Three and a Half Minutes

by Caroline Fyffe

  This unbeknownst to Camille, as she’d spent her lunch hour upstairs in administration inquiring if it were possible to get a partial reimbursement, in case she decided to go home early. On her way back to class, she’d run into Stena on the stairs. If the devious vixen had wanted Camille to know about the change, she would have mentioned it then. But she hadn’t. Camille had spent the whole afternoon alone in the classroom wondering where everyone was.

  After school, she’d learned about the museum excursion—and how it came about—when she ran into Mark Marslino in the café on the square. Camille made a personal vow that enough was enough. She knew why Branwell disliked her, as trivial as his reason was. Why couldn’t he let it go? She may be clumsy but he was unforgiving. He must have unresolved insecurities. It made no sense at all.

  But Stena? What had she ever done to her? Nothing. Well, except everyone knew the off-the-fashion-page beauty had a huge crush on Günther. She must sense my interest in him too. Being truthful with herself, Camille admitted she had been romantically interested in him from the start. Was that it? Am I that transparent?

  Had been interested. Had been—she reminded herself harshly.

  The question was, did Stena know he was married? This was her second term. She must. Perhaps a small thing like a wife didn’t matter to her at all.

  Camille descended into the kitchen looking for some hot coffee. A quarter pot of yesterday’s was all that was there. She glanced into the living room for Wolfgang. Not finding him, she looked in the garage and found his car gone.

  Rinsing the pot, she filled it with spring water from the jug on the counter and added the grounds. While it brewed, she hurried back upstairs to get ready for the day. Twenty minutes later, dressed in jeans and a royal blue cashmere sweater set, Camille poured a cup of coffee and opened the morning paper she’d picked up off the front step. She glanced down the page, looking for something easy to try. Since her arrival, her German was much improved. She could understand a good percentage of what she heard and she could speak in simple sentences, proficient in getting her ideas across. But reading the paper or magazines, made up of complex sentence structure with three-inch-long words, was another story. Giving up, she flipped to the cartoons. She always did well there.

  “Camille.”

  Camille jerked around in surprise, sloshing coffee everywhere. She was alone. Yet someone just whispered into her ear. I didn’t imagine it. A shiver of apprehension tiptoed up her spine. Turning back, she took the kitchen towel and began dabbing at the counter and newspaper, her thoughts on what had just occurred.

  It was the woman’s voice. She was sure of it. The same woman from her dreams, or visions, or whatever they were. And yet, she wasn’t dreaming now.

  Her hand stopped, her eyes were drawn to a large cartoon in the middle of the page. It was the only one done in color. It was a depiction of heaven. A couple of angels were looking down from their lofty perch at the world, where mayhem on all accounts was breaking out.

  Camille felt compelled to look. To study it. Could not drag her gaze away. She worked, trying to figure out what it said, and meant. Finally frustrated with her lack of ability, but completely compelled to find out what it said, she ran upstairs for her dictionary.

  Back in the kitchen she diligently looked up the two words she was having trouble with, and then filled in the blanks. Alles geschieht aus einem Grund.

  She slowly lowered herself to the stool. A peace stole over her as she took another look with the words tumbling around in her heart. Everything happens for a reason.

  Günther watched out his classroom window as students hurried up the flagstone steps. Several from his class approached, but not the woman he was waiting for.

  She was sponsoring Johann.

  What a windfall.

  Who would have thought?

  His heart thumped several times when he spotted Camille with her black coat and chestnut tresses moving as she walked. Her face, the same color as raspberry ice, was drawn up in a smile as she observed a stroller-pushing mommy. She held a cup of coffee in one hand, the other clasped tightly on the strap of her backpack.

  Why had he treated her so shabbily on Sunday, he asked himself for the thousandth time. Why? He knew the reason and it almost doubled him over. His guilt over his attraction to her. Her being there so close to Kat’s mother. It felt like a betrayal of the worst kind to Katerina and Nikolaus. He’d vowed to himself the day that had taken his whole life that he’d never let himself enjoy the world that he’d robbed his family of. This was his responsibility. His alone to shoulder. His sin to expiate.

  He was the one that should have died that day. Been in the accident that took both of their lives. If he’d done what Katerina had asked him to do, in a timely manner, it would have been him and not them. They would be alive. If only he could do it all over.

  But he’d procrastinated. Kat had gone, taking their son with her, and been hit by a drunken driver. Every time he went to Aggie’s, he relived it. Forced himself to remember.

  Seeing Camille there, with his growing love, was too much to handle. He’d been mean. Hurt her feelings and crushed the fragile trust that had been growing between them. Now, after these three days, would she even talk to him?

  When she was almost to the top of the steps, Stephen Turner joined her. They walked together, talking. She smiled at him and laughed at something he’d said. Günther’s heart fell.

  “She’s a beautiful woman.”

  Absorbed in his thoughts, he hadn’t heard Stena von Linné’s approach.

  He turned and looked at her. “Who?” That was a stupid question. She’d obviously seen who he was looking at.

  A perfectly plucked eyebrow rose sardonically. “Camille Ashland.”

  Stena’s face was hard. An expression he’d never seen before transformed it into a sneer of jealously and hate. He was surprised.

  “Yes. I agree with you.”

  “It looks as if the other American finds her attractive too. I’ve seen him around here recently. Quite often, actually.”

  That was an odd thing for her to say. Or notice, for that matter.

  Günther went over to his desk and sat down. He motioned for Stena to sit also. “How did it go for you? Did you have any problems?”

  She sat, but looked troubled. Not the cool, composed person he was used to. She smiled. “It went well. The students seemed to like my methods. There was much class participation.” She shrugged. “It was good.”

  “Thank you again for stepping in for me in my hour of need.”

  Students were filing in now, sitting or chatting. Camille came in, followed by Branwell. She took her seat quietly and avoided looking in his direction. She turned to Lena and complimented her on her sweater. This was going to be a difficult day.

  It was. They avoided each other at every move. Others seemed to feel the tension in the air, for it was quiet and tempers were short. At lunchtime, Günther received a text from Florian. He’d been to see the doctors. They’d cleansed his wound, given him numerous injections, and he’d suffered through eight stitches. He’d have a scar to show for his bravery. Günther smiled. Ms. Roth was agreeable to the plan for Johann. Probably glad to be rid of us. Besides the fact that Bernhard was on his way to the penitentiary, her opinion of the thug had taken an impressive turn for the worse, especially after seeing the slash on Florian’s neck.

  At a quarter to three, Günther was glad the day was almost over. Some of the students grumbled when he handed out homework. He hadn’t had a private moment with Camille all day.

  She approached his desk now, her heart was in her eyes. “Herr Christove?”

  “Günther,” he reminded her quietly. He wanted to smile but a dull ache inside prevented it. He came around his desk and stood close. “I’m sorry about Sunday,” he said sincerely. “I almost bit your head off.” The apology just slipped out unplanned. “I scared you.”

  “No. No. I’m the one who is sorry. I intruded on you.”


  “Well, it was a shock. I just reacted badly. I’ve heard the good news about Johann. I can’t tell you how wonderful I think this is. But are you sure about it? Have you given it enough thought? Enough prayer? This is an enormous step.”

  “Yes, I have. It’s actually the first time that I feel one hundred percent positive about anything I’ve ever done in my life. It’s for Johann. And God.” And you, she thought.

  He took both her hands into his own, holding them out in front of him. “Who would have thought that our student from across the ocean would—” His phone rang, cutting him off. As he shook his head in disbelief, he dropped one of her hands to look at the number.

  A disappointed look crossed his brow. “I’m sorry, Camille, I need to answer this.”

  She smiled brightly, making his spirit soar. “That’s all right. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  In Michaelerplatz Camille wandered around, too keyed up to go home. She went over to the church and looked at the relief of Christ on the side of the wall, thinking. “Lord,” she said softly. “Thank you for bringing Günther and me back together as friends. I would have been so sad if we had parted without making up.”

  Just then the bell tower rang out. A bittersweet shiver slipped down her spine. She and Günther were friends. That was all they could ever be. But she was happy with that. That was better than nothing.

  She strolled around a bit more, and then sat on a bench. She gazed at the sky with its wispy clouds and golden-brown birds swooping on the breeze.

  She had a decision to make. Should she go home early for Kristin or try to stick it out for the full two months? The school was agreeable to a credit for the future. Was that what she really wanted?

  In her heart of hearts, she knew she really wanted to stay.

  But…should she?

  Her health seemed fine. The shop was doing well, and today Kristin had sounded happier too. She was living her dream. Getting to know who she really was. Deep down. Somewhere where she had never looked before.

  And better still, she was drawing so much closer to God. Learning about her faith. She knew a lot of the reason was because of Günther, but she couldn’t help that. He had a natural ability to see God everywhere. It was hard for others not to be drawn to him. Who knew if she’d ever really get the chance to come back? Life took unexpected turns when they were least expected. Hadn’t she learned that a few weeks ago?

  She heard laughter and saw a couple coming out of a restaurant, hand in hand. They looked happy. They stopped and kissed. The man tucked a wisp of his sweetheart’s hair behind her ear and then whispered something. The woman laughed softly and snuggled against his side as they walked away.

  Love was a beautiful thing.

  She wanted that. She wanted that with Günther.

  Günther is married, she sternly reminded herself.

  She could never have him—and that was a cold, hard fact. She glanced at the restaurant the lovers had exited. That may be so, but she could have a glass of wine.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  “Möchten Sie noch ein Glas Wein?” Camille’s waiter asked as he picked up her empty glass. She glanced at the plate of fresh fruit, nuts, and assorted crackers and wafers she’d ordered and he’d just placed on the pink and green floral tablecloth. It looked delicious, but the cheese and assortment of meats on the table next to hers looked even more appealing, making her mouth water. She shrugged, resigned to her lot. What could one more glass hurt?

  “Ja, bitte,” she replied, smiling at him as if it was the most natural thing in the world to be drinking alone on a Thursday afternoon.

  The place was bustling, loud.

  Now, after one glass of wine she felt better about her state of affairs. Actually, she felt wonderful. Warm and languid. She delved into the colorful plate of goodies.

  Günther was married. Period. End of sentence.

  Her waiter was back with her second glass of Franz Prager Grüner Veltliner, 2006. When she’d ordered it, she hadn’t really known what it was, except that it was listed under white table wines. Chardonnay was her usual choice, but none had been offered. Whatever this was, it was good.

  “Danke sehr,” she said as he placed it before her on the table. She glanced at her watch. She’d been leisurely taking her time. Enjoying being alone. She did need to call Wolfgang out of courtesy soon, or he’d be worried.

  Camille placed a succulent strawberry on a golden wafer and placed it in her mouth. She chewed thoughtfully and washed it down with a sip of wine.

  Her phone chimed signaling a text. From Wolfgang. Call me, was all it said. She put in his number and waited for him to pick up.

  “Wolfgang, I got your message. What’s up?”

  “I need to talk to Günther and was wondering if he was with you?”

  “No. I haven’t seen him since class. Did you try calling him?”

  “My call isn’t going through. Possibly his phone is dead, or something. He lives close to the school. Are you still in the area?”

  Camille knew where this was leading. At least she thought she knew. No way did she want to go over to Günther’s house. He’d think she was following him again. She could fib to Wolfgang, but that wouldn’t be right. Maybe it was important.

  “Yes, I’m still in Michaelerplatz.”

  “Would you mind going over to his apartment and giving him a message for me? It’s really quite close.”

  She almost groaned. “Not at all.” That’s a boldfaced lie. “Just give me directions and what you want me to tell him. I’ll go over there right now.” She paused. “Are you sure I won’t be intruding?”

  Wolfgang laughed. “On Günther? I don’t think so.”

  He gave Camille the address and a few simple instructions to get there.

  Camille stood in front of the apartment building for a good five minutes gathering her courage. This is exactly what I deserve for feeling sorry for myself. If I’d gone home when I should, instead of imbibing indulgently on two glasses of wine, I wouldn’t be in this predicament.

  How fast things change. A few days ago she would have marched right up to the door and knocked, unmindful of what Günther might be doing. Not so now. Forcing one foot in front of the other, she found herself at the door. Gritting her teeth, she rang the buzzer.

  A few heart-stopping moments passed and then Günther answered. His brows shot up in surprise. And then he smiled. A beautiful, welcoming, cartwheel-producing smile. His shirttail hung loose and he was barefoot. A cat ran between his legs and out into the bushes.

  “Camille.”

  “Günther, I’m really sorry to barge in on you like this—again,” she began. She ran her fingers through her hair and pulled the mass over one shoulder. Her face suddenly warmed so much she wondered if it was the wine or something else entirely. “But Wolfgang is trying to get a hold of you. He’s tried to call you several times but can’t get through. He asked me to come over here and tell you to call him.”

  Günther moved aside and opened the door. “Forgive my rudeness.” He swept his arm wide in a gesture to enter. “Please, come in. Do you have a moment to visit?”

  She did. As a matter of fact—and after a final decision—she had one week short of two months. “I guess. Only if you’re sure you’re not busy.”

  “I’m not doing anything except relaxing.” He looked down at his feet and wiggled his toes. They laughed.

  The moment Camille stepped through the threshold, an intense dizziness bombarded her. She swayed to one side and Günther reached out quickly and took hold of her by the shoulders. He led her through the room to a burgundy sofa.

  “Whoa, now. Sit. Are you feeling okay?”

  “I was. All of a sudden I felt warm and then dizzy. It must be the wine.” Ouch. How embarrassing. “I mean, when Wolfgang called, I was in a restaurant having a snack. I guess it went to my head.”

  “No more apologies. Let me get you a cool glass of water.”

  He disappeared from the room and so
on returned with two glasses of water and some crackers on a small round plate. He placed all three onto the coffee table, then handed Camille her glass.

  Camille wondered if Mrs. Christove would materialize at any moment. The place didn’t have a woman’s touch. Actually, and she felt completely uncharitable even thinking this, but it was quite messy.

  “So, what’s this about Wolfgang?”

  “He didn’t say. Only that he needs you to call him and he’d thought your phone may have died. It sounded important.”

  “That’s exactly what happened and I’ve misplaced my charger.” He looked around pointedly. “You can understand why.”

  Camille sank back into the cushions, closing her eyes. Vertigo swirled. It almost felt as if she was having that bizarre flying sensation when she’d had her near-death experience. The lightheadedness was getting so bad, she was afraid she was going to have to run to the bathroom and get sick.

  “You’re worse.” Günther’s tone was full of concern. “Lie flat.” He plumped a pillow for her head and reached down to take off her shoes. With that done, he lifted her legs and covered her with a soft chenille throw. “Just rest. I’ll be right back.”

  As he walked away, Camille’s instincts warred inside her. She tried to stay calm, but the room tilted and spun. To make matters worse, Camille dreaded the thought of his wife walking through the door and finding her lying on their couch.

  “Camille…”

  That wasn’t Günther. He was off doing something in the other room.

  “Camille.” The voice was soft, inside her head.

  Günther reappeared. He had his phone in his hand. Looking at her, he set it down and squatted at her side. “Camille, what is it? You don’t look yourself.”

  “Something very, very bizarre is going on.” Her voice wobbled. “I think I’m going crazy.”

  He put his palm on her forehead. It was comforting and she closed her eyes.

  “You’re not warm,” he said, and she opened her eyes. “And you’re certainly not going crazy. You’re getting sick is all. No concern for panic.”