by Marilyn Grey
Alistair's handwriting.
Thanks for letting me stay at your flat this week. I had a lovely time, Ms. Austen. Here's a little gift for you. Put it to good use, okay?
It was a gift certificate to Dee's tattoo place. Somehow I never got the note. I guess he wanted me to be surprised, because he never mentioned it or asked about it.
I knew exactly what I wanted. Right above my heart on my chest. Maybe a small one, some pretty decorative border around the words.
Carpe Diem.
Because even if he never spoke to me again, he taught me that. And I'd always remember him for that. I'd never forget the way it felt to be against his body, looking into his eyes between kisses.
I'd never forget him.
Ever.
Chapter 53
December passed. January passed. February. March. April.
Then May came.
I said I wouldn't give up, but I did. I tried everything imaginable. Even called his phone from a British number while I was there, so he wouldn't know it was me. But it rang and rang and rang, then went to his generic voicemail. I left a message and said, "If I don't hear from you I'll know you're done. I don't understand and this seems extremely immature, but I know a thing or two about that so I have no room to talk. I'll always remember you. Thank you for our time together. Goodbye, Alistair."
When I hung up I felt bad for being so straight, so I sent another one that said, "I love you and I think I always will. Just like the real Jane Austen, not that I'm not real. They say she never got over him either. The guy she loved. Anyway, I love you. Carpe Diem."
Five months passed since that voicemail though. And he was gone. Out of my life. I told everyone that we broke up. A mutual ending because of the distance. Donovan tried to convince me that he should intervene, but I convinced him otherwise. Autumn and I didn't talk much, but she thought I was still meant for Donovan anyway. Mom seemed sad, but I told her there are plenty more English fish in the sea. I tried to believe it myself, but figured life doesn't always work out the way you want it to. Stories don't always have good endings. Some are tragic, like the real Jane Austen who died alone, penning love stories without living them. But like me, maybe she felt that one, genuine love was enough. She didn't need anyone else. She needed that one. And if she couldn't have him, then no one would do.
That's what I chose to believe, although I hoped maybe I would one day find love again.
Carpe Diem, right?
I touched the tattoo on my chest and looked at the calendar. Almost one year exactly since the day we met.
Alistair left my life, left me, but he never left my heart. In fact, wherever he was ... whatever he was doing ... he still carried a piece of me with him, whether he liked it or not.
"Some love stories just aren't meant for girls like you," Zoe said as we sat down on the couch with bowls of ice cream. "Seriously did you actually think a guy like that would stay with you? I mean, he could like have any girl he wants."
"Nothing like a nice dose of Zoe for a pick me up." I dug into my ice cream and exaggerated an eye roll. "The anniversary of the first day we met is in a week and I just need to stop talking about this now. I can't keep reopening wounds just to watch myself bleed to death. I need to let them heal so I can get on with life."
"I'm just being real with you. The guy was a sexy as hell and that sent him over the top."
"He was sexy to me, don't get me wrong, but he wasn't that hot or anything. He was normal."
"Then what does that make you?"
I laughed. "You're lucky I love you anyway, because the things you say are pretty damn messed up."
"Some people sugar coat a pile of trash, but I just like to call it trash."
"Are you calling me trash now?"
"No. I'm just saying you're average and he's hot."
"Well, I think hotness has nothing to do with anything right now. Alistair isn't here. So whatever, put your stupid chick flick on so I can understand why girls like to depress themselves even more by watching this stuff."
"It should bring you hope," she said, walking over to my DVD player. "I picked it out just for you."
"Oh yeah? What is it?"
"The Umbrellas of Cherbourg."
"Never heard of that."
"You'll love it."
The movie came to a close and I stared at the credits while Zoe stared at me. Did she honestly just make me watch that?
"So..." she pried.
"Are you trying to break me into a thousand and one pieces? Is a thousand not good enough for you?" I stood and took our bowls to the kitchen. "I think you need to find somewhere else to live."
She laughed and followed after me. "It was supposed to inspire you."
"Inspire my ass. " I pointed my spoon back to the television. "This is exactly why I can't stand romance movies."
"But it's realistic. It shows that your story is realistic, so it's not like it's your fault or anything."
"I never thought it was my fault," I said. "Oh, man. I need a long night of sleep with no dreams after that."
"You didn't like it?"
"Zoe." I brushed by her as I walked to the hallway.
"We could watch Titanic instead," she offered.
"Yeah. I'd rather take a shot to the head instead of the heart, thanks."
She laughed as she went into her room and I shook my head as I went into mine. I didn't bother closing my door. Zoe moved back in a few weeks ago and we were closer than ever. She was there and needed someone just as much as I did. Donovan and Han barely talked to me anymore. I mean, they did, but I couldn't always handle seeing them so happy together. Sometimes it was perfect and I was fine, other times everything would come rushing back and I couldn't bear to be in the same room with love like theirs.
Not that tragedies made me feel any better. What was Zoe thinking?
I plopped on my bed with my laptop and pulled up my emails, went through a bunch of ho-hum work stuff, and then decided to fill a few online orders, which I did from home at night since I didn't get as many online orders as I did in the store.
Business was perfect. I managed to make enough income to pay three employees, the lease, my rent, and even food. I wasn't rolling in the cash, but it was good and I knew it would be even better with some good marketing.
Three orders to fill. I packed the first two into a box, slapped on the mailing labels, and opened the third.
New Order from 1812 Online Store
The Joker/ DKT - Size 32, M
Bruce Wayne/DKT - Size 32, M
Alfred/EAG - Size 32, M
Note from buyer: Gift wrap, please. This is for my son. Please mail it to the shipping address for him, not the billing address. Thank you. And include this note if you could:
I found this store from the States and thought you would fancy it. If it's the wrong size, just return it for the right one.Tell Mum I said hello. I'll come visit soon. -Dad
SHIPPING ADDRESS:
Alistair Gladwyn
47 High Oakham Road
Mansfield, Nottinghamshire NG18
My eyes closed, then reopened. Yes, it was really him. The mailing label quivered in my hands. Memories upon memories flickered in and out. So many. Then came the question that tormented me for months.
Why?
Why didn't he call?
Chapter 54
There are two ways of looking at this. One, I was crazy. And two, I was out of my ever-loving mind. I preferred the latter so that I didn't have to take credit for my actions. Just blame it on the lack of sense, right?
See. It goes like this and if you've ever been in love then you know what I'm saying. When you grow up with a bunch of little girls planning their weddings at age eight and you think you'll never get married, there comes this point in your life when you get kissed by someone you really love and who really loves you, and it's nice and all, but not enough to keep you up at night wondering when it will happen again. Then, as you're going about your life, someone else
walks in and he's funny and charming and different and beautiful. He promises you this kiss and you're thinking right whatever, but then it happens. He kisses you and you know that whoever you loved before that ... it wasn't real love. Not like this love. You know and feel and experience so deeply the difference in this one person's kiss that you can't possibly imagine never tasting it again. I guess, long story short, what I'm trying to say is that love isn't about finding people we can live with. We can get along with anyone. Even live with people who hurt us. But it's that one person, that one single person in an entire six billion population, that you can't live without. It's that person who's worth living for and dying for. It's that person I loved.
And so, to summarize plainly, I could now understand Romeo and Juliet. And that's all I'll say about that.
The plane lifted off the ground just as I started to doubt myself. He clearly didn't want to talk to me. To the point of moving away and changing his number. His new flat wasn't even in the same town. And yeah, maybe I was crazy, but isn't drowning your life in poison crazy? All because living without Romeo is unbearable? I guess love makes you a little crazy and I admit, I felt weird and nervous and got up to go pee about forty times. I couldn't sit still and the woman next to me probably thought I had an intense fear of flying. I had a mild fear of flying, but standing in front of him scared me more. Simply because I didn't know what to expect. Or why he did what he did to me. Or if he would still love me. Or if he ever loved me at all.
That's the one that really freaked me out.
So, my flight landed at the East Midlands Airport at 7:21am Saturday morning, which was 2:21am my time. Originally I planned to go right to him, but my eyelids were heavy and I didn't want to drive a European car with tiredness looming over me, so I booked a room at a hotel near the airport and ... who was I kidding? I didn't sleep at all, but the rest helped. Plus the shower I took woke me up well enough to drive. Maybe with a complimentary coffee from the lobby I would be even better.
I finished up and stood in front of the mirror. I chose to wear my Dark Knight Trilogy Catwoman design. It was very similar to the outfit Anne Hathaway wore, but with my own twist. I tend to prefer asymmetrical designs, so the black dress was a little less tight, but still fitting, and had an asymmetrical pull from one shoulder to the other hip. I also wore the black tights, heels, and a wide-brimmed hat. But as I was looking in the mirror I thought maybe it was a little much. It leaned sexy and it was ultra classy, but I didn't bring anything else except my jeans and t-shirts.
I took a deep breath. "Just go," I said to my reflection. "Time to get this over with."
I grabbed a coffee before leaving and drove to Mansfield, which was way too close to the airport. Not super close, but not far enough to make it feel like I had enough time to prepare. Not that there could ever be enough time for such things. The rain started just as I turned on to Nottingham Road and by the time I turned left on High Oakham Road, his new street, it was pouring down.
I slowed down and squinted through the rain to read the numbers on the houses. The very nice houses. In a neighborhood. I expected an apartment, but these were real deal houses.
He bought a house?
Butterflies assaulted me. Yes, assaulted. It felt more like whacked out bats going to town inside of my stomach. I was excited and nervous and scared all at the same time. What if he slammed the door in my face? What if he was married to someone else? What if this wasn't even him? What if it was a different Alistair?
I never even thought of that.
And with my luck....
I slowed down and finally saw his house number. It was a large brick house. Two stories tall with pretty shutters and a nice garden. Big yard. Very well kept.
Breathe, Jane. Yep. You can do this and you WILL do this.
I parked and tried to slow down my breathing, but I couldn't focus. I watched the door and windows for any sign of life, worrying that I might be intruding into a new life he built for himself. I didn't want to upset him or his wife if he had one. I just wanted one last word from him. And a reason. I needed to know why he left. If it was deeper than our conversation. If it was me.
I opened the door and held my hat as I jogged through the rain to the front door. Frozen in place, my hands stayed at my sides as the droplets pelted my hat and soaked my shoes.
To knock or not to knock, that is the....
"Just do this already," I reprimanded myself and knocked loudly on the door. I gave three hard pounds and then stepped back as my throat closed up and my heart competed with the fast tap of the rain.
Definitely had my doubts. Definitely wanted to run back to the car. But definitely stood my ground.
The door opened.
Chapter 55
She looked at me and I looked at her.
She looked nothing like me. Short blonde hair, longer in the front toward the shoulders. Trendy glasses and lots of makeup. No tattoos that I could see. Very professional. Mature. She looked more like a woman. More his age. Maybe that was it....
"Hello," she finally said, looking from my face to the package in my hands. "Do you have the right address?"
"I have a package for Alistair Gladwyn." I swallowed hard. "Does he live here?"
"Oh, I'm so sorry, please step inside." She grabbed my arm and pulled me in to the entryway. "Yes, Alistair is here. He's resting. Do you know him or is this some kind of special delivery service?"
"Oh, it's um...."
"My name is Emma. I'm so terrible with introductions, but you look so posh I hope I didn't offend you."
I almost laughed. "I'm not posh in the slightest. I'm not even sure I know what posh means. My name is Jane."
"Jane? That's odd. What's your last name?"
I coughed. "Austen."
"Jane Austen? Really? You're having me on, aren't you?"
"Having you on?"
"Is this a joke?" She clapped her hands in front of her as though she were excited. "Who put you up to this? He's going to love it."
"I don't, um, I'm not sure I know what you mean..."
"Oh, Alistair is always talking about how much he loved Jane Austen and we joke around that he must have experienced some interesting dreams."
"Dreams? I'm not sure I—"
"So you must be an actress? Singing telegram?"
"No, I'm ... I'm just Jane Austen. That's my real name." I handed her the package. "Anyway, this is a gift for him. Could you—"
"Oh, I hear him now." She leaned toward me. "He's a bit stroppy when he wakes up, but he will love this. Alistair," she called toward the hallway. "Someone is here to see you."
"No, I should go. I didn't mean to—"
"Shh, shh!" She waved at me while turned toward the hall. "Here he comes."
He turned the corner and caught my eyes as they were filling with tears.
"Alistair," Emma said. "This ... is Jane Austen."
My heart.
I grabbed my chest as a tear fell to my cheek. Alistair....
He gripped his walker and leaned more on the left side. His right foot turned in and his right arm dangled by his leg. The muscles in his face were more relaxed, drooping to the left and causing drool to slip from his mouth. My chest expanded rapidly and more tears collected. I blinked one to my cheek and looked at his eyes, they were still the same. But everything else....
A single tear zig-zagged down the right side of his face and fell to the hand that held the walker.
Emma stood and put her arm around his back. "Come and sit. Ms. Austen came for a visit. Isn't that fun?"
"Don't patronize me, Emma!" he yelled.
She raised her eyebrows at me and mouthed, "See."
"Leave." He looked at her. "Go now."
"But your mum won't be home until—"
"I said leave, Emma." He tried to shove his head toward the door, but it only caused drool to fling across him. "Sod off!"
She jerked back and forth, looking for her things and mumbling some kind of curse at him.
I nodded, dazed.
Who was this man?
She shut the door and I watched through the window as she ran to her car. He pushed the walker forward and made his way to a chair across from me, where he sloppily managed to flop into it without help.
He closed his eyes. "Jane."
I pursed my lips and held back more tears. "Alistair."
We sat there, five feet away from each other in complete silence except for the slight tap of the rain on the windows. He kept his eyes closed, but I watched him breathe. The same chest I used as a pillow so many times before. The same tattoo peeking out from his shirt. The one I held the night he made me his own. But his body was crippled, paralyzed or something, and he looked so much thinner. Less muscle and broadness. Less like himself, like the man I fell in love with.
"What happened?" I whispered.
He squeezed his eyes and tried to shake his head. "Jane," he cried, his chest jerking.
I got up and knelt down beside him, taking his hand into mine and losing myself in the softness of the skin I missed so much, but he moved it away from me and set it on his lap.
"What happened?" I said again.
"I don't remember much. They said I may have been on the phone or distracted, but I swerved and hit another car. I don't remember that at all, but I was in the hospital for a long time. I didn't remember anyone when I woke up, but slowly memories began to come back to me. Memories of my childhood. Of the treehouse. Of you." He finally opened his eyes again, pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, and wiped his mouth. "I'm so embarrassed."
