Chasing Paris Page 19

  ?

  ?

  1985: Billy sells publishing house

  ?

  ?

  1996: Billy moves to Monterey

  “Good idea,” Will said. He put the timeline down. Now we just need to figure out what goes in the blank spots.” He pointed to a stack of papers on the table. “Is that what April brought you?”

  Amy’s eyes grew as she reached for it. “Yes. And I’m so glad that you got here when you did. It didn’t seem right to read it without you, but I didn’t know how much longer I could wait.”

  “Well, let’s get started.”

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  J

  une 5, 1970

  Liz,

  When I first wrote about you meeting Billy, I did so because I was intrigued—and bored. You were both interesting.

  I’m writing this now, so many years later, for catharsis. Much has happened since I first wrote about you meeting Billy in Montmartre. Too much has happened. And now much healing needs to take place. It’s long overdue, and perhaps these pages will prove to quiet and calm the pain that has filled our lives for so long. Will I ever send this to you? Will I ever find you? I don’t know.

  Now, the events seem like dreams—snapshots of a former life—and here they are, taking the form of disjointed, dreamlike snapshots. It is all I can manage.

  I do love you.

  Eva

  ***

  Lizzie sat behind the desk, her head resting on its surface, her eyes glued to the clock. Her shift at the library ended at midnight, and she was beginning the final hour’s countdown. She wondered why she had to be there at that ungodly hour. All the books had been shelved long ago, and now only four library patrons remained. Yet again she wondered why her supervisor despised her and forced her to work those miserable hours.

  She lifted her head from the desk and propped it up with her arms. Her eyes wandered from the clock to the center of the room where the four students sat at different tables, buried by books. She wished they were not there. She wished they were the normal kind of students who took their library books home and only intended to read them—not the kind of students who stayed at the library and actually read them.

  Go home, go home, go home, she thought as frustration and fatigue crept across her mind, ventured down her neck to her shoulders, and threatened to fill her body. Go home so I can go home. I’m suffocating. I need to get out of here.

  Yet none of the students could read her thoughts. Especially not the sandy-haired gentleman sitting furthest away with his head bowed low to his book.

  “How late do they make you work here?” a voice said from behind. “Shouldn’t you be at home getting your beauty sleep in preparation for your wedding?”

  Lizzie whirled around, the voice tearing her away from her bored self-pity. She saw the man standing behind her desk and nearly said his name but caught herself before the word took flight. Her eyes narrowed. In the dim library light, his skin looked darker, tighter, older. His eyes looked sharper. Smarter.

  “Are you expecting me to think this is a pleasant surprise?” she said.

  “I’m not expecting you to think anything, my dear Elizabeth. I simply wanted to congratulate you in person on your upcoming nuptials.” Billy bowed his head at an angle. “So, congratulations.”

  “Well, thank you. Now, if you’re done here, you can go back to Paris. Good night.”

  Lizzie turned her back—but a moment later found herself facing him again.

  “How dare you?” she began in a hushed voice. “How dare you show up at my library and begin with your games? I am an engaged woman. It is eleven o’clock at night. Why are you here? What are you trying to do to me?”

  Billy leaned against a bookcase, his hands in his pockets. “I’ve already told you. I’m here to congratulate you. After all, you and I are friends, are we not? Did we not share a nice time in Paris and a pleasant exchange of letters over the last few years? Why wouldn’t I wish to congratulate you?”

  “A nice time in Paris?” Lizzie hissed. “A pleasant exchange of letters?” She glanced toward the four remaining people in the library and then continued, “You ruined me with that nice time in Paris and that pleasant exchange of letters. You made me believe that you felt something for me. When my world was crumbling, you were all I had. And you knew that. You let me believe that…that—”

  “What, you’re not quite sure what I let you believe?” Billy said. “Could that be because I didn’t let you do anything? Lizzie, let’s be honest. No one makes you do anything. No one lets you do anything. No matter what anyone does around you, you create your own reality and do with it what you like.”

  Lizzie winced. She felt like her breath had been taken away, and she knew the look on her face portrayed this. “What does that mean?”

  “It doesn’t matter what I wrote in those letters to you. You would have construed the meaning in any way you wished.”

  “That’s not true. You’re playing another game with me.”

  Billy shrugged. “You and I have two separate realities then. Two irreconcilable realities.” He walked around the desk and Lizzie turned to watch him. He pulled up a chair and leaned back in it, his fingers interlaced behind his neck. “So tell me about your groom. Is he here?” He nodded to the students scattered amongst the desks.

  “Yes, he is.”

  Billy scanned the room. “The man in the back? The one with glasses and the stack of books?”

  She didn’t answer right away. Finally, she said, “So?”

  “So nothing. Picking him out of a group of four wasn’t magic. But here’s a question for you: shouldn’t it bother him that you’re talking to a strange man?”

  Lizzie looked toward her fiancé, John. “He is clearly busy. His exams are approaching quickly, and he has better things to do than feel jealousy over an insignificant man having an insignificant conversation with me.”

  “Insignificant. Ah, yes. That would be the appropriate way to look at things. Well then, I should be on my way. I wish you a happy marriage and a happy life. I assume I will not be receiving a wedding invitation?”

  The anger brewing in Lizzie bubbled over. “Why are you here? Why would you travel this far—just to torment me?”

  Billy smiled. “Lizzie, I didn’t have to travel far to see you. And I’m simply here, as I have said, to congratulate you. Good night.” He stood, and without a second’s hesitation, walked toward the library’s exit.

  ***

  Lizzie stood before a full-length mirror, alone, frozen, looking at her reflection. She wore a wedding gown custom made by her mother’s favorite designer—someone whose name she didn’t care to remember. It was nothing like the wedding dress she imagined wearing as a young girl. It flowed to the tips of her fingers and the tips of her toes in extravagant lace, camouflaging both her body and her soul.

  Behind her a door opened. In the mirror she could see Eva entering the room.

  Continuing to stare at her reflection, Lizzie said, “I don’t feel like myself. Is that how it’s supposed to be? A new chapter is beginning, so I should feel like a new Lizzie?”

  Eva approached and smiled. “That sounds about right.”

  Neither sister spoke for a moment. Eva sat on the chair next to the mirror.

  “John is a good man, you know,” Lizzie muttered, her eyes staying away from Eva’s.

  “I know.”

  Lizzie nodded. Her stomach tensed. “Do you think you will ever like him, Eva?”

  “I don’t dislike him.”

  “But you don’t like him. You think he’s boring.”

  “So do you. And you’re marrying him despite this. Maybe you just can’t put into words what you see in him, and that’s okay. You don’t have to justify your feelings to me.”

  Lizzie turned her eyes toward her sister. “Eva, it would be better if you stopped trying to protect me. Just tell me what you really think. Tell me I shouldn’t marry him. Tell me that I’m making a big mistake
because there is nothing about him worthy of me. Just tell me. Tell me.”

  Eva locked eyes with her sister and stood. She reached for Lizzie’s shoulders and squeezed them. In a low voice, she answered, “Liz, I won’t do that—not now that you have promised to marry him.” She tried to smile. “Everything will be okay. Okay?”

  Lizzie paled.

  She squeezed her sister’s shoulders again. “It’s time to go. Dad sent me in here for you.” She reached behind Lizzie’s head and pulled the veil down over her face. She took Lizzie’s hand and led her from the dressing room to the church’s narthex.

  Lizzie said nothing.

  Eva said nothing.

  Their father said nothing. He didn’t look at his daughters.

  Eva stepped toward the heavy doors separating them from the church and pushed one forward an inch—just enough to see who was there. The Hathaway’s family lawyer, their father’s business partner, their mother’s hairstylist. Their father’s country club friends, their mother’s bridge club friends. Stranger, stranger, stranger. Grandmother and grandfather Hathaway. Grandmother and Grandfather Task. Stranger, stranger, stranger.

  “Are you ready?” Eva asked, turning toward her sister. She smiled, hoping to bring warmth to her words.

  Lizzie nodded. She took a step toward her father and took his arm.

  Eva nodded as well and then looked back down the aisle toward the front of the church. She gave the organist the cue to begin. Turning a final time to Lizzie, she said, “Here we go.” She tried to ignore Lizzie’s glassy eyes, and then, as the only bridesmaid, she walked down the aisle.

  Eva tried to focus on the altar at the end of her long walk, but she found her eyes scanning the guests, looking for familiar faces. Her first childhood nanny. Her father’s best friend from college. Her second childhood nanny. Her mother’s decorator. Her father’s—

  And then she saw him. He sat halfway back on the far side of the pew. Eva’s eyes caught his swarthy smile for only a moment before he fell from her range of vision, but she was sure it was him. She continued down the aisle, her heart quickening. Oh dear God, she thought. Please—it can’t be him. Her feet carried her faster, and although she tried to stop herself from picking up speed, her body no longer seemed capable of communicating with her mind.

  Once she reached the priest’s side, Eva turned and smiled at her sister and father who were only a quarter of the way down the aisle. Her heart now pounded in her temples. Still smiling, she looked across the congregation, her eyes only resting on him for a moment before continuing.

  Eva turned her gaze to Lizzie. She and their father neared the midway point, and Eva held her breath. Just a little further and Lizzie would miss seeing him. Just a couple more steps, and Lizzie would never know.

  But then Lizzie’s head snapped to the left and stayed there. As she continued walking, her eye remained fixed in one place behind her. Soon, her father seemed to be pulling her forward, away from the point on which she focused.

  Eva’s heart thundered.

  And then she looked forward again and caught Eva’s eye. With questioning eyebrows, she mouthed Billy? Eva furrowed her own brows, playing dumb. She scanned the crowd and saw him with that same swarthy smirk on his face. Her eyes returned to Lizzie and she shook her head, almost imperceptibly. Lizzie mouthed Billy! and tried to point in his direction with her eyes. Eva followed her eyes, saw him again, then looked back at Lizzie. Again she shook her head, adding a slight shrug. No, she mouthed. Not here.

  Once Lizzie and her father arrived at the end of the aisle, they went through the formalities of giving her away—a short ceremony that seemed ridiculous as Lizzie barely looked at either her father or John. When her father turned to sit down, Lizzie stepped toward Eva to hand off her bouquet. “He’s here,” she whispered. “Billy’s here.”

  “Liz, no. It was someone else—just someone who looked like him.”

  The sisters looked toward the congregation as Lizzie stepped back toward John, both again looking for the uninvited guest. He was gone. Eva felt a surge of relief. Lizzie’s color drained.

  The ceremony passed in a blur. As John kissed his bride and prepared to journey down the aisle with his new wife, Eva prayed that Billy would not appear. Lizzie was visibly shaking. She couldn’t handle seeing him again.

  Eva and John’s best man followed the newly-married couple down the aisle. Eva kept an eye on the attendees, hoping that she would spot Billy before Lizzie—should he reappear—so that she could keep her sister from him. She could not find him.

  Outside the church, Lizzie pulled away from John’s arm and rushed to Eva. Wedding guests began filtering out behind them, ready to congratulate the bride and groom, but Lizzie moved around the corner of the church, Eva in tow, avoiding the well-wishers for at least a couple moments.

  “Eva, he was here. I saw him. He was here—why was he here?”

  “Lizzie, it was your imagination. It was probably the son of some rich investment banker that Dad knows—something like that. You’re tired and emotional. It wasn’t him.”

  Lizzie’s eyes filled with tears. “It was him,” she whispered.

  Eva shook her head. “I was at the altar the entire time you were walking down the aisle. I looked and looked—right where you thought you saw him. It wasn’t him.” She took hold of her sister’s shoulders and locked eyes with her. “Lizzie, do not do this to yourself. It is your wedding day. Do not be any more self-destructive than you already are.”

  Lizzie nodded, touching the corners of her eyes with her lacy sleeves. “Yes, yes. Okay.”

  “John is a good man. Billy is not,” Eva said.

  Lizzie nodded again.

  “That is all that matters.”

  Lizzie continued to nod. She closed her eyes.

  “Can you do this?”

  She opened her eyes and took a deep breath. “John is a good man. Billy is not,” she repeated.

  Eva squeezed her shoulders once again. “That’s all that matters.”

  ***

  Will leaned back against the couch. “Wow. Billy was an ass.”

  “He still is an ass.”

  “I know, but he’s sort of scary. I can be a jerk, too, but I don’t really mean to. I wouldn’t try to ruin someone’s wedding day.”

  Amy turned to face Will. “So intention matters? If you don’t mean to be a jerk, then you’re a better person than someone who is a jerk on purpose—even if you’re both jerks?”

  “Yeah, I think intention matters. A lot of guys can be impulsive and stupid. My roommates and I can be that way. Billy was just evil. Who would you rather have around? Someone stupid or someone evil?”

  Amy looked toward the papers on the coffee table. Her mind began wandering. “Why is Billy doing this to her?”

  Will stood up. “Hold on a second. I’ll be right back.”

  Amy watched him walk toward the front door and heard it close behind him. A couple moments later, she heard it open again. Will reappeared in the family room carrying a San Francisco Giants baseball cap.

  “I needed my thinking hat,” he said, putting it on backward. He sat down on the couch. “Now I’m ready.”

  Amy smiled. “It’s getting intense, isn’t it? I’d need my thinking hat, too, if I had one.”

  Will pulled off his hat and put it sideways on Amy’s head. “We can share mine.”

  TWENTY-NINE

  L

  izzie stared out past the Avenue des Champs-Elysees, her eyes fixed in the direction of the Arc de Triomphe. She began counting. One, two, three, four, five, six. She was counting nothing in particular—just running through the numbers in her head to pass the time. When she hit one hundred, she counted backwards. Ninety-nine, ninety-eight, ninety-seven. As she finished, she looked across the table at her husband.

  “How’s your book?” she asked.

  John lifted his eyes from the thick volume he was reading, a lost look on his face. “My book? It’s fascinating. It’s a critical analys
is of how Eve has been represented in retellings of the Creation story throughout the last five hundred years.”

  Lizzie leaned back in her chair. “Ugh,” she spat. “She’s been vilified over and over—you don’t need to read a book to know that.”

  John was already reading again. “Really,” he muttered.

  “John,” Lizzie said, leaning forward in her chair again. “Let’s do something. Here we are in beautiful Paris—you’ve never been here before—let’s do more than just read. Let’s go for a walk. I’d love to show you Montmartre. It’s incredible this time of year, filled with brilliant artists and great coffee. Let’s go. What do you say? We’ve been sitting here for ages.”

  John continued to read. “Okay,” he said into his book. “Let me finish this chapter. Then we can go.”

  Lizzie leaned back in her chair again. “How many more pages?”

  He didn’t check. “Probably about twenty.”

  She sighed softly, impatiently. One, two, three, four…

  She watched the sun glide across the sky, itching to tell John that she was going to Montmartre and that she would meet him back at the hotel for dinner. Would he care? Would he protest? What would she do if he did in fact protest?

  Just as she worked up the nerve to say that she was leaving to spend the afternoon on her own, he closed his book.

  “Fascinating read,” he said, smiling at her. “I think you’d enjoy it. Now, where is it that you want to go?”

  Calmness washed through Lizzie, and she felt as though she had taken a deep breath, although she hadn’t. Finally, finally, they were going to do something. Finally.

  “Montmartre,” she said. “You’re going to love it.”

  ***

  Lizzie lay awake, listening to John’s breathing slow as he drifted off to sleep. She gazed out the window of their hotel room, wondering what time it was, but knowing that it wasn’t very late. If she had been in Paris with anyone other than her husband, she would have been at a club, listening to music—perhaps drinking, perhaps dancing. Even so, she wasn’t disappointed to reach the day’s end. She had been the one who suggested retiring early.