by Britney King
“Jack. Don’t,” she’d pleaded.
He shrugged. “But I do.”
Amelie let it go, or so it seemed. She picked up her camera, removed the lens cap, and pointed it at the water. Click. Click. Click. “Yeah, but you know that a relationship between us could never work, don’t you?”
Jack should have been angry then, he thought. Instead, he was amused, curious. “And why do you say that,” he asked.
She turned to him then and placed her hand on his thigh. “We’d suffocate each other, Jack. This…” She pointed back and forth between the two of them. “It would consume us, if we let it. You have your dreams. And I have mine. Those dreams… Jack… I’m not sure they fit together so well, you know. One of us would want more, the other less and… it would just end up a mess.”
“But we haven’t even tried. So, I guess we don’t really know then, do we?”
“I know, Jack.” She hesitated. “And I don’t want to ruin what we have. I don’t want this to feel like work.”
Jack smiled. “What percentage would you say you’re certain of that? Ninety percent? Eighty-five percent?”
She laughed, shook her head, and slapped his thigh hard. “You know… Jack Harrison… I didn’t think it was possible to like you any more than I already do. But when you’re like this—meaning, not so serious, I prove myself wrong. Every time.”
By then, light rain had started to fall. Jack took off his coat and wrapped it around her. “We’d better go,” he’d said glancing up at the sky. Amelie snuggled up to him and pushed her head into his chest.
“What if we didn’t… not yet.” He settled into her. “Jack?” she whispered and snuggled closer as though it were possible. “I’m really going to miss you.”
He sighed, tucked his chin to her forehead, and inhaled, trying his damnedest to memorize the way she felt.
The next morning, Jack awoke to find Amelie straddling him, her camera pointed at his face. “Merry Christmas, Jack!” Click. Click. Click. She snapped. When he groaned in annoyance, she let the camera fall down around her neck, and she lifted a package off the bed and thrust it at his face. “Here,” she said. “I got you something.”
He pushed himself up slowly causing her to shuffle backward a little. Undeterred, she raised the camera back up to her eye and resumed pointing it at his face. Jack gave her a look. “What? I want to capture your face when you see what it is…”
He carefully tore at the paper and placed it off to the side. He surveyed the contents. It was a book. No, it was two books. They were photo albums to be exact. He looked up at her, unsure what to say. Thank you would be good, he thought. But for some reason, the words weren’t forming on his lips.
She took the one on top from him and opened it up at its middle. “The first one,” she cheered and then paused, “is of us. It’s all the summers.” Jack looked down and stared at the younger version of him on the page. In the photo, he was holding a fish and grinning from ear to ear. Did he actually grin like that? Had he ever really been that happy? She slowly turned the page, not taking her eyes off his, clearly trying to gauge his reaction. In the next photo, there he was painting a fence. Jack barely remembered painting that fence until now. But seeing himself there on the page, holding the brush, it all suddenly came flooding back. The way she’d talked his ear off that day. The way he handed her the brush in hopes that maybe it would shut her up. He remembered how furious he’d been when she got it all wrong. He thought of the way she’d thrown the brush and sulked off when he yelled at her for painting in the wrong direction. “Painting is a solitary sport,” he had assured her. Jack smiled then as he recalled the expression on her face right before she’d taken her finger, dipped it in the red paint, and traced a straight line from his forehead all the way down his nose. He laughed at how she’d crossed her arms and grinned afterward, clearly satisfied with herself. “Take that, Jack Harrison,” he remembered she had called over her shoulder as she stormed off. Take that, Jack Harrison was right. One photograph, and just like that, everything came rushing back. She was that good.
“Do you like it?” She nudged his arm.
He didn’t answer—not because he didn’t want to but because he couldn’t. His throat was too dry. “Here, open this one,” she said taking the book from his hands and replacing it with the other. She adjusted it in his lap. He raised his eyebrows suggestively.
She read his mind. “That gift comes next. Pun intended.”
Jack shook his head. He opened the album and froze. There they were—glued one by one to each page—all the letters his mother had written him. She studied his face and spoke softly. “I wanted to preserve them for you.” She handed him an envelope. “But I also had copies made.”
His eyes filled with tears as he stared at the words on the page though not really seeing them. Jack swallowed hard as the tears threatened to spill over.
Amelie reached for his hand and wrapped it in both of hers. “These letters are really lovely, Jack. Your mother seems like an amazing person,” she said quietly, wiping the tears from her cheek with the back of her hand. “And I can tell that she really, really loves you.”
Jack looked up at her then. “Loved. You meant to say loved, not loves.”
She shrugged.
He tried to swallow the lump that had formed in his throat. After three tries, he succeeded. “I don’t know what to say… just… thank you.”
Amelie carefully moved the books from his lap and placed them on the bedside table. She climbed into his lap and ran her finger across his bottom lip. “I want you to promise me that you’ll read these, Jack. You really need to read them.”
He looked away. “I can’t.”
“What if I read them aloud to you?”
He looked back at her as though maybe he was really seeing her for the first time. He searched her eyes as he smoothed her hair away from her face. “Sounds like a good plan. Not now, though. Now… I need to give you your gift.” He smirked, lowering her back onto the bed. She raised her eyebrows. “Yeah?”
“Yeah, but I should warn you this, um… gift is probably going to take awhile.”
“Those are always the best kind.” She giggled. Jack kissed the tip of her nose, and she smiled. There it is, that smile, he thought. God, that smile. So maybe he couldn’t memorize everything about her the way he’d hoped. But as long as he lived, he knew that he would never forget that smile.
Jack lay awake that night, staring at the ceiling, thinking about how the tides had turned in their friendship. For as many years as he could remember, it had always been Amelie who wanted him. Amelie wanted to be friends. Amelie chased him around camp. Amelie followed him around like a lost puppy. Hell, just last summer, it was she who had begged him not to leave her. And now, he found it odd that it was he who needed to do the begging now. Jack knew himself though. He wouldn’t do it. He couldn’t ask her to stay. But there in the dead of night, when he was sure that no one was listening, he allowed himself one shot at it just so he’d know what it felt like. He rolled over, pulled her in close, and whispered in her ear… “Please don’t go.”
Three days later, Jack kissed Amelie goodbye in the airport terminal. “So you’ll visit me this summer, right?” she asked excitedly as though maybe she weren’t ripping his heart out.
He nodded. “Of course.”
“And you’ll read the letters?”
“Yeah… Probably.”
Amelie didn’t buy it. She pulled something from her carry-on… a pen, as it turned out. She grabbed his hand, turned his palm up to face her, and pushed the tip into it. “So, you should know that I’ve numbered them. There were two that I didn’t open. One for your wedding day, and one for the day your first child is born.” She shrugged. “I don’t know why, but I just couldn’t. Anyway this is the one I think you should start with.” He watched the pen move as she scribbled the number fourteen on his hand.
A voice overhead said something Jack hadn’t paid attention to. She glance
d down at the ticket sticking out of her bag and then up at the ceiling where the voice had come from. “Well. That’s me. I gotta go…” she said stepping up on her tippy toes. She cupped his face and kissed his cheek, then his lips.
When Jack felt her pull away, he grabbed her wrist and pulled her back. He leaned down and kissed her softly. It took all he had to pull away. There were a few things in that moment Jack almost said. So he kissed her again, if for no other reason than to avoid letting them slip out. She smiled and pulled back. “Unfortunately, planes don’t wait.”
“No. They don’t,” he managed, as he let her go and watched her walk away.
“Hey, Amelie,” he called before there was too much distance between the two of them for her to hear.
She turned back.
“Send me some pictures, would you, kid?”
She nodded and then smiled.
“Because I’m expecting that they’ll be pretty damned good seeing how you have to go all the way to France to take them.”
He thought maybe he saw her laugh, but he couldn’t be sure. She looked toward the plane, then back and waved one last time as she handed the attendant her ticket.
Jack stuck his palm up in a half-hearted attempt to wave back. He felt his knees start to buckle as he watched her descend into the airplane. When he couldn’t see her any longer, he sat down and stared at his hands. His mind was elsewhere until her handwriting caught his attention. Oh, what the hell? He thought. Jack pulled out the book and flipped to page fourteen. This day couldn’t possibly get any shittier, he told himself.
My Dearest Jack,
If you’re reading this, then you’ve probably just had your heartbroken for the first time. Or at least it feels that way, anyway. But I want you to remember, Jack, that this isn’t the first time (nor will it likely be the last) that you’ve felt this way. You’ve been through so much already, and if you’re reading my letter, then obviously, you’ve survived thus far. And while it may not feel like it just now, you’ll survive this, too.
There are so many things I want to tell you about love, Jack. Oh, how I wish I were there to tell you this in person, to hug you, and hold your hand. I’m guessing at this age, you might not like hand holding so much anymore, though. I try to picture you, what you look like now, where you are as you’re reading this, and it brings me so much joy to think of you all grown up. I looked in on you tonight as I’ve done every night since the day you were born, and as I watched you sleep, I pictured the man you’ll become. It’s hard not to feel a little bit bitter knowing I won’t be there to see it all. Oddly enough, though, it is with that sentiment that I want to tell you about love. If you are reading this and your heart is broken, you are lucky, Jack. I want you to pause a moment and let that really sink in. You are so damned lucky. Feeling this way, it means that you are living and more importantly—that you are loving. You cannot know how lucky you are to love until you’ve felt the immense pain of having to let that love go. It is a part of life. And as I am learning, it is also a part of death. Do not waste it, Jack. Do not play small. Lick your wounds, but then get back out there. Love harder next time. Most people don’t do that, you see. They get hurt once, and they hide behind it. They use it to excuse themselves into living guarded lives, never quite feeling the passion, the love that they are capable of. But not you, son. Don’t make that mistake. And I hope that if you consider taking that route, you’ll think of me and you’ll feel my love and know that even though I may have lost my battle, that I didn’t go down without a fight.
Neither will you, my love.
Neither will you.
I love you always,
Mom
P.S. Tips for healing a broken heart: time, above all else (don’t worry, you won’t feel this way forever), ice cream, and meaningful work. Now is the time to start a new project, Jack. Try something new, throw yourself into it, and let yourself get lost in it. You’ll come out all right in the end. You always have.
ELEVEN
When Jack went back to school that semester, he did exactly as his mother had suggested and threw himself into his work. Early on, back in the fall, he started a poker ring¸ mostly to cure his boredom at first. He only later fully realized the extent of which he could earn a considerable living by charging his classmates for membership to this exclusive “poker club.” Jack, however, didn’t stop there. He had newfound motivation upon his return. Even though he still maintained his soul-crushing day job, which consisted mostly of filing paperwork at a nearby investment firm, the price tag of his Ivy League education was no joke. And he refused to ask his father for money. Now, on top of that, he suddenly had a trip to France to fund.
One night, as Jack sat around the poker table, his mind wondered as it usually did to Amelie. He thought about where she might be, and what she might be doing at that moment. Devastated, lost in his own mind, and thinking of her, he realized he needed more. He needed to do as his mother suggested. He needed a new project to focus on. It was at that moment, as he sat half-heartedly playing poker with guys who would no doubt be very successful in life, that it suddenly came to him. The vast majority of Princeton kids had the good fortune of their parent’s money, and yet still had enough good sense to desire to make their own. As he watched them play week after week, he observed things about them. They were overachievers—hell-bent on succeeding at all costs. So Jack took that notion and ran with it. He created The Harrison Group. Even though the group part was a facade, because it was really just Jack, it wouldn’t stay that way for long. The Harrison Group was an investment firm where the members of his poker club could invest and double (even triple) their poker winnings in stocks. After two short months, Jack was running a business worth seven figures from his campus apartment. His father, had he known, Jack thought, would be really proud.
That summer in June, Jack flew to France where Amelie picked him up curbside at the airport in a borrowed car. She stood at the burn barefoot in a cotton dress. If Jack thought she’d been different any other time, the difference was magnified times a thousand this visit. For starters, her blonde hair was longer and blonder. Her skin tanner. Her mannerisms a bit more refined, more sophisticated. When he went in for a kiss, she surprised him by kissing both his cheeks. She messed with him by refusing to speak English, insisting they converse only in French.
“When in France.” She laughed.
As they stood there outside the airport, he took it all in, and a part of him relaxed, maybe for the first time in months. Jack fell in love with her all over again in that moment. From the way the warm sunshine touched her bare shoulders to the way her bangs fell in her face to the way she shrugged as he reached over and tucked them behind her ear. He wanted to soak it all up. He wanted to soak her up. He wanted to get lost in this kind of happiness.
In the car, he reached for her hand, and she looked over and smiled. There it was. “I’ve missed you,” he told her.
“Have you, now?” She winked.
The further on they drove, the more infinite Jack felt, as though he left every care he ever had back in the States. He was lighter, less worried. The south of France was different than he had imagined. More rural, perhaps. It was beautiful country, that he was sure of. Amelie was staying in a small village called Sault. To get there, they drove along roads that were set between fields and fields of lavender, which Amelie kept warning him that he should be mesmerized by. They were stunning and fragrant, but the only thing mesmerizing him in that moment was her. She went on and on rattling off facts about the area as though maybe she thought he’d come to see anything but her. Finally, annoyed with his lack of enthusiasm, she pulled the car over on a quiet country road, put it in park, and climbed in his lap. She frowned at him, playfully slapping his hands away as he ran them up her thighs. He raised his brow in surprise when he realized she wasn’t wearing underwear. She shrugged. “I stopped wearing them. It’s freeing really. Plus… it saves on laundry,” she said, not taking her eyes from his as she unfastene
d his belt. Next, she went for the button and unzipped his pants. She reached in, causing a chill up his spine as she ran her fingers along the inside of his boxers, finally wrapping her hand around his shaft, pulling it free. “You want to do this here?” he asked, surveying their surroundings.
Amelie looked around and then back at him as though she wondered what the big deal was. “Uh huh,” she said as she raised herself up and lowered down onto him. They made love there in the sun, in the passenger side of that borrowed car, on the side of the road, with the scent of lavender enveloping them. And Jack swore it was the best sex of his life.
Once they’d finished and composed themselves, they drove on at first making small talk, and then in silence. This was the thing about missing someone, Jack thought. You think you can’t possibly miss them anymore… that your heart is about to burst from missing them so much. But the truth is that it’s only after you meet again that you truly realize the magnitude of all that you’ve missed.
“There’s something I need to tell you. Before we get there,” she said, with a sense of hesitance in her voice.
He watched her face fall, and because he knew Amelie, he knew that whatever it was she was about to say, he wasn’t going to like it.
She inhaled and exhaled slowly. “I’m sort of seeing someone. But… he’s totally cool with you coming here. He knows all about you. About our… history, I mean, and he’s fine with you and me.”
Jack deadpanned. “What? Well, I’m not fucking cool with it. Why the hell did you invite me here, anyway? If you’re with someone…?”