by Natasha Boyd
Suddenly my phone rang again. Another unknown number. Both Meredith and I stared at it.
“Answer it or no?” I asked quickly.
“Answer it!” Meredith practically shrieked.
I stabbed the accept button. At least it was a voice call and not a video call.
“Josephine?” Xavier’s deep voice rumbled.
Meredith slapped her hand over her mouth, eyes wide.
I flapped my hand.
“What?” Meredith whispered at my gesture. “What does that mean?”
I covered the phone. “I don’t know. Leave?”
“I’m leaving,” she said, then stopped and pointed at me. “But you are telling me everything.”
“Go,” I mouthed.
“Going,” she mouthed in response, backing to the door.
“Josephine?” Xavier said again with a muttered French curse.
“I—I’m here.”
Silence descended as soon as I announced to Xavier I was on the line. The soft click of my bedroom door closing behind Meredith was the only sound.
Perhaps he’d hung up because I hadn’t announced myself sooner. I took the phone away from my ear to check the screen. We were still connected.
“Xavier?” I asked softly, and it came out as a whisper, almost as if I was afraid to say his name. I was afraid. So afraid these feelings for him would balloon up at the sound of his voice when I’d been trying so hard to stuff them away.
“Oui,” he said softly. When nothing else came after, I frowned, but stayed quiet, unsure of the purpose of his call. Was he angry? Did he miss me? After a few moments, I lay back against my pillows and clicked off my side lamp. Waiting. In the darkness, I became aware of the faint sound of his breathing. “Are you alone?” he suddenly asked.
“Yes. Of course.” I paused. “You?”
“Moi aussi.” Me too.
For a moment I was tempted to fill the silence, but then I surrendered to it. There was too much between us and nothing could be resolved. Certainly not over the phone. I could ask about Dauphine, but I knew from her that she wasn’t doing well. If he wanted to talk about that he would.
I shifted onto my back, letting out a sigh. “Hey, Xavier?”
“Oui?”
“You don’t need to respond, and please don’t end the call. I just … I want to tell you. I miss you. I miss you both, so much.” At a hitch in his breath, I went on. “Don’t say anything. Let’s just … let’s just fall asleep together, okay?”
“D’accord,” he whispered, sounding defeated. My heart squeezed.
I rolled over and curled up, still fully clothed, and closed my eyes with the sound of Xavier’s breath in my ears.
Chapter Forty-Nine
XAVIER
Valbonne, Provence, France
“Papa!” Dauphine bounced out of bed and into my arms in two leaps. “You’re home! I already called Josie and I’m ready for my story.” She grabbed my face between her palms and gave me a wet kiss on the forehead.
“What a welcome!” I looked over her shoulder as I set her down to where Martine, my housekeeper, was waiting patiently. “I’m sorry to mess up the bed time routine,” I told her. “My flight was delayed.” I tried not to have overnight stays, but we’d had a pitch for a massive round of investor funding in Geneva. Luckily Martine, my house keeper, was back from staying with her sister.
“Pas de problème.” The older lady smiled, then turned back to Josie, helping her get settled again. “Bon nuit,” she told Dauphine. After I asked Martine how her sister was doing, she left Dauphine and me to it.
“What are we reading tonight?” I asked my daughter instead of asking her how Josie was and how she sounded and was she happy and did she ask about me. I couldn’t believe Dauphine called Josie every day before bed. Actually, I couldn’t believe I allowed it.
Every night I put Dauphine to bed and she’d call Josephine for a few minutes to say goodnight. God knew what we were disturbing Josephine from during her work day. Had she gotten a new job? Was she with a boyfriend having a late lunch? The curiosity drove me to distraction. And far luckier than I had any right to be, Josephine answered Dauphine’s call every time. They talked for several minutes about Dauphine’s day while I hovered, pretending to be uninterested, and then told each other they loved each other. After that Dauphine went to sleep and stayed asleep. It wasn’t healthy, allowing Dauphine to develop a dependency to someone on the other side of the world, but whatever it was, it was working. Dauphine hadn’t had a nightmare since they started talking.
After reading one chapter of a kid’s version of Marie Curie’s biography, I kissed my daughter and tucked her in for the night.
Walking to my room, I slipped my tie from around my neck and undid my top button. I was restless. I unpacked, then prowled the house.
One would think now that Dauphine was sleeping so well, it would mean I’d start to sleep better too. And every night after Dauphine and Josephine hung up, I’d tell myself I wouldn’t call her a few hours later. But invariably, several times a week, I found myself waking up and lying in the dark staring at the ceiling and then dialing her number. I told myself it was better than getting up and drowning my thoughts in whiskey as I’d done for too many months as a single father.
Calling Josephine back that night a few weeks ago when I’d caught Dauphine calling her in the middle of the night might have been the dumbest thing I’d done in a while. As soon as she answered, I’d almost hung up. What was there to talk about? But then she gave me an out—no need to talk, just stay on the phone while we fall asleep. It seemed idiotic. Something a lovesick teenager might do. But I surrendered to her suggestion with a will that collapsed like a thirsty man in the desert. And life had truly been a desert without her here. Refusing to admit it was a losing battle. Especially when I heard about her all day, every day, from Dauphine. Even Evan wouldn’t quit making digs at me. And my sleep had actually deteriorated.
Listening to Josephine breathing as she fell asleep was a meditation. It calmed my mind and soothed my soul. Unfortunately it also awakened other parts of me. Cravings I had no right to feel. And so, I battled those too before finally relaxing and drifting to sleep myself.
Tonight, though, I was antsy. Sleep was too far away. The deal I’d been working on for months had just closed. And now it was three in the morning and never mind waking up, I still hadn’t fallen asleep. I wanted to call Josephine, not to lie in silence this time, but to talk.
We hadn’t spoken more than our standard greeting since the first night when she told me she missed me. It was a strange ritual.
I looked over at my clock for the hundredth time. What would she be doing right now? It was nine p.m. where she was, slightly earlier than I usually called. I should feel guilt for using her as a crutch, and keeping her from her life, but when I shallowly examined my conscience, I couldn’t find it. And didn’t try too hard.
I rolled to my side and picked up my phone, calling her before reason and decency got the better of me.
It rang three times and connected. “Josephine?” I asked as I usually did.
“I’m here.”
“Are you alone?” I asked as I did every time I called.
There was a long pause. An uncomfortable sickness slipped under my skin and curled around my stomach.
“Yes,” she said at last as if it pained her to admit.
I swallowed heavily. One day, she would say no, and that would be that. “Moi aussi,” I said, finalizing our ritual. This was where we normally ended our discourse and lapsed into silence. My mind raced through ways to open conversation. I hadn’t planned what to say.
“Xavier?” she asked.
Inhaling through my nose, surprised, I braced for her telling me this was our last call. I wouldn’t blame her. “Oui?”
“How did your meetings go?”
I shifted my head on my pillow, rolling onto my back, letting out a relieved sigh. It seemed we both felt the need to break our silence tonight. “I g
uess Dauphine told you? Very good. We closed the deal. Got the investments we needed. Licensed the patents we wanted to. I had to concede a little on the time. I wanted them to be renewed every year, but I agreed to every two.”
“That’s … good. Congratulations.”
I grunted, knowing the satisfaction I used to feel at business success was nowhere to be found. “And you? Did you get a job with another firm?” It was terrible that I didn’t know this yet. What if she was unemployed still? Homeless? Hungry? I was being dramatic. She was so talented and smart.
“No. I didn’t look for another firm to be honest. Someone helped me realize my passion didn’t lie in building the new as much as saving the old. I took a job with a preservation group.”
I licked my lips. “Like my mother.”
She sighed. “Without the means, and only the passion.”
“Without passion, the means have no impact,” I said.
She paused and gave a surprised laugh. “True.”
“I’ll let my mother know. She will be pleased for you.”
“We … we have kept in touch,” she admitted. “Not much,” she hurried on. “Just a few texts here and there. So she knows of my new job.”
“Ah, you keep in touch with my daughter and my mother? I should feel left out,” I jested.
“And yet, here we are. Talking.”
“Oui.” Silence strained. “So … you love it, your new job?” I asked.
“Very much. And I like my new coworkers. No one makes comments that I’m worth having around because I’m easy on the eyes.”
“And why’s that?”
There was a pause. “Apart from the fact it’s sexual harassment?” I could almost see her eyebrow rise from the tone of her voice.
“Of course. Apart from that,” I said. “I’m sure they think that, but they are merely decent.” What man could work alongside her and not be arrested by her natural beauty? The thought of the men who got to spend time with her every day sent that discomforting sludge through my stomach again. Jealousy. There was power in naming the emotion. I was jealous. Jealous of fictional men. So fucking jealous.
“Decent,” she agreed, unaware of my mental frustration. “And most of them are women.”
My muscles eased at the knowledge she wasn’t working surrounded by men who wanted her. But what about her wanting someone? “Are you with anyone else? Have you—” The words just slipping out of me. My smile vanished and I pressed my lips together. Fuck.
The sound of her breath hitching came through the line. “Xavier. Don’t.”
But I needed to know. “Are you?”
“Xavier. Please.”
“Please,” I echoed back at her.
“That’s not fair. This whole thing is unfair. Meredith thinks I’m a nut job, turning down offers to go out in the evenings so I can be on the phone with you. God, if she knew you and I didn’t even talk, she’d have me committed. What are we doing?” Her tone turned introspective. “What am I doing?”
“Wait,” I said quickly, sure she was about to hang up on me. “We are talking. Tonight at least. I … shouldn’t have asked. I have no right.”
“No. No, you don’t.”
Silence stretched. Words congregated and jostled and clogged up my throat, but every one of them were too dangerous to say aloud. They would accomplish nothing but more hurt and more confusion. The pressure built, tension coiled up my back and settled at the base of my skull. Why? Why couldn’t I let go? Why couldn’t I give in? Why couldn’t I open myself up? What was I afraid of?
“I don’t think we should talk anymore.” Josephine’s words cut through my turmoil. “Or not talk anymore. Or whatever the hell it is we are doing. I … I’m going to end the call now.”
“Josephine, wait. Attend. S’il te plaît … give me a moment to get my thoughts into words?”
She blew out a long breath.
Christ. How could I do this over the phone? What was the point? What thoughts would I, could I, give voice to when I didn’t want to face them myself?
I missed her. So what? She wasn’t here, and I was certainly not there. Telling her would only confuse both of us.
I wanted her. But again, the geography. Telling her would only cause pain.
I was jealous. And I had no fucking right to be. Telling her would be the cruelest thing when I had no plans to do anything about it.
She deserved happiness. The kind of happiness I wasn’t capable of giving.
“Please forget I asked that question. Let’s begin again. Tell me about your job.”
She sighed and began wearily. “Well, firstly, it’s really nice to go into a job where everyone respects your opinion, and you don’t have to wear hose and heels.”
I tried to parse out the phrase she just said and came up blank. “What is that? Ho-sand?”
“Hose and heels. Panty-hose? Tights? Stockings? And high heeled shoes.”
Des talons. A flash of Josephine in scandalous thigh high stockings and high heels hit me between the eyes and flooded down to my groin. I groaned aloud.
She stopped talking instantly.
“Pardon. Continue,” I said with effort. “S’il te plaît.”
Clearing her throat, she went on.
I did my best to focus on her words until I was legitimately caught up in her stories about the history of her current projects. “It sounds like you should have stayed on a bit longer with my mother. She’s been sweet talking developers and town councils long enough that she’s definitely learned some tricks. You could both learn from each other.”
Josephine chuckled, huskily. “I bet. She’s formidable.”
“She wasn’t formidable enough to get you to stay though. I wish you’d stayed.” It slipped out and I cursed myself.
Josephine let out a soft breath. “I couldn’t. And for what?”
“To give me time.” I snapped my lips closed with a wince.
There was a pause where I guessed we both teetered on the edge. “Time for what?” she asked then, leaning over the abyss.
I leaned out precariously far too. There’d be no one to catch us if we both lost our balance. “Time … to trust,” I said.
“Me?”
“No.” I licked lips. “No. In the beginning, maybe. But no. To trust myself. My own feelings.” The admission blew through my lips without pause. I pinched the bridge of my nose. Suddenly the darkness, and the intimacy of our private conversation, and the lateness of the hour, all worked together to ease the ropes that held me so tightly, so safely, atop the cliff. “I … loved once before. Desperately. I was open. Naive.” I laughed bitterly. “Loving wholly. Recklessly. Passionately. I always believed the power of that kind of love could not possibly be carried by one person. When I realized the truth, that not only was I carrying it alone, but that it was in fact an illusion, a massive deception I had bought into … brought a child into. The pain was … it broke me, Josephine.” I paused to drag in a lungful of air. “I loved Arriette.” My throat moved to close, the words ending before I was finished.
“I know.”
“No. That’s not …” My hand came to my neck like I could ease away the blockage. “I had already moved into the guest bedroom. Your bedroom,” I added to give context, “before she died.”
“You don’t have to explain.”
“No. I do. I want to. I should have moved her things out. From the boat. From our house. And I did not. I’ve been avoiding it. But it is not for the reason you think. I loved Arriette. I loved her because I still loved the woman she was when we met. And I loved her because she was the mother of my child. A child I adore. I will always be grateful to Arriette for giving me Dauphine. I can never regret my marriage even while I regret I was unable to keep Arriette from her demons. But there was not much of a marriage at the end. I couldn’t reach her. She broke my heart long before she left us. And since then, I’ve been … frozen.”
Josephine’s soft breaths in the silence were the only indication she was
still there. But she said nothing, allowing me space to find my words.
“I didn’t see it coming. And I’m not talking about her death. That too. I thought I’d be able to save her and I failed. I hate that I failed. But what I really mean is I didn’t see that our love was not real. My love was. But it was mine, not ours. It was like waking up from a dream into a nightmare. Waking up to realize your person, the keeper of your heart, your secrets, your fears, everything that allows you to walk this earth with the knowledge that you matter, that the earth beneath your feet is solid because someone loves you … realizing none of it was ever real. And maybe even if it was, that you were not enough to keep it. Not enough to deserve it, perhaps. And you doubt yourself. The ground beneath your feet is gone. The weight of the hollowness inside you makes you think you’ll never catch your balance again. You wonder. How did I miss this? Does everybody know that love is not permanent, and they did not tell you? Or was it just me that failed to keep it? The cruelty of the betrayal is everywhere, in all you do. Other couples on the street are just illusions you can see with clarity now. With sneering callousness. They’ll learn, you think. They will learn the hard way.” I took a deep breath. I couldn’t be sure I was making sense and had a feeling I may have devolved into French every now and again when I couldn’t think of the English words, but I was sure the gist was intact.
I lapsed into silence, my breathing heavy, raw. For all I knew the call had been dropped. Or she’d hung up. But I was talking now. And I couldn’t stop, whether she heard it or not.
“The way Arriette died was horrible. Awful. She overdosed at a nightclub in Paris. She’d wanted me to go with her. I refused. I had a big day the next day. Every day was a big day, of course. The real reason was I didn’t want that life anymore. We fought. She went without me. I got the call from someone who’d found her on the floor of the bathroom and called the ambulance. I showed up at the same time they did. I saw her.” I hissed in a breath at the pain of the vision. “It was too late. It will haunt me for all of my days that I didn’t go with her that night. That I could have done more to save her. And I hurt for Dauphine that her mother’s sickness was stronger than her love for her daughter. That love couldn’t win. But the thing that haunts me the most is that my marriage had died in front of my eyes, and I did not see it until it was too late. I did not see it! How does one, how do I, ever trust this emotion again when all it does is blind you and wait until you are at its mercy, and then kick away the earth beneath you? I know better now, I think to myself. I will not fall for it again. Jamais. Jamais … ensuite il y a eu toi. But then you. But then … there was you.”
