by Sarah Beard
I reflected on my childhood and how Jed had loved me as his own daughter. But then he’d discovered the truth, and it had chipped away at his love until it was shaped into resentment. He had tried to love me. He had wanted to be a good father. But, as he had said himself, he had failed. And he was sincerely sorry for it. He had done terrible things to me, but those things were behind us. He had done right by helping Thomas find Mom’s music box and allowing me to learn the truth. He had done right by restoring Mom’s piano and giving it to me. And he had done right by marrying Vivian and trying to start his life over.
I visualized the broken vessel of my life again, and realized that it would do no good to try and carry around the broken pieces of my past. I could not repair it and make it what it once was. I needed to let go of what once was, give up what could have been, and accept what really was. I needed to take fragments of truth and use them to build a new vessel of life.
And to leave the old vessel behind, I knew with a deep conviction that I needed to forgive Jed Kinsley. I made a conscious decision to do so. I said the words out loud.
“I forgive you, Jed Kinsley.” The words hung in the air like mist, to be blown away by a breeze. I realized that they wouldn’t mean anything until they were sounded in Jed Kinsley’s ears.
I pulled the car back onto the road and drove to his house with that purpose in mind, clinging to the words of forgiveness and the promise of healing they offered.
As I came into the house, Vivian greeted me in the doorway and pulled me into a hug. Devin played Mendelssohn’s May Breeze in the parlor, and I could tell by the hurried tempo that he was restless. Vivian held me for a long time, then said, “Jed told me.” She pulled away and looked me in the eyes. “Don’t tell me this will be the end of our friendship.”
“It won’t be,” I said with a smile, though I wasn’t sure how close that friendship would be.
“Devin said you two were leavin’ early.” Her voice wavered, and I could see she was fighting back tears.
“I’m sorry, Vivian. I—”
She shook her head. “It’s all right, sweetheart. I understand. Anyway I put your gifts in your car. You can open them later.”
“Thank you.” I bent my head, feeling ashamed for jumping ship on Christmas.
She hugged me again. “Come visit us the next time you’re in town, when everyone’s emotions have settled into place, you hear me?”
I nodded and pulled away. “Where’s Jed?”
“Upstairs, in his room. He’s upset, but I think he’ll be all right.”
I went upstairs and found Jed sitting on the edge of his bed, facing the window. I stood in the doorway, and he turned to look at me. His eyes were red from crying, but he put on a brave face. I crossed the room and sat next to him on the edge of the bed. He seemed surprised, unsure. We sat there for a long time, both of us looking out the window at nothing.
“I’m sorry you lost my mother,” I finally said. “You really loved her, didn’t you?”
From the corner of my eye, I saw him nod slowly.
I folded my hands in my lap. “And I’m sorry you had to suffer even more from the mess she left behind.”
“You’re not the one who should be apologizing.”
“I know. All I’m trying to say is that I can see now . . . I’m not the only one who suffered.”
Other than his eyes welling up with tears, he didn’t respond.
“I want to thank you,” I continued, “for trying to set things right. And I want you to know . . . that I forgive you.” My breaths seemed to come easier after I’d said the last three words, like they’d loosened a vice that had been cinched around my chest for the past several years.
His hands came to his face, and his shoulders began to shake. Great heaves rolled over his back like swelling waves of the sea. I’d never seen him break down this way, and the sight of it brought tears to my own eyes. I considered how heavy his burden of guilt must have been, and how great a relief my words must have provided.
I didn’t know what else to say, but I felt that the words I had said were enough for now. I walked out of his room, unsure when I would see him again. It was something I couldn’t predict and only time would tell.
I gathered up my things from the bathroom, and as I crossed the hall to my room, something in the room Thomas had stayed in caught my eye. A dark object poking out from a blanket on the bed. I strode over and slid it out from beneath the heap of blankets.
It was the book I’d seen Thomas holding more than once these last couple days. I picked it up and let it fall open in my hand. But instead of print on the pages, there was handwriting. Thomas’s handwriting.
I sank to the edge of the bed, his lingering scent enveloping me, and hurriedly flipped through the pages. It was not only filled with his words but also with his sketches.
The piano had stopped playing, and I knew Devin would soon come upstairs to see if I was ready to go. I didn’t want him to see me sitting in the bed Thomas had slept in, holding Thomas’s book. So I shut the book and took it to my room, packing it in my suitcase with my other things. I tried to pack my thoughts of Thomas along with it. I knew I needed to address my feelings, but I wanted to wait until we got back to New York and I could be alone.
Devin came up and helped me carry my things to the car, and as we drove away from Jed Kinsley’s house, I thought about how someday I would be back, if not to see Jed, then to see Vivian and to claim Mom’s piano.
For the entire drive back to Nathaniel’s, I thought about that book tucked inside my suitcase in the trunk. It was like it had grown arms and was pounding its fist against my backseat and chanting, Read me, read me. Devin asked me questions the entire way about what had happened that morning, but my explanations came out abbreviated. Every word I spoke seemed to take a great amount of effort, because even though my body sat in the passenger seat, I was elsewhere. I was in the trunk, turning the pages of Thomas’s journal. I was in the tree house, hearing again the words Thomas had spoken. And I was standing before Thomas in an airport, saying, “Wait—before you go, I have to tell you everything that happened, because you’re the only one who will understand.”
But it was probably too late for that. He was probably already on his plane back to the Netherlands. I could call him, I thought, eyeing the bag that contained the card he’d left.
Devin pulled my attention back to him by slipping his hand into mine, and I brushed my impulsive thought aside. Not now. I don’t even know yet what I want.
~
Later that night after Devin had gone to bed, I found myself on the floor of my room, digging through my suitcase. I found Thomas’s journal and leaned against the side of my bed, and by the dim light of a lamp, I opened the book and perused its content. There were sketches throughout the book—some on clean pages, others at the end of an entry, and others in the midst of words. I studied some of the drawings and read their captions.
An hourglass with a boy inside, looking like he was drowning in sand. The caption read, Time has been slipping away from me, like I have no past, no future. I live moment to moment, just struggling to survive, struggling to force each breath in and out.
My heart ached to know how much he had suffered, to know that I had not been there for him. And then another thought occurred to me. Was his reaction to grief any different than mine had been? Hadn’t I closed off my heart at Juilliard to protect it from further pain? He had done the same to protect himself, and for the first time since his return, I understood why he’d stayed away.
I flipped a few pages to another drawing. It was me and him, separated by a large body of water.
Everywhere I look, I see her. Even the ocean separating us sparkles and shines like the blue in her eyes. In my heart is a cruel dichotomy between love and hate. Love for her and hatred for myself, and I don’t see how the two can coexist. And as long as I have reason to hate myself, I have reason to be separated from her, to protect her from more pain.
I turned to another page. A boy, holding out his empty pockets, and a flame burning in his chest. My hands are empty, my pockets are empty, my soul is empty. But my heart is full of her. And on the opposite page, a barren landscape. I’ve seen more places than I can remember, but I haven’t really seen any of it. It’s all the same. Foreign, empty spaces and masses of superficiality. It’s all where she is not.
Toward the end of the book, there was a sketch of a twisted, overgrown path leading to a glorious sunrise and the words, When disappointment, grief, and fear are gone, sorrow forgot, love’s purest joys restored. They were the same words he’d sung to me the first time he sat beside me at Mom’s piano, and in the tree house after the homecoming dance.
I went to the last page. On one side was what appeared to be a map of a lake, and I realized he must have used it to find Mom’s music box. On the other side was a drawing of me. Of all the things I’ve lost, Aria is the greatest loss of all.
I closed the journal and held it to my chest, feeling my heart hammer against it. Here in my hands was the proof that he’d spent each day, each moment for the past two years fighting his way back to me. Everything he’d said to me was true. He loved me. He had always loved me.
Tears welled up in my eyes, but I tried to blink them back. I couldn’t do this now—I had to pack up my things in the morning and fly back to New York with Devin. My decision would need to wait until then. I told my tears they would have to wait. But the more I insisted, the more they flooded my eyes until they were spilling down my cheeks. Once again, I had the urge to call Thomas. I caught the sound of his voice in my memory, and felt that familiar pull in my chest. The pull that I had never once felt for Devin.
I thought about the day I’d described to Devin what love felt like to me, and it occurred to me that those feelings had never applied to Devin. My feelings for Devin had always been calm and unworried, and I thought it was because I trusted him not to hurt me. But now I recognized that he had no power to hurt me, because the love I had for Devin was something different than the love I had for Thomas. Devin was my friend, but he was not irreplaceable.
With Thomas back in my life, Devin was like candlelight in a sunlit room. I could snuff him out and not even notice a difference. I felt callous thinking it, but it would be more callous to stay with him when I felt this way. He deserved someone who loved him, who saw him as her own sunlight.
But if being with Thomas meant that I would spend my life on an unpredictable ride, fearing at every turn that I might lose him again, I wasn’t sure I wanted that kind of love either.
“Be brave,” I whispered to myself. It all came down to courage. Did I have the courage to listen to my heart, to embrace Thomas and allow myself to love him, even if it meant I could be hurt again? Even if I would fear that he would leave again? Even if I didn’t know what trials the future would bring us?
Even if . . . Even if . . .
His words from two years earlier came back to me. I love you. We will be together, even if anything.
I noticed a melody, sweet and peaceful, playing in my heart. I closed my eyes and listened to it carefully, blocking out all other sounds and thoughts. The melody wrapped around a pair of callused hands and over weather-chapped lips, wound through strands of dark hair, and melded into the irises of bright blue eyes. It grew more and more distinct, swelling and filling the space of my heart.
And suddenly, it all became clear. I knew what I wanted.
Soon I was on my feet, pacing the room and hugging Thomas’s journal against my chest. The prospect of telling Devin the truth in the morning made my heart take a nosedive to my feet. I paced and paced, searching for the right words to deliver the blow. There were no right words. No matter how I phrased my rejection, it was still rejection. My only comfort was that Devin was resilient. Nothing ever seemed to keep him down for long, and I was sure that girls would be lining up at his door the moment news of his availability broke.
I don’t know how long I paced, but I didn’t stop until there was a quiet tap on my door. The door cracked open, and Devin popped his head in and looked at me curiously. “Are you all right? It sounds like you’re doing late-night aerobics in here.”
“Sorry. Did I wake you?”
“No. I wasn’t asleep. What’s going on?”
Feeling unprepared for this conversation, I sat on the edge of the bed and tried to gather my thoughts. He came and sat next to me.
“Have you been crying? What’s wrong?” As he circled his arms around me, I searched for an explanation to offer. But what could I possibly say? How could I tell him the truth without breaking his heart?
He nodded at the book in my hands. “What’s that?”
After a long hesitation, I said, “Thomas’s journal.”
Understanding swept slowly across his face, leaving sadness in its wake. He released me and gave a disheartened sigh. “This is one competition I can’t win. Isn’t it?”
I felt the sting of tears again behind my eyes, but I didn’t want to cry in front of him. I didn’t want him to feel the need to comfort me when I was the one about to sink a dagger into his heart. I felt like such a horrible person, wishing I didn’t have to hurt a man who’d been so kind to me. But I couldn’t make two people happy. I couldn’t be with Thomas and Devin. And the truth was, there had never been a competition. It had always been Thomas.
“You deserve someone better for you,” I finally said. “Someone who can give her whole heart to you.”
“Does anyone really have their whole heart to give? I don’t expect you to give me your whole heart, Aria. All I need is the greater portion.”
I dropped my eyes and slowly shook my head, unable to tell him that not only did Thomas possess the greater portion, he possessed the entirety. But I didn’t need to say the words. Devin received the message loud and clear.
“I see.” A long silence passed between us before he said sadly, “I guess I’m not surprised. I sort of knew we were doomed the moment I saw you talking with him yesterday morning. There was something in your face when you saw me—like you wished I wasn’t there.”
“I’m so sorry. I never wanted to hurt you.”
He shrugged. “As much as I love you, I want to be loved too.” His face was carefully composed, but there was no hiding the hurt in his eyes. “Only one thing would hurt more than losing you. And that is being with you, knowing that you love someone else.” He stared at me for a long moment, then touched my heart with his fingers before pressing them to his own heart. “Moja bieda,” he whispered. It had been months since Margo told me Chopin’s tragic love story, but I hadn’t forgotten the meaning of the words. My sorrow.
This brought on a whole new round of tears, but neither of us made any further attempt to comfort each other. After a long stretch of silence between us, he said, “I guess I’ll see you in class. You can go back to ignoring me, and I can go back to harassing you on occasion.” The jab was meant to lighten the situation, but I couldn’t bring myself to smile. His own smile was vacant, betraying the hurt behind it.
He left my room and I closed the door so that he could pack up his things with a measure of dignity. I sat there and listened to the zipping of his bags, the occasional creak of the floor beneath his footstep, and finally the whine and click of his exit through the front door. My heart felt heavy with guilt for causing him sorrow, but the more I thought about Thomas, the more certain I was that I was making the right choice.
I knelt down in front of the dresser and opened the bottom drawer, pushing my hand through stacks of sweaters until I found a cardboard tube. I pulled it out and turned it on end. A rolled-up painting slid out, and I unrolled it and held it in front of me. As I stared at the boy on the porch swing, I was filled with a sense of relief.
I was free to love Thomas. I was free to be with him. But he would probably be heading out to sea in the next few days, and I needed to be back at Juilliard before the new semester began. I pulled Thomas’s note from my bag and stared a
t the phone number written on it. I wanted to talk to him, to tell him I loved him and wanted to be with him. I snatched my cell phone from the dresser and dialed his number. But instead of hitting the call button, I hit cancel.
I had a much better idea.
twenty-six
Zierikzee, the Netherlands
Outside the cab window, ambiguous structures flew by in the darkness of predawn. Occasionally I could make out a windmill or a lighthouse, but most of the passing farmhouses and barns remained hidden in the shadows of trees. I glanced at the clock on the driver’s dashboard. It was just past seven thirty, and from the faint glow on the east horizon, the sun probably wouldn’t rise for at least another hour.
The moon hung over the west horizon, racing along the landscape as it kept pace with the car, occasionally reflecting off bodies of water as we crossed a bridge or dam. The sight of it reminded me of Thomas’s words a few nights earlier, and with a smile I visualized his face in place of the moon. Soon enough I would be standing on his doorstep, knocking on his door.
I brushed my thumb over the card that Thomas had given me, and anticipation swelled in my chest, leaving little room for air. Within minutes, I would see him. The skin on my arms tingled with the expectation of feeling the warmth of his touch. In my mind, I ran through the words I would say to him, and I imagined how it would feel to have him pull me into his embrace. I laid my hand on my bag, feeling the shape of his journal beneath the fabric. I had read through the entire thing on the flight to Rotterdam, and each word had only cemented my choice.
“How much farther?” I asked the cab driver.
“Only a mile or two,” he answered in a heavy Dutch accent. Thus far, the English-Dutch book I’d picked up in the airport was proving to be a useless purchase. Everyone here seemed to know some English.