—RALPH WALDO EMERSON
March 20, 1939
My very dearest sister Cécile,
Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear.
Take comfort in the fact that even your presence could not have prevented the difficulties that ensued during Maman and Papa’s “holiday” in Paris.
Gabriel was able to join us for dinner by rearranging his schedule. To his credit, he was very charming and well spoken throughout dinner, no matter how Papa baited him. Maman even began to flirt with him (she couldn’t help herself).
Afterward we parted ways with Gabriel, and Maman and Papa drove me back to Tante Joséphine’s.
No one spoke the entire drive home. Tante Joséphine had retired to her rooms by the time we returned (an act of self-preservation, I am convinced). The next few hours (not an exaggeration) were spent explaining the many reasons why I could not contemplate an “attachment” to Gabriel, and why I should come home.
They admitted that he was “more gentlemanly than expected,” and yet marriage was out of the question.
Before you ask, know that Gabriel hasn’t asked me to marry him. And he might never, especially after meeting Maman and Papa.
But…I have no intention to return to the chateau. The only thing for me to do is complete the pastry program and find a job.
Naturally I haven’t mentioned to Maman the fact that I’ll have to find an apprenticeship. However, I would like to open a patisserie of my own. Surely Maman would not sneeze too much at that if I owned the patisserie myself?
You are right. I know what you would say without your having to say it.
Of course neither of them would ever approve.
I hope your womanly trials pass quickly, and without incident.
Bisous (and sighs),
Mireille
March 21, 1939
Dear Cécile,
I have more news. Maman and Papa departed on Sunday afternoon. Gabriel visited unannounced on Sunday evening. I told the maid I was going out before I left with him, not even stopping for a hat.
We walked together, he and I. Neither of us spoke specifically of the visit, but Gabriel very gently suggested that if I valued my relationship with my parents, it might be wisest if we ceased our courtship. He did not wish to damage our “familial bonds,” as he put it.
Cécile, I am perplexed. I wish to be a good daughter, to honor our parents and their wishes. But their wishes for my life are the very opposite of all of my hopes. I have no desire—have never had a desire—to marry well and be chatelaine. If it’s all the same to you, I am perfectly happy to pass that position to you, my sister.
While I had hoped that leaving for Paris might be a step in an independent direction, to Maman and Papa it is a temporary time away.
Yet while I am perplexed, I told Gabriel I did not wish to end our courtship. After I told him so, he said he had written to his parents about a visit of their own.
I’m so nervous at the prospect, my hands shake every time at the thought of it (as evidenced by my penmanship. Deepest apologies). I might know how to make pastry, but I do not yet know how to be brave. I covet your prayers, Cécile, for I do not know the way.
À bientôt,
Mireille
I reread the last line two, three times—they could have been words I’d written to Caterina. Reading the letters felt like reading a bittersweet romance novel. My heart swelled to read the sentiment shared between Mireille and Gabriel, and broke for the separation that loomed in their future.
And yet—did the impending sadness lessen the joy they shared? They were happy now. Couldn’t that be enough?
Maybe that was what I needed to remember with Neil. Right now we were happy. Rather than wring my hands over what waited at the edge of the horizon, I could simply choose to enjoy the good things while they unfolded.
March 28, 1939
Dearest Mireille,
But of course I shall pray. I shall also buy a train ticket to France. If I’m going to be praying on the subject of a man, I should like to meet him.
Cécile
March 29, 1939
Dear Mireille,
My dear sister, I fear I have distressing news. Maman fell ill shortly after her return from Paris; what appeared to be a cold, the doctor has diagnosed as pneumonia.
Papa is beside himself. Maman is having difficulty taking cook’s broth. I don’t know what to do; I sit at Maman’s bedside and pray.
I know you’re in the middle of classes, but please come.
Cécile
The next document wasn’t a letter at all, but a telegram I’d found stashed with the rest of the letters and also organized by date.
RÉPUBLIQUE FRANÇAISE
POSTES ET TÉLÉCOMMUNICATIONS
TÉLÉGRAMME
M. GABRIEL ROUSSARD
MAMAN IS SICK. GOING HOME IN MORNING. WILL WRITE SOON.
LOVE, MIREILLE
April 4, 1939
Dear Gabriel,
I have arrived at the chateau safely. While I am concerned for Maman, I can still feel the memory of our last kiss on my lips.
My hope is to get Maman to eat broth, and if that goes well, I’ll move on to risotto, or a beef barley soup.
But that all depends on her taking broth. I had hoped that perhaps my sister had exaggerated her condition in her panic, but no. In the two weeks since I have seen her, she is much altered.
My father spends most of his time in the fields, checking the plants and walking the grounds.
I miss you. I pray for my mother’s health, and that I may return to you soon.
Mireille
I could feel the worry on the page; I couldn’t help but think of my own maman and her illness. If only a beef barley soup had such restorative powers…and yet hadn’t I left my parents with a supply of foodstuffs?
Apparently I’d inherited my desire to heal through food, as surely as I’d inherited the D’Alisa nose and my yen for cream puffs.
Gabriel’s response followed.
April 13, 1939
My darling Mireille,
Paris has not ceased to rain since you left. I took tea with your Tante Joséphine yesterday. She and Anouk are well, though they both miss you nearly as much as I do.
(I believe Anouk may miss you just as much, though for different reasons.)
The restaurant is doing well; the days are long. I think of you as I work, of your determination, of the way that you worked so hard to show up all of the stuffed shirts who considered themselves superior to you, and their faces once they figured out how wrong they were. I loved the look on your face as you discovered new techniques that improved your pastry—sheer joy.
I fell in love with you then.
I pray for your mother’s health. Return to me, Mireille. Paris is bleak without you.
Gabriel
My heart full, I closed my laptop. If I continued longer, I’d probably fall to pieces the minute I saw Neil. Instead, I fitted my earbuds into place and closed my eyes, all while seeing Gabriel’s last line behind my eyes.
Return to me…. Paris is bleak without you.
A man taking basil from a woman will love her always.
—SIR THOMAS MOORE
I texted Neil once the plane landed; a minute later my phone buzzed: “Pick you up in baggage claim. Can’t wait to see you!”
I grinned and followed my fellow passengers to the baggage claim, laptop bag slung over one aching shoulder, handbag in a white-knuckled grasp.
Twenty minutes later there were no signs of Neil, but the baggage carousel had finally consented to release my suitcase. I extended the handle with a click and cast my gaze around the utilitarian space, hoping to see Neil somewhere in the crowd.
I checked my phone again; no messages. I thought about texting again, but decided against it.
My stomach muttered in hunger.
I found a bench and took a seat.
Sitting and waiting, I had no choice but to take in my surroundings. Whereas the P
ortland airport consisted of a sea of Caucasian faces with a smattering of representatives from South America, Asia, and the Pacific Islands, at the Memphis Airport I had to admit to myself that I’d never before seen so many African Americans.
A disturbing revelation for a self-conscious, politically correct Oregonian.
Another muttering of the stomach, and no sign of Neil.
In a burst of unchecked impulse fueled by hunger, I stood, grasped my belongings and strode out the glass doors.
The hot, humid West Tennessee air filled my lungs and clung to my skin. I felt sweat bead on my neck, my back, my hairline as I struggled to breathe.
My heart raced, my stomach shifted from muttering to yelling, and I felt my panic rise. Was it too late to turn around and go home?
“Juliette!”
I turned to see Neil running toward me, bouquet of flowers clutched in one hand, phone in the other.
He looked absolutely wonderful.
With renewed energy, I clung tight to my belongings as I strode to meet him halfway.
“I’m so sorry,” he breathed once we were within speaking distance. “I got stuck and I tried to call but my phone freaked out.”
“I’m fine,” I said, closing my eyes as he wrapped his arms around me. As I breathed in his scent, I knew it was true.
“Let me help you,” he said when we pulled apart, and within seconds Neil had my suitcase and laptop, while I had a bouquet of flowers to hold close.
He slung the laptop bag around the suitcase handle, pulling the two together behind him with one hand, holding my hand with the other. “Flight go okay?”
“It flew.”
“You hungry?”
“Always.” I cleared my throat. “When I travel I tend to eat. A lot. My subconscious self doesn’t know where my next meal is coming from and tends to stockpile.”
“Barbecue it is, then.”
As we drove to the restaurant, I inwardly admitted that not driving myself had been a good idea. Not a single driver used a turn signal. Cars slid from lane to lane with inches in between, even at freeway speeds.
I’d never seen so many American sports cars on the freeway at one time—Mustangs, Corvettes, Camaros—all well represented. Neil narrated the sights as we zoomed past, though he paused after a few moments. “I’m talking your ear off, aren’t I?”
“I wasn’t complaining,” I said, giving his hand a squeeze.
We pulled into the tiny parking lot that belonged to Corky’s Barbecue on Poplar Avenue and walked inside. The air smelled of meat; my stomach rumbled its appreciation.
Neil held the door open for me and I stepped inside, taking in the pig-themed décor and the tables on the opposite end of the hallway.
“Come in, come in,” the host said when he spotted us, his voice warm and familiar. “There’s a table for you.” We were seated instantly, and our waitress swung by a moment later to take our drink orders, smiling all the while.
“Everybody’s so, so nice,” I commented once she’d stepped away. “Is that…normal?”
“For the restaurant or for the mid-south?”
I laughed. “Both?”
“Mid-south can be hit or miss, but here? Always.”
“I feel like I’m at my uncle’s place. You know, my uncle who’s really, really into pigs.”
Neil chuckled and walked me through his favorite items on the menu. From the detail he offered, I gathered he was a frequent diner.
I ordered the pork shoulder sandwich with a side salad and a side of fries, while Neil chose the beef brisket dinner.
“Don’t worry,” he said. “I’ll share.”
“You’re so nice to me.”
“Want to hear about the schedule for the week?”
I leaned forward, resting my chin in my hands. “Sure. What’s the plan, coach?”
“Coach?”
“I’m tired. It’s all I could think of. And I respect Friday Night Lights.”
“Can’t argue with that.” He smiled. “Now, these are all suggestions. If you’re too tired or if something sounds boring, we can change things up, okay?”
“Have some confidence, McLaren. I’m sure they’re great plans.”
He reached out and rested his hand on mine. “Tonight I take you over to Callan and Tarissa’s. Tarissa will probably try to feed you.”
I grinned. “I’m sure we’ll be great friends.”
“She sure hopes so. Just…know that before we met, she was on my case to date. For a long time. So the fact that we’re together…she’s pretty excited.”
I felt my heart miss a beat. “Look…Neil,” I said before I could stop myself, “I’m delighted to be here with you. I have missed you so much. Too much,” I amended, shaking my head.
The words spilling from my mouth weren’t words I had ever planned to say to Neil. But he was so hopeful, and I was so tired, I couldn’t stop myself. “I want normal,” I said. “And I don’t know if we’ll ever be able to have it.”
“I know,” Neil said quietly.
“But…when we’re together, it’s so good.” I heard my voice crack. “I don’t know what to do. I don’t want to ruin what we have…you know, like I am. Right now. On our first date in ages.”
“You’re not ruining anything.”
A quiet tear rolled down my cheek. “I’m crying in a restaurant decorated with pigs. It’s at the very least off-brand.”
Neil reached across the table and swiped the tear away. “I want normal too. I’m sorry, I’m sure the way I told you about Tarissa’s excitement felt like…pressure. But they’re my closest friends, and they know that we’re still new, and Tarissa’s a smart lady. She won’t ask for your intentions or what kind of baby names you prefer.”
I gave a wry smile. “Unless she decides to chase me off.”
“She won’t.”
“I’m sorry.” I unrolled my silverware and blew my nose on the paper napkin.
“Shh,” Neil said, tucking my hair behind my ear. “I’m just glad you’re here.”
“You’re too nice to me.”
“Let’s enjoy the time we have,” Neil said. “And if you want to sit on my couch and watch TV all day, we can do that.”
“You’re funny.”
“I’m serious. You’re right, we’re usually in tourist mode when we’re together.”
I gave a small shrug. “There hasn’t been any help for it. Either we’re exploring Portland—a worthy task—or Italy, or France…”
“Whatever you need, Jules. We can argue over a movie rental, mainline Top Gear or Doctor Who, play Scrabble until midnight.”
“That all sounds perfect.”
“So we’ll do that.”
I shook my head. “But I also want to see your city. It’s important to you, the way Portland’s important to me.”
“Not that important. I think Portland loyalty runs extra deep. Texas-level deep.”
“Yeah…probably. I’m just saying, I still want you to show me around. And then maybe we can play Scrabble or Go Fish or something.”
“Or something.” He smiled. “I think we can work something out.”
“So tell me about your plans.”
“I thought we could go to the outdoor sites tomorrow, especially since the weather’s supposed to be a little cooler.”
“What’s your version of cooler?”
“Ninety degrees, rather than ninety-five to a hundred.”
I forced a smile. “Okay.”
Neil didn’t miss it. “Portland weather is milder in the summer, isn’t it?”
“Oh, it’ll hit a hundred from time to time, but never more than a few days. And with less humidity,” I added. “That’s code for less sweat.”
Neil shrugged. “You acclimate.”
“I’ll be fine,” I said, despite my concern. The waitress interrupted my worryfest by arriving with our drinks. Short moments later, she returned with our food.
“Oh my goodness,” I said, wiping a smear of barb
ecue sauce from my lip. “That is the most amazing meat I’ve ever had.”
Neil grinned and forked a piece of his brisket. “Try this,” he said, offering his fork.
I flushed pink as he placed it in my mouth. “That’s really good too,” I said, after chewing and swallowing. “And the sauce is amazing.”
“You have sauce on your lip again.”
“I have a feeling this is going to be the theme of the evening.” I swiped at my mouth with my napkin. “So what outdoor sites are on your list?”
“The Rhodes campus is nice, great architecture. And the Dixon Gallery and Gardens, so I’m told, makes for a good date.”
“So you’re told?”
Now it was Neil’s turn to blush. Naturally, on him it looked adorable. “I might have Googled ‘romantic things to do in Memphis,’ ” he said.
“You might have?”
“Maybe.”
“Good to know.” I felt the knots in my shoulders begin to untangle. Apart, I’d forgotten just how easy company Neil could be. I loved my family, but so often a conversation with them could be like walking across a minefield without a map—something, anything could launch a passionate argument. But with Neil? We could simply enjoy being near each other.
Dinner flew by. Before I knew it, I was back in Neil’s car, stifling yawns and clutching his right hand as we wove through traffic to reach Callan and Tarissa’s house.
“Callan and Tarissa live in Germantown,” he explained as we left the commercial buildings and drove down the wide, straight street lined with large homes and leafy trees. “It’s one of the main suburbs,” he said, “east of Memphis. It’s pretty suburban.”
“Where do you live?”
“I’m in Germantown too, about a mile away from Callan’s. I like it. I’ll take you there tomorrow. Just be forewarned—it’s a bachelor’s house.”
“Not a lot of throw pillows?”
“A few throw pillows, but they were the ones that were displayed with the couch at the furniture store.”
“Fair enough.” A yawn escaped. I clapped my hand over my mouth. “Sorry.”
Reservations for Two Page 16
