He woke up at dawn this morning and has been daydreaming under the covers, waiting for the alarm to go off. He notices the book sitting on Chloé’s nightstand. One of the few things he hasn’t put away yet. A Secret Kept by Tatiana de Rosnay. He reaches out to pick it up and read the back cover.
Chloé was three-quarters of the way through, if the piece of folded paper she was using as a bookmark is any indication. As he flips distractedly through the book, he accidentally drops the small piece of ivory paper. He picks it up and unfolds it, more out of instinct than curiosity.
A few words, jotted down in blue ink.
I’m glad you came back.
Without you I felt so dark.
I thought I had lost you.
Without you I felt so blue.
It’s not Chloé’s handwriting. It doesn’t even look like a woman’s handwriting. Gabriel only knows one person who writes lyrics in middle-school-level English. Just one loser who cobbles together two chords on an acoustic guitar while mumbling ridiculous lines to the only sickly sweet melody he knows. Just one loser who thinks that looking a bit like a rock star will get him all the ladies.
And that loser’s name is Simon.
It doesn’t seem like he has too much trouble attaining his goals, however. And the musical attempts Gabriel finds appallingly bad somehow usually manage to attract women.
Chloé in particular.
Gabriel clenches his teeth, crumples the paper into a little ball, and throws it across the room. He’s not mad, he’s relieved.
He picks up his phone and dials Emma’s number.
This time, he doesn’t hang up.
EMMA
After we kissed, I was sure that Gabriel would never call me back. That I had been too forward, too impatient.
But my phone did finally ring, and I feel like something has finally changed. Gabriel is ready to move on—with me by his side.
Just as I was about to give up on us, we started to get serious.
We don’t go out so much anymore. Frankly, I’ve seen everything interesting Saint-Malo has to offer. He took a few days off work, and we spent almost an entire week holed up at his place.
We made love in every room in his house. Except the bedroom; that door always stays closed. We took over the little guest room and the rather rough fold-out couch after giving the living-room couch, kitchen counter, chest freezer in the garage, stairs—too hard—and bathtub a go.
Those few days away from the rest of the world were an amazing break. We learned things about each other, got to know one another. Everything seems so simple with him.
I know, what a cliché, right?
I was patient and supportive, and the sparrow has finally ventured outside the box. Gabriel is no longer a fragile little creature in need of empathy and compassion.
Not in the least.
Now when I feel his arms around me, his breath on my skin, I’m the one who feels small. When he looks at me, all I can see in his eyes is his desire to be right where he is, with me, here and now.
After a few days he had to return to work. We had to come back to the real world. Ever since, time away from him seems to pass so slowly it’s like torture. I’ve never felt anything like it. I love the sensation, the excitement. But I hate it too—I hardly recognize myself anymore. I’m constantly checking my phone to make sure I haven’t accidentally turned off the ringer or missed a text from Gabriel. When I’m with him, I try to act like nothing’s changed, but this is the first time I’ve experienced what it’s like to love someone so much and be so happy it hurts.
Of course, I never planned to actually fall in love with him. It really complicates the decisions I’ve made to make my dreams come true, but I’m trying not to think about that right now. I still plan on taking off early next year, but between now and then so much could happen . . . Who knows, maybe he’ll want to leave everything behind and follow me to the ends of the earth? That’s not so crazy, is it?
I haven’t told him about my plans yet. He thinks that being a “war photographer,” as he puts it, is a vague dream, the kind that never becomes a reality. I didn’t want to tell him otherwise in the beginning, and now I feel like it’s too late. We’ve just started a life together, and I can’t imagine telling him that I intend to leave the country in a few months. When we met, I did tell him that my stay in Saint-Malo was temporary, that I was looking to save some money before heading off on my adventure. But apparently he either didn’t believe me or forgot the conversation. Or maybe he thinks our relationship will change everything.
In some ways, he’s right.
For now I’m simply enjoying life. I’m enjoying his affection, his gentleness, his kindness. I’m starting to really care for him, and I’d rather not think about what comes next. He’s already lost his wife; I don’t want to be the second woman to abandon him in just a few months . . .
I hope that, when the time comes, he won’t hate me. I hope he’ll understand, that he’ll be able to forgive me.
CHAPTER 10
NOVEMBER 2013
CHLOÉ
I watch as Gabriel sits in a café near the city ramparts with his new conquest.
I decided I didn’t want to see—and especially hear—any more of what has been going on at our house over the past few days. Everything suddenly started going so fast, and that tramp basically moved in as I watched, powerless to stop her.
I’m furious. If I could rip her big, innocent eyes right out of her head, I would. And I would enjoy it. I’d make them jump out of their sockets with a dessert spoon: pop, pop. And I’d shove her stupid camera down her throat. Click, click.
I’m not mad at Gabriel. Well, not too mad. He’s lost and in need of affection, nothing more. He’s not wearing his wedding ring anymore, but he never liked wearing it anyway. That doesn’t mean anything.
As for her . . . I’m sure that bitch thinks she’s actually in love with him, that it’s for real. I’m sure she’s already started imagining herself as the next Mrs. Hamon. She’s even co-opted the dog. She won him over with belly rubs and treats.
The waiter comes over. Gabriel orders a Coke and she asks for an Earl Grey tea. Earl Grey tea! Is there any duller, more boring drink on the planet? Why not a cup of chamomile while you’re at it, Little Miss Husband Stealer?
I watch as they fawn over each other, kissing and stroking like two teenagers cut off from the rest of the world. They’re shameless.
It’s unbearable.
The waiter comes back with a tray. He puts a Coke down in front of Gabriel and a violet lemonade in front of her. I don’t even know her name.
She looks up with the surprised expression that never seems to leave her face and tells the waiter it’s not what she ordered.
“Are you sure?” he asks with a frown. “I wrote down ‘a Coke and a violet lemonade.’”
“No. No, I’m sure I said Earl Grey tea!”
She’s bewildered by the situation, but it’s okay. Lemonade will be fine, nothing to fuss about. Great, she’s nice too. She doesn’t want to put anyone out.
The annoyed waiter takes the glass back to the bar anyway.
Gabriel is as white as a sheet.
Violet lemonade is my favorite drink.
GABRIEL
He can’t reach Simon. Ever since he found the note in Chloé’s book, Gabriel has been trying to call him, but he keeps getting his machine. “Hi, this is Simon. Leave me a message and maybe I’ll call you back!” Gabriel lets out a disdainful snort every time he hears it.
He’s not really mad, but he needs to know the truth. Was his wife cheating on him? He can’t believe it: Chloé wasn’t a deceitful person, and he’d seen the guilt she’d carried for months after ending her friendship with Simon. And he couldn’t have been so blind as to have stood by without noticing his wife having an affair with this guy, right?
Gabriel has been going over this for weeks now, and he still has too many questions. He’s decided to let it go. Simon doesn’t an
swer his phone or call back, and maybe it’s for the best. What would knowing change anyway? He doesn’t want to tarnish the memory of his wife.
Better to live in the present. And Emma is the present, not Chloé.
When he’s with her, he feels alive again. She makes him forget about everything else. The beginning of a relationship is always magical like that. He wants to surrender to it. She brings color to his world, which has been nothing but black and white for six months. Six months already . . .
Yes, he really cares about Emma. But deep down he knows that if he could choose, it’s Chloé he would want back by his side.
Because the grief is still suffocating sometimes, more than he can bear. Her voice, her face, her smell. It all comes back to him in flashes at the most unexpected times. Though it only lasts a few seconds, the pain is overwhelming, like having a knife plunged into his heart or having the air knocked out of him so hard he falls to his knees. A kind of Chloé shock. Her hand in his, her hair flowing over the pillowcase, the way she danced with her MP3 player cranked all the way up in the middle of the silent living room.
Sometimes he can admit to himself that his memories must be idealized versions of reality, brighter than the original, the emotions more intense. “Be careful not to deify the person you’ve lost,” Edith keeps repeating.
But when the memories invade his brain of their own volition, he has zero perspective. He misses Chloé; he misses everything about her. He feels torn, almost schizophrenic.
When he opens his front door to take Lucky for a walk—the poor dog has been pacing the house for an hour now—Gabriel comes face-to-face with Elise, the receptionist from the gym where his wife worked. She shuffles her weight from one foot to the other and finally awkwardly hands over a small box.
“Hello . . . I know it’s taken me awhile, but here are the things Chloé left in her locker. It was padlocked, and since we didn’t need it, we didn’t do anything about it. But now that we’ve hired a new trainer, we need to make space for her, so . . . I didn’t throw anything out, I just put it all in the box. I thought it was your place to go through it, that maybe you’d find something you’d want to keep . . .”
The poor woman is so uncomfortable that she would literally run away if she could. Gabriel thanks her and lets her know she can go. Relieved, she says good-bye and heads back to her car, parked up the street.
Gabriel puts the box on the floor in the corner of the living room. He wishes he could just throw it all away, because he’s already haunted by memories. But he knows he won’t.
Inside the box, he finds sports bras, a neon-pink tank top, and a pair of black minishorts. Part of Chloé’s job was to look hot when she taught her classes. “We have to make our customers want to come back somehow, sweetheart!” An expired tube of cream for easing muscle soreness. A bath towel and an all-in-one shower gel and shampoo.
And at the very bottom, a big white envelope. Saint-Malo Hospital.
He opens it. There’s a stack of papers stapled together. Gabriel reads the words typed on the pages, but they don’t make any sense.
Post-operative report
Surgical termination of pregnancy at patient’s request.
Pre-operative meds: Rohypnol + Ibuprofen
Local anesthesia: four shots of Xylocaine
Dilation of cervix
Aspiration
Conclusion: Pregnancy successfully terminated at nine weeks gestation.
He looks for the date. January 2013.
His head starts spinning. He can’t hold back the caustic bile that’s building up in his throat.
EMMA
After a week of zero contact, Gabriel finally showed up at my apartment this morning before work. When I saw that the wall clock across from my fold-out bed read a quarter to eight, I almost didn’t get up to answer the intercom.
But it just kept ringing and ringing, so I decided to crawl out from under the covers, cursing the thoughtless person who was waking me at such an ungodly hour.
“It’s me!”
I kept quiet.
“It’s Gabriel. Will you open the door?”
“You think you can just disappear and then show up unannounced whenever you want? That I’m at your beck and call?”
As soon as the words leave my mouth, I regret it. I can’t help it, though. I want to move forward and I’m tired of getting bogged down in Gabriel’s past.
I push the button to open the downstairs door. A few minutes later, Gabriel comes into the apartment. He closes the door gently behind himself and remains in the entryway, his arms hanging down at his sides, like a kid who knows he’s in trouble.
I’m moved by his sad face.
“Want some coffee?”
“Sure, if you’re making some for yourself too.”
I take out a capsule and put it into the machine. The hot black liquid streams into the cup.
Gabriel sits on one of the two bar stools. I turn my back to him.
“Are you okay? What was so urgent that you needed to tell me at this time of day? It’s been almost a week since I’ve heard from you! I left you messages, sent you texts . . . I was starting to worry. Thinking that you regretted it all, that you didn’t want to see me anymore but weren’t brave enough to tell me to my face.”
“No, it’s not that at all . . .”
Gabriel stares at the steam coming out of the coffee cup.
“What is it then? Tell me!”
He looks up and bites his bottom lip, a pensive expression on his face.
“I’ve been thinking a lot over the past few days. I wanted to take some time . . . Everything has moved so fast between us, and I wanted to be sure about what we’re doing.”
I don’t like the direction this is headed. He’s about to tell me it’s too soon for him, that he feels like he’s cheating on his wife, that he’s not ready to be in a new relationship . . . I grip my coffee cup. All this, for nothing.
“I want you to move in with me.”
I’m stunned. I can’t move.
Gabriel stands up and comes around the table to stand right in front of me. With one hand he gently pushes my chin upward until I’m gazing into his eyes.
“If you think it’s too soon, tell me. But you already spend so many nights at my house, and I don’t think you’re especially fond of your studio since you’ve only had it for six months. Plus, Lucky adores you, even if, obviously, you’re not moving in for him . . . Anyway, if you’d rather wait, I und—”
I place my index finger on Gabriel’s mouth to shush him. I wait a few seconds, then touch my lips to his. I run my hands through his curly hair and pull him close. We kiss for a long time, his arms wrapped around me.
When I step back, he takes a deep breath.
“I’ll take that as a yes?”
CHAPTER 11
DECEMBER 2013
CHLOÉ
Everybody is getting ready for the holidays.
Everybody except me, of course.
My rival has moved into the house. I watched, powerlessly, as she brought over a couple of boxes and a suitcase. She didn’t have much—she could have been living in the streets before for all I know.
I realize I’m being mean. I hate being like this, but I can’t help it anymore. The worst part is that everything that’s happening is my fault. I can’t even be mad at Gabriel for wanting to get on with his life.
She’s put her things away in my closet. They moved the fold-out couch in the guest room so that now it’s on the wall facing the door. She must be into feng shui, or maybe it’s just her way of making herself at home. As if sleeping with my husband in my house weren’t enough. At least they’ve had the decency not to move into our bedroom.
She put her toothbrush next to Gabriel’s in the cup on the bathroom sink. Isn’t that cute.
She’s filled up the kitchen cabinets with her Earl Grey tea bags and put a bright-red coffee maker in the middle of the counter. Gabriel even cleared a shelf of the bookcase in the livi
ng room so she’d have a place to put her camera and all her other crap. He came across a picture of me while he was doing it, but he hardly seemed to notice. I think I could make all the doors slam and shatter all the windows one by one without him batting an eye. He’s even taken off the chain he wore around his neck with my wedding ring on it. He put it away in a forgotten corner somewhere.
It looks like I’ve lost.
What else can I possibly do to keep him from forgetting about me? Was I wrong about him? Maybe he didn’t really love me that much after all.
They went out to buy a Christmas tree this morning, then spent an hour decorating it together, taking out the ornaments we had so carefully organized in an old moving box, one by one. Gabriel and I always used to choose one new ornament at a different Christmas market each year: Strasbourg, Brussels, Cologne. We took a weekend trip to visit a different one every winter. We sipped mulled wine to distract us from our frozen fingers, enjoyed temporary ice-skating rinks, and rode Ferris wheels to get a glimpse of the cute wooden houses from above. We lovingly selected the prettiest ornament we could find and took it home with us, pleased with the success of our little getaway. A gilded drum, a blown-glass bulb, a white wicker snowman.
Gabriel hands the big carved wooden star to his new sweetheart and together they top the tall tree.
I scream out in pain, despite myself. I just need the release—it’s not like either of them can hear me. They’re in their perfect little bubble of happiness, while I . . . I don’t even exist anymore.
Hell, I don’t exist for anyone anymore.
I glare at my rival’s calm, happy face. She looks like she’s just hit the jackpot.
GABRIEL
Gabriel is lying in bed with Emma, absentmindedly playing with the charm necklace she’s wearing. She grabs his hand and laughs. “You’re tickling me!”
“Don’t you ever take it off?”
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