as her mother attached one end of the fine gold chain to the other.

  “Don’t thank me. Your father picked it out.”

  “I meant thanks for helping me put it on.”

  Will we never understand each other, she wondered bleakly?

  Mildred Thayer was as protective as a mother grizzly over anything and everything that concerned her firstborn, yet Juliet had always felt that she had disapproved of practically everything her daughter ever said or did. Juliet cast a questioning glance at her father, who quickly looked down at his coffee cup. Then a strange thought occurred to her. Was her mother actually jealous that her dad had picked out such a piece of lovely, sentimental jewelry for his daughter? Juliet couldn’t deny she had always played the role of “Daddy’s girl,” but, after all, she was the only female of the three siblings. No one could deny that she and her father had many things in common, including a love of art and design. Why did her mother seem to take offense at his slightest gesture of affection?

  With an inward sigh—and for something to do to fill the silence in the room—she walked over to the sparkling tree. A package the size of a wall calendar leaned against a lower branch and had her name
on the tag.

  “Who’s this from?” she wondered aloud.

  “It arrived yesterday,” her mother said from the upholstered chair that was pulled up near the crackling fire. “It came from Paris,” she added, her voice edged with—what, wondered Juliet? Anger? More disapproval? “It had Avery Evan’s name on the outside packaging.”

  Given the strained relationship between Brad and his former employee, Juliet figured it might be wise to unwrap the present before her brother arrived and then discreetly put it into the large shopping bag she’d brought with her. She ran her finger under the silver paper.

  “Oh!” she exclaimed, as she pushed aside the wrapping to reveal an oil portrait.

  It was an amazing, close up likeness of Finn Deschanel standing on the deck outside the barge’s pilothouse with the Eiffel Tower looming across the river over his left shoulder. Avery had perfectly captured the unusually dark blue shade of his eyes, much bluer, even, than the sky that surrounded his head. Her breath caught as she absorbed Finn’s sharply defined, high cheekbones and strong jaw... yet Avery had portrayed the exact vulnerability around his mouth she clearly recalled. She couldn’t stop staring at the lips that had kissed her so passionately the night before she flew back to San Francisco. Attached was a card in Avery’s handwriting.

  Something tells me this belongs to you.

  Your flyboy has been the best friend a

  PTSD survivor could have. I think it’s fair