Do I? I’ve only known him five days.
“I see,” she says at my silent response. “So it’s not that you don’t want to sleep with him. It’s that you don’t only want to sleep with him.”
Hearing her say it out loud only makes me more frustrated at myself. “I’m so stupid.”
“No, you’re not. This is great, can’t you see? After everything you’ve been through these past six months, the fact that you’re opening yourself up again like that, it’s a good thing.”
I can’t help but laugh. “I have to spend the entire day in a car with him. Do you have any idea how embarrassing that’s going to be?”
“It doesn’t have to be,” she offers. “You could just enjoy the time you spend together. He obviously likes you, and you clearly like him. Would it be the worst thing to have a romantic fling in France with a hot British guy?”
“You know me. I’m not the fling type.”
“That’s what everyone says before they enjoy an epic fling.”
I laugh. Zoe always has a way of seeing the best in every situation. “I honestly wish I could be like that. It would make things simpler.”
“What are you going to do?” she asks.
“The only thing I can do. I’m going to pretend it never happened.”
Her end goes quiet for a moment. “You think you can do that?”
I hear her doubt clearly. “I think it’s my only option. I should never have started anything with him. I wish I could go back and stop him from kissing me.”
“I’m sure you do.” She doesn’t even try to hide her sarcasm.
“I’m serious, Zoe.”
“Oh, I know you are.”
“Anyways, I better get going. I have a whole day of traveling around the French countryside with Jonah ahead of me.” My stomach sinks at the thought.
“It’s going to be okay, Char. You’ll see.”
I don’t feel her confidence. “I’ll talk to you later.”
After hanging up, I lie in bed staring up at the ceiling. I don’t know what’s come over me. This isn’t something I’ve experienced before. I’ve never felt so attracted to someone so quickly.
My last relationship had been formed over time. I met Joel through Pierre. We were friends, and we didn’t start dating until we’d known each other for a while. It wasn’t a sweeping romance, but something unhurried, a series of dates that led to it becoming official.
My thoughts sour. Time, it seems, didn’t help me see the truth in the end. I thought I did everything right, not rushing in, not asking for too much too soon. But I see now that it wouldn’t have made a difference. It wasn’t love that we had.
It was two lost people choosing to be together so they didn’t have to be alone.
Though I try to push it from my mind, I can’t stop thinking about last night’s kiss. How unlike it was from any other I’ve had. When Jonah put his hands on me, I felt as though my body was coming alive. It was all at once intoxicating and alarming.
How could someone I barely know make me feel that way?
And why am I so upset he didn’t feel it, too?
Needing to refocus my thoughts, I think about a strategy for the day. I need to get dressed, pack my bag, and head downstairs. I’ll wait for Jonah in the lobby, and when we drive away from this place, we’ll leave everything that happened behind and get back to our purpose for being here.
My plan goes perfectly right up until the second Jonah walks into the lobby. I watch him approach, my grip on my emotions weakening. When he looks at me, the feelings I thought I had successfully buried come rushing to the surface.
Standing, I walk out the front door and towards the car, not wanting to engage in conversation. That works fine until he catches up.
“Charlotte,” he says cautiously. “Can we talk?”
“There’s no need,” I tell him, waiting for him to unlock the door.
He doesn’t look convinced. “About last night.”
“Nothing happened.”
His face falls. “I think there was a misunderstanding.”
No kidding. “It’s fine. We don’t need to talk about it. Honestly, I’d rather we didn’t. I just want to focus on finding my grandmother. It’s the only reason I’m here.”
He hesitates but unlocks the door. I get in and pull the notebook from my bag. It gives me something to focus my attention on. When he gets into the passenger seat, I can feel his eyes on me. I keep mine on the notebook.
“Videcosville,” I say, giving him the name of the next town on the list.
He starts the car, and as we drive away from the hotel, I don’t get the relief I’d hoped I would. Even as we put miles between us and that lane, I don’t feel any comfort from its distance. If anything, being alone again with Jonah only makes it more confusing.
Our conversation is limited to the list and maps. When we reach the first town, we head straight to the church. Once again, Jonah does most of the talking. The minister, a young man with shrewd eyes, points us in the direction of an older gentleman who lived in the town during the war.
When we get to the man’s farmhouse, my apprehension increases. We’ve barely knocked on the front door when we’re greeted by a petite dark-haired woman. After introductions and an explanation from Jonah as to why we’re here, we’re invited in. The man, who turns out to be her grandfather, is sitting in the backyard, smoking a pipe.
From behind, for the briefest moment, he looks so much like my grandpa that I feel my heart constrict with a deep pang of grief.
It takes me a full minute to breathe through it.
With the help of his granddaughter, we learn that Albert was fourteen during the allied invasion. Jonah asks him the list of questions he’s perfected over the many towns we’ve visited. I watch, not understanding the words the man says, but reading his face.
He tells his stories in a loop, losing his place at times, his granddaughter gently coaxing him back. Jonah translates, and I listen attentively as he talks about his life during the war. How they all nearly starved because of the rationing. What it was like in the years before the allies came, when the Nazis had taken over.
His granddaughter assures us that as frail as he seems, his mind is still sharp. He remembers everyone, but he doesn’t remember a woman named Charlotte.
The disappointment washes over me.
When we return to the car, I feel tears threaten my eyes. I don’t know why, but I thought that maybe, just maybe we were going to find something here. I dig through my bag on the passenger seat floor, searching for a tissue.
“Are you okay?” Jonah asks.
I don’t find one, and sit back in frustration, wiping a finger over my wet cheeks. Jonah leans over and opens the glove compartment. He takes out a packet of tissues and hands it to me.
“Thanks,” I say with a sniff.
“When I was a kid, I had a stuffed rabbit named Mr. Snuggles.”
I glance at him, wondering where that came from.
“He was my favorite toy. I couldn’t sleep without Mr. Snuggles. One day though, I took him with me on a walk through the woods. At some point, he fell out of my bag. I didn’t notice until I got home.”
Jonah looks out the windshield, in reflection. “I was devastated. Inconsolable. Sobbing hysterically.”
“How old were you?”
“Fifteen.” He looks at me straight-faced before breaking out into a smile. “No, I was five. Anyways, my parents couldn’t comfort me, so my dad, he decides there’s only one thing left to do. It was dark, well after dinnertime, but he tells me that we’re going back into the woods to look for Mr. Snuggles. And the crying stopped. I went with my dad, and we searched for hours.
“Near the end, I was dead on my feet, so my dad was carrying me, and I remember saying to him that maybe I needed to let Mr. Snuggles go. That maybe he’d chosen to leave me. And you know what my dad said?”
“What?”
“He said as long as I didn’t give up on Mr. Snuggl
es, then Mr. Snuggles would never give up on me.”
“So, what happened?”
“We continued searching, and not long after that we found him. And ever since then, I’ve lived by what my dad taught me in the woods. I don’t give up.” He starts the car. “And neither will we.”
14
The rain begins before eleven and doesn’t let up all day. It seems the perfect weather to fit my mood. We’ve managed to cross eight more towns off the list and are still no closer to finding any answers.
To make matters worse, things between Jonah and I have reached an all-time high of awkwardness. After we left the farmhouse this morning, I’d had this fleeting sense of comfort from what he’d told me, sharing his childhood story, encouraging me not to give up.
It lasted until we got to the next town.
When I’d first realized how close the communes were to one another, I’d figured it wouldn’t take us that long to visit them. What I’ve come to learn, however, is that it isn’t the traveling that takes time, it’s the conversations.
Most of the people we’ve met have been open and kind, willing to answer our questions, or guide us to someone who might be able to. But the stories can be difficult to hear, the memories of what was lost as raw as when they happened.
Today, I’ve heard people tell stories that broke my heart. In Montaigu-la-Brisette, an older woman named Jeanne told us that she had lost every one of her children during the war. All six of them.
I sat, listening to her, willing myself not to cry in her presence. When we got back in the car I was so angry. At her loss. At my own. At the injustice of it all. In the moment, Jonah had reached out to touch my hand, and I’d recoiled. I’m not even sure why. A reflex, I suppose.
He didn’t touch me after that. He barely looked at me.
The tension between us only got worse.
Apart from the necessary conversation during our visits, we haven’t talked since. It’s the kind of silence that feels so loud you may as well be screaming.
“We need gas,” he tells me a few minutes after we leave Saint-Germain-de-Tournebut. “There’s a restaurant up ahead, so I’m going to drop you at it first.”
Somehow, I don’t think it’s my hunger he’s worried about. We pull into the parking lot, and as I get out of the car, I notice that his knuckles are white on the steering wheel.
He doesn’t look at me, or speak, and the second my door closes, he drives off. I feel like we’re back at square one. Omaha all over again.
With the rain falling hard, I run into the restaurant. A somber looking hostess greets me and leads me to a table with a view of the parking lot. It turns out she’s also the waitress, and after fifteen minutes of me not ordering, her attitude sours.
To appease her more than myself, I order a burger and fries. Being one of the only people in the place, the food comes quick. I didn’t realize how hungry I was, so I dig in, momentarily forgetting Jonah. When another twenty minutes passes with no sign of him, however, my unease comes back tenfold.
He said he was going to get gas. It wouldn’t take him nearly an hour to do that. Would he leave me here? It’s a horrible thought that I push aside quickly. Taking out my phone, I send him a text.
Where are you?
I wait, watching to see if I get a reply, but none comes.
“Fuck,” I mumble, my panic rising.
The waitress returns and puts the bill on the table, clearing away the plates. I pull some cash from my bag and leave it in the billfold, my mind anxious all the while.
What am I supposed to do?
I don’t even know where I am.
“Are you alright?” a voice asks from behind, making me jump. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.”
I turn around and see a man at the table next to me. He couldn’t be more than twenty-five, his blonde hair cut short. He stares at me with kind, brown eyes, and puts down his book.
“I heard you speaking English,” he says in an accent not much different from my own. “American?”
“Yeah,” I reply, not sure what he wants.
“I’m from Vancouver. Canada, that is, not Washington. I’m David.”
“Nice to meet you, David. I’m Charlotte.”
“I’m sorry for interrupting,” he says with a sheepish grin. “But you seemed upset and I wanted to see if you were alright.”
I’m fine,” I say, not wanting to go into detail with a stranger.
“I have five sisters,” he tells me. “And if I’ve learned one thing, it’s that when a woman says she’s fine, she’s not fine.” He gives me a sincere smile. “But it’s none of my business. I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”
Canadians and their politeness. It’s almost supernatural. “I’m waiting for my ride. He’s late.”
“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.”
I genuinely believe him.
“Well, Charlotte, feel free to decline, but would you like to join me while you wait?”
I should say no, he’s a stranger after all. But there’s nowhere else for me to go. Besides, he seems harmless, and the waitress has been glaring at me from the hostess stand ever since she gave me the bill. Getting up from my chair, I walk over to David’s table and take a seat.
“So, what brings you to France?” he asks.
“Vacation.” I figure it the simplest answer. “What about you?”
“Same. I’m slowly winding my way down to Spain, where I’m meeting up with some friends.”
“That sounds idyllic.”
“It is.” He flashes a perfect grin. “I never thought I’d enjoy traveling alone, but it’s turning out to be awesome. You get to meet some really nice people along the way.”
The waitress meanders over, and I swear her gaze lingers on me longer than it should.
“I was thinking of having some wine,” David tells me. “Would you like to have some too?”
After the day I’m having, I can’t say no.
Half an hour later, David tops up my Chardonnay and finishes his hilarious story about a hike in the Rockies gone terribly wrong.
“In my defense,” he says, “it looked like a bear.”
I laugh so hard I nearly choke on my wine. “Remind me to never go hiking in Canada.”
His smile broadens, “It’s incredible, though, being out there in nature. Really reminds you to put things into perspective.”
“I might just have to go someday.”
“You should,” he encourages. “But make sure you don’t go off trail like I did. And bring mosquito repellent.”
“That’s excellent advice.”
“And if it looks a bear,” he says, raising his glass. “Run.”
I laugh, imagining how panicked he must have been running from what turned out to be a mountain goat.
“What’s this?” I turn and see Jonah approaching the table. His eyes go from me to David, landing heavy on the latter.
My anger swells. “Where have you been?”
“Hi,” David says politely.
Jonah doesn’t reply.
“You’ve been gone for over an hour,” I say through gritted teeth.
“I had something to do.”
“You had something to do?” I don’t even try to hide my contempt. “You’re unbelievable.”
“Let’s go,” he tells me.
I pick up my glass in defiance. “No.” I can feel his eyes on me, but I don’t look at him. I’m not going anywhere. I like David, and there’s wine at his table.
“Would you like to join us?” David asks.
Jonah glares at me in reply.
“Jonah is my guide.” I’m careful to enunciate that last word. “He likes to abandon women in towns after promising to pick them up.” My brain is fuzzy from the alcohol. “David is a kind Canadian who I’m sure would never leave a woman stranded in a place she doesn’t know.”
“Charlotte.” Jonah’s voice is tense, tired. “It’s time to go.”
I snort. “You don
’t get to talk to me about time.”
He exhales heavily. “Please.”
“I have to pay for the wine.”
“No,” David presses. “It’s on me. You’ve paid your share in conversation.”
As reluctant as I am to leave, Jonah’s return has brought all the tension with him. “Thank you, David. It was really nice to meet you.”
“You too, Charlotte. Don’t forget that advice I gave you.”
“I won’t.” I smile and get up from the table. When I look at Jonah, my smile disappears.
He doesn’t wait, instead turning and heading out the door. I follow him, my anger growing with every step I take. I find him by the car, waiting for me in the rain.
When he sees me approach, he glowers. “What are you doing?”
“Excuse me?”
“I show up and you’re flirting with some strange guy.”
“I wasn’t flirting.”
He scoffs. “You normally laugh like that?”
What the hell is his problem? “I laugh however I want to laugh when the occasion calls for it. And you don’t get to ask that, especially after what you did.”
“I’m know I’m late.”
My jaw clenches. “Let me guess. Another tire blew out?” He unlocks the door, and I get in, furious. “You’re an asshole.”
“I’m sorry,” he says as he gets behind the wheel. “It wasn’t deliberate.”
I turn the full power of my wrath on him. “I don’t know what your problem is, but I’m not the one who offered to drive. You did. And leaving me for over an hour after you said you were going to get gas is a really fucked up thing to do.”
“Jesus.” He sighs, starting the car. “You have a high opinion of me, don’t you? It’s not like I meant to leave you that long.”
“So, where were you?”
We pull out of the parking lot, the rain hitting the windshield with force. When Jonah doesn’t answer, I watch the rapid motion of the wipers, the aggressive movement doing nothing to calm my anger.
“I lost track of the time, alright?” There’s limited visibility ahead due to the torrential downpour and Jonah keeps his attention on the road. “I went and got gas, and then I needed some time to myself, so I drove for a bit. And I saw a church we hadn’t been to, so I stopped to ask if they had any information.”
The Sea of Lost Things Page 13