by Ginny Aiken
He got up tucking an impressive wad of bills within the folder that held their ticket.
“Merci beaucoup,” the waiter acknowledged.
They hurried out, both feeling a bit embarrassed as Dave hailed a taxi. “I can’t believe the time went by so fast,” he was saying as they hopped into a taxi and the driver roared off as though he was trying to set a record on speed. All too quickly, they were back at the Ritz and out on the sidewalk. Dave pushed the revolving door for her, and she stepped into the glass enclosure, glancing over her shoulder at him, directly behind.
Should she invite him up to her room? No, that wasn’t quite right. It wasn’t as though she were back at the apartment where she could invite him to take a seat on the sofa while she grabbed the fruit bowl from the eating bar and joined him with a handful of grapes.
She was vaguely aware that he was walking her to the elevator, pushing the button, and she felt nervous and awkward about what to do. But just as quickly, he settled the matter.
“Thanks for another wonderful evening,” he said, lowering his lips to lightly brush hers just as the door of the elevator slid open. “See you tomorrow at eleven in the park,” he called to her as she stepped inside the elevator. The door closed on his smiling face, and she stood very still, staring at the closed door as the elevator lifted upward.
It was absurd but she already missed him. She could spend hours with him and never tire of hearing him talk about his work, and he was equally interested in the funny little antics of her students. She had even told him about nosy Nan at some time during their hours together.
When the elevator doors parted, she stepped into the carpeted hall and sauntered down to her pink satin nest. Leaving Paris, and Dave, was going to be very difficult. But she refused to allow that thought to linger in her mind.
She inserted her card into the lock and held tight to the memory of his warm smile and the way his blue eyes took on a special light when he was amused. And she liked the aftershave and whatever he used on his hair that kept it soft and gleaming. The lock clicked, she opened the door, and floated off to her bedroom.
Chapter 6
Another beautiful day awaited them as she stopped at a market nearby, carefully choosing bread, fresh fruit, and cheese, and adding bottled water. That looked French and healthy, but she wondered if she should order an espresso for Dave and impulsively decided to do so, adding extra cream the way she had noticed him doing.
As usual he was right on time and found her easily under a large tree, their food tucked away in the picnic basket she had splurged on at the market.
“Hey, this is a real picnic,” he said, looking around the grass.
She hadn’t considered that he would be in his business suit and quickly suggested they move to a nearby table. When she laid all the treats out on the table he smiled with approval. Then, deliberately, she placed the espresso before him. “Hope it’s okay.”
“Thanks, Melanie. You really are a thoughtful person.”
They began to eat heartily for it was a warm spring day in Paris and the pleasant breeze seemed to encourage their appetites … and romance. She was conscious of his gaze on her almost constantly, and once or twice she darted a glance in his direction. Once, she caught his blue eyes looking sad and regretful.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, sensing something was spoiling the picnic lunch.
He sighed heavily. “I can’t get out of the meeting today, and my boss has issued an ultimatum that we all get together in his suite until we iron out some complications that have come up in the meetings.”
“You look worried,” she said gently.
“We’ll work out the kinks. It’s just going to take a lot more work than I had thought. Which means,” he had been staring into his cup but now his gaze rose to hers, “I may not get to see you again. Our plane flies out at seven in the morning.”
Melanie’s heart sank, but then she tried to gather her courage and be grateful for the time they had spent together. “Well, you have to do what you have to do,” she said. She couldn’t believe tomorrow was already Friday. Where had the week gone?
“I wish I could change my plans and stay over another day, but I can’t,” he said on a sigh. “My boss is great except for a few quirks. And one quirk is that no one gets special treatment in veering from the routine he sets.”
She nodded. “Then I guess you’ve been pushing your luck, sneaking out of the meetings to sightsee with me.”
He hesitated and shrugged, giving her time to wonder if maybe he had been scolded already.
“Melanie, I don’t know how you feel, but I don’t want this to be the end of our … friendship.”
She looked into his eyes, suddenly feeling all the emotion in her heart well up in her throat. “I don’t either,” she replied softly.
“Do you have e-mail?” he asked, glancing at his watch.
She sighed, hating to admit she didn’t. “Actually, I’m getting it when I return,” she said, instantly making up her mind.
“Great. We can e-mail back and forth and then … maybe make some plans to see each other again,” he said, getting up from the picnic table, glancing back toward the hotel.
Her heart was beating faster and she again wondered if this had all been a dream. But as he reached out and squeezed her hand, she realized this was real; it had actually happened. Finally. To her.
She squeezed his hand back, and then he took a step closer and gently touched her shoulders, then lowered his head and gave her a deep, warm kiss that literally took her breath away.
“I do hate to go,” he said.
She abruptly opened her eyes, realizing she was still locked in the sweet moment they had shared. She nodded, unable to say anything.
He reached into the pocket of his coat and withdrew a business card. “There’s my address and telephone number, office and home, and on the back I’ve written my e-mail address at home.”
She turned the card over and read the address. “I’ll e-mail you as soon as I get hooked up,” she promised.
He looked at his watch again, and she wished with all of her heart that she could make time stand still. But she couldn’t. He kissed her again, more briefly this time, but the gentle brush of his lips still thrilled her.
“Good-bye,” he whispered softly and quickly walked away.
She felt as though he was taking her heart with him. Her gaze sadly followed him. He purposefully crossed the street to the front of the hotel. Then he turned and looked at her again.
“Dave, I had a great time,” she called to him.
He smiled. “Me too.” Then he walked into the hotel and disappeared from her vision. She stood staring at the door for the next five minutes, aware that tears were gathering in her eyes. She wandered over and slumped down on the picnic bench, staring at their plastic plates and the leftovers that she would take back to her room. She reached over for his empty coffee cup and, remembering his kiss, put the rim of the cup to her lips.
“Dave Browning,” she whispered, “you made my dreams come true.”
Chapter 7
Melanie slept late the next morning and awoke feeling tired and something more. She rolled her head and glanced at the parted drapes. Outside, it was a gray day, and for the first time since she had been in Paris it was raining. She glanced at the ornate bedside clock. Nine thirty.
She took a deep breath and hugged her pillow, as a deep sadness grew stronger. She frowned. What? And then she came fully awake and reality loomed to the front of her mind. Dave was already on a jet heading back to Atlanta. Just that knowledge brought a terrible emptiness to her heart. She tried to think of something fun to do today, but nothing appealed to her. She decided to order room service of croissants and a pot of tea and lounge around for a while.
The rain thickened beyond her window, and she forced herself to go down to explore some of the unique little boutiques inside the Ritz, but soon she was back in her room, slumped in the satin chair. Maybe she should call
home. She calculated the time back in Milton. It was Friday morning, and with Mom off from school, Dad had taken a week from his office as well. They had planned several projects for the home and flower garden, all of which sounded so boring compared to the week she had spent, a week she would never, ever forget.
Methodically, she checked her flight schedule and noted that she was scheduled to fly out early, as well. She really should force herself to go out and do something on her last day in Paris, and she wandered to the window trying to think of something that would appeal to her. But the truth was, without Dave, Paris had lost its charm. And her time would be better spent getting her clothes together, resting up for the long flight back, and mentally preparing herself to return to work on Monday. And first on her list, when she returned, was getting e-mail set up on her computer. The most sophisticated thing she had done on her computer was type up simple little tests or words on colored paper. She hadn’t even bothered with the Internet. But now the computer held endless possibilities. Communicating with Dave was foremost.
Chapter 8
Melanie continued to marvel that it had only been two days since her return to Milton. To her parents, she had blamed her melancholy on jet lag and even skipped church on Sunday. She couldn’t seem to get out of her bed for any reason other than to call Taylor with the pretense of a sisterly chat, but what she really wanted to know more about was e-mail.
And so, on Monday morning, as she greeted her second graders and proceeded with the difficult job of trying to establish a routine for them, and for herself, she hailed down the school’s computer whiz over lunch. He agreed to come to her apartment that afternoon to show her the basics of e-mail and get her hooked up.
That idea lifted her spirits and she was actually humming “Somewhere over the Rainbow” by the end of the day, despite a barrage of questions over lunch from all the teachers; they wanted to hear every detail of her trip to Paris. She had always been a private person, and true to form, she did not mention Dave. The closest she came was to admit she’d met some interesting people.
But when nosy Nan Harper began to prod, she excused herself to get back to her room to work on a project.
That evening, the excitement of being “online” thrilled her as she shyly typed in Dave’s e-mail address and sent her first message: a friendly hello to him and a thank-you for the wonderful time in Paris. Carefully she read and re-read her message and checked half a dozen times to be sure her e-mail address was correct. Then she placed a check mark in the box to indicate she wanted to be notified when her e-mail was opened.
She managed to get through the morning, and with the excuse that she forgot her lunch, she dashed home to check her e-mail. Nothing. She rushed back to school, puzzled.
That night, she sent Dave another e-mail to inquire if he got her first one. She showered and dressed for bed, although in the next hour, she could not approach the computer without checking her message box, but there was nothing except a two-pager from Taylor with news of the kids and, predictably, only a few general questions about Melanie’s trip to Paris. Taylor was basically selfish, and Melanie knew it. She dashed back a quick e-mail, then checked her message box again and saw with pleasure that her e-mail to Dave had been opened. Tomorrow she would hear from him, and with that hope, she hopped into bed and turned out the light.
Did I give Dave my phone number?
The thought struck her seconds before the bolt of thunder that crashed outside her window, preceding the heavy rain that drummed on her roof. She loved the sound and usually it lulled her into a deep sleep. Not tonight.
She kept racking her brain to see if she had mentioned a telephone or address in Milton. He hadn’t asked, a voice reminded her. She didn’t want to hear that voice, so she turned the light back on and read the entire book of Psalms, got up at midnight, and checked her e-mail again. Nothing.
Sighing, she got back in bed and reminded herself that tomorrow was a school day. She forced herself to close her eyes and say her prayers.
The next afternoon, Melanie went to the video shop and picked up You’ve Got Mail, one of her favorite romantic comedies. She watched it as soon as she got home and then again after a light meal of soup and fruit. Every fifteen minutes she checked her computer, only to find to her dismay, and growing disappointment, that there were no messages. And that her e-mails had been opened.
Her hopes grew dimmer as the week progressed, during which time she resorted to checking her message box several times a day. She even went into the principal’s office and informed the secretary that she might be getting a call from a friend in Atlanta, and if so, to please come to her room and get her.
“You want me to take the number?” Mrs. Winters looked at her curiously, for she had been instructed not to pull teachers out of class for a phone call unless it was an emergency.
“Yes. It’s very important,” she added matter-of-factly and hurried out, vaguely aware that Brent Warren, the principal, had been watching her curiously the past two days. Her best plan was to simply avoid him, just as she had tried to avoid her parents; but there was no getting past the Wednesday night supper at the church before prayer meeting. She had decided she must attend; after all, she had missed church on Sunday, and she knew it would be easier to have a conversation with her parents with a group of church members eating beside them. This way her mother couldn’t get too personal, although she doubted that her mother would ever envision her daughter having a romantic interlude in Paris.
Her father, on the other hand, was enough like Granny to glance at her occasionally and winked at her once when she was obviously out of the zone of conversation; her mind locked on Dave.
She simply smiled at her father, wondering if she could talk with him sometime, appealing to his softer nature, which occasionally surfaced when he was not immersed in tax figures or engaged in one of Mom’s yard projects.
At prayer meeting, when prayer requests were taken, her throat suddenly felt tight and she wished with all of her heart that she could lift her hand and say, “Please pray that Dave Browning responds to my e-mail.” Or more honestly, “Please pray that I don’t get my heart broken.”
The thought had crossed her mind more than once in the five days since she had been home. For as she gravitated toward Cinderella and all the romantic little fairy tales which appealed only to the girls, she realized that it had happened to her, despite everything.
She had fallen in love for the first time. She actually understood now the “burning heartache” and the “incessant longing” she had read about could now be applied to her. All she thought about from the time she awoke until she crawled back in bed was the Dave she had met in Paris. But now that they were each back in their old environment, it was as if they’d never met. She missed him so much it was like a physical ache that could only be compared to the flu. Only the heartache seared into her soul in a way nothing ever had.
Each night when she checked her message box, her heart sank when there was no reply … except for the acknowledgment that her e-mail had been opened.
She was renting romantic videos every night now, huddled on the sofa, picking at a light dinner on a TV tray. She had gone through the old classic April in Paris, and on this Thursday night, as she watched Cary Grant and Deborah Kerr in An Affair to Remember, she sobbed deeply and unashamedly. With only her cup of tea and the rapidly disappearing tissue in her box, she made a decision when at last the movie ended and she was weak from crying. As she pushed the rewind button on the VCR, she squared her shoulders and marched resolutely to her computer. This was her last attempt to contact him. But maybe, for some strange reason, her e-mails were not getting through. She took a deep breath and began the words that choked her as she typed them. For this could be good-bye.
Dave,
This is my last attempt to contact you. I’ve gone past being offended to being concerned. Are you all right? I checked, there were no plane crashes, and in case you’re interested, I arrived back in Milton
on Saturday. I hope you will at least let me know that you arrived home safely.
Melanie.
After she finished the carefully worded e-mail, she checked her e-mail address again to be sure it was correct, then she glanced again at the check mark indicating that she wanted to be notified when the message was opened. By ten thirty, the message still had not been opened.
As she crawled into bed and turned out the light she felt more than hurt, she felt confused and disillusioned. She just couldn’t believe that Dave was the kind of person to be insincere in a relationship. He had cared about her; surely she hadn’t just imagined it. Each day when she didn’t hear from him, she reminded herself of how busy he was, the meetings, his rigid boss … But this was now Thursday and she had sent her first e-mail on Monday. And she knew how painfully quick it was to zip one off. No matter how busy he was, he could have found a few seconds to at least say, “Hi, Paris was fun, wasn’t it?” Never mind, “I’ve missed you” or “I think about you” or any of the dozens of things that flooded her mind when she thought of him. Just a simple “Hi” would at least keep her hopes up, even though the idea of a continuing romance with him was fading fast.
The next morning, as soon as she awoke, she flew to her computer and waited impatiently for the message box to appear. No messages … except for the fact that her e-mail had been opened. Again.
Tears filled her eyes as she slowly closed down the program and turned off her computer. Maybe Paris and Dave were a dream after all, she thought, feeling utterly miserable as she headed for the shower. Or if it were not a dream, it was painfully apparent that a week had gone by and now the dream was only a memory.
Chapter 9
She awoke on Saturday morning, wishing she hadn’t committed herself to go along with the second-and third-graders to the museum. How would she dredge up the energy for such a trip? Not to mention the pretense she now kept of being happy, wearing a stiff smile, and trying not to remember Paris or Dave.