Chapter Fifteen #2
“In the beginning?” Madame raised a bouquet of blush roses to her nose. Her eyes rolled back in her head. “Oh, that’s heavenly.”
“Oui. How did you first know?”
“I don’t think it was instant. And maybe I didn’t know until I was too deep in. I just kept wanting him around. And he kept wanting me around too. I never had to doubt that. He just became the person I always wanted to talk to.”
Madame grabbed two more bouquets of the same roses and was ready to go.
She went to pay and then started haggling over some greenery, while I watched a couple on the other side of the booth.
The woman had her arm linked casually in the man’s, comfortably possessing him.
And he was obviously delighted to be possessed.
They were discussing something, and she smiled up at him with such an achingly sweet, dreamy look that an agonizing sense of loss seized me.
I was back in that chilly water, so close to Benoit’s wet, underdressed body, and he was smiling at me with that same open affection.
He put me right in his pocket in that moment there in the ocean.
I slept with him the first time that night.
And then after all that fun we had, he told me he wanted me, and I told him I didn’t want him.
He was the one who got called away, but I was the one who fled.
And still, I was constantly looking for him in every crowd, around every corner.
Had I been wrong? Was I in love with him? Oh, god, anything but that.
When we made it back to the house, armfuls of flowers in tow, there was a letter for me on the table.
I recognized the L’Entreprise stationery and Benoit’s handwriting and stopped short.
I put down the flowers and picked up the letter.
He’d written to me. Finally. I didn’t realize how much I wanted to hear from him until right then.
I tore open the letter, desperate to see what he’d written, what feelings he’d profess after all these days. But as I read, my heart sank.
Vanessa,
I hope this letter finds you well. I regret that our last meeting ended so poorly and with your departure from L’Entreprise.
I have a vision of what the culture section can be, and I would like another chance to make you a part of the team.
Can you come to the office for a meeting to discuss this opportunity?
Sincerely,
Benoit Levin, culture section editor
My hands shook, and the air felt thick in my lungs.
I had been squirming around in my feelings for days, and he wrote to offer me a job?
I read the short, business-like missive again and again, searching for some subtext or sign of romance.
There was nothing. Every sentence included words like “team” and “opportunity.” I had been hoping for, waiting for him to appear, ready to put everything that had happened behind us.
But he wasn’t going to do that. The letter was maddening to read.
And it paralyzed me with a different question: how to respond?
I didn’t. Not for days. I went out every night with Nadine or Diane, flirted with men and danced until my feet ached.
I went to cafés and saw shows. Nadine introduced me to new people, who were interested in me and curious about my work.
I tried as hard as I could to be energized by the commotion of my life.
And I was, a little. But largely, I found that no matter where I was or what I was doing or who I was talking to, every thought in my mind was about Benoit Levin and what I wanted to say to him about his stupid job offer.
Did I want to go back to work at L’Entreprise ?
No. Oddly enough, that wasn’t the problem.
I wasn’t going to work for Benoit. L’Entreprise wasn’t the same paper any more.
The publication, the place I loved, was gone for good.
There was nothing left for me there. I wouldn’t crawl back to an institution that would never truly support me. I was moving on.
Finally, I got up one morning, mildly hung over and yet crystal clear, and I wrote to him.
No, thank you, was the gist of the letter.
If he wanted to be cold and professional, then I could be cold and professional.
I was a master of cold and professional.
Not a problem at all. And it did feel good to get that out of the way.
That left only the disappointment that he’d written me about work and nothing else.
No feelings. No longings. No yearning. I was the one doing all of that.
After thinking for so long that work was most important, suddenly it wasn’t anymore.
All I cared about was Benoit. I was mad and maybe in love and confused most of all.
And I had no clue if he still cared about me.
There was still no sign of the cat, so after posting my letter, I went out on my bicycle and rode toward the river.
I followed it across the city all the way to the twelfth arrondissement.
Saint Genevieve Maison des Filles Immaculeés sat on a quiet, tree-lined avenue not far from the Place de Bastille.
The orphanage was housed in a long, stone building that stretched out like an open arm from the side of a pointy church.
I parked my bicycle in the portico at the entrance closest to the offices and went inside.
The cool, hushed halls were empty, but the sound of children playing carried in from the courtyard.
When I asked if Sister Clothilde was available, the tidy receptionist, who was new since I’d last been there at Easter, asked if I had an appointment.
“I don’t, but I used to live here, and she often sees me without one, if she can. I won’t keep her for long.”
“Ah, of course. She’s in her office.”
Sister Clothilde was reading when I knocked on her open door, and like always, she wasn’t surprised to see me. “Vanessa, my dear, come in.”
She stood and greeted me with a cordial pat on the arm, and then she ushered me into the seat across from hers.
“Merci, Sister.”
“You look well.” She watched me as she retook her seat. The worn wooden desk between us was bare except for a stack of files. A simple wooden cross loomed on the blank white wall behind her. “I saw in your articles that you were at the beach. How grand that must have been.”
“It was. But I’ve recently left the paper.”
“Oh?” She listened and nodded thoughtfully as I explained most of what had happened at L’Entreprise .
And most of what happened between me and Charlotte.
I was not the sort of person to confess my sins to a priest, but Sister Clothilde had served as a repository for my guilt and problems on many occasions.
When I got to the part about being jobless and not knowing what to do next, she told me not to worry so much about that.
“Having a goal and a focus, as you’ve always had, is important for a person. It is fulfilling to work toward something. It gives us meaning and purpose. But breaks are okay too. Not knowing what to do next is okay. We sometimes need these fallow periods to gather strength and prepare.”
“Yes. I know. It will work out soon.” I looked down at my hands folded in my lap.
“Is there something else bothering you?”
“Well, maybe. Yes. There was a gentleman, at the paper. He was one of the others who went with me to Cabourg. And we grew quite close… romantically.”
Sister Clothilde nodded and squinted her eyes, like she was trying to gain a clearer picture of the situation I was describing. Romance wasn’t exactly her area of expertise.
“We were in competition with one another, essentially. And he won. He kind of cheated, but not really because the game was rigged in his favor the whole time. His paper was the one that ate ours, you could say. And he’s a man.
Anyway, when I found out about this, it upset me.
A great deal. I blamed him for everything.
I don’t think I was wrong for doing so. But I can’t seem to let go of it either. ”
“I see.” She smoothed her hands across the desk. “And what is it exactly that you can’t let go of?”
“Well, him, really. I can’t stop thinking about him.”
“You know, dear, that blaming people who are important to us can be quite troubling. And if you blame this gentleman for how things transpired, then I encourage you to consider what you would have done if the situation had been reversed. What if the game had been rigged in your favor? What would you have done? And sometimes we find, especially in the people worth keeping, that right from wrong isn’t always clear. ”
“How do you know if a person is worth keeping?”
She scoffed. “Vanessa, dear child, I have known you for many years. You have always been hard on yourself and just as hard on others. And I have seen you struggle to form alliances. It is always you against the world. So even though I have never met this gentleman and don’t know a thing about him, the simple fact that you’re here bringing him up to me must mean he’s the sort of gentleman worth another chance. ”
I nodded and swallowed a lump in my throat. She was right, of course.
“And it can be frightening, especially for someone like you who has lost so much, to be vulnerable and trust in other people. But relying on others makes us stronger, not weaker. And forgiving is as much about freeing ourselves as it is about freeing those we forgive.”
I nodded again. “You’re right.”
“Oh, goodness, now that’s something I’m not sure I’ve ever heard from you, Vanessa Marnet. Admitting I’m right?” Sister Clothilde laughed. And then she yelled through the door to the receptionist. “She says I’m right, Sister Amie! Can you imagine?”
“Ha!” Sister Amie called back. “They don’t usually say that, do they?”
“That’s how we know you’re all grown up.” Sister Clothilde smiled at me.
We chatted for a few more minutes, but she had an appointment with the priest. She hugged me, and then just before we parted ways, I remembered the other reason I’d come. “Can I borrow the printing press?”
“Of course, dear. It’s right where you left it.”
The tabletop press and all my supplies were, as she’d said, tucked in the storage room cabinet. I cleared the end of a long table and set everything up. Then I arranged the type on the plate and got to work.
An hour later, I rode back across the city with a stack of flyers in my bag that read:
Tuxedo Cat Missing from 77 Rue de Fortuny
She’s obstinate and only loves us for our table scraps, but we miss her terribly. Please send immediate word of any sightings.
I handed one to every person I passed in the neighborhood, and left one in every shop. No one had seen the cat, but everyone promised to keep an eye out for her. Chances were she’d be close. Probably mooching off some other house full of soft hearts.
I think Cook was half convinced that the cat had left us for a more luxurious situation.
Someone had taken her inside, maybe. Or she’d set up in a yard with more rats.
This was a possibility, and I told myself that I would accept the cat’s rejection if it were the case.
Passing out flyers was important even if it only brought the knowledge that the cat was happy and well somewhere.
But something told me that she needed me.
So I looked for her under every bush and in every garden I passed.
I even looked up into the trees, just in case she’d gotten stuck.
There was a letter from Charlotte addressed to me waiting on the table in the foyer when I returned home. Finally. After taking the last few flyers down to the kitchen for Cook, I went up to my room and opened it.
Dear Vanessa,
It’s fine! I mean, it wasn’t fine at first. And it wasn’t fine for a while, which is why you haven’t heard from me.
But it’s fine now. Please, let’s just put this behind us.
I feel like your sincere and wonderful apology letter has healed my heart.
And the potential of our friendship is more valuable to me than revenge or spite. I hope that we can be friends.
Nadine tells me you’ve moved on from the paper.
And to prove that I come in peace, I have already written to my editor at La Fronde to tell her about you.
Her name is Anais Blanchet. I think you should send her something.
Something fun. And use my name. I won’t be back for another week, but she’s expecting to hear from you.
Charlotte
I sighed with relief and then sat down to write her back.
Her letter lightened my spirits dramatically.
I didn’t want any hard feelings. And her words were genuine and quite generous.
It reminded me of Nadine telling me that I wasn’t an unforgivable person.
I would be a fool not to keep Charlotte as a friend, even if I didn’t always know exactly how to do it.
I could be better. Once I finished a letter to Charlotte, I spent the rest of the day and most of the evening writing an essay about swimwear fashion.
I wrote it with pen and paper, then I rewrote it and had it ready to send to La Fronde with the morning post.