“And?” I chew more slowly, realizing that perhaps that’s the reason behind the trouble. Although, if I’m completely, one hundred percent honest, I know that can’t be the reason. See—
“It all got sorted out,” Sophie continues. “I ordered some Italian espresso direct, and what with it being a new business card and all, and being international and—” She blinks rapidly. “Anyway, it all worked out once I explained and the hold was lifted. Look.” She grips my arm, and I decide then to give up on eating another macaron. Besides, my stomach’s starting to feel a little queasy.
“Let’s go back to the hotel,” she says. “We’ll call up your banks and the card companies, and we’ll get this all figured out. That’ll make me feel a lot better.” She scoffs. “That’ll make you feel better! Come on.” She begins to gather the carrier bags.
“Erm…” I stammer.
“Come on. Time’s a-wastin’! The sooner we call and find out what’s going on, the better.”
“Sophie, wait.” I try to reach for her hand, but she’s moving so swiftly about, gathering all of the bags.
“Come on, I’ll hail us a cab.” She heaves some bags further up her forearm. “My treat, penniless Jackie,” she teases.
“Sophie, wait!” This time my voice is louder and sterner.
She pauses and stares at me, expressionless.
“There’s something I need to tell you.”
I await a response, but she just keeps looking at me in silence.
“I think Andrew might have put a stop on my cards,” I say. But I can’t continue looking her in the eyes. What I’m about to say next will surely disappoint her, and I can’t bear to watch.
“Why would he do a dumb thing like that?”
“Erm…” I twirl my thumbs around each other. “He doesn’t…exactly…” I suck in a quick breath, then spew out, “know that I’m here.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
“Could you be any more selfish?” Sophie yells, charging forward and at such a brisk pace I can’t keep up. The scads of designer carrier bags aren’t even weighing her down. I, on the other hand, am about to break with the weight of the bags at each harsh step I take along the street to our hotel.
When I broke the news of my secret escape to Paris, Sophie gasped, told me she couldn’t speak, then hailed a cab. The whole ride was bone-chillingly silent, save for the French pop music bleating through the tinny cab speakers.
When I knew we weren’t far from our hotel, I finally broke the silence, slicing it with a dull knife. “I’m sorry, Sophie,” I said. “You just don’t understand what it’s like to be married to him. I’m miserable. I’m bored. He never would have let me come if I’d asked.”
Sophie put up a cold, stiff hand in front of my face and told the cabbie to pull over right there, that instant. She’d be walking the rest of the way.
Of course, I couldn’t just let her walk alone. Besides, who’d pay the fare? So I hopped out with her, and now here we are, making the grueling half-mile walk back to the hotel in the energy-depleting June heat, Dior and Chanel weighing us down.
“I can’t believe you!” Sophie shouts.
“Sophie, let me explain!” I whine, trotting now. My new ballet flats were meant to be lightly broken in, not to perform the Iron Man.
“No!” She picks up her pace.
“Sophieeeee.”
Suddenly I find myself nearing her. I’m gaining on her. Has she slowed or…
She’s stopped.
The carrier bags come to a crash around her feet, and she slowly turns around.
“Sophie?” I cautiously step forward.
“You know what?” She firmly plants her fists on her hips. “I don’t have to listen to this, and I sure as hell don’t have to carry this.” She motions to the small mountain at her feet. “This is your mess, Jackie Kittredge, you clean it up! Be responsible for once in your life!”
“Sophie,” I say in a hushed and taken-aback voice.
“No!” She shakes her head violently.
“I can’t manage this all by myself.” I take two steps closer.
“You managed to get into this all by yourself—not telling Andrew, not telling me about your little scheme to run off to Paris—you can now get yourself out of it!”
“Sophie,” I heave. “I’m an adult, I can—”
“Then start acting like one!” She turns on her heels and begins to angrily charge forward, the bags left in her wake.
“I’m having a difficult time, Sophie!” The bags are painfully boring into my palms, but I continue to strut forward, stopping at the mess she’s left behind.
“We all have difficult times, Jackie!” she shouts, turning back around to me. Her hands fly up into the air in exasperation. “Just let me walk home in peace. I can’t be around you right now.”
“But Sophie…this stuff. I can’t manage this.”
She spins back around, about to continue her solo walk to the hotel, when she says, “You’ll survive! It’s all shit you don’t need, anyhow. It’s probably good Andrew put a stop to the cards.”
“Fine,” I huff under my breath, bending down in a pathetic attempt to scoop up the abandoned merchandise. “I’ll do it myself.”
“Wait!” Sophie rushes over and scoops up one lone bag. “I’m taking this for my walk.” She waves the Place de la Madeleine bag about. “I’m not letting these snacks go to waste.”
Then, with a sharp glare sent my way and one final, “I can’t believe you sometimes, Jackie!”, she storms ahead, prying open the bag of gourmet chocolates.
***
I thought it best to give Sophie some breathing room, and I was so stunned over the blowout myself, so I took my time getting back to the hotel. Well, actually, the bags were so heavy and aplenty that I had no choice but to creep my way back home. But once I got there, I left everything in the lobby and, out of breath and sweating, asked reception to please take everything up to the room.
I then decided to lose myself on the Left Bank, going so far as the Luxembourg gardens. I figured the fresh air and lack of cash to rely on to take a cab home would do me some good, and the length of time I’d be away would surely lend a hand in helping Sophie calm down.
As I walk along the length of St. Michel, no carrier bags digging into my flesh, no credit cards or cash to access save for the lone five-Euro bill in my wallet, and with Paris’s beautiful environs at my visual disposal, I get to thinking about what I’ve done. I suppose that’s what a walk like this is good for.
A big part of me knows coming here unbeknownst to Andrew wasn’t one of my better plans, no matter how great an idea Paris is. And I know that keeping that tidbit of info from Sophie (and all the girls, for that matter) was probably one of my more foolish moves. But I needed this. For me. I needed to do something that wasn’t by the books, something that maybe, if I’d actually had the cash, would’ve done when I was unmarried, unattached. The fly the sails thing that Emily does!
Had I known that it would’ve sent me down this path, however, I don’t know that I would’ve done it. Not really speaking with Andrew, fighting with Sophie—oh, and the disappointment I’ll get from Emily… I don’t keep secrets from Em, or Lara either. They tend to put up with my shenanigans a bit better than the rest of the girls, always willing to ride in on a white horse and save me when things inevitably go sour.
I know I have a way of making my friends’ eyes roll and their faces go all pale when I reveal a less-than-stellar move I’ve made. Like with Claire that morning and how I didn’t exactly divulge the whole Blake mishap; I don’t want to share all of my secrets and stupid choices because, well… Dammit, I make so many of them, I fear eventually the girls will tell me they’re good and done with me and my antics. Selfish Jackie, Spoiled Jackie, Doesn’t Live in Reality Jackie. I wouldn’t blame them, though. I know I can be a spoiled brat sometimes. I know I don’t make things easy on them. It’s who I am. I’m a difficult woman with a screwed up past, and while I know Dr
. Pierce says, “That’s not an excuse, Jackie,” sometimes I feel like it is. Or it should be. At least until I can figure my life out…until I feel like I’m really healing…until I know where I’m supposed to be.
Returning from my lengthy stroll, daylight burned and a friendship slightly singed, if not burned, too, I cautiously set the room key down on the writing desk. I lean against the half of the balcony French door that’s closed.
Not sure where to begin, I’m relieved when Sophie has the first word. “I’m sorry for acting ridiculous out there,” she says quietly from her seat on the balcony. She’s sitting out on our narrow balcony, on one of the two small metal bistro chairs that sit before a tiny table topped with red geraniums.
“I’m sorry for causing the trouble to begin with,” I say meekly. I press my cheek to the glass of the door. The coolness of it feels good to my flushed, warm skin. “Sophie, I’m sorry for acting so stupid. I was the ridiculous one.”
She takes a pull of her miniature-sized Perrier, and I can see the side of her mouth turn up in a small grin. “You were being you, Jackie.”
I’m not sure how to react to this statement. I take a tentative step onto the balcony.
“You’re wild, you shop, you want fun. That’s you.” She takes another brief drink. “But what I really don’t like—”
I put my hand on the free chair and pause, giving her time to send me body language that says I’m either welcome to take the seat or better get my ass back inside. Judging by the return of her half-grin, I take a seat.
“What I don’t like, Jackie,” she looks me straight in the eyes, “is that you lied to me. You deliberately lied.”
I look down at my lap and begin to carelessly pick at the backs of my nails.
“I said you should talk to Andrew,” she says. “I said you shouldn’t just catch a plane and run away from your troubles.”
“I know,” I say, eyes still locked on my hands.
“Why’d you lie? Don’t you feel like you can be honest with me?”
“I don’t want you disappointed in me, Sophie. I just wanted to do something on my own—just do it—and I didn’t want to hear how I was being stupid.”
“Oh, Jack.”
“I’m serious. I do stupid stuff, and I knew you’d be upset with me if I told you I didn’t tell Andrew. I knew you would insist that I talk to him before I came. And—and—well.” I inhale deeply. “I just didn’t want to deal. I wanted to just do what I wanted, period.”
“Jackie.” She sighs and swats away a fly that’s buzzing about. “I’m sorry you feel that way. I don’t want to harangue you.”
“Eh.” I flick my wrist. “Sometimes I need a good harangue’n.”
“I bet Andrew’s worried sick about you.”
“Psh. Yeah, right.”
“Look, I know you two are going through rough times.” She places a gentle hand on my leg, and I look up. Her eyes are soft, welcoming, encouraging. “I believe Andrew loves you very much, and I can see it in your eyes that you love him, too.”
I can feel tears begin to rise from deep within, wanting to flow up and show themselves.
“In the park, the gardens,” she says. “During the picnic. I watched you. Those couples in the garden.”
“The kids,” I say with as much strength as I can muster. “I was watching the kids.”
“Yeah, and you were watching the couples. The young couple kissing, the elderly couple taking their dog on a walk, those American newlywed tourists…”
I blink hard, fighting off the tears trying to push forward.
“You want that love; you miss Andrew.” She grabs my hand. “You have a marriage that I can see in your eyes you want to fight for, that you don’t want to lose.” She squeezes my hand, and I blink long and hard. “No more lies. No more running.”
“It’s so hard, Sophie,” I whimper. “It’s so hard.”
“I know it is.” She squeezes my hand tighter, bouncing it on my leg. “But you have come so far in life. You’ve gone over leaps and hurdles that I’ve never seen anyone take on before. You’re a tough woman.”
I guffaw in jest, then quickly clamp my mouth shut as I feel the tears about to break through.
“You are!” She leans down and peers around, trying to meet my eyes. “You’ve come a long way, and I’m proud of you. Yes, you have got to really keep on growing up. It’s a journey; don’t stop it. But look at what you have done. You’ve made your way through college when it wasn’t easy. You did what your parents said you never could do—and went to school! You kicked the pot and that short but seriously stupid blow stage.” She rolls her eyes quickly. “You’re no longer dating horrible guys; you’ve married a man who, as difficult as things may be right now, really does love you. You’re in therapy and have been for a long time.”
“A long time,” I cut in. “Exactly. Tell ya somethin’?”
“Stop that. You know what I mean. Yes, you are full of drama, and yes, you are a bit self-consumed from time to time. But your heart is gold, and, Jack, seriously.” She touches my chin and pulls my face back towards her. “Do you honestly think Robin, Lara, Emily, Claire, and I would be your friend for ten years if we didn’t love the person—the soul—that you are? Truly?”
“You also kind of like me for my crazy drams, too, right?” I say in half-jest. “I do bring the party and entertainment to you?”
“In more ways than one,” she says with a laugh. “You’ve just gotta keep up the race, Jackie.”
“Oh, Sophie.” I look upwards at the sky in a last-ditch effort to quash any possible tears. “You can be so corny, I love you.”
“I’m serious, Jack. Stay strong and don’t give up.”
“No matter how bad it is?” I sniffle preemptively.
“It can always be worse.” She cocks her head to the side. “It may be bad, but this isn’t the worst. You can get through this.”
“What do I do now?” I look down at my hands and feel the heat of oncoming tears sting my eyes. “Andrew’s going to kill me for doing this.”
“Well, the trip over here, the splurging…” She motions in the general direction of the Seine. “It’s all water under Pont Neuf.”
I give a short, loud shot of laughter. “You sure are cheesy, Sophie.”
“That’s why you love me.”
“That and because of how awesome a friend you are to show me the best damn vacation of my life!” I wipe at my stinging eyes with the back of my hand.
“Minus the minor disaster at Eres,” she points out with a twisted mouth.
“Yeah. Faux pas, guess you’d call it?”
“Major faux pas, hon.” She claps my lap and leaps up. “Come on. It’s your last night here, and I know you’re not exactly looking forward to explaining yourself to Andrew tomorrow.”
I groan, rubbing harder at my eyes.
“Come.” She holds out her hand and wiggles her fingers. “Let’s get dolled up and go out. It’s our last night on the town and we are going to make a night of it.”
Chapter Thirty
I pull out my nearly empty pack of Parliaments and slap out a slim, refreshing cigarette. I haven’t been on the ground at Sea-Tac Airport an hour yet, and I’m already sweating bullets—craving that sweet and calming nicotine fix—as I think about going home to Andrew.
Sophie was right; I was off my rocker for fleeing town unannounced. It isn’t until now, after the fact of Paris, that I see where Emily was going with the whole “harm afterwards” thing. Andrew’s just going to be livid the moment he sees me. He’s going to be furious that I flew off and spent all this money.
I glance down at my collection of Louis Vuitton luggage and can’t help but let a grin and small chuckle slip out. I did some serious retail damage on the Champs-Élysées and up and down the Triangle d’Or. The gift-giving Andrew would be proud; the I-want-my-wife-controlled-and-on-the-mantel Andrew will, well… I don’t know what he’ll do or think.
As the cab driver races into
Downtown and approaches home, I muster up all the courage I can find. Easier to ask for forgiveness than permission, I repeat in my head.
I trail the doorman carrying my luggage, thinking that the length of the twelfth-floor hallway has doubled since I was last here. I catch myself keeping beat with my mental blabbering of Easier to ask for forgiveness— Step, step, step. Than for permission—Step, step, step. Easier to—
“Ma’am?” the doorman says.
I look up and stop abruptly in my tracks.
He’s standing at my front door, hands folded behind him, and he’s giving me an unreadable expression.
“Oh,” I say with a shake of my head. “We’re here.”
“I hope you enjoyed your trip,” he says. “Welcome home.” Then he stalks off.
“Yeah,” I huskily breathe out to myself. “Wish it could’ve lasted a lifetime.”
I root about in my deep Neverfull handbag, searching for my keys. Forgiveness, permission, I think. I take my keys in a nearly sweating palm. Forgiveness, permi—
Then I come to. Why the hell should I be asking for forgiveness? Okay, okay, so I did do a bit of lying. I already got a ribbing from Sophie for that. But why should I, a grown woman, feel guilty and like I need to beg for forgiveness like a child?
This is ridiculous. Just suck it up, girl!
And without a further thought I open the front door and charge right in, forgetting all about my luggage.
“Andrew?” I call out in a cautious voice—small and innocent-sounding. “Darling? Are you home yet?”
It’s Friday, approaching seven o’clock in the evening. It’s really anyone’s guess if he’s home or not.
“Andrew?” I swallow and nervously reach my hand towards the small table where we usually deposit our keys upon arrival. “I’m home,” I sing. “And—”
“Hello, Jackie.” The voice is deep, commanding.
When Girlfriends Let Go Page 24
