by Flora Lanoux
“Oh, Michelle.”
“Grant survived but he was paralyzed from the waist down. Every day, I went to the hospital. After a month, Grant started to come out of the blur he was in. Then all hell broke out. One night, when I went to visit, he was sitting up in bed waiting for me. ‘I don’t want you to come anymore, Michelle,’ he said. ‘Get out and don’t ever come back.’ I didn’t know what was going on. I told him that I loved him and that I couldn’t live without him, but he went wild. He started throwing everything he could lay his hands on. I went to get a nurse. She sedated him and told me that it would be better if I left. She said that he was just going through an angry phase because of his disability. I went home stunned. I honestly thought I’d die. When I went back the next day, Grant gave me more of the same. After that, I went once a week for two months to see if he had calmed down, but the same thing happened. It took everything I had to go see him. I wrote him letters, but he sent them back. Then it was time to leave for vet school, and I never saw him again.” She looks at me. “I couldn’t stand being alone, Rachel, not after having been with him. The nights were unbearable. I just couldn’t bear being alone at night. So, as much as possible, I’ve tried not to. When Bryan said what he did, I realized what a shadow of a life I’ve been living. I’ve forgotten about love.”
“Go see Grant, Michelle.”
She shakes her head. “It’s too late.”
I squeeze her hand. “You can’t believe that. Don’t ever believe that. Let Grant redeem himself for how he treated you. At least give him a chance to apologize. You can’t leave things the way they are forever. It doesn’t matter where he is or what he’s doing, go see him. He must feel wretched for what he did. Knowing the type of guy you’d choose, I know he’d love the chance to say he’s sorry.”
“I can’t, Rachel.”
“You can, and you will. And sometime soon.”
Wiping away her tears, she takes a deep breath. “So, what happened at Mike’s last night?”
I tell her the gruesome details.
“The rotten spoiled sods,” she says. “Mike shouldn’t have sent you away, he should have sent them away.”
“I know. It’s over. I’m going to tell him today.”
“How do you feel?”
“Relieved, but my brain feels numb. I’m going to take a shower; then I’m going over to the clinic. I can’t stand the thought of putting it off. Will you be okay?”
“Don’t worry about me. I’m going to crash for a while. Come back later though. I’d like to hear what happened.” She walks over to a bookshelf, picks up a couple of keys, and hands them to me. “Take my spare apartment keys, in case I’m in the shower or sleeping or something.”
At the clinic, Tim, Lucy, and Mike are having a few quiet moments going about their business as they wait for the next client. Since Mike is alone in his office, I walk straight over to him, glancing only briefly in Tim and Lucy’s direction. Neither of them says a word. When I close the door, Mike gets up from his desk.
“Rach!”
With determination, I say, “It’s over, Mike. It’s been over for a while now, but I’m here to officially put an end to things.”
With a shocked look, he says, “Rachel, I’m selling the house. I told the kids I’m starting a new life and that they’ll have to lump it. I’m sorry for everything that’s happened, but you know I’m crazy about you. I’d do anything for you. Anything.”
But there’s no changing my mind. “I think you deserve a new life, Mike, but don’t do those things for me. I think you’re one of the kindest people I’ve ever met, but it’s over. I don’t know what happened, but I don’t feel the same way about you as I did before. I know you’ve noticed.”
He reaches out to me, but I step away. “We’ve just had a lot of miserable things happen, that’s all,” he says. “We’ll work on everything. Things will get better. I love you, Rachel.”
I shake my head. “We should have gotten closer when things got tough, Mike, not farther apart. We just weren’t meant to be together. It’s no one’s fault. It just didn’t work out.”
“Look,” he says, “you’re going to Texas for a week. It’ll give you a break and you’ll feel better about things. Why don’t we talk about things when you get back?”
“No, Mike. I will go to Texas, but I won’t change my mind. I don’t think I should come back to work here. It just wouldn’t work out. I’m sorry.” On my way out the door, I turn around. “I did like being with you, Mike.”
Anxious to leave, I only nod and smile at Tim and Lucy on my way out.
On my way home, I decide to drop in on Bryan.
Looking a bit ragged, he says, “Come in, Rach.”
I find his quietness disconcerting.
When we’re settled on his sofa, I say, “I talked to Mike today. I’ve ended things, and I’ve decided not to work at the clinic when I come back from Texas.”
“That’s great,” he says, but his lack of emotion puts me in mind of something Liz said: “Beware of the man whose emotions flow like a tap, sometimes hot and sometimes cold. It means he doesn’t love you enough.”
“What’s wrong, Bryan?”
“Rachel, I find it really hard to be with you right now. You’ve had such a rough few months. I don’t think it’s fair to ask you to be with me until you get a chance to get over all this other stuff. Who knows how you’ll feel when you get a chance to relax and have a stress-free time. Maybe you’ll discover things about yourself you hadn’t realized. I was thinking you should take some time for yourself. I’ll still be here when you’re ready.”
When I stand up, he does too, but he seems afraid to get too close to me.
“What are you thinking?” he asks.
“I’m thinking I’d better go,” I tell him, and turn to leave.
“Rachel,” he says, “it’s not what I want; it’s what I think you need.”
I face him. “Maybe you should have asked me what I wanted, Bryan.”
When I get to my apartment and open my door, the phone is ringing. I go to the living room to answer it.
“I’m sorry, Rachel,” Bryan says. “You’re right. I should have asked. I just haven’t been feeling like myself since last night. Can I come over?”
“No, Bryan, don’t come over. There’s no reason to be sorry. You pulled away for a reason, and that’s alright. It probably wouldn’t have worked out, and that would have killed one of us. I don’t think what you did last night had anything to do with me. I think it was just something that had to do with you.”
After a pause, he says, “I’m not like that, Rach. I know a lot of guys are like that, but I’m not into casual sex.”
Taken aback, I say, “That’s not what I meant, Bryan. I mean you’re so full of love and so ready to share your life with someone that you could just about burst. Looking around, you see me, someone who could fit the bill, someone you could give all that love to.” After a moment, I say, “Why did you think you wanted to be with me, Bryan?”
“I looked into your soul, and I fell in love with what I saw there.”
Releasing a slow breath, I say, “Maybe we’re just meant to be really good friends.”
“I’m sorry, Rachel.”
“I’m not. I’ve had a heck of a lot of fun, and I wouldn’t change that for the world.”
When dinner time rolls around, I decide to go to Northcliff to see Liz and Verna. It’ll be the last time I get to see them before my trip. I find them both in the dining hall.
“Am I too late?” I ask.
“Not at all,” Verna answers. “But something tells me you’re not here for the food.”
Smiling, I sit down next to them. “I made another mistake. When Cupid’s arrow struck again, I didn’t fight it. But it didn’t work out.”
Verna takes my hand. “Oh, Rachel, I’m sorry.”
“Oh well, I guess things could be worse,” I tell her.
She frowns. “Rachel, you should never say things could
be worse. You should say things could be better. It makes a big difference in life to think the right thing.”
I slump into my chair. “Why can’t I get this love thing right?”
“You will,” Liz says. “And when you find the right one, it’ll be so obvious that you won’t be able to believe you thought of the other ones. It’s a blessing it didn’t work out for you, really, even though it may be hard for you to believe that right now.” Her Scottish brogue acts like a tonic.
I look at her. “What’s it like when you find the right one?”
Liz’s smile is radiant. “When I found my Colin, everything was easier. That’s the thing I remember most.”
Since Liz and Verna have both travelled to Texas, they tell me about the good times they had there.
When I get up to leave, Verna walks with me to the lobby. At the door, she says, “Rachel, what do you want out of life?”
“I don’t know.”
She waits for me to think it over.
“I think I’ve had it beaten out of me,” I tell her.
“Well, dear, it’s like this. Sometimes in life, you have to walk to the precipice, feel the fear, and then jump over. With wild abandon, jump over.”
It’s a relief when Sunday finally rolls around and Michelle drives me to the airport. As I’m waiting for my turn at the security gate, she hugs me and says, “Take a mental health holiday, Rach. Try to focus on Texas and the conference and nothing else. I’ll be here to pick you up when you get back.” She hands me a small gift-wrapped package. “Happy birthday, Rach.”
“Good grief,” I say, laughing. “I’d forgotten. Thanks, Michelle. I’ll see you in a week.”
When I’m on the plane, I open the package: it’s a book of poetry by Robert Burns.
Twenty minutes into the flight, I drift off to sleep and have a dream. I’m walking in the woods with Nathaniel. I’m six years old again. Holding my hand, he takes me to a beach, and we kneel down. Facing me, he turns over three small buckets, each containing different colors of sand. Removing the buckets, he reveals a mound of red sand, a mound of white sand, and a mound of white and black sand mixed together; then he makes a motion for me to choose one of the mounds. I look at him, confused because I don’t know which one to choose. He nods his head to tell me that I have to make the choice, that he can’t help me, that it has to come from me. Without thinking, I pick the red one. His eyes tell me, “It’s not the choice, it’s that it’s your choice.” I wake up suddenly. I didn’t choose Bryan.
Chapter 19
Petit papillon, d’où viens-tu? (Little butterfly, from where do you come?)
Sometimes, there are butterflies so beautiful that to look at them isn’t enough; you have to hold them for a while; only then can you bear to set them free. That’s what happened with Mike and me.
By the last day of the veterinary conference, I’m feeling pretty relaxed. Texas has been a revelation: the land is flat as a pancake, which makes for surreal sunsets and sunrises; all the roads are straight; and just about everyone has a truck.
The week has gone by incredibly quickly, and as I sit in the crowded auditorium late Friday afternoon, I can hardly believe that it’s almost time to give my talk. Listening to the seminar organizer thank the second to last speaker, I look at the wall clock and see that it’s four o’clock, which means that we’re right on schedule. I’m the last speaker. Finally, the organizer introduces me, and to my surprise I feel completely calm.
I enjoy giving the talk. It feels good to release all the positive energy I’ve felt since I’ve been in Texas. When I’m done, several people approach to ask me about procedural points, to touch base, or to tell me that they enjoyed the talk. As I gather my papers to leave, I see a man with spiky white hair approaching. He’s my age and is wearing jeans, a navy short-sleeved shirt with a yellow tie, and running sneakers. Distracted when something hits my chest, I look down to see what it is, but can see nothing. By the time I look up again, the man is standing in front of me.
“Hello, Rachel,” he says. “It is a great pleasure to finally meet you.” His soft-spoken voice and Parisian accent are intoxicating. “I’m Jean Paul Gaston.”
The paleness of his skin and the ice-blue of his eyes, along with my light-headedness, make everything seem unreal.
I must have held out my hand because he’s taken it.
“Your talk was wonderful. I would like very much to talk to you about your work and about orthopedics in general. You are in College Station for how long?”
“Until Sunday morning.”
“Ah, we do not have much time.” After a moment, he says, “It would be a great pleasure if you would accompany me to a restaurant not far from here, where we could better talk.”
As we walk out of the building and to his car, he talks about the weather and Texas. In the same gentle manner, he drives us to a French restaurant called Le Provençal. When we walk into the restaurant, he is treated like a son.
“Jean Paul!” The head waiter calls out, rushing over. “Comment ça va, mon vieux?” How are you, old buddy?
“Bonjour, Martin, I would like to present to you Rachel, a colleague.”
“Enchanté,” Martin says, taking my hand.
“A pleasure,” I tell him.
“A table by the window?” Martin asks.
“Yes, please,” Jean Paul says. Everything here is very civilized.
We’re shown to a table overlooking a garden. Jean Paul helps me with my chair and asks me what I’ll have to drink. I decide on a glass of half orange juice and half soda, my grip on reality too shaky for anything stronger. Martin talks animatedly with Jean Paul about a new French wine that has arrived at the restaurant only today and tells him that he will bring us a bottle to sample.
“How did you become interested in orthopedics?” Jean Paul asks.
“I think about bones a lot, and I’ve always liked physics, so orthopedics appealed to me right away. When I was looking for a vet job, I chose a clinic that specialized in orthopedic surgery.”
“I, too, have bone fever,” he says. “Bones teach me about many things: art, architecture, science, the human body -- but most of all, about life.”
“How old were you when you first became interested?”
He smiles. “When I was very small I was fascinated by bones, but it was when I was twelve that I had a dream that gave me this bone fever.”
“A dream?”
“A marvellous dream in which I was very tiny, and I was walking within the body of a human. Travelling along large red tunnels, I saw all the bones of the body, all in their proper places. I walked along the corridor of the rib cage, feeling my way as I went. I climbed onto a femur and felt its strength. I touched the cranium and understood at once its purpose. Many secrets were revealed to me on that night. When I woke up, I was perspiring from the effort. It was at this time that I began to understand bones. They were revealed to me as pillars of the body, protecting the inner person and propelling the outer person.”
Jean Paul is exerting himself now just as he must have been in his dream, his passion for life radiating from his body.
He shakes his head. “It would be much easier if I could talk to you in French.”
“You can, if you like. My mother was French. I understand it fine, but I speak English far better.”
“C’est incroyable. Les anges sont avec moi ce soir,” he says, instantly becoming a poet. It’s incredible. The angels are with me tonight. Sitting back in his chair, he relaxes.
I continue talking in English while he speaks in French. Martin arrives with the wine, pours a glass for Jean Paul, and awaits the verdict. Jean Paul takes his time to taste it and then says, “It is enchanting, Martin. The bees will be envious of so sweet a nectar.”
Beaming, Martin pours me a glass and then walks towards the kitchen.
“My father owns a vineyard in France,” Jean Paul says, smiling. “The reputation of the father precedes the son.” He nods towards my glas
s. “You really must try some.”
Taking a sip, I hear faint, childlike laughter. The wine is so sweet and its impact so sudden that it makes my mouth and tongue tingle.
“It tastes as though it were made in heaven,” I tell Jean Paul.
He laughs. “Perhaps by the muses.”
Martin returns to take our orders. When we both admit to not being very hungry, he suggests the lime and vegetable soup. For dessert, Jean Paul asks Martin if he could have his favorite bread brought to the table, along with a jar of jam and a jar of honey. Martin is delighted to grant the special request.
Getting lost in the magic of the night, we stay until ten o’clock, talking, chatting, drinking tea, eating biscuits, and strolling in the garden. Work is mentioned only occasionally. Now, it’s time to leave. With no computer to act as intermediary and our time quickly coming to an end, Jean Paul says what’s on his mind.
“Rachel, are you engaged with someone?” he asks, using English to eliminate any possibility of confusion.
I shake my head. “No.”
Releasing a deep breath, he says, “I’m very glad.” After a few quiet moments he says, “Do you have to leave on Sunday?”
Looking at him, I say, “No, I don’t think I do.”
His smile is brilliant. “How wonderful.” Standing up, he holds out a hand. “Let’s go.”
Outdoors, I take a deep breath, savoring the night air. Texas has a different smell from Michigan: sweeter, drier.
When Jean Paul and I get to my hotel, he walks me to my room.