One Paris Summer (Blink)

by Denise Grover Swank

  He didn’t believe me. “What? No!”

  He stomped out of the room and down the hall, then snatched my bag off the piano bench and started to dig through it.

  “Mathieu! Stop! Don’t do this, please!”

  He pulled the silver key out of the side pocket where I kept it, then shoved the bag at me. “Get. Out.”

  I caught the bag before it hit the floor, but raw anger rose up inside me, pushing aside my hurt. How could he do this to us? How could he just throw me away like this? “I have never once given you reason to doubt or mistrust me.”

  He sucked in several breaths, trying to get control. “You’ve admitted to me multiple times that you liked him.”

  “Liked. Past tense. I’ve told you that part too.”

  But his eyes were filled with rage. He was never going to believe me, no matter how much I tried.

  A sob broke loose. “Go ahead, Mathieu. Take the easy way out. You and I have never even done more than kiss, so why would I sleep with him?” I shuddered in disgust. “For some reason it’s easier for you to believe that I would cheat on you with that jerk than to see what’s really going on—Camille set us up. She wants to make sure I don’t move to Paris, so she set this up to make sure that didn’t happen.” I turned to face her. She had followed us into the living room to see the fallout of her little arrangement. “Good job, Camille. I am truly impressed. You are far more devious than I ever gave you credit for.”

  She tried to look outraged, but acting was not her calling. “What? I’m just as much a victim here as poor Mathieu. You were with my boyfriend! You’re my sister!”

  “You really believe this?” I asked Mathieu, waving my hand toward Camille.

  Camille turned to Mathieu. “I’m just as shocked as you are. We both saw them in your room.”

  The look in Mathieu’s eyes made it perfectly clear he didn’t believe me.

  I’d never felt so betrayed. “I can’t believe you would ever believe her over me. After everything.”

  He just stared at me.

  “Last night you told me you loved me, Mathieu, but if you did, you’d fight for me. Fight for us.” I spun around and ran out of the apartment. When I reached the sidewalk, I leaned over my legs and sobbed.

  What in the world had just happened? How could we have gone from insanely happy and hopeful to completely over in less than five minutes? Especially over something so stupid.

  What was I going to do? I had to go home. I had to find Eric.

  I ran into him a block away. He took one look at me and his body tensed. “What did he do?”

  I told him the whole, torrid story, the words getting harder to understand through my tears.

  “I’m going to kill him,” he growled.

  “Which one?”

  “Both of them.”

  “No. I just want to go home.” But Dane and Camille would eventually go back there, and they were the very last people I ever wanted to see. I started to cry harder.

  “What about the audition?”

  How could I go through with it? “I don’t think I can do it.”

  “Yes, you can. You have to do it, Soph.”

  I shook my head. “I can’t! Look at me! I’m a mess.”

  “You were a mess when Dad left, and the piano was what got you through it. You can’t give up now.”

  “This is different. I don’t think I can.”

  “Sophie, listen to me.” He grabbed my arms and looked into my eyes. “If you don’t, Camille will win. You have to at least try.”

  “Yeah.” I nodded, wiping my face with the back of my hand. “You’re right.”

  “I’m gonna try not to gloat over that statement.” He gave me a grim smile. “You can do this.”

  We walked to the nearest Metro station and boarded the train. Many of the passengers gave me odd glances, but I tried my best to ignore them. Just like I tried to block out the memory of Mathieu’s look of disgust and betrayal.

  He hated me, and I hadn’t even done anything to deserve it.

  We arrived at the school ten minutes before my audition time. A young woman at the information desk gave me a horrified look and told me in French to go to the second floor.

  Eric seemed surprised that I understood her, but he wisely decided not to ask any questions. I found the staircase and started up the stairs. He followed behind me.

  I made a quick stop in the bathroom and confirmed my appearance warranted the funny looks I’d gotten. My mascara was smeared and most of my makeup had been cried off. My nose was red and my eyes were swollen. Touching up my face was hopeless, so I scrubbed it clean.

  I was going into this audition emotionally naked. No amount of makeup would change that, so I might as well not try to hide what I was feeling.

  When I got to the waiting room, Eric was pacing. His eyes were wide with worry. “Are you ready?”

  I stopped in front of him, tears burning my eyes again. “Why am I here?”

  “You tell me, Sophie,” he said gently. “Why are you here?”

  “Eric . . . I’m too exhausted to play mind games. Our stepsister’s got the market cornered on that.”

  His voice softened. “When you first told me about the audition, you weren’t even with Mathieu. You told me you weren’t doing it for him. Has that changed?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe.” I ran my hand over my hair. “I’d be lying if I said that staying in Paris so I could be with him wasn’t a huge motivation.”

  “And staying with Dad too?”

  I shrugged. “Maybe.”

  “But before all that, you were doing it for you.”

  I nodded. “Yeah.”

  “Then do this for you, Sophie. Show them that you’re better than any of them. And as soon as you’re done, we’re going to Eva’s bank to tell her everything. She has a right to know.”

  I nodded. “Yeah. Okay.”

  A door opened, and a woman stood in the opening. “Sophie Brooks.”

  I sucked in a deep breath, terror washing through my body and making my arms numb. “I’m not ready.”

  Eric pulled my bag from over my head and opened the flap. “Yes, you are.” He pulled out the music and handed it to me.

  I took a deep breath and pulled back my shoulders. I could do this.

  “Who cares if you get into this snobby school?” Eric whispered. “Do this for you. Play for you.”

  He was right. Mathieu had told me to pretend I was playing for him, but I needed to play for me. No pretending needed.

  I followed the woman into a room with a grand piano in the center. Two men and three women—one of whom was Mathieu’s mother—sat at a long table. Their expressions were uniformly serious. If I’d walked in here with any hope of getting into the school, I would have been worried. But this audition was hopeless. My nerves were too shot. I was too unfocused. At this point, I was only here so I could one day tell my grandkids that Grandma had auditioned for the Conservatoire de Seine.

  I stopped in front of them and took a breath. “Bonjour. I am Sophie Brooks, and I am from Charleston, South Carolina. I will be playing Chopin Etude Op. 25 No. 2, Mozart Sonata K.332, and finishing with Rachmaninoff Prelude in B Minor Op. 32 No. 10.”

  One of the men nodded. “You may begin.”

  Now I wished that I’d spent less time crying and more time limbering my fingers, but it couldn’t be helped. I shuffled the sheets of music to the sonata, my second song, and set it on the stand. The first piece was short. I would play it from memory.

  The Chopin etude started off fast and furious. It was barely over a minute long, but it was a minute packed with triplets played extremely fast. In fact, the piece was aptly nicknamed “the bees.” I worried my fingers would stumble, but they flew across the keys, fueled by the anxiety of the morning, until the piece slowed down during the last few measures.

  Next came the Mozart sonata. There was no real story to latch onto it. Mozart wrote K.332 in Vienna while on his way to Salzburg to introduce his
new wife to his father. I imagined the lighter, more playful notes to be Mozart flaunting propriety. Constance had been known to spend the night at Mozart’s apartment, and Mozart had been forced to marry her to save her reputation. Before today’s disaster, I’d imagined the piece might be about Mathieu and me—our multiple false starts. My sadness leeched into the third movement, adding a haunting tone that didn’t belong with the whimsically written notes.

  And finally, I finished with my familiar Rachmaninoff. I’d played it so many times, I should have been sick of it—yet each time it dragged a new interpretation from my soul. Today, the haunting notes forced me to confront my sorrow over Mathieu’s accusations and the realization that we were probably done. The section about two minutes after the opening was like a brewing storm, and it allowed me to express my own feelings of betrayal, anger, and pain. My fingers and the keys were a direct extension of my soul, laying me bare to the five judges at that table, Mathieu’s mother included.

  It was only when I finished that I realized tears were streaming down my face. I knew I was really done. There was no way they’d pick some emotional girl whose neck and dress were soaked with tears.

  I gathered my music and stood. “Je vous remercie de m’avoir invitée à venir auditionner aujourd’hui.”

  The night before, I’d asked Mathieu to teach me how to thank the panel for giving me the opportunity to audition in French. Today my voice broke at the end.

  It would be the last thing he’d ever teach me in French.

  I bolted from the room.

  Eric was sitting in the waiting area. His gaze lifted to me, worry filling his eyes when he saw my tears, and he jumped to his feet. “How did you do?”

  “I don’t know. I didn’t play part of the sonata as it was meant to be played and I cried through the last piece, which I’m sure didn’t come across well. Technically, I think it was perfect, but it has to be at this level.” I wiped my face. “I did the best I could. It’s up to them.”

  “I heard you play, Sophie. You were really good. Leave it to you to spend one summer in Paris and get even better on the piano.”

  “Yeah.” It was definitely bittersweet.

  I texted Dad and then Mom to tell them the audition had gone well, then Eric and I took the Metro to the Opéra station, which was close to Eva’s bank. Eric was determined to get to her before her daughter did.

  Eva was excited to hear we’d come to visit her, but the looks on our faces quickly dampened her mood. Eric asked if she had time for a quick lunch, and before we knew it, she was ushering us out the door. We spent the next half hour telling her everything Camille had done over the course of the summer. I even told her about Mathieu finding Camille and Hugo in Camille’s bed.

  Eva was horrified and apologized profusely. “I would hate for either of you to resent me for Camille’s behavior.”

  “No,” I assured you. “You are totally different than she is.”

  “Camille hasn’t been the same since her father’s death and then my fast engagement to your father . . . I saw she wasn’t handling it well, but I chose to think she would get over it.” Her eyes were glassy. “Not only is she not over it, but she’s much worse than I thought. She won’t get away with this. I promise.”

  If Camille thought she’d gained another victory this morning, I’d just claimed the war. I took small pleasure from the fact that she was about to be blindsided by her mother that evening.

  Dane had the good sense to spend most of the evening alone in his room, especially after my father came home and threatened him with bodily harm if he ever came near me again. He had also assured Dane that he was going to call his parents and fill them in on his behavior in Paris.

  The next morning, I woke up early, my stomach in knots. Mathieu hadn’t called or texted, which meant we really were done. I understood his reaction, especially after everything that had happened with Camille, but his lack of faith in me was devastating.

  Still, I couldn’t leave it like this. I was leaving in a matter of hours. I had to see him.

  I left a note on the kitchen table that said I’d be back in twenty minutes and raced out the door so I could catch Mathieu before he left for his community service work.

  Etienne buzzed me up and stood in the doorway, blocking my view of the living room. “Is Mathieu here?”

  He glanced over his shoulder before looking back at me and shaking his head. “I’m sorry, Sophie. He doesn’t want to see you.”

  My throat burned, but I forced myself to nod. “Then will you take a message?” I asked, my voice breaking. I kept my gaze on the spot over Etienne’s shoulder. I suspected Mathieu was behind the door, listening.

  “Oui.” He looked over his shoulder again.

  “Tell Mathieu this has been the most amazing summer I’ve ever had. I wouldn’t change a thing. Our time together was worth everything, even the pain and misery.” I swallowed. “And would you tell him I love him?” I choked back a sob. “Tell him I would never hurt or betray him, and it breaks my heart that he thinks I would.”

  I fell silent, hoping he’d heard it all and would come out so I could hug him one last time. Feel his lips on mine one last time. At least say a proper good-bye.

  I leaned my forearm against the doorframe, then rested my forehead on my arm, trying not to sob.

  “Sophie?” Etienne asked. “Are you okay?”

  I shook my head and straightened up, my tears flowing openly now. “I can’t believe it’s ending this way.”

  “I’m sorry,” he murmured.

  I took a deep breath, then raised my voice. “So I guess this is good-bye, Mathieu. But if you thought I was capable of this, then it’s better that it’s over, because you never really knew me at all.”

  Then I turned and headed for the stairs, and Etienne broke out into rapid, angry French, calling Mathieu’s name. I descended the steps, hoping Etienne would get through to his brother, hoping Mathieu loved me enough to come after me. I was almost to the bottom when I heard footsteps tromping after me, racing down the stairs. I slowed down, waiting for Mathieu to catch up. Wondering what I’d say.

  But it was Etienne’s face that appeared.

  I pushed out a sigh of anguish.

  “Sophie, I’m sorry.”

  The tears started flowing again. “He still blames me?”

  “He’s confused, but I told him he doesn’t have time to be confused.”

  “Thanks for trying.”

  He scowled. “He may be my brother, but he’s a fool.”

  I didn’t answer. My heart was too broken. I had hoped he’d realize the truth after having a night to think things over. But he still believed the worst of me.

  I went back home and finished packing. Dad hired a car, and Eva rode with all of us to the airport. Camille stayed behind, packing her own bag. Eva had taken a leave from work. She was taking Camille to a family country house in Provence while she made arrangements to assess Camille’s behavior. It was obvious she had deeper issues than Eva could address on her own.

  No one talked to Dane while we checked in, and he had the good sense to look embarrassed. We walked to security, where Dad and Eva said good-bye and assured us we could come back for Thanksgiving. Dad had tried to talk about the logistics of me moving to Paris if I was accepted to the conservatoire, but I refused to discuss it. I didn’t see the point. There was no way I would get in.

  Two hours later I was strapped into an airline seat next to Eric, waiting for the plane to take off. I was thankful Dane was ten rows behind us. I stared at the cell phone Eva had given me, willing Mathieu to call or text me. I decided to try one last time, so I sent him a text.

  Je t’aime, Mathieu.

  I waited for a minute, fighting new tears. How could he just throw us away?

  The airline attendant’s voice sounded overhead, announcing it was time to turn off cell phones. I started to cry harder.

  “He’s an idiot,” Eric said softly. “He doesn’t deserve another chance wi
th you, Sophie.”

  In the end, did it matter? I still had a broken heart. Then I realized I had to stop hanging on, no matter how much it hurt. I had to let him go.

  So I typed a final message and sent it. Then I turned off the phone and sobbed into Eric’s shoulder.

  All I knew was that I’d lost Mathieu forever. My text said it all.

  Au revoir, mon coeur.

  Good-bye, my heart.

  CHAPTER Thirty-Five

  “SOPHIE, YOU HAVE to go to Paris,” Jenna said as we walked out to the student parking lot after school.

  I pulled my sweater tighter around me. November in Charleston didn’t get that cold, but the wind had a bite today. “I’m having déjà vu.”

  “You protested last time and you went anyway.”

  “Last time I was forced. This time I have a choice.”

  I unlocked my car and slid behind the wheel while Jenna got into the passenger seat. Her parents still hadn’t replaced her car after her accident. They only let her ride with me because I never drove over the speed limit and I’d never gotten a ticket.

  I started the engine and put my hand on the gear shift, but Jenna put her hand over mine. “Sophie, stop.”

  I sank back in the seat. “What?” Of course, I already knew what she was going to say.

  “It was bad enough that you turned down the offer from that school in Paris. But you can’t shut your dad out again. And what about Eva?”

  I shook my head. “Camille will be there. I can’t face her.”

  “I thought she sent you a letter apologizing.”

  Camille had been seeing a therapist since I’d left. Part of her therapy was to apologize to the people she had wronged. While her letter seemed genuine, I still had a hard time believing her. “She did, but you know she probably only did it because she had to.”

  “So you’re never going to visit your dad again?”

  I didn’t answer, watching the other students drive out of the parking lot.

  “You ended up loving Paris.”

  I did, but I wasn’t ready to go back. The thought of being there hurt too much. But I’d go back eventually. The fact that I’d rearranged my schedule to take French this year was proof of that.