Chasing Paris Page 14

  Will considered this. “Well, when you put it that way, okay.”

  “She went to New York right after college. She got a job working at some newspaper as a copy editor over there. Miles had to finish up his last quarter of school in the fall, and the two of them made a pact. Amy moved to New York in the summer and was going to stay there, working, through the fall. At the end of six months, she was going to decide whether or not she wanted to stay. If she decided New York was right for her, Miles was going to join her. If she didn’t want to be there, she would come home and Miles would come here.”

  “He was going to follow her wherever she went?”

  April nodded.

  Will looked at the pictures hanging on the walls of the kitchen, formulating his thoughts. As though rewinding through his memories, images of Jocelyn and their time together flowed through his head. “I don’t think that I could follow a girl across the country like that.”

  “No? But it’s okay to look for a girl on the other side of the state because you have her book?”

  “That’s different.”

  “Oh, I see. Well, you’re obviously not Miles.”

  “It certainly seems that way.” Will leaned forward in his chair and rested his forearms on the table. He nodded toward Amy’s bedroom. “So, why did she leave New York? Didn’t she like the whole journalism thing?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe. She doesn’t talk about it.” April sipped her tea and then smiled, barely, her eyes on the hallway behind Will. “She doesn’t talk about any of it. I think,” she paused, dropping her eyes to the mug in her hands, “I think it had to do with something else.”

  Her eyes rose to the boxes of books on the table. A long moment passed.

  “Okay, so listen,” she said. “You voluntarily threw yourself into Amy’s world, bringing her that book and helping her with this Lizzie stuff. That doesn’t entitle you to know everything about my sister, but I think there are some things you should know.”

  If Will could have leaned forward any further, he would have. “Like what?”

  April’s eyes returned to her tea. “For years, Amy had dreamed of going to New York after college. It was a dream she and her ex-boyfriend shared. She had been dating a guy named Jason—”

  “Jason?” Will pointed toward Amy’s room. “Is that the guy in the notebook? J?”

  “Probably. I don’t go around reading her notebooks like you, but she did call him J sometimes. He was a good guy. I even liked him. Together they concocted all sorts of plans for the future, like moving to New York. He was a musician, and she was a writer. It was all very bohemian. But then he broke up with her at the beginning of their senior year. I don’t know why. I don’t think Amy knew why, either. And that was hard for her—not knowing why things turned out the way they did. But not long after they broke up, Amy started dating Miles. It seemed strange at the time because I didn’t think she was over Jason. I don’t know how she could have been.”

  April thought for a moment. She sipped her tea.

  “Anyway, Jason went to New York as planned. Even though he and Amy didn’t talk anymore, they had the same circle of friends, so they always knew what the other was doing. I often wondered if Amy also went to New York hoping that she and Jason would cross paths.”

  “She was dating Miles, though.”

  “I know. This is just my theory.”

  “So, do you think she came home because she and Jason never crossed paths?”

  “I think she was all alone in a tough city. And she was working as a copy editor—not a writer. What did she have going for her? She is a hard worker, but she’s soft. She shatters easily.” April stood up. She carried her mug to the counter and poured more hot water in it. “Do you know why I’m telling you all this?”

  Will grinned. “Is it because you find me irresistibly charming and easy to talk to?”

  April smirked as she walked back to the kitchen table and sat down. “Close. Because I recognize your truck. You have that stupid little surfboard hanging from your rearview mirror and that retro UCLA sticker on the back window. You were a freshman in college when I was a senior. And you used to go tearing down the streets of Westwood to pick up your girlfriend after work. Remember that? She worked at Jerry’s Famous Deli, right?”

  Will stared at April. Slowly, he answered, “Yes.”

  “So did I.” April cocked her head to one side and smiled. “I heard lots of stories about the disastrously-reckless Will Chase.” Her eyes wandered across the wall behind Will before settling on him. “I didn’t recognize your name when you emailed me about Amy’s book. But it clicked when I saw your truck and you getting out of it.”

  Will slumped in his chair. “Oh,” he said, remembering exactly what April described: him tearing down the streets of Westwood to pick up Jocelyn. “So were you the one always telling Jocelyn to break up with me?”

  “Nah. The younger girls who worked there thought she should break up with you. I figured your ridiculous relationship was part of growing up. We all need a couple bad relationships so that we can recognize a good one when it comes along. And who am I to judge?”

  “So I guess you really don’t find me irresistibly charming.”

  “I didn’t back then, and I don’t now. But I need you to remember what I told you about my sister. She shatters easily. You’ve come swooping into her life with a treasure she lost, and now you’re indulging her in this game of family mysteries. It’s straight out of one those three-hundred-year-old love stories she reads.”

  Will kept his eyes on the boxes of books on the table. “Okay. I don’t really understand why you are telling me this.”

  “She has a boyfriend who has filled a void for a couple years. He’s nothing like her, and I’m not convinced he really knows who she is. But you,” April paused and shook her head, “I heard you and Amy talking last night about that Lizzie stuff. You barely know my sister, but you understand her. More than Miles.” Her voice dropped, and her words slowed, punctuated with long pauses in between. “Don’t shatter her.”

  Will stared at his hands folded on the table and tried to gather his thoughts. He wanted to tell her that he wasn’t that reckless kid anymore, and he wanted to tell her that he had no plans to shatter anyone. Before he could say anything, the front door swished open.

  “Sorry I’m late,” Amy said, smiling breathlessly as she rushed around the corner and into the kitchen. “I went over to Nana’s after work and lost track of time.” She fell into the third chair at the kitchen table and blew a stray curl off her forehead.

  April glanced at Will before turning to her sister and saying, “You’re in a good mood.”

  “I am. I’m finally home.” Amy lifted her messenger bag onto the table and fished through it. She pulled out the book of Renaissance poetry, smiling. “There was a note in here. Do you remember it?” She glanced at Will and then fanned through the pages of the book until she saw the napkin.

  Will shook his head, thinking. “A note?”

  Amy pulled out the napkin and began reading. “Forget about Jos and that guy. Remember what Hollings said. The planets are aligned. You are going to find Amy tomorrow!” She smiled and put the note back. Tossing the book on the table, she said, “I’m guessing your friend from Powell wrote this. What was her name? Kim? Kate? It’s too funny—I think if I had known her, we would have been friends. I kept reading it today at work. It took my mind off my stupid job.”

  “Yeah,” Will said slowly, feeling the eyes of a protective older sister on him. “You and Kim would have been great friends.”

  Across the kitchen, April’s cell phone rang on the counter. She rose from the table to answer it.

  “See you later,” she said, picking it up and heading toward the back of the house. “Hey Nana…” her voice trailed off as she approached her bedroom.

  “Want to look through these books?” Will asked, pointing to the boxes on the table.

  TWENTY

  “I

 
was hoping that Nana would tell me something about Lizzie tonight,” Amy said. “But all I could pull out of her was that Lizzie died of cancer. I guess that means I don’t have much to report.” She nodded toward the boxes on the table. “I think we should just get these to Billy Strath as soon as possible and see if he’ll tell us anything about Lizzie. Do you think he might?”

  “I don’t know. But at this point, I think we need to try talking to him. It doesn’t hurt to try. Let’s take a look at the books before we haul them out to Monterey, though.” He started unpacking a box. “There must be a reason she left the books to him. Maybe she wrote notes to him in the margins or something.”

  “Okay.” Amy followed his lead and began unpacking books as well. “Maybe.”

  The books were just like the literature Amy and Will each studied in college: Shakespearean plays; compilations of Medieval, Renaissance, and Victorian poetry; and translations of Ancient Mythologies. Copies of The Canterbury Tales by Geoffrey Chaucer and Paradise Lost by John Milton. The great American writers: Hemmingway and Steinbeck and Fitzgerald. There was no single thread that connected them—no reoccurring theme, and no obvious significance. But Will was right about Lizzie writing in the books: black pen underlined passages copiously, and the margins next to the underlined passages were littered with cryptic notes in shorthand.

  “It would help if the notes made sense,” Amy said under her breath. She flipped through the pages of The Great Gatsby. “There’s nothing I can understand in here.” She picked up The Sun Also Rises and flipped through its pages. “Nothing in here, either. I think we’re wasting our time.”

  “Amy, don’t be so impatient. If I hadn’t run across that tiny receipt in your book, I wouldn’t have figured out who you are, and I wouldn’t be standing here now. Let’s not be careless and miss something.”

  She exhaled loudly. “I know. I just want to find something helpful.”

  Will continued unpacking. “Of course. Me too.” He smiled to himself, remembering the bookcase in Amy’s room. “And if we don’t find anything, I’ll help you organize all the books according to genre before packing them up. That’ll be fun, right?”

  “I love organizing books.”

  “Who doesn’t? After hitting the bars in Westwood, I always come home and organize my books.” Will picked up The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn. “You know, I’m not sure why Lizzie—”

  Something wasn’t right about the book in Will’s hand. Its lightness caught him off guard. When he didn’t finish his sentence, Amy looked toward him.

  “What? What’d you find?” she asked, watching him flip the book over and weigh it in his hands.

  Will lifted the front cover. A moment later, he snapped it shut.

  “What?” Amy said again. “What’d you have?”

  “Oh, Amy,” he said, grinning. “You thought we were wasting our time.” He rattled the book next to his head and said, “This isn’t a book.” He tossed it to her, continuing to grin.

  Amy opened the front cover, and immediately her heart beat faster. Inside was a folded stack of papers. She drew out the top one and unfolded it. “It’s a letter from Billy,” she muttered, scanning it. “These must be the letters Lizzie left to him.”

  Will scooted his chair toward her and looked over her shoulder at the letter.

  September 1, 1955. Miss Hathaway, I hope this note finds you well and content in pursuing all your Hollywood dreams.

  “You might want to find the rest of the fake books before reading any letters,” April said, walking through the kitchen to the pantry. “There are three more.”

  Will and Amy looked toward April. Then they looked at each other.

  “What?” Amy said.

  “I’m not telling you which ones.” April grabbed a snack-size bag of cookies from the pantry’s top shelf and headed back toward her bedroom.

  “How do you know that?”

  Will and Amy saw April’s shoulders shrugging as she turned the corner into the hallway.

  “Let’s look for the others then,” Will said, reaching into a box and pulling out a stack of books. He shook his head as he opened the top one. “Your sister is something else.”

  “Don’t I know it,” Amy breathed.

  They shuffled through the boxes, looking for books that felt oddly light in their hands. When they sifted through all the literature, they did indeed have four hollow books: The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, The Divine Comedy, Canterbury Tales, and The Odyssey.

  Amy looked at the books and then at Will. She smiled. “I guess this wasn’t a waste of time.” She picked up the top letter and slid it halfway across the table so that she and Will could read it at the same time.

  ***

  September 1, 1955

  Miss Hathaway,

  I hope this note finds you well and content in pursuing all your Hollywood dreams.

  Life is all that it has been here in Paris. I continue to paint and draw in Montmartre, making enough money to keep myself fed and clothed. I continue to meet people everyday, most of whom are boring American tourists. I must say that none are as lively—or interesting—as you. Although I didn’t expect it, your absence has left a small hole in my being. I sometimes forget that you’re gone and find myself waiting, irritated, that you haven’t come, coffee in hand, to keep me company. Even after this length of time, I still forget that you’re gone.

  Will you be returning? Perhaps after you wrap production on your first major movie project? Perhaps that first major project will be set in Paris and you can return then? I’m certainly not the only one who misses you. The city itself seems a little darker, quieter, slower without you.

  Ever yours,

  Billy

  Amy looked at Will. “I didn’t know he could be so nice. He’s acting like he actually cares about her.”

  Will nodded. “It’s easier to write how we feel than it is to say it. Right?” He grabbed up the next letter and angled it toward Amy so she could read it with him.

  October 4, 1955

  Oh, Billy,

  I would be lying if I said that your kind letter didn’t lift my spirits. I don’t believe you’ve ever said anything nice to me directly, but I won’t linger on the subject for fear that I’ll never hear such words again.

  Los Angeles is, well, invigorating. The pace is swift, and the air is filled with energy. It’s beautiful here. Breathtaking and beautiful. I wish you were here. I do.

  The weather is probably turning cold in Paris, is it not? I’ve never spent fall in Paris with Eva. I’ve always returned to school in California once summer ends. She tells me that the city is beautiful in the fall. Is it? I believe Paris is always beautiful.

  Tell me more about the boring American tourists. Not one has caught your eye? Not even one?

  Your Lizzie

  November 10, 1955

  My Dear Lizzie,

  The American tourists have not caught my eye. Not even one. However, your sister has come to visit on occasion. She’s not entirely happy with me, nor with the letters you and I write back and forth. In fact, I believe her exact words were, “Lizzie sees something in you that I don’t understand. I suggest you leave her alone. My sister does not need a broken heart.” It seems that she thinks you are fragile in ways I am unaware of. I asked her why she thought I had the power to break a heart, but in true Hathaway fashion, she turned on her heel and left.

  Might you be able to shed some light on this matter?

  Paris is cooling down, yet the city does remain beautiful.

  Billy

  Will looked up from the letter and shook his head. When Amy noticed, he looked away from her inquisitive eyes.

  “What?” Amy asked. “What are you thinking about? You look like you just got bad news.”

  “Your sister reminds me of Eva as a girl. Don’t you think? Smart—maybe too smart. And protective, but quietly protective.”

  “Really? I always thought I was more like Nana.”

  “Oh no, Amy.
You’re not the Eva of this generation.” He nodded to the next letter. “This one’s next.”

  December 13, 1955

  Billy,

  I’m sorry about my sister. Sometimes she jumps to conclusions. Sometimes she thinks she knows more than anyone. She doesn’t.

  Los Angeles continues to intoxicate me. I took a small part in a play running in West L.A. I’m on stage no more than three minutes, but I love every second. I continue to audition for commercials, and I met a lovely woman who said she’d get me a meeting at RKO. Maybe I’ll be the next Ginger Rogers or Katharine Hepburn. I do hope she can set up that meeting.

  How long do you plan to be in Paris?

  Ever yours,

  Lizzie

  December 13, 1955

  Eva,

  I cannot comprehend why you would talk with Billy about me. You are my sister. You are not my mother, nor my keeper. Perhaps our parents’ ambivalence toward us has made you somehow feel responsible for me. I prefer, however, that you do not. It does no good—not for me, not for you, and not for Billy. So in the future, please keep your thoughts to yourself.

  After all, you’re wrong about Billy and me.

  I miss being in Paris with you. While Los Angeles fills me with energy and strength, a piece of me is always missing when you are not around.

  I love you (especially when you aren’t meddling),

  Lizzie

  January 17, 1956

  Lizzie,

  I see that Billy wants to get me in trouble. Well, that doesn’t change the truth, so I will say to you what I said to him: I do not know what you see in him, and I suggest you stay away. It was one thing to frolic about Paris over the summer, but it’s another thing to carry on through long distance letters. You do not need a broken heart. At the risk of sounding like “your keeper,” you’re feeling an onslaught of emotions as you live your dream in Los Angeles, and I don’t want to see you conflating your feelings about Los Angeles with the feelings that seem to be contained in the letters you and Billy write back and forth. I know it will happen. I know you. And sadly, I think I know him. He is not too difficult to figure out.