One Paris Summer (Blink)

by Denise Grover Swank

  “Do you ever wish you hadn’t turned it down?”

  “The school?” I asked. I considered lying, but why hide it from her? Besides, she’d see right through it. “Yes. Every day.”

  “Sophie!”

  I shook my head. “It doesn’t matter. It’s too late. Besides, I won the piano competition last month. Now I have a ten thousand dollar scholarship to apply to a more practical school.”

  Jenna held her hands out palms up, then lifted and lowered them as if they were a scale. “State school. Parisian school. I wonder which I should choose.”

  I shoved her arm. “Stop. I told you, it’s too late.”

  “But what if it’s not?” When I didn’t say anything, she continued. “I love you, Sophie, and I will most likely die without you—like literally wither up and die—but you need to go to that school. Even Miss Lori says you’ve outgrown her.”

  “It’s too late, Jen.”

  She turned in her seat to face me. “What if it’s not? Email the dean or whoever, and ask them to reconsider.”

  “I don’t know . . .”

  “It can’t hurt to try. But you need to go see your dad. Regardless.”

  “But Eric can’t go. He’s got some basketball thing.” He’d changed since we’d come home. We both had. We were closer than we’d ever been. He’d cut Dane off as a friend, and since Dane was more popular, my brother had suffered socially. I felt partially responsible for that, but he assured me he wouldn’t change a thing.

  Jenna was like a dog with a chew toy. She wasn’t about to let this go. “Then go by yourself.”

  Last June, I would have freaked out at the thought. But I wasn’t that girl anymore. I gave Jenna a smile. “I think you’re right. About all of it.”

  Three weeks later, my plane landed at Charles de Gaulle airport, and I couldn’t help comparing this flight to the one that had first brought me there. I was a different person.

  Dad was busy with a project at work, and he’d offered to get a car to take me to the apartment. I only had a carry-on bag, so I told him I could take the Metro. Once I made it past security, I pulled out the phone Eva had given me and turned it on. It was set up for France, so it had been worthless in Charleston. But I’d promised Dad I would text him from the airport. I sent the text as soon as the screen lit up and then bought several Metro tickets with euros Eric had left over from the summer.

  I stuffed my phone into my pocket and concentrated on the signs telling me where to go. A train was pulling up as I reached the platform. I rushed through the doors, rolling my suitcase behind me, and found a seat, proud of myself for making it this far. This was a far cry from the girl who’d gotten lost on the subway a few months ago.

  I pulled my phone out of my pocket to see if Dad had texted back, and I gasped when the screen said I had twenty-seven messages.

  How could Dad have sent me twenty-seven messages in less than five minutes?

  I opened the app and saw the last message received was from Dad, telling me to take the Metro to Cité, next to Sainte-Chapelle, then text him when I got off so we could eat lunch together.

  But the twenty-six previous messages were from Mathieu.

  The last message was on top.

  Au revoir, mon coeur.

  It was dated at the end of September.

  He’d told me good-bye.

  With shaking fingers, I scrolled back to the first of the messages.

  He’d sent it an hour after receiving my good-bye text.

  Camille came to the school this morning and confessed. She convinced Dane to come to my apartment so I would find you two together. She hoped to destroy you and me and make you so upset you would miss your audition. She says she feels terrible for what she did, although I’m not sure I believe her. I think she’s more worried about Eva.

  The next message was minutes later.

  Sophie, I am so sorry. I hurt you so badly, and I’m sure you can never forgive me, but I’m begging you to forgive me anyway.

  The next message was four hours later.

  I know you are probably still on the plane, so that’s why you haven’t answered. Je t’aime, Sophie. I hate that you left this way.

  I started crying.

  The next message was two hours after the last.

  Sophie, I don’t deserve you now. I know that. But I’m begging you to at least answer so maybe we can talk about it.

  His next text was a couple of hours later.

  Maman says you auditioned and that the judges were in awe of your performance. The night of your audition Maman asked me why you were upset, but I refused to tell her. After Camille talked to me, she found Maman and told her what happened and asked her to give you a new audition. Maman says she is amazed you could play so well.

  I know I have no right, but I’m proud of you, Sophie. I am so sorry that I didn’t listen to you. I am sorry I sent you to your audition so upset.

  Then minutes later—

  I love you, Sophie, and I am begging you to forgive me. I am begging you to give us another chance.

  I was sobbing now. He hadn’t thrown us away. He’d only given up after months without any word from me.

  The next message was a week later.

  I miss you so much it hurts. Please text me back. PLEASE.

  Then for the next week, he sent me one-sentence texts every night around the same time—based on the time stamp, probably when he went to bed.

  I miss your laugh.

  I miss your smile.

  I miss holding your hand.

  I miss seeing the passion on your face when

  you play the piano.

  I miss teaching you French.

  I miss your kiss.

  I cried even more.

  He didn’t text for several days.

  Maman told me you got into her program. I am so proud of you. I know you never want to see me again, but please don’t let that stop you from accepting.

  Then a week later—the very end of August.

  Maman told me you have declined your position. My heart hurts that I did this to you. I can never forgive myself.

  He began to send me a few random texts in the beginning of September.

  There’s another piano concert at Sainte-Chapelle, and it reminded me of our date. Je t’aime, mon coeur, even still.

  And—

  I lay awake at night wondering how you are doing and if you are okay. That is the hardest part . . . wondering if you are okay.

  There were several more texts similar to the others, then in the middle of September he sent another message.

  Today marks the two-month anniversary of the first night I kissed you. We’ve been apart longer than we were together. So why does it still hurt so much?

  A week later he sent a string of texts.

  I must accept that you have given up on us. I know my life will be filled with many regrets, but you will always be the biggest one of all. But I will finally let you go. Au revoir, mon coeur.

  The train came to a stop at the station before Châtelet, and the older woman next to me gave me several napkins and stroked my cheek. She spoke to me softly in French, and I was startled to realize I understood her. “An affair of the heart?”

  “Oui.” I nodded.

  She said something else, and though the intricacies of the translation were beyond me, I thought it roughly translated to nothing is impossible with the heart.

  I wiped my cheeks. “Merci.”

  I only wished it was true.

  I transferred trains without getting lost and got off at Cité, then texted my father to let him know I was there.

  I stood on the corner across the street, and he came out to meet me. He pulled me into a bear hug and then leaned back to study my face. “Did you have any trouble getting here from the airport?”

  “No.” I gave him a soft smile. “I’m a pro at the Metro now.”

  “You look tired. Would you rather go home?”

  “No. I really want to eat lunch with
you.”

  He took my small suitcase, and we found a nearby café. I ordered a croque-monsieur, just like I had on my first day in Paris.

  “How’s your brother?” he asked.

  “Good. He really wanted to come.”

  He nodded. “I understand. I’m hoping to fly back to see one of his basketball games.”

  “He would like that.” I took a breath. “I’m not going to lie, Dad. I know Camille has supposedly seen the errors of her ways, but I don’t trust her. I’m nervous about seeing her.”

  “We understand. Eva and I considered sending her to Eva’s brother’s for the weekend, and Camille agreed to go.” He put both hands around his glass of water. “She seems sincere. I think the therapy sessions have made a difference. She voluntarily told Mathieu and his mother what happened. Eva also called Madeline and apologized profusely.” He was quiet for a moment. “Eva feels responsible. She’s still willing to send Camille away for the weekend, and she offered to go with her. Whatever makes you feel most comfortable, Sophie.”

  “No,” I said softly. “I love Eva. I want her to stay. And I don’t want to send Camille away from her home.”

  “Look.” He dropped his hold on his glass and sat back, looking into my eyes. “I’ve made a lot of mistakes, Sophie. I’ve spent most of my life running from problems and conflict, but I’ve lost the things that were most important to me along the way—I want to fix that. I want to fix us.”

  “I’d like that.” I took a deep breath, nervous about bringing up my next topic. “Would it be okay if I moved to Paris during Winter Break?”

  He blinked. “With me?”

  I nodded. “Yes. I emailed Madame Rousseau and asked her if there was any way I could start school for the spring semester. She told me yes.”

  He shook his head in disbelief. “I thought you didn’t want to go to school there. You turned it down.”

  “I was too upset to change my entire life that soon after what happened with Camille and Mathieu. But I’m ready now. I’m ready for the challenge, and I want to spend more time with you.”

  “But your mother . . .”

  “She gave me her blessing.”

  He stared at me for several seconds before his face broke into a huge smile. “I would love for you to move to Paris. As long as you’re sure this is what you want.”

  “And you’re okay with me going to the conservatoire?”

  “I want you to be happy and follow your heart. Besides, Madeline told Eva and me how talented you are. She was disappointed you turned down the position.” Happiness filled his eyes. “I’m glad you changed your mind. For your benefit and mine.”

  I leaned across the table and gave him a hug, laughing when the table got in the way.

  “Have you talked to Mathieu?” Dad asked.

  I looked down at my plate, my smile fading. “No.”

  “He says he tried to contact you multiple times, but you never responded.”

  Tears filled my eyes. “He texted the phone Eva gave me. It didn’t work in the States. I never saw any of his messages until I turned on my phone and read them all on the train.”

  “Eva said he was heartbroken, but he made us swear not to try to sway you one way or another.”

  I nodded. “I understand.” And I did, but if they’d only told me, maybe . . .

  “Eva says she thinks he’s finally moved past it. He got the internship at her bank next summer.”

  He’s moved past it. I supposed people could say the same about me. Outwardly, I’d moved past it, but inside I was still dying. “That’s great. It’s what he really wanted.”

  “He told Eva about his probation at the school.”

  My eyes widened in surprise. “And they still gave him the internship?”

  He smiled softly. “If she gave her own daughter a chance at rehabilitation, then she figures she can do the same with her other daughter’s boyfriend.”

  I blushed. “Ex-boyfriend.”

  He didn’t answer.

  The food arrived at our table, and I told Dad how Jenna was doing. “She’s sad that I’m coming to Paris, but she understands. She says she’s going to look into becoming a foreign exchange student next year. Do you think we could be her host family?”

  “Our luck with our kids’ friends staying with us hasn’t turned out so well.” My heart began to sink, but then he grinned. “Good thing I know Jenna so well. We’d love to have her. Eva too.”

  “Thanks, Dad.”

  We finished lunch, and I told him I had to go by the conservatoire for a meeting with Mathieu’s mother.

  “Do you think you’re up to it?”

  “Because of my jet lag or because she’s Mathieu’s mother?”

  “Both.”

  I gave him a sad smile. “The first isn’t too bad, and the second I’ll have to learn how to handle. She’s the instructor of the music program. I’ll see her fairly often.”

  “I’m just worried about you, Soph. You’re my little girl, no matter how mature you are.”

  I kissed his cheek. “Thanks, Dad. This will probably take a few hours. Would you like to ride the Metro home together?”

  His face lit up. “But I have to work until six. Can you wait that long?”

  “Just text me when you’re done.”

  I left my suitcase with him, then walked the few blocks to the Latin Quarter.

  I spent several hours at the school. Madame Rousseau was kind and polite, and I was proud of myself for not asking her questions about her son.

  I filled out paperwork and shadowed a music theory class. My guide brought me back to Madame Rousseau’s office when my class was done. She got up from her desk. “We are eager for you to join our program, Sophie. I’m happy you changed your mind.”

  I swallowed, then asked, “Does Mathieu know?”

  Sadness filled her eyes and she shook her head. “Non.”

  I nodded, trying to swallow the burning lump in my throat.

  “Mathieu was very distraught for several months. I thought it best not to upset him again.”

  “I understand.” But my heart ached. The pain had started the moment I’d gotten off the plane—before I’d received his messages. Maybe moving here wasn’t such a good idea after all.

  But I knew it was. I’d just channel my heartache into my music. It was something I had learned to do all too well.

  “What are your plans now, Sophie?”

  I looked at the time, surprised it was close to five. “I’m meeting my dad around six to ride the Metro home with him. So I think I’ll wander around Notre Dame.”

  She nodded. “Très bien. Have a good weekend with your father, and we’ll see you in January.”

  “Merci.”

  Before I left the building, I texted Dad that I was done and not to worry about me waiting on him. I’d just tour Notre Dame.

  Maybe I’d actually be brave enough to go up to the top this time.

  I knew Mathieu’s school was close, and I considered stopping by, especially since his dismissal time was around five. But instead, I pulled out my phone and checked my messages. The sight of his texts broke my heart all over again.

  Had he moved on? Would I hurt him if I texted him? I decided to go with my gut.

  I never gave up on us. I’ve never stopped loving you.

  I sent it before I could change my mind.

  My stomach felt like it was in my throat as I walked out the door of the conservatoire. Would he text me back? I was so focused on my phone, I was startled when I heard a familiar voice call out, “Sophie.”

  Camille stood at the bottom of the steps with an anxious look. She was wearing her school uniform—black skirt and tights, paired with a black V-neck sweater with a logo on her left chest, and a white blouse and striped tie underneath. Her black hair was longer and hung in loose waves around her face.

  I sucked in a breath and stopped in my tracks, unprepared to face her.

  She saw my hesitation and seemed to shrink into hers
elf. “I wanted to see you before we went home.”

  “You mean your apartment.” The words were out of my mouth before I could stop them.

  Her lips pressed together and she looked apologetic. “It’s yours now too.”

  Camille was the one part of returning to Paris that worried me the most. Now I was second-guessing this decision.

  She took a step toward me. “I wanted to tell you how sorry I am about what I did.” She took a breath. “After my father died . . .” She paused. “I did some things I shouldn’t before Maman started seeing your father, but I always knew she would love me anyway. It was only the two of us. Then you showed up . . .” Her eyes turned glassy. “You were nice and pretty and everything I thought Maman wanted in a daughter, and I knew she would love you.” A fierceness filled her eyes. “So I had to make you leave before she loved you more.”

  I took a cautious step toward her. “That’s crazy, Camille. Eva loves you and she would never replace you with anyone.”

  “I know that now.” She paused again. “And I know I was terrible to you. I’ve spoken with Maman, and when you move here for the conservatoire, I will live with my uncle.”

  “What?” I asked, shocked. “No! I would never make you move away from Eva. If you really don’t want to live with me, I’ll see about moving into the school dorm.” It would add to the expense, but I’d never chase Camille from her home. No matter how horrible she’d been.

  She shook her head, a tear trailing down her cheek. “Non. You misunderstand. I would move to make you happy.”

  “Oh.” That surprised me. I wondered if Eva had forced her to make this offer, but the look in her eyes convinced me that wasn’t true. “No, I think we can live in the same apartment as long as you don’t try to sabotage me anymore.”

  She shook her head. “Non. I will be on my best behavior.”

  I had doubts about that, but at least she planned to try. “Okay, then it’s settled. But I want my own room. Whichever one you don’t want.”

  She studied me for a moment, then stuck out her hand. “Deal.” The corners of her mouth tipped up into a small grin.

  I shook her hand.

  Her smile spread as she dropped my clasp. “I always wanted a little sister. Or a dog.” She laughed, but it wasn’t malicious. “Maman said no to both.”