by Chloé Duval
Me too, Rom. I’m going to miss you. So, so much.
Too soon, he drew away from me and gently laid his forehead against mine. “Drive safe, okay?”
“Promise,” I whispered, my voice hoarse with unshed tears.
“Call me when you get home?”
“I will. As soon as I arrive.”
It was the best compromise we’d been able to work out. Phone calls. Skype. Any kind of long-distance communication.
We’d talked about it at length the day before. Romaric had even suggested inviting my father to come and spend some time up here. It was an enticing idea, as it would have postponed the moment we’d have to part, and so I was grateful to Romaric for being willing to welcome my father into his home. But I also knew Papa better than anyone else, and I knew he would refuse, arguing that he couldn’t close shop in the middle of the summer, even for just a few days. It was the best time of the year for his business, and though a few days away wouldn’t bankrupt him, it was true that it would make a difference. Then he’d probably insist I stay and enjoy myself rather than bother with the shop or his birthday, let alone his wedding anniversary. No doubt he would add that it was high time I started living my own life without worrying about my old father, and that he got along just fine, thank you.
But although it was true, I didn’t want him to have to. For years it had been just the two of us. He’d leaned on me as I had on him. How could I leave him alone when I knew my mother’s desertion still hurt, even after all these years, and that my presence by his side was one of the only things that would stop him from dwelling on painful memories all week? I couldn’t, and that was that. Romaric hadn’t insisted, knowing that he would do the same for Erwan if the situation called for it.
We’d been through every possible scenario and in the end, we’d had to decide that for now, phone calls would have to be enough.
I closed my eyes, barely clamping down on a sigh of despair.
Despite coming to an agreement, my heart had been filled with anxiety for the last day or so. I’d made every effort to be as rational as I could and keep my cool, but I still couldn’t get rid of the niggling sensation that today was the last I’d see of him, the last time I’d feel his heart beat against mine. The last time I’d touch him, the last time we’d kiss.
The mere idea was enough to send me spiraling into a pit of despair. My heart felt as though it was slowly turning to ash, crumbling under the weight of my fears.
What if our story turned out to be just a summer fling, intense but short-lived? What if, in spite of all our promises, we never met again? What if life, prior commitments, routine, finally doused the flames?
What if... what if his feelings for me weren’t quite as strong as mine were?
Would I survive?
I plunged my gaze deep into his, searching and hoping against hope to find the certainty that my fears, and the bitter taste in my mouth, were unfounded.
That our story would endure and go on.
But deep down, I knew that he could make me no such promise. Even the most earnest of good intentions could only carry you so far. I was painfully aware that we had each built a life that we loved and would have difficulty leaving behind. Romaric had his bed-and-breakfast, his horses, his sister, and his uncle; I had my house, my students, my father, and my friends. Two lives, two jobs, two different realities that kept us apart just as much as they had brought us together.
I didn’t know whether our strength of will would be enough to overcome these obstacles, whether we’d be strong enough to compromise as needed, whether the situation would slowly become unbearable until it heralded the end of the us I so desperately craved and I could already feel slipping away . . .
I drew back before I could burst into tears—or do something truly stupid such as telling him that I loved him, that over the last few days I had fallen head over heels for him, which I refused to do because our situation was complicated enough, and I didn’t want him to feel pressured.
With all the depressing thoughts circling in my mind, chasing away all other considerations, it was utter heartbreak. It must have been the hardest thing I had done in a long time, or maybe ever.
Immediately I felt empty.
Get used to it, honey, you’re in it for the long haul!
I gave Romaric my best quivering smile, trying to tamp down the myriad emotions inside of me, and discreetly wiped away the tear I hadn’t been able to hold back.
“I hate goodbyes,” I griped. “Really. Whoever invented those, worst idea ever!”
I knew the joke wouldn’t quite be enough to ease the tension, but I needed some humor so I wouldn’t start sobbing out loud then and there.
“Me too,” Romaric said, a humorless smile on his lips. “And today more than ever.”
I turned my back to him, as much to finish packing as to conceal my trembling hands and lips. I took my time to put away my computer, shifting it this way and that, checking and double-checking it wouldn’t slip, closing the zipper at a snail’s pace. At last, there was nothing left to do to delay the inevitable, and I took a deep breath before turning toward him.
“I’m ready,” I claimed with as much conviction as I could.
“I’ll carry your suitcase down.”
“Thanks.”
Outside, Gwenn and Erwan were waiting for me. I let Romaric put my suitcase and backpack into the car, and deposited my handbag on the passenger seat. I turned to Gwenn first and hugged her tight.
“Thanks for everything, Gwenn. For being so kind, so welcoming, for lending me your riding outfit. It really was great meeting you.”
“Same here.” She hugged me back. “Be careful on the road, okay? Call us when you get home.”
“Promise.”
“And Skype us when you have a minute.”
“I will. Gladly. And I know I’ve already said this, but if you ever want to come to the northern coast, I have a guest bedroom . . . with a double bed.” I winked. “In case you want to bring company.”
“That’s so sweet of you! Careful, I might take you up on that offer.”
“Please. I’d love to take you to my knitting circle and introduce you to the girls. I know you’d get along very well.”
“Okay, now I just have to visit. Don’t know when, but you can definitely expect me!”
She tightened her embrace, then released me and stepped back so I could face Erwan.
“Erwan.” I put my arms around him. “Thank you for everything. For telling me your story. I’ll be forever grateful that you let a perfect stranger into your home and your heart.”
“You’re welcome.” He hugged me back. “But you’re not a stranger anymore. You haven’t been for quite some time.”
“Thanks, Erwan. Rom and Gwenn are really lucky to have an uncle like you. You’re welcome at my place too, anytime. And in any case, you’re not getting rid of me that easily. I still have a story to write.”
“I certainly hope so.” He smiled and lowered his voice. “Speaking of which . . . If, say, I decided to heed your advice and go south . . . Would you . . . Would you come with me?”
Astounded, I stepped back, eyes wide.
“Don’t get your hopes up, I haven’t reached a decision yet. I’m just asking.”
A wide smile split my face in two. Yes! “Nothing would give me greater pleasure, Erwan.”
“Because really, if you’re going to write this story . . . Well, it needs an ending, doesn’t it?”
My heart swelled with happiness. If Erwan found Amélie again . . . If they got to talk to each other and explain . . . If their story managed to pick up where it left off . . . I would be so happy for him! It would almost make up for the heartbreak I was currently feeling.
Almost.
“Of course!” I said enthusiastically. “A story with no ending makes no sense. You need an ending.”
“Yes, well. As I said, I haven’t decided yet.”
“Yes, yes, of course. But . . . you know w
here to find me when you’ve made up your mind.”
“I do.”
I hugged him one last time before I stepped back, and he smiled down on me.
“You be careful now, Flavie.”
“Thank you, Erwan.”
I could feel myself tearing up again and I blinked hard.
“Gwenn, didn’t you want to show me something in the stables?” Erwan asked, his gaze heavy with meaning.
She frowned, but quickly caught on. “Oh yeah, sure. Come along!”
I smiled, not fooled in the slightest. They were giving Romaric and me privacy to say our goodbyes. I was starting to hate that word.
We watched them walk away arm in arm before we turned back to face each other.
“Okay. This is it. I . . .”
I couldn’t finish. Romaric had thrown his arms around me and kissed me with raw and desperate hunger. I kissed him back just as desperately, with the same regret.
“Flavie,” he muttered.
“Don’t . . . don’t say anything, all right? Tell me later. When I call you. Okay? Let me believe this isn’t forever.”
“It—”
I laid a finger across his lips. I didn’t want to hear what he had to say. Like Amélie before me, I refused to chain the man I loved with promises he might not be able to keep. I’d rather he stayed silent than swore the impossible.
Even if my heart raged at the thought.
“Shhh.” I dropped one last kiss on his lips, trying to express all my pain, my frustration, my fear. Then I tore away from him, climbed into the car, and sped out of the courtyard as though the hounds of hell were chasing me, unmindful of the silent tears running down my face.
I never looked back. My heart had shattered already.
* * *
A few meters away, Erwan turned back and watched Flavie streak away, his heart aching on his nephew’s behalf; he knew what it felt like to part with someone you loved. It hurt. A lot.
He looked at Romaric, who seemed lost, uncertain, as though the entire world had stopped.
“He’s going to miss her,” Gwenn said softly beside him.
“I know.”
“And so will I. I really like her.”
“Me too. But it’s only goodbye for now, not forever,” Erwan murmured.
“I hope so.” Gwenn looked speculatively at her uncle.
“You can certainly do better than just hope. We’ll be seeing her in a few weeks. I have a plan,” Erwan said.
“A plan? I’m all ears.”
“I’m going to find Amélie. With you and Rom—and Flavie will be coming with us.”
Chapter 19
Karouac, Brittany
Two weeks later
I couldn’t stay still.
I was unable to sit or read. I couldn’t knit more than a couple of stitches before I had to get up and peer through the window to see whether he was here yet.
I was like a little kid waiting for Santa Claus. Except I wasn’t waiting for the jolly fat guy.
I was waiting for him.
I left my post to go and brew some tea in the kitchen. At least it would keep me busy for a few minutes. I hadn’t dared go and sit in the garden for fear of not hearing the doorbell. I’d given up on writing—words eluded me. The only thing left in my head was one single thought.
In a few minutes, I’d be seeing Romaric again.
I filled the kettle and started opening cupboards, taking out the tea, filters, and a spoon. As I set about preparing my favorite drink, I listened to the noise from the street. Was that a car I heard coming up the drive?
When the water came to a boil, I poured water from the kettle into my cup. I stirred the teabag as I relived for the thousandth time in the past three days the moment when Romaric had asked if he could come see me . . .
Saying that leaving Port-l’Abbé had been difficult was probably the understatement of the century.
It had been much worse. I had felt torn apart, as though I were leaving half of myself behind with Rom.
According to my GPS, I’d driven exactly 2.54 kilometers, that is, the distance between the bed-and-breakfast and the exit sign for Port-l’Abbé, before I’d pulled up and collapsed over the steering wheel, sobbing.
I’d waited for my crying fit to pass, the tears to subside, and my breath to stop hitching, then I’d started driving again, feeling that each kilometer taking me farther away from him was an additional needle piercing my heart.
Once in Karouac, I’d gone straight to my father, even before returning home. My two-hour drive—made longer not because I went sightseeing this time, but because I’d had to stop a couple of times, or maybe three or four, to have another crying jag—had left me empty, exhausted, and I was in urgent need of comfort. My father, being the amazing person he was, had immediately understood that something was wrong. My puffy red eyes and disheveled state were probably good clues.
“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” he’d asked when I got out of the car.
In spite of all my resolve to be strong and hold up as well as I could—though really, who did I think I was fooling?—I’d collapsed into his arms at once.
“Oh, Papa,” I sobbed. “I think I’m in love!”
He’d smiled and stroked my hair tenderly as he hugged me close. “Come in. We’ll have some tea and you’ll tell me everything.”
A few moments later, sipping some of my favorite chai tea, I’d given him the expunged version of my week in Port-l’Abbé. I’d told him about Erwan and Romaric, about how the Kermarrec family had reacted to the letter, about the party, the castle, and the fact that I had fallen in love over the course of just a few days.
“Which is just plain stupid, I know,” I added, anticipating his comment.
But his answer hadn’t been what I expected.
“You know, sweetheart, I fell in love with your mother in a few hours. A week later, I begged her to become my wife. Sometimes it’s not a matter of time. I’m not saying this is the same with you, and I don’t know this young man, but from what you’re saying, he seems to return your feelings. Did he say or do anything that would make you think otherwise?”
I shook my head. Quite the contrary, in fact.
“So why are you crying? You have your whole life ahead of you. I’m sure you can find a way to solve the distance problem!”
“I don’t know, Papa. I’m afraid. Afraid that in spite of our wanting this with all our hearts, we can’t make it work. Afraid that our different ways of life will keep us apart and we will never see each other again. And . . .” I closed my eyes, trying to hold back the tears trying to escape again. “I just miss him so much already!” The words burst out of me, filled with misery.
“And he probably misses you too, honey. But you’re going to find a way, I’m sure of it. Just take your time, and trust him. You could be surprised.”
I gave him a tremulous smile. “You’re right. I’m sorry. It’s stupid to get so worked up, it’s like I’m a little kid again.”
“Not a kid, a woman who just fell in love.”
“How am I going to get by without him, Papa?”
“One day at a time, sweetheart. You’ll see—before you know it, you two will be together again.”
“Maybe. No, you’re right, I have to believe. How could he believe in us if I fall apart and start doubting so soon? I love you, Papa,” I added, throwing my arms around him and holding him tight. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
All my life, my father has given me good advice. He’s been the voice of reason in all things. It was no lie when I said I didn’t know what I’d do without him. He’d been my rock, my port in a storm when my mother left, and even now, at almost thirty years old, I still looked to him whenever something was wrong or needed fixing. He could no longer mend my skinned knees with magic kisses, but his presence, his comfort, and his advice were as important to me as ever.
“Go on, go call him,” he told me. “I’m sure he’s waiting.”
I’d called Romaric a few minutes later, sitting in a lawn chair in my father’s garden. He’d picked up on the first ring.
“Flavie! I was so worried! Any longer and I would have been the one calling you!”
It felt so good to hear his voice. I could swear I had been gone for days even though it had only been . . . four hours and twelve minutes, my watch informed me. But I missed him already. I missed him so much.
No, Flavie, I told myself. No more crying. You’re done now.
“Sorry.” I cleared my throat. “The drive was a bit longer than I’d anticipated.”
“Did you have an accident? Are you all right?”
“No accident, I’m fine. I just made a couple more pit stops than I’d intended to. But I’m just fine, I’m at my father’s place.”
“Flavie . . .”
I heard Gwenn calling for him on his end. Rom swore softly, but not softly enough that I would miss it.
“Listen, can I call you back later? Some customers just got here and they look . . . demanding. Gwenn really needs a hand.”
“Okay, call me when you can.”
“Tonight. I . . .” He hesitated. “Tonight,” he repeated. “I’ll call you. I miss you.”
“Me too. I’ll be waiting.”
He’d kept his promise and called back later that night.
The next day, after agreeing to an emergency meeting with the girls, I’d sat on my favorite corner of the beach, the one that tourists rarely bothered with because it was hard to reach, and I’d watched the sunset while I thought of Rom. That was when he had called, as though he could read my thoughts. We’d chatted for over an hour. He’d told me about the new customers, a family of five who had very specific ideas as to how their horses should be groomed.
He’d also met Dan, Gwenn’s boyfriend, just before he’d called me—both of them had asked Rom to say hello on their behalf. It seemed Erwan was right—Dan was nice and friendly. We’d exchanged a few more meaningless pleasantries just to keep talking, in order not to have to hang up yet.
Then Rom had sighed, and I had braced myself for what was to come.
“Flavie?”