You Turn

by Marion Croslydon

  He doesn’t launch into a litany of ‘Thank you’s.’ I’m grateful for that. “I’ve told you once I didn’t believe in saying ‘Sorry.’ You should never have to apologize to the people you love. You simply shouldn’t have hurt them in the first place.”

  “Ziggy and Charlie both said something very true to me. They said that, if I wanted to move on, I had to move forward, and Zach, you have no idea how much I want to forget about this shit show, how much I want to save myself. So if that means forgetting you, then I’ll forget you. But, just to be clear, this time it’s not me being good, kind-hearted, stupid Eleanor. It’s me being selfish, save-your-butt-first Lenor.” I take a big breath since I’ve delivered that little morsel of wisdom in one go.

  “Look at me.” It’s a demand, not a request, and that knowledge pulls my anger from somewhere deep inside me.

  I stare up at him and narrow my eyes. Our gazes lock and I have the satisfaction of seeing him flinch. He’s dressed in his down-time uniform: jeans, pale-blue collar shirt, and those sneakers. His hair is damp and I check through the window. Raindrops are indeed gently tapping on the glass.

  I don’t want to act like a coward so I train my eyes back on him. I slide my hands under my thighs to keep them from reaching out for him, for the square line of his shoulders, for the defined muscles I will find underneath the material of his shirt. “Why are you here?” I ask again.

  A shadow flickers across his eyes and he crosses his arms over his chest, as if he’s the one who has to protect himself for whatever he’s about to say. His Adam’s apple bobs up and down. “I wanted to tell you you’ll be happy again.”

  A chill blows inside me. My lips are numb and I can’t find the strength to say anything in response.

  He continues, “I hurt you five years ago by kicking you out of my life in a way that scarred you deeply. I’ve hurt you again,” his voice breaks but he recovers, “I’ve hurt you again, Duchess, but I want you to know you’re the one who will recover, the one who will laugh again, the one who will love again.”

  Tremors rise from my heart to my mouth. “Why are you saying this?”

  Behind me, I hear the creaking of the wood. I feel a foreign presence and follow the direction of Zach’s frown, his face frozen in an unreadable mask.

  Pierre.

  I want to bury myself under the couch.

  “Pardon, Eleanor, mais je dois rentrer chez moi.” Sorry, I must get back home. “Elle vient de m’envoyer un texto… elle vient me voir ce soir.” She just texted me that she’s coming to my place tonight. By ‘she,’ Pierre means Clara, who has been playing yo-yo with the poor guy’s heart for a week now.

  I stand up. “That’s okay.”

  He waves at me and dares direct a look at Zach. His fists are curled up at his side.

  “I’ll let myself out.”

  “Thanks, Pierre. I understand.”

  He nods. “Viens me voir avant de partir.”

  I smile at him. He smiles back and, oddly, I realize I’ve made an unlikely friend. I should accompany him to the door despite what he said, but I don’t have it in me to move away from Zach. Even for a handful of seconds. We have so very few left to share. I purse my lips. Pierre is gone now, too late to be polite anyway.

  Zach has his eyes shut and he now curls and uncurls his fists as if trying to tame whatever emotions are rising within him.

  “Nothing happened between us.” Maybe I don’t owe him an explanation, maybe I do. My moral compass is off kilter. “He took me back home and we talked the whole night. I needed a friend and Charlie was staying at Ziggy’s.”

  I get a tight nod in response, immediately followed by, “So you’re leaving?”

  “I am.”

  “When?”

  “Soon. Very soon.”

  “Where to?”

  “L.A… I’m hoping to enroll at the New York Film Academy. They have a master program based on the West Coast. I won’t be able to get in until the next semester, but I’ll find a job there in the meantime. Anywhere is better than here.”

  He gives me another nod that looks very much like that of a man preparing to receive a death sentence. “Then, I’m lucky to have come before you left.” He shakes his head and lets his shoulders drop. “I’m plain lucky to have heard your voice one last time, but this is how it should be. You should be the one leaving this time.”

  “Why? Because that makes it easier for you to get on with your exciting life? No risk of you bumping into poor, clueless Lenor in some Parisian street or the next time you take my mother out for a date.”

  He tilts his head forward and I resist the urge to recoil from his movement. “I have never had a date with Louise. Not here, not anywhere. Not now, not then. And if you’re inclined to do me one last favor, believe me when I say: I never slept with her and I never loved her.”

  “Then why are we in this mess?”

  He mirrors my shrug, not looking ferocious anymore. “Because of one single moment five years ago onboard Renegade, a moment I’ll regret and that will shame me until my dying breath. A moment that happened because it was easier to stop believing in myself, easier to leave you rather than you leaving me.” His chest is heaving and I have to come closer to him and lay my hand over where his heart is beating. There is his truth. “Because I lied then and because I kept lying, and lying. I tried to find a way for us, a place, a time. I took you to la calanque.” His hands cover mine and I welcome the familiar touch of his skin. “But we had to return and finally the lies were exposed. It should have been me telling you. It wasn’t and I know that’s why I lost you in the end, for good.”

  A sob strangles me. I try and swallow it but it bursts out along with the tears I haven’t shed last night. I snuggle myself against him. His arms engulf me and pull me closer, so tight our breathing and our heartbeats are as one. There’s no guilt in seeking his comfort and giving him mine because I know that, in some twisted ways, he’s a victim too. Five years ago, he was a young, lost man who made a mistake and has been trapped in a lie since then.

  Just like Josh. Just like Josh.

  I push Zach gently away. I sniff and wipe my fingers over my eyes. There’s no anger, no resentment, no desire for revenge left in me.

  “Zachary Murdoch.” I revel in saying his name out loud. I savor every syllable of it as if they are made of golden honey. I cup the side of his face and he nuzzles his cheek against it, looking almost like a child.

  “Eleanor Carrington.” He seems to revel in the sound of my name like I have with his. “I so wanted to be your turn at love. It was my most fervent prayer.” He kisses the inside of my wrist. “You are my wildest, sweetest dream and I’ll keep dreaming about you because no one, no one, can ever take that dream away from me. Not even you.”

  I give a tiny shake of my head. I have to share the only regret I had left. “Whatever I said before, about not wanting to know about your past, that thing was so big, you should have told me.”

  “I know.” Two simple words. Two final ones.

  His fingers circle my wrist, pry it away from his face. He laces them with mine and leads me to the door. I manage to put one step after the other without stalling. Once we are at the door, Zach presses his lips to my knuckles and that touch sends shivers of longing down my spine. He leans to kiss my forehead and when he retreats, I have to use every fiber of my being to keep me from moving to sustain the contact between us.

  He opens the door and I shut it gently behind him, not daring to take a last glance at him. At him leaving. The sound of the door clicking shut cuts through me. I rest my forehead against it and lift my arms so that my palms rest flat against the door on both sides of my face.

  I force the words out of my mouth.

  “Adieu, Zachary.”

  Chapter 28

  ZACH

  Paris ~ One week earlier.

  I’ll see you very soon, Duchess.

  What the hell? What kind of non-committal bullshit was this? Out of frustration, I je
rk the steering wheel and my car bumps against the curb, the wheels squeaking.

  Fuck. It’s downtown Paris not a back road in Provence. I check the time on the dashboard. I left Lenor fifteen minutes ago and Clara will sure break my balls if I’m even later to work. She wasn’t exactly glowing with happiness when I told her I wouldn’t be on time tonight. She pushed and pushed until I told her my plans: dinner with Lenor at her place.

  Lenor and I, we’re friends now. We’re friends again? For the first time? I don’t know how to qualify what we had before. What we have now. What matters is that I’m there for her, just like she was there for me five summers ago. And she trusts me because she’d never have shared her photos with me, like she did tonight, otherwise.

  The selfish jerk I am is simply thanking his lucky stars that Duchess is back in his life. I don’t want to think how long it’ll last. I’ll grab every damn second of it, every breath and every smile of hers, and for each one of them, I whisper a silent ‘Thank You.’

  Whatever she wants, I want. But I can’t help wanting more. My hands tighten around the steering wheel and guilt crashes over me, raking through my guts. That’s when I notice the red light flashing. I stamp my foot on the brakes and the screeching sound of wheels stopping on the tarmac drags my attention back to the evening Parisian traffic. Almost too late. I check the rearview mirror. The driver of the car behind me is flipping me the finger. Three years living in France and I’ve adopted the local driving habits.

  I’ve reached la Place Saint-Michel on the left bank. A quick sideways glance over the Seine and there they are: the twin towers of Notre-Dame. I’m only five minutes from Le Duke. I’ve never been late and I don’t usually let my staff do my work. I’m all for shared responsibilities, but I’m the boss and I should be the one getting my hands dirty. Day in. Day out. Especially for a night like tonight when the most popular singer in France comes to Le Duke to celebrate her birthday.

  I have to get back though. I have to see Lenor again. I have to tell her what I did. Otherwise whatever we have now, whatever we’ll share down the line, it’ll be polluted and fake. I have to tell her even if that means I’ll lose her.

  I turn down the Boulevard Saint-Michel, drive past the fountain standing in the middle of the square, and swerve into la Rue Saint-Andre des Arts. Until Louise went into rehab back in June, I used to drive to her place late in the afternoon every day on my way to work. It had become part of our unspoken routine. That way, I could check on her on a daily basis. That was in addition to the appointments with Dr. Olivier—twice a week—which I drove her to myself.

  I did everything I could to keep her safe. But I wanted her to go into rehab of her own freewill and finally she booked herself in a facility outside Paris recommended by Olivier. The night she’d told me about it, I’d even celebrated with a bottle of Taittinger and that pretty singer we’re throwing a private party for tonight. Another chuckle. The idea of fucking, touching, or even spending time with a girl other than Lenor now brings a bad taste to my mouth.

  Well that little fiesta was premature. Louise couldn’t help herself. Without warning me, she demanded Lenor fly her butt back to Paris to attend to her needs. Then, within two weeks of getting out of rehab, Louise had O.D.’d. I was the one who got the blame. I’d chosen to get out of Lenor’s way. She didn’t want me within spitting distance of her. That much Louise had repeated when I’d tried to see Duchess back in April. So, as soon as I’d known she’d moved in with her mother, I had made myself scarce.

  Louise hadn’t appreciated it. She blackmailed me. She threatened me. My phone calls weren’t enough, she needed more, and then I didn’t answer her calls at all one night. I’d taken the same little singer back home to clear my mind from Louise’s mind games—to forget Duchess was here in Paris. I’d only picked up the truckload of texts and voicemails left by Louise at dawn when I was putting the girl into a cab.

  I’d listened to Louise’s voice, hopped from one voicemail message to the next. And I had known. I rocketed across Paris, praying I wasn’t too late. Shivers rush down my spine simply thinking back about it. That time, I hadn’t been too late. I had saved Louise, where I’d failed to save my own mom.

  I park the car down the street from the de Launet’s townhouse. I’m about to punch the code to get inside when I remember one detail. I’m not supposed to know it. So I ring the bell. Three times. I don’t understand. Lenor told me she was staying at home tonight. My heart flips and twists inside my ribcage.

  Has she changed her mind? Is she okay? The shivers are back. Thousands of sick scenarios run through my mind. Lenor falling down the stairs. Someone breaking into the fucking mansion where two women live on their own. Or maybe Louise has finally gone totally batshit crazy, grabbed a kitchen knife and is now hunting her own daughter along the halls of the mighty.

  I smash my fist against the solid embossed gate. Lenor has that image of me, one of an emotional reptile. She’s convinced I can control my emotions, mold them. If she only fucking knew. When I’m around her, I feel like a chick overdosing on estrogen.

  I forget about being careful. I punch the code and rush across la Cour d’Honneur, and punch the access code to the house. Inside, all is silent. I check the kitchen where we had dinner tonight and it’s empty. The plates are still there though. The Mars bar wrappers remind me of that moment we shared.

  Maybe she’s in her bedroom. She must have fallen asleep. I start climbing the spiral staircase and call out her name. I’ve reached the intermediate floor where the drawing room is. It’s plunged in darkness but for the flimsy halo of a lampshade.

  I sense a presence. It’s not Lenor because I’m missing the warmth seeping through my veins each time she’s near me. I venture inside the room anyway. Something’s off.

  “She left.”

  Louise.

  I skirt around the double-seater couch. She’s sitting there, her legs folded underneath her in that feline way of hers that doesn’t do anything for me, that has never done anything for me. That knowledge makes the extent of my past screw-ups even more senseless.

  My gaze roams around the room, settling on the solitary bottle of whiskey standing on the round side table. An empty tumbler is positioned idly next to it.

  I clench my fists to keep me from shaking her like a doll. “You promised you won’t touch any booze,” I shout. She promised me. She promised Lenor. Where did you get it anyway? I got rid of all the alcohol in the house.”

  She stares up at me, her face stricken with tears. “I needed to forget, but I’ve just been staring at it since she left.”

  “Where is she?” I bark.

  “Bruce called me,” Louise mutters in a childish voice. Gone are her husky tones. “Apparently, Joshua is in Paris. For work.”

  I stumble backwards and sit on that Louis chair I know Lenor likes. I eye the bottle of whiskey—Talisker—and all I want now is to quench the thirst I didn’t have seconds ago. My fingers are antsy. They want to grab that bottle.

  I can’t do that in front of the recovering junkie I’m keeping company to.

  “Is she with him?”

  Louise shrugs. “She didn’t tell me. She got a call and, next thing I know, she was heading for the door.” She shrugs again. “But I’m pretty sure she is.”

  I lean forward and rest my elbows on my thighs. I’ve been in fights before, but I’ve never been punched straight in the guts like this.

  Louise is sobbing. I stare up at her. She’s clasped her hands over her mouth and she’s shaking her head in what looks like disbelief. Do I want to know? I ask anyway. “Why are you crying? What does it matter to you if she’s with him?”

  Her hands now slide down her face, along her neck and pull her features into a pathetic mask. “You love her.” It wasn’t even a question. “You always have.”

  She says it as if it was something monstrous and, again, I want to strangle her. I don’t answer. It wasn’t even a question anyway.

  The sobbing stops abru
ptly. She stiffens and starts rambling, “You can’t tell her, Zachary. You can’t tell her about us.” Next, she’s begging me. “If you have any feelings for me left, please don’t tell her about us.”

  I’ve never had any feelings for Louise. Pity, yes maybe, at least until she dragged Lenor into her messy life here in Paris and prevented her, one more time, from building her own life.

  “Lying to Lenor now, it’s as bad as what we did in the first place.” I mean it.

  “You can’t tell her,” Louise pleads. There’s nothing of the ruin she was when I arrived. There’s a desperate fight in her. “If you say anything, I’ll lose her for good.” She shakes her head, her jaw stiffens and her eyes fill with a burning determination I’ve never seen in her before. “I can’t lose her. Not now. We’re building something. At last.”

  “I’m glad you finally seem to give a shit about that daughter of yours, Louise. I really am.” That wasn’t true anymore. Nowadays I’d prefer Lenor to get as far away from the train wreck that is Louise as possible. It isn’t going to happen though. “But whatever something you think you’re building, it’s tainted.”

  She leaps out of her feline curl, jumps to her feet, and throws herself down on her knees at my feet. She’s begging me like I’m some sort of God of Justice, her fingers clawing at my thighs. “Please don’t tell her what happened between us. I can’t lose her now. It’s the second chance I never thought I’d get with her.”

  I unclasp her fingers, and not that gently, shove her shoulders backwards so that she stops hovering near me. I can’t stand the slightest ambiguity between us.

  “Louise, it’s not for you, or for me, to decide if we get a second chance with Lenor. It’s up to her. She has the right to make up her own mind.” My voice grows as anger boils up inside me. “For once in her life, let her make a choice for herself.”

  It’s as if my words have bitten her because she’s back on her feet. She wavers though and I can’t help wondering if she told the truth about the whiskey.