by K. S. Thomas
“So, you found her, or she found you?”
“It’s more like she knew where to find me before I could be found there.” I turn my eyes toward the window where the planes are. One of them is just making its way down the runway, prepping for takeoff. I suddenly can’t wait to board my plane. “She wrote me the note when she was here last.”
“Wait, what?”
“Ky knew I’d show up here. That one day, I’d pull my head out of my ass and come looking for her.” I sigh. “Now she’s helping me find her.” It’s even crazier out loud than it sounds inside my head. And yet, it’s also the thing that makes the most sense.
“How long ago did she write this note?”
I don’t even know the answer to that. Danelle saw her here four years ago, so at least that long ago, I suppose. The rose was long dried and dead, threatening to crumble at the slightest touch. The envelope was worn and faded, and even though it was sealed, most of the glue had dried up and disintegrated, leaving little to attach the two sides of paper to one another. “It wasn’t dated, but it had to have been years ago.”
“And you’re sure she’s still waiting for you to find her...after all this time?” Skepticism is pretty on no one, especially when viewed from the receiving end.
“Yes.” I don’t think I’ve ever been more sure of anything. Except maybe my need to find her.
“And you’re willing to keep hopping on planes to go on a wild global goose chase for her, regardless of how long it takes or where it will lead you.”
I nod, it’s an automatic response even when I know he can’t see it. Then, I add words. “Yes, I’m willing.”
“For a girl.”
“The only girl.” I take another look out the window, the last of Florida I’ll see for a while. “And honestly, for myself as well.”
“Well, alright then.” Will doesn’t sound convinced, but at least he’s not making any efforts to talk me out of it either. “I’ll be waiting to hear updates as your adventure continues.”
“You can count on it.”
We spend the minutes that follow discussing business, Will catching me up on the few things that have transpired in the time I’ve been gone. Most of it is pretty standard stuff and I’m relieved to know that our work is moving forward in a ‘business as usual’ fashion even in my absence.
After we hang up, I have just enough time to grab a coffee before the airline finally opens the gate and begins the boarding process.
On the plane, I settle into my window seat and think about all the changing scenery I’m about to encounter upon take off. Sure, much of the trip will be above the clouds, and overnight, but I’m excited for what’s to come once we cross international waters and begin to descend again over Europe.
“Business or pleasure?” I hear someone ask from my right. When I turn, I see a woman, probably close to my age, strapping a wiggling toddler into the middle seat between us.
“Pleasure.” I watch as the little boy attempts to stand even as his mother is struggling to secure the lap belt. Despite the fact they’re working against each other, both seem amused by the other’s antics. “You?”
“Business.” She clicks the belt into place and grins up at me. “Selling the kid. Hoping the distance will keep the buyers from attempting a return.”
I laugh. “I bought a recliner from China once. Wound up not being the right one, but it would have cost more to ship it back than it did to purchase. So...you know, it looks great in my attic these days.”
“So, you understand.” She smirks, reaching her hand out to greet me. “Issy. And this little monster is Lavon. I promise we’ll be better travel companions than we look right now.”
Lavon grins up at me, mouth open with delight as his little fingers find the release on his seat belt and undo all of his mother’s work in an instant.
I take Issy’s hand and shake it. “Ben. And you’re already more entertaining than the movie on my last flight, so I’m not worried.” I chuckle as Lavon makes it all the way up to his feet this time, poking his head over the back of his seat to greet the other passengers. “Why I don’t I switch with you, let Lavon have the window seat and I’ll take the aisle,” I offer, sensing his need for a captivating view exceeds my own.
“That would be amazing,” Issy says, sighing with relief. “Are you sure you wouldn’t mind? I tried to book it that way, but I was lucky to even get us two seats together on this flight.”
“Absolutely.” I’m already unbuckled and getting up to scoot past them.
It takes a few seconds of shuffling around, but eventually we’re all seated again. And buckled. Even Lavon is giving in to the restraints as long as they’re loose enough for him to see the window.
“This his first time flying?” I ask Issy when she finally has a chance to relax a bit.
“You’d think so.” She shakes her head, eyes half rolling into their sockets as she chuckles. “No, we make this trip every six months or so.”
“Wow, he’s already a more experienced traveler than I am then.” Which totally explains his deep understanding of the seat belt and how to operate it despite the child proofing attempts made to hinder him. I smile, taking note of his interest in the other planes outside. “May I ask what keeps you going back and forth so much?”
“His dad.” Issy reaches for her carryon bag at her feet and pulls it into her lap where she proceeds to dig around inside it. “Was really romantic, having a beautiful, spontaneous fling with a gorgeous French guy one summer, kind of lost some of its appeal though when it turned into an international co-parenting gig.” She retrieves a bright green container filled with apple slices and waves it in the air triumphantly before popping the lid off and handing the fruit to her son, who mumbles a cheerful thanks as he accepts the snack.
“That sounds...complicated,” I admit, not really sure what else to say.
“It was at first,” she says, stealing a piece of apple from her son’s batch. “Wasn’t like we parted ways for lack of feelings, but we spent three weeks together. Hardly enough to build a life on.” She shrugs, snapping the first bite from her apple. “So, we went from accepting that it would never be more one minute to finding out it was for life the next.”
“Bet that was a bit of a shock.”
“Kind of.” She laughs. “But, sometimes things work out in ways you least expect them to. We, Bastien and I, had to make an effort for Lavon’s sake we never would have made for ourselves. He came back to spend six weeks here toward the end of my pregnancy. Was here for Lavon’s birth, and the weeks that followed.” She glances at her son, and I can feel the love she has for him even from where I’m sitting. “From there we figured out a schedule to see each other every three months. Twice a year he comes to us, and twice a year we go to him.” She turns to face me. “We turned three weeks into nearly four years, and we did it even when the odds were stacked against us and conveniences were non-existent. And now, building a life together, on this foundation, doesn’t seem so crazy anymore.”
“That mean one of you is thinking about moving?” I ask, oddly invested in a story and three people I only just learned about minutes ago.
She nods, holding her hand out to show off her ring finger. “House hunting is on the agenda this trip.” She’s downright beaming as she says it. “Hoping to spend our first official family Christmas there this year.”
“Congratulations.”
After that, the conversation stalls. The flight attendants begin moving up and down the aisle, helping the last boarding passengers get settled, and then, at long last, we prepare for takeoff. I worry briefly that the change in pressure and consequent discomfort will upset Lavon, but in true world traveler from, he handles it like a pro (or maybe that was his mother), happily munching away on his apples, allowing for the constant chewing and swallowing to keep his ears popping and the pain away.
It’s not until we’re evenly floating along, the fasten seat-belt sign dimmed, that Issy decides to pick up where we
left off.
“So, now that you know my life story,” she jokes, “what’s yours? What is taking you all the way to France this fine day?”
I rub both palms over my knees. I’m not usually excited to share my personal business with strangers, but ever since I started this journey, things have been changing, this included. “It’s kind of a weird story,” I start, “but I’m looking for someone. A woman I met years ago.” I tip my head side to side, trying to determine the best way to phrase what I’m wanting to say. “Actually, it’s sort of like you with your fiancé. Instant connection, but nothing solid to build on.”
“And she’s French as well?” she asks, a mix of surprise and amusement in her voice.
“She’s Lavon,” I say, pointing at Issy’s son. “Mother was French, father American. She was born in France but moved to the States at a very young age.”
“I see.” She nods. “What a fun coincidence.”
“Ky would say there’s no such thing.” I smile, thinking about a time in the future when I’ll get to tell her about this very conversation taking place.
“That’s her name? Ky?”
“Kylie.” I take my phone from my pocket and unlock the screen to access the gallery. “This is us. Possibly the only picture ever taken. Definitely the only one I have.”
“She’s beautiful.”
“She is.” Even the setting sun behind us can’t compare. “Smart too. It’s why she always knew better than to stick around. She figured out all the stuff I still had to muddle my way through long before I did.”
“Have you figured it all out now?”
“Sort of.“ I chuckle quietly as I compare the question to my current circumstances. “I guess you could say, I’ve figured out what I still need to figure out. And, I’ve figured out that I’m finally willing to do it all.”
“You think that will be enough for her?” Issy asks, a curious brow arching high on her forehead.
“I think she’s made sure I’ll have completed the evolution before I find her.” I replace my phone in my pocket and instead, retrieve the letter she left me. I hand it to Issy, who seems to instantly understand its value and handles it with great care, tenderly opening the envelope and taking out the letter as I continue to explain, “She left this for me, knowing I would eventually start looking for her. I’d love to think she’s in France, waiting for me, but the truth is, I think there are more stops along the way still in store for me. And, after the first one, I’m kind of excited to see what they are.”
“How long has it been?” Issy asks, touching her cheek with her hand, as if she’s genuinely moved by my story.
“Since I saw her last? Over seven years.”
“Why did you wait so long?” It’s a question I’ve been asking myself too. A question I’m scared Ky will ask as well.
“I did exactly what she always said I did. I got comfortable. Accepted average. From the moment I met her, she was a fleeting joy, always coming and going from my life. It was easy to adjust to her absence, even when it dragged on, because part of me always believed she’d be back. She always came back. Wasn’t until someone forced me to consider other possibilities, scenarios in which she was no longer out there, able to cross paths with me again, that being comfortable became unbearable. And then I knew. Just like that. It was my turn to go to her. My turn to just show up.”
chapter
twelve
BEN
By the time we land, Lavon and I are best buds. Issy made good on her promise, they were excellent travel companions. So much so, we make the effort to sit together on the next flight as well. A small, city hopper out of Amsterdam.
It’s after four in the afternoon when we finally arrive at our final destination.
“I’m almost sad we’re parting ways here,” she says, both of us having found our luggage in the never-ending stream coming through the hole in the wall and traveling down the endless conveyer belt.
“Almost? I am sad!” I tell her, crouching down to meet Lavon for one last high five.
“Well, I’m sad for us,” she rephrases, “but I’m excited for you and who you’ll meet up with next.” She smiles, and I know she’s sincerely happy for me. “Besides, we have each other’s info. We’ll meet again.”
I stand up to hug her goodbye. “I certainly hope so.”
“Maybe next time it’ll be with Ky.”
“And Bastien.”
She holds her hand out toward me. “Deal.”
We shake on it. Then, we really part ways. Her toward the doors where Bastien is likely waiting to greet her, and me toward the rental car section.
The closest international airport I could land in to get to Valensole, is nearly an hour outside of town. Definitely not within walking distance, nor am I keen to just hitchhike, though I wouldn’t be surprised if that’s what Ky did upon her arrival here.
Still, baby steps for me.
Once I’ve got a car, things get a little trickier. Setting up the GPS is easy enough, and I’m relieved to see that the lavender farm pops up right away, but driving in France is off to a rocky start when I forget to consider tolls and wind up at my first stop without the proper currency. Eager to avoid any more toll booths, I take my first exit, shortly after which, I find myself trapped in a roundabout I struggle to get out of, mostly because there’s a delay in my GPS and I keep missing my turn off.
When I make my way out of the city, it’s finally smooth sailing. The rural country roads are easy to navigate, and most enjoyable, are the views. But, my daylight hours are fading fast, so while the scenery is breathtaking, I do my best to remain focused on the driving in hopes of arriving at Laurent Lavande before nightfall. It’ll be awkward enough, showing up, a stranger, out of the blue. I’d rather have it be under less creepy circumstances than after dark.
Valensole is every bit the fairy tale one might imagine, and I find myself thanking Ky, wherever she is tonight, for inviting me here. The setting sun lends itself well to the overall charm of the town, and as I approach the farm, I have to pull over just to take pictures of the painted sky and endless fields of lavender.
It’s dusk by the time I’m pulling down the long windy driveway up to the house, but I don’t mind anymore. Nothing could be creepy about this, not even me, showing up here unannounced. I’m counting on Ky having left the residents of this place with similar instructions as she did with Tank and Lace.
The closer I get to the house and the other structures, the more I notice the dirt road turn to cobblestone, which spreads all the way down the remainder of the drive and connects to every building, making for a beautiful, almost courtyard-like center between the main house, what appears to be a barn, and then some sort of workshop and storage space.
I park my car in the space which looks most like a parking lot before I reach the main house and then, I sit.
For nearly ten minutes. Just here, in my car, temporarily questioning my sanity. Maybe a little sleep and food would have prevented this. Regardless, it seems suddenly stupid to be here, at someone’s home. Showing up at the paddle board place was one thing, it was a business. This, this is clearly someone’s residence.
My brother’s words flash through my mind, bringing up the years it’s been since Ky asked me to come here in her note. Who knows if the same people even still live here? Maybe they’ve moved. Maybe whoever lives here now won’t know a thing about the American dude on their front doorstep. If I let myself get really carried away here, this little outing has all the makings of a tale in which I could be arrested. Especially if no one around here speaks any English because I sure as hell don’t know any French.
Or, worse scenario, they haven’t moved and they’re Laurents, which makes them Ky’s relatives. Ky’s relatives who will no doubt be even less impressed with how long it’s taken me to come after her than her friends were.
I could be on the verge of meeting my future in-laws and the impression I make upon standing face to face with them, has to be so sp
ectacular, they can see past how dumb I am for taking seven years to get here.
A tapping on my passenger side window pulls me from my internal mania, and I look up to find a little old man with a walking cane and full white beard smiling at me. In an instant, all hope of making a redeemable first impression is lost.
I’m tempted to wave an apology and reverse the hell out of here, but then I consider how far I’ve come and my long-term goals, and I pull myself together enough to get out of the car.
“Hi,” I say, walking around the hood to greet him properly, hand stretched out toward him. “I’m sorry to just show up here.” Then I remember I’m in France. “Do you speak English?”
The old man smiles and nods. “I would hope so. Born and raised in Bryan, Ohio. Be pretty strange if I didn’t speak my native tongue. Even if it has been many a decade since I’ve been back.” He shakes my hand. He’s got a sturdy grip for a man holding a walking cane.
“You’re an American?” I don’t know why I still get surprised by things. After the last week, I should have learned to start expecting the unexpected.
“As are you, I take it.” He gives me a once over and chuckles. “Well, you’re about five years later than one might have hoped, but you look like a nice enough young man.” He gets himself turned around and lifts his cane to point at the house. “Come on, then. Marguerite’s got dinner on the table and you look like you could eat.”
I could question things, insist on properly introducing myself, but food does sound like a silly thing to postpone for the sake of covering information he already seems to have knowledge of.
So, I do what any sensible person who’s been traveling for nearly twenty-four hours and eating nothing but airplane food would do, I follow him into the house and happily accept his invite to join him and the mysterious Marguerite at their dinner table.
Of course, nothing where Ky is involved is ever that simple. And so, I realize, once inside, I was fooling myself into thinking I would be sitting with only the old man and his wife at dinner.
