by Kahlen Aymes
“Um…” I beseeched him with my eyes. “Pardonnez-moi. Could you repeat that?” I asked, stupidly mixing French and English. I ended up shaking my head in wry amusement. “Je ne parle pas Français.” I grimaced at my horrible accent. I shrugged apologetically and shook my head. “I’m sorry.”
“May I sit with you, mademoiselle?” He asked in perfect English, his accent impeccable. “I have been admiring you for quite some time as you sat here with your thoughts and felt I had to ask why you appear so sad.”
The man was handsome, with salt and pepper hair, cut short, and he had an immaculately groomed goatee, his clothing and shoes as expensive as his carriage demanded they be. I sat in silence as he sat down before I had the chance to answer.
“It’s Madame and I’m simply missing my husband, but thank you.” I grabbed for my coat but the man put up his hand to stop me.
“Ah, he is a lucky man. There is no need to run away,” he began with a charming smile. “You are quite beautiful. Your husband is insane to leave you to wander cafés alone.”
“I’m meeting up with him for dinner soon. He had to work today, and I wanted to visit the Louvre,” I lied, completely unprepared for such a situation.
“Ah, yes. It is amazing, is it not? It should not be missed while in Paris. You are American?” he asked, lifting his arm and signaling for the waiter. “Can I get you another café?”
“No, thank you.” I studied his clear eyes with their light laugh lines. He had a fatherliness about him that settled me. It would be nice to lose a little time before facing my lonely hotel room. “But, if you don’t mind… I am interested in the locks on the bridge. Will you tell me about them?”
He flashed a brilliant smile. “But, of course! First, I insist on introducing myself. My name is Étienne Lemieux. And, you are?” He proffered his hand. I marveled at the French language that made mere names sound like poetry.
“Julia Matthews.” I took his hand, and he gently raised it to his lips for a soft kiss.
“The pleasure is mine, Julia. Americans are always fascinated by our customs of love.”
My fingers fiddled with the napkin in my lap.
“Before I get into the story, what brings you to Paris?” His accent curled around each word like a lover.
“Work, I’m afraid. I’m a creative director for Vogue.”
“Ah. Very impressive. So is that your interest in the locks? A story for your magazine?”
I stopped and met his eyes, as the first smile in what felt like forever lifted the corners of my mouth. “You know what? That’s a fantastic idea.” I chuckled.
“Most Parisians know about the locks, so how will you make interesting, eh?”
Étienne lifted his hand again and a waiter promptly appeared. He ordered for both of us and soon more coffee, sparkling water, and an assortment of fancy little sandwiches and pastries appeared on the table.
“Personally, I would choose a different venue for dinner, but you look like if you don’t eat you’ll blow away,” he teased. “S’il vous plait.” He offered the sandwiches. I’d just told him I was meeting Ryan, and though my stomach rumbled painfully, I shook my head. I’d order something from room service.
“No, thank you.” I felt at a loss not knowing the language. I had the translator app on the phone but had yet to use it, except in the cab from the airport. “Forgive me. I always feel visitors should use the language of the country they are visiting, but I’ve only just arrived. I haven’t quite gotten the hang of things.”
Étienne took three sandwiches for himself, setting them on the small lunch plate in front of him. “Nonsense. Europe is a close community. We know many languages here. Come. You must at least try a sweet. We have the best pâtisseries in our city.”
I obliged, choosing a fresh fruit tart, and using my fork, cut into it for a small bite. It was extremely delicious.
“I’ve always wanted to learn French and Spanish, since both of those languages are used on my continent, but I never seem to have the opportunity,” I admitted sheepishly.
“The best way is to simply immerse yourself in the culture.” He waved away my apology. “You are here now, and you will learn quickly. Now, for the story about the locks. You know Paris is the city of love, yes?”
“I’ve heard that, yes.” I smiled and took another small bite of the decadent dessert.
“Are you a romantic at heart, Julia?”
“Yes, I suppose I am.”
“And, your husband? Does he lavish you with romance? All women are beautiful and deserve to be worshiped.”
I let out an embarrassed giggle. “Ryan is romantic, yes.” The day was turning out to be much better than I’d thought it would. Ryan would be horrified that I was sharing dessert and coffee with a complete stranger, but we were in a public place, and I didn’t feel the least bit threatened. It was so much more appealing than sitting here alone.
“Yes, well, lovers from around the world come to Paris and go to the bridges to pledge and seal their love for all eternity. They write their names or other words of love on the lock, place it on the fence, and then fling the key into the river.”
“I did see some of them doing that.”
“Well, it’s said that the only way to break the seal of love pledged this way is to retrieve the key to unlock it. Nearly, if not absolutely, impossible.”
“I thought so,” I admitted. “Bridges? There is more than one?”
He nodded. “Ah, yes. Two. One, Pont de l’Archevêché is for lovers, and the other, the one across from the Museum, Pont des Arts, is for committed love.” He laughed gently. “I’m sure you can guess that one is much more crowded than the other.”
My heart warmed at the story, but I cast my eyes downward to hide the pain behind them. “Yes. There can be many lovers, but only one true love.”
His icy eyes widened, slightly. “Ahhhh. I can see you have found him, already. There is no mistaking the soft glow about you. Whoever he is, he is very lucky, indeed.”
“My husband, of course.”
“Then, you are doubly lucky. So many of us do not ever find such a love, and the blessing of marriage with the same person, eh?” He lifted his demitasse to his lips.
“I can’t imagine marrying someone I didn’t love with all my heart.” My emotions surely flowed over my face, and I hated that I had no ability to hide the expressiveness of my features.
He set his espresso back down on the saucer. “Sadly, this life is filled with many intrusions, and the road to love is not always a clear one. Quoi qu’il en soit, il serait beaucoup moins excitant…” he stopped himself and laid a hand on the front of his suit jacket. “Forgive me. I said it would be so much less exciting if it were so. Don’t you agree?”
Heat seeped into my cheeks. I could use a little less excitement at the moment, I thought silently. “Maybe you will place a lock on both bridges before you leave the city?”
I smiled but took a sip of my coffee instead of answering, and cringed at its bitterness. The man took note of my sour face.
“My dear, why do you order this if you do not enjoy it?”
“I was trying something different, but it’s much too strong for my liking.”
He began to lift his hand once again. “Can I get you something else?”
“Thank you, no. I really enjoyed meeting you, monsieur, but I really must be going.”
“Perhaps we will bump into each other again one day, madame,” he said pleasantly.
“I’d like that. I’m sure I will visit the Louvre again.”
“Be sure to visit the other obvious attractions: the Champs Elysées, Arch of Triumph, Eiffel Tower, and the Left Bank. The city has so much beauty to behold.”
I stood and the gentleman followed, taking my coat and holding it while I slid my arms in the sleeves, then he settled it on my shoulders.
“I won’t. Thank you.”
“A bientôt, ma belle Julia. Au revoir.” He lifted my hand to his mouth again.
<
br /> “It’s been a pleasure. Au revoir.” I offered a smile and small wave and left the little café. My hotel wasn’t far, but it was colder now that the sun had set. I hailed a passing taxi, suddenly anxious to get behind closed doors where I could take a bath and work out my article. And, despite my protests the night before, I wanted to try calling Ryan again. The melancholy ache returned, and climbing in the back seat, I dialed his number, hoping he’d be at lunch and able to talk, but it went straight to voicemail. His smooth voice rushed through the line, his message recorded before this mess held a lilt that was missing the last time we spoke. It sent a shiver racing across my skin. My heart fell when I wasn’t able to speak to him.
“I know I asked you not to call… but I’m thinking about you, and I just wanted to hear your voice…” a few seconds ticked off as I struggled with what to say. “Call me back.”
I sighed heavily as I finally gave the hotel address to the driver and sank back in the seat.
“I know I asked you not to call… but I’m thinking about you and I just wanted to hear your voice… Call me back.”
I checked the time stamp on Julia’s message, proud of myself that I hadn’t touched my phone in a day and a half. Dawn was breaking and she’d sent this yesterday afternoon. It took everything I had but I respected her request for no contact, yet she called me! A mixture of anger, conflict, and agony thundered through me. I wanted to throw my fucking phone through the wall just so I wouldn’t call her back. I was trying to give her what she wanted, and now she was the one caving in, after I poured my guts out, and she wouldn’t say she loved me back? She still wasn’t saying it, and that was killing me. Didn’t she know I needed those words? She was missing me when she’s the one who left? Fuck that.
I closed my eyes and swallowed hard at the sudden tightness in my throat. I tried to clear it but it wouldn’t budge. Kari and Caleb’s eyes followed me as I passed them, walking behind the station to make notes on a computer file from my last patient. My brain wouldn’t shut off. Every time a date or time appeared on the screen, on the wall clock, on the calendar… Each tick screamed that it was one more hour gone; one more day between me and Julia… one more second closer to the end of us. I was convinced that the longer she was gone, the less likely she’d be to ever come back to me. It seemed fucking unreal that this could even be happening. We were supposed to be invincible.
When she finally called a day and half after she disappeared, I’d forgotten my brother was listening and made an ass of myself, crying my eyes out and literally begging her not to throw us away. I could barely face him at the end of it, even though he respected me by not mentioning how I fell apart. Afterward, I closed myself in the bathroom because I wanted to be alone with my misery, and memories of Julia were on every surface of the bedroom. I sat on the cold tile for hours nursing the bottle of scotch until I passed out. I avoided alcohol poisoning by unspeakable puking in the early morning hours. I fell asleep hanging onto the toilet for dear life after the dry heaves had left my abdominals aching and eyes tearing. I felt like hell, and I looked even worse as I left for the hospital after I told Aaron to go back to Boston. I didn’t need anyone witnessing this bullshit. My head pounded like a motherfucker, and I had a hard time giving a shit about anything.
Caleb came out of one of the examining rooms and put his hand on my shoulder in concern. “It’s about time for a break, Ryan. You’ve been at it for almost twenty-four hours, man. Go home.”
I nodded and shrugged away from his touch. It wasn’t personal, but I just couldn’t stand to be around anyone other than patients, and anyone touching me had me feeling claustrophobic. When he asked me if I needed to talk, I simply shook my head and walked away. I relived every second of the last few weeks in my head, again and again, so I sure as hell didn’t need to do it in stereo surround sound.
I avoided Jane like the plague, scowling whenever she made eye contact. Something akin to hatred had taken root deep in my gut. Probably, the whole thing was my own fault, but she seriously hurt Julia, and I’d never forgive her for that. The protectiveness that I’d always felt reared, even though I played a big part in what happened. I vacillated between regret, wanting to call and beg forgiveness, and raging anger that she could ever leave me like that. Underneath it all was a deep-seated sadness that closed around my very soul and haunted every moment.
I took Dr. Jameson, the attending physician, aside and requested that he not schedule me with Jane. I didn’t care if I had to work 72 hours straight; I needed to stay as far away from that woman as possible. I laughed bitterly when he asked if I wanted to file a harassment suit. That was too fucking funny, and I just shook my head and went back to work amid a bunch of hushed whispers between the nurses. I was this close to standing in the middle of the ER and explaining the entire fucking mess. At least then I wouldn’t have to suffer their speculation, and one aspect of my life could return to normal. I needed something normal in this cluster fuck; one thing to hang onto.
I tried really hard to maintain my anger because it was easier to deal with than the pain. I wanted to hate Julia, but it was all I could do not to call her back the minute I heard her voice. My back and my resolve stiffened as I grabbed my stuff and headed home for the night. The last place I wanted to be was in that empty apartment.
I stared, unseeing, on the subway and somehow pushed through the door an hour later. Julia’s absence was tangible; like the breath was gone from my life. I couldn’t stand being here. At least at work, I had something to concentrate on other than the giant hole in my chest. I dropped my coat on the floor near my shoes, not bothering to eat. I resisted the urge to call the magazine to see if Andrea would give the information that would save my life. I fell heavily onto the couch, turning my face into the cushion. The morning sun shone in brightly through the open blinds, but I didn’t have the energy to get up and shut them. I took the phone off of the waist of my scrub pants and roughly shoved it away. I don’t know why I expected her to call when I’d ignored two messages. My heart seized and my eyes burned like a son-of-a-bitch. I closed them, but all I saw in my mind was Julia.
After a few minutes ticked by with each sickening thud of my heart, I made a decision. I’d be damned if I was going to lie here all day and fall to pieces. I summoned the strength to get up and go to the bedroom. Our wedding picture confronted me on the dresser, and her scent assaulted my nostrils. I sucked it in before I could stop myself, and it only made her absence more concrete. There was no way I’d be able to sleep in this room. I pulled three drawers open and dumped the contents on the bed, and filling my arms with the pile of boxers, socks, scrubs, sweats, and T-shirts, I carried everything into the spare room and dumped it on the floor in the corner of room.
I quickly changed into grey sweat pants, one of my Harvard T-shirts and an old Stanford hoodie. I shoved my feet in my Nikes and fingered the ear buds of my iPod in my ears, cranking the heavy metal playlist up. I pulled up the hood of the sweatshirt, banged out of the apartment, and rushed out of the building, heading toward Central Park at a jog. My goal was to push myself to the limit, sweat and burn until I couldn’t run one more step, and I’d forced my resistant lungs to expand. When my legs were so spent they were shaking, I went to the gym to lift and box. I found someone to spot me, and I relentlessly hit and kicked the bag until I couldn’t breathe and my muscles shook with exhaustion. I wanted physical pain, as bad as I could stand it. I wanted exhaustion so I could sleep. Anything was better than the ache in my chest.
“Are you sure you’re up to this?” Mike asked loudly. The wind off of the river was chilly, and it was whipping the hair into my face. “You don’t seem as psyched about this gig as I expected you to be!”
“I’m fine!” I was annoyed. I’d repeated the lie so many times over the past week that it was starting to become second nature. I might not be all sunshine and roses, but I’d gotten good at keeping the dam at bay until I was alone at night in my room. The change of scenery helped me get throu
gh the days; there were no memories of Ryan in Paris, no pictures of us strewn about my office. This assignment was changing that. No getting around it.
The sun was up, but it was freezing, the sky overcast and dreary, which would mean retouching these shots with Photoshop when we returned to the office. I shivered and bit my lip to try to keep my teeth from chattering. Ryan hadn’t called me back and a week had passed since I’d arrived. I was sad, but doing the best I could for the magazine.
Andrea and Mike had arrived a day after me, and I told them about my idea for the New York edition for February. Instead of bulldozing the staff, we worked alongside them. My strategy was to bring our ideas and combine them with theirs, and grease the cogs with some of our practiced efficiency, rather than change the entire set-up. I wanted to create a working relationship between the two magazines so, in the future, we could share editorial and story ideas that could run in both editions simultaneously. It made sense and the transition would be easier. Besides, even if I aspired to be the hard-nosed-shark type, emotionally, I just wasn’t up to it.
“We don’t have time to waste, Mike. We need to email everything camera-ready today by 11 PM Paris time to meet New York’s press deadline!”
He looked at me deadpan and rolled his eyes. “Who the hell do you think you’re talking to? I know this, Julia.”
Andrea was just arriving back from an engraver, and she rushed up to us at a trot. “Sorry I’m late! It turned out amazing!” Her pink-cheeked face lit up, eyes dancing and hair blowing around her head like a red halo.
I took the box and opened it, anxious about the contents. The heart-shaped lock and key had a gold tone overlaid on silver so the engraving shone silver on the gold surface. My heart stopped as I lifted it from the white tissue paper cradling it in the box and closely examined it. It was more beautiful than I expected it to be. I had to turn away from the other two as my eyes flooded with tears, the names and date turning blurry in my vision. I lifted a gloved hand under the edge of my sunglasses and brushed the telltale tear from under each eye. I blinked rapidly to stop more as my mouth lifted in a tremulous smile.