Love in B Minor

by Elodie Nowodazkij

  We step outside and I turn to him with flutters in my stomach. “Are we really doing this?”

  “Definitely. I wanted to find a way to join the crowd, but then Steve said this might be too risky if someone recognize us, so I booked us a private cruise on the Seine. Dinner will be served—you said that your favorite meal was a lasagna from an Italian restaurant but that you also loved authentic Japanese food because it reminds you of your great-grandparents. Since I could not get that lasagna delivered on time, I got us a cook from one of my favorite Japanese places.” He chuckles in an embarrassed manner, running his hand through his hair, shifting on his feet. I don’t think he realizes how adorable he is, how thoughtful. “This is so sweet, thank you.”

  “Wait until you taste the oden he prepares, it’s incredible.”

  “Very fitting for the weather. My favorite oden dish was the one my grandma made, she said it came from her region and on top of the boiled eggs, and the usual fishcakes and all that, but the broth is darker, she used broth that was flavored with beef stock and used dark soy sauce. She cooked it at least once a month for us during the winter.” The cold air soaks through my sweatpants and I shiver.

  “I got us blankets and hats in case we want to sit outside for a while. You’ll see: Paris from the Seine at night is amazing.”

  He holds my hand in his as we go down the stairs and into a white boat.

  An older lady with a chignon on top of her head welcomes us, wearing all white. “We’re so happy to have you.” And she does look happy. And maybe a bit starstruck too.

  Lucas shakes her hand. “Thank you so much for agreeing to do this.”

  “We will be taking you on a two-hour tour, stopping by Notre Dame for about twenty minutes. We have a guide who will give you some history details and anecdotes about Paris as we glide through the Seine.”

  I turn to Lucas, pretty sure my excitement and amazement is reflected in his eyes. This is one of the best evenings ever. I’ve been meaning to see more of Paris. Every time I went with Mom, we only did some shopping and met with old friends of hers, but it was usually quick before heading to another city.

  Lucas leads the way into the boat. A guy wearing black and a white apron appears out of nowhere—or maybe I was too focused on looking at everything to see him. “Would you like some champagne, maybe some kir?”

  “A kir?”

  “Champagne with your choice of liquor: raspberry, cassis…”

  “Can I have one with raspberry, please?” I reply, and I’m hit by the beauty and history surrounding me. The stars in the sky are more visible than in the past days, and the wind blows but it’s not as strong.

  “Champagne for me, s’il-vous-plaît,” Lucas answers and his arm sneaks around my waist. “What do you think?”

  I lean into him. Thankful for this moment. Thankful for him. “This is amazing. Thank you so much.”

  “I’ve been wanting to do a river cruise for a while. The last time I went was with my grandparents when they came to visit years ago.”

  “The ones you told me about.” While he was drunk in my apartment, he rambled about them. “You said you loved working on the ranch when you were younger.”

  “I did. It was hard, and definitely demanding but I loved spending time in the fields, taking care of everything. I still do it. Every single year for at least two weeks. I never talk about it.”

  “Why?” I accept the flute of kir the waiter brings us back, and Lucas gestures for us to sit outside. He grabs two blankets with one hand and we settle down at the end of the boat, with Paris surrounding us. This night is magical and could be surreal, but I am feeling everything. I’m living every second of this magical night. This has not happened in such a long time, for me to slow down and be there. I’ve tried so hard to live in the present, and it feels good that it’s finally happening.

  “I don’t want to be reachable when I’m at their ranch.” He raises his glass. “A la tienne. A ta santé.” His lips curve into the smile I’ve already learned to seek. It’s a happy smile, no restraints, and it’s a smile so full of promises that my stomach fills with butterflies dancing to the music he created.

  A voiceover explains the sights we’re seeing. The Concord. The Louvre Museum. The voiceover says it could take up to one hundred days to see every piece of art that is in the Museum, if you spent thirty seconds at each piece all day, every day for those hundred days.

  “Have you been there?” he asks, and his hand reaches out to my neck; it’s a quick touch, a quick caress, but I’m suddenly no longer cold.

  “Huh?” My question is more a sound than a word because he short-circuited my brain.

  “At the Louvre?”

  “With my mom. Last year, we went for a very quick visit to France because I was looking for companies. I didn’t want to. I wanted to stay home. Mia was doing okay, but still. Every single day we spent away from home was hard. Mom felt so guilty.”

  “I felt guilty too…when Benji died. I thought…I thought I should have seen it coming. Because he was my best friend.” I nod—waiting for him to say more, giving him the space to be silent if he needs to. He shakes his head from maybe unwanted thoughts. And we continue our travel through Paris.

  I point to the bouquinistes by the Quai du Louvre. I’ve seen them only from afar, but I’ve been wanting to meander through the crowds looking at the books, enjoying the view, the Seine. Maybe eating at a small restaurant close by that serves crêpes bretonnes.

  His fingers now trail down my arm—up and down—like a movement he’s learned to love.

  “Are you cold?” He gives me some of his blanket. Nope. You’re definitely keeping me warm in all the right places. But I can’t answer that.

  “I’m fine.” My stomach rumbles and I grimace when he laughs. “Oh come on, I haven’t eaten since early this morning.”

  His eyes darken and cloud with worry. “You should have told me. I didn’t realize you didn’t have any lunch.”

  I bump my shoulder to his. “Did you bake me some cookies?” I bite my lip, not able to shake the picture of him—without a shirt, busying himself in his kitchen. That was one of the sexiest sights ever, not beating him entirely naked, though.

  His chuckle is deep and full of unsaid words. “I wanted to, but I’ve been told to wait until we’re done shooting that video.”

  Oh. “Are we still talking about cookies?”

  There’s a flash in his gaze that speaks volumes, and he stiffens against me as if he’s trying to rein himself in. He inhales and exhales deeply. But before he answers, a voice speaks through the loudspeakers.

  “You are currently under the Pont Neuf, which is the oldest bridge in Paris. You are basically under part of the history of Paris. The construction begun under Henri III in 1578, then halted in 1588 in the turmoil of the Wars of Religion. Henry IV continued its construction, as he believed in the importance of rebuilding Paris to end the division. Years later, it is said that Peter the Great declared he had found nothing more curious in Paris than the Pont Neuf while he came to study French civilization under the regency of the Duc d’Orleans. And for the Americans on this cruise, you might be interested to know that the philosopher Franklin wrote to his friends in America that he had not understood the Parisian character except in crossing the Pont Neuf.”

  I hold my breath to every word. “Can you imagine all the stories that happened on this bridge?”

  “My Dad told me once that …” He stops with a smug smile. “And…wait, are you scared of crocodiles?”

  “Yes. I mean, no. We were in the Everglades one year for the summer, after spending a weekend at Disneyland. Mia was three years old and she ventured out of the boat. I found her, sitting on the bench. Mom and Dad could not hug us enough.” This short holiday was in between chemos for Mia, but back then she was already a trooper and she smiled when she saw me. But then we heard there had been a sighing of an alligator close by. “Let’s say I have a healthy f
ear of alligators.”

  “Dad read that in 1984, firemen working under the Pont Neuf bridge discovered something they never thought would live there.”

  “What was it?”

  “A crocodile.”

  “What?” My mouth gapes open.

  “It was a crocodile that was over one meter long, wandering about the sewerage system. Apparently, it was from the Nile and no one was ever able to explain how it got there.”

  “That’s crazy. Wow. I’m going to be much more careful walking by the Seine now…” I smile. “You said both your parents love history. What do they do now?”

  “Both Mom and Dad worked at Le Louvre. Mom writes historical fiction now. And Dad has become an expert on Greek art. He’s in Greece right. I have come to love history thanks to them.”

  “My grandparents love to tell me about their stories. Some of them are sad, some are happy. I don’t know it got me hooked on trying to learn more about the past.”

  The waiter reappears and I’ve forgotten about the wind, and the colder air. “We’ve arrived at Notre Dame. Your dinner is served inside.”

  I’m not quite sure how this evening could be topped.

  But the promise of food is appetizing.

  CHAPTER 37 - LUCAS

  Seeing Paris through Jen’s eyes is everything I’d hope for. She’s interested, and amazed, and she doesn’t try to look like she’s seen it all already. She’s…there. Not planning her next move. In the car, I had the hardest time—and that’s an understatement—keeping from kissing her senseless. But after seeing the hurt in her eyes following my song performance with Olivia, I’ve realized her fear of getting hurt again. Being strong doesn’t mean never being afraid. That’s what Mom told me once when I was fourteen and scared shitless of playing on stage and then berating myself for not being strong enough.

  Jen reminds me of that sentence. I don’t want her to slip away. So, I’ll play by her rules, and by Grégoire’s rules. The video should be shot in less than two weeks depending on the choreography Igor has come up with.

  Which makes me think. “Do you think Igor is going to let you choreograph with him?”

  She startles, her fork in midair. “What do you mean?”

  “The dance you came up with was amazing, and you had never even heard the melody.”

  “Some of the movements were out of synch,” she protests, but there’s a light in her eyes like she’s intrigued.

  “But you got the feelings…the most important part of the dance.”

  “Thank you.” Her smile graces her entire face and simply looking at her inspires me to write another song. A song about finding solace, finding happiness, finding the person who walks by your side. Equals. Lovers. Friends. “Honestly, I’m not sure if he will. I think he might ask for my opinion, but he’ll only take what works. Even though he’s a complete ass, I trust his artistic eye.” She tilts her head to the side in her I’m-analyzing-you movement. “What were you thinking about like ten seconds ago? You were staring at me, but I didn’t think you were there or seeing me.”

  “Oh no, I was seeing you. I thought of another song.”

  Her lips turn into a shit-eating grin. “The one-night-stand-who-gets-away-but-ends-up-at-your-audition?”

  “You think that’s funny.” Laughter rumbles through me.

  “A little. We both gave each other fake names. Clearly, you didn’t think we’d see each other again.” She eats the appetizer that was already on the table and closes her eyes. “This is delicious.”

  I could watch her for hours. I could talk to her for hours. I could discover her body for hours. My voice is much rougher than expected when I manage to speak again. “I wanted to see you. I had planned on telling you everything in the morning, so when I realized you left, I was disappointed. The song I’m thinking about writing now would be entitled, ‘You.’”

  She licks her lips. “I know we said we wouldn’t be talking about sad stories, or anything. But I’ve got to ask.” She licks her lower lip again and then slightly bites it. “Are you really okay? With what I told you? There are moments where I think that you look at me and you’re unsure…I don’t know, maybe of my motivations. Like you’re afraid I’m here for another reason than…” She shakes her head, staring at her glass. “It’s stupid.”

  I want to tell her it’s not stupid. I want to tell her how hard it is for me to trust anyone.

  My phone rings but I ignore it. Jen’s eyes find mine again and she opens her mouth. She’s about to say what she has in her mind or in her heart, or surprise me again with an unexpected comment.

  “Sir,” the waiter who has been so discreet until now comes in the restaurant. “Sir, there’s a phone call from you. It’s from Olivia McRae. She said it’s important.”

  “Can’t you take the message?”

  “I’m sorry, sir. She said you’d want to talk to her—it’s about Benjamin’s grandmother.”

  My blood freezes and I brace myself for the worst. Jen pulls her chair close to me, and if it was anyone else, I might have pushed her away, but when she puts her hand on my thigh, I relish her presence. “Olivia? What’s going on?”

  “The hospital called me, they said they couldn’t reach you.” She doesn’t sound accusatory but I still feel like I need to explain why. She doesn’t give me any time to do so. “Steve gave me the number of the boat—you need to come back. Soon. Grand-mère Julie is not doing well. She fell from her bed, and apparently that brought on a heart attack and she’s in a coma now. They don’t know if she’s going to make it.” Her voice breaks. “I don’t want to lose her.”

  My heart hurts and it takes all I have to not throw the phone away and scream. “I know. I’m coming back.”

  “Okay. Thank you.”

  “No, thank you. For calling me.” And I hang up, lowering my head on Jen’s knees. She wraps her arms around me, not asking any questions. Waiting, running her fingers on my back. She calms me down. I look up, not hiding how fucking sad I feel. Sad and raw. “It’s Benji’s grandmother.”

  “Oh, no. Let me tell the captain to get back to the dock. Why don’t you call the driver to make sure he’s waiting for you?”

  “For us?”

  “What?” She stumbles.

  “Would you come with me to the hospital? Please?” I need her. I don’t care about any of the rules we’ve set up for ourselves. I need her. With me.

  And I don’t care if it scares me shitless.

  CHAPTER 38 - JEN

  Lucas spends the drive to the hospital on the phone with Olivia. He looks worried, and exhausted, and devastated.

  He rushes inside and I follow him. Olivia’s waiting for him in the lobby and she throws herself into his arms. They hold each other, crying. And my heart aches for them. For both of them. Olivia’s tears are real. Her sniffles and broken voice are real. Her pain is real.

  When she sees me, she offers a soft smile. But we don’t speak. Lucas turns back to me and hugs me tightly, telling me he needs to speak with the doctors.

  “Do you want me to go with you?”

  He simply takes my hand in his and I follow. The hospital smells, the nurses and doctors, everything reminds me of Mia. Of her time at the hospital. Of how she spent more time there than at home. And I’m the one gripping his hand now. I want to comfort him. I do, but it’s hard for me to be there. To be invaded with images of Mia in her hospital bed, attached to tubes, still fighting to keep a smile on her face, because she didn’t want us to be sad.

  The entire conversation with the doctors takes place in French and I don’t understand any of it. Lucas does translate a few words here and there and even Olivia does too, like she actually cares if I’m feeling left out or not. But right now, I don’t. I’m here for Lucas.

  After a few minutes, we go back to the lobby. “She’s getting operated on now.” Lucas’ tone is like the beginning of the melody of his song about Benji. It’s the saddest tone I’ve heard from
him. “She used to make French toast for us. Not the one with the sliced bread, but she would take old stale bread and bake it in the oven. It was so good.”

  Olivia plops herself on a chair, brings her legs close to her and hugs them tight. “She always told us we had to work hard, but that we had to remember to also have fun. She always said you can fall in love when you’re young, but that it shouldn’t prevent you from living life.” I’m not sure if she’s talking to us or to herself.

  Lucas continues as if they’re finishing each other’s thoughts. “She met her husband when she was thirteen. Love at first sight and they were married for fifty years before he died in an accident.” Lucas leans into me and I wrap my arms around him. “She was always a rock for Benji, a rock for all of us. If she doesn’t make it…”

  I can’t reassure him completely. I can’t tell him she’s going to recover because I don’t know. But I can tell him what I believe, how he’s helping her even if he doesn’t realize it. “She knows you’re here. I’m sure she knows.”

  “Why don’t you go home? You’ve got a rehearsal early in the morning, I’m going to stay here and wait.”

  “I can wait.” My lips touch his temple. “I can stay.”

  “Thank you,” he whispers and he closes his eyes.

  Olivia clears her throat. “Steve told me you lost a sister.” Her voice is soft. Like she understands my pain.

  I nod. “I did. Less than a year ago.”

  Olivia stares at her hands. “I don’t know if you’ve read about me or if Lucas told you.”

  Lucas stiffens next to me “I didn’t talk about it.”

  “And I promised myself to stay away from gossip magazines,” I reply with a smile. Everyone has something they don’t like to talk about, something buried deep inside.

  “I had a little brother.”

  “Olivia,” Lucas whispers and opens his eyes. They’re full of sadness. Sadness for her.

  “I just want to say I understand how hard it must be for you.” A tear falls down her cheek and she wipes it away, straightening herself as if she’s trying to stay strong. “I lost my little brother when he was about two years old. They don’t know why. A doctor said my mom might have been negligent, might have shaken him too hard. He was crying a lot and our nanny was not there that night…and…I was sixteen. It was hard.”