Lost In Rewind (Audio Fools #3)

by Tali Alexander

  “No! Never! I wouldn’t change a thing, even knowing what I know now, I would still do it all the same. You are one of the best decisions I have ever made, and Jacob and Juliet are all the evidence I’ll ever need to know we were meant to be in each other’s lives. I have to believe that Joella deliberately intercepted my life, which greatly affected your life, and that’s what brought you to Will and me here.”

  She looks out toward the distance at the glistening water surrounding us.

  “Jeffery, that’s not why I’m upset; I know all of that. I don’t doubt our purpose or regret the choices that have gotten us to this point in our lives. I just don’t want you to move JJ away from me. I may not be your salvation, but they’re mine,” she begs with tears streaming down her cheeks.

  I gasp at her words and her fears. I get up and walk over to her and kneel at her feet. I make her a promise right here and now. “I will never move away. I will never take your kids away from you. I will never hurt you or them, ever again. I’ve done enough hurting to last me two lifetimes. You will always be a part of my heart and my soul. I will make sure you are always loved and that you have the most excellent life; the kind I promised you, but could never give you because it wasn’t me you were created for.”

  She wraps her arms around my neck, sobbing loudly into my shoulder. We stay huddled together like two lost children as the universe reveals itself with yet another piece of the puzzle.

  “I can’t believe that your Kali is actually your Sarah. Wait here,” she announces and runs inside, leaving me on deck alone.

  She returns with a pen in hand a few minutes later. She takes hold of my left hand and turns it to inspect my open palm. She finds with her fingers the faded place where I had her named tattooed under my wedding band fifteen years ago and writes S A R A H over it with her pen.

  “I’ll always be your first Sara, but I hope that she’ll be your last. Our kids will have both of us guarding them and you from now on, just like their mother promised them.”

  I nod and smile at her heartening comment.

  Sarah LeBlanc has no idea how many people she’s about to inherit, but I bet Joella Gitanos knew.

  “Alone” by Heart

  I’ve lived in Cassis for most of my life, and I never knew that one of the reasons my maman and my papa chose to live here was because of its proximity to Saintes-Maries-de-la-Mer. I sit in the place my parents visited over twenty-five years ago after they got married to ask the black Madonna—Sarah la Kali—for guidance and protection. My papa told me a few weeks ago that my maman vowed to name her first daughter after her beloved saint as a token of her love and devotion. I now realize that all the women in my life, in their own way, are connected to this patron saint of the Gitan people, which I am proud to be a descendent of.

  With my papa’s blessing, I have decided that I must join this pilgrimage for my soul that somehow got lost between here and there. This grand festival to honor Saint Sarah only takes place once a year, and I’m fortunate to be here on this magical, warm day in May.

  I have spent over four hours standing in this crypt below the church of Saint Michael with the statue of Saint Sarah watching over me. I have told her about everything and everyone that lives inside my heart, both dead and alive, and I hope she will hear and answer my prayers like only she can.

  The sense of loneliness that wouldn’t let me stay in Rhode Island has greatly diminished since I came back to my place of birth. I now get to carry the matriarch of my family with me everywhere I go, tucked inside my heart, never again allowing myself to feel alone. I kiss the locket dangling around my neck with the solace of knowing the women I’ve lost will always guide me. I have transported and hidden all of Joella’s journals just as she left them—unopened, un-violated—except one. The saint I was named after, the same glorious daughter of God that I now sit at her feet, graced the leather covers of the one journal that was meant for me to find and read. My grand-mère has been writing my book since before I was born, moving all the pieces necessary to help the stars align. I have vowed to my papa to never read beyond the point I am at right now or how my life will one day end, but I have read enough to know that I am in the right place and on the right path.

  As hard as I’ve tried, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about him once from our one night together over a half a year ago. I don’t feel bitter for having met and touched him, and with the new direction my heart has swung, I accept my destiny and his contribution to it. He will forever be etched in my past, and I will forever be grateful to my grand-mère for bringing a mysterious stranger named Jeffery Rossi into my life, even if for one night.

  I smile as I realize that he will never understand what I now know, and perhaps that, too, is for the best. My chest aches as I recite Joella’s words to him in my mind. She wrote in her journal that Godfrey will come carrying the key to my future, and he did. I think back to how clear and simple my grand-mère’s words to him were. She was describing me in her prophecy—I am the girl with the biblical name, it was my hands that create the music she spoke of, but Jeff has no idea. He believes Joella made a mistake, but she never made a mistake, and he will never have the privilege of knowing.

  In a positive mindset, I recognize the role I was meant to play in his life, in his moment of weakness, and I’m indebted for the role he played in mine. I try to not think or imagine him outside our short, fated interaction, because it’s senseless and still painful. I’m certain he went back to that young girl he always loved—Eddie’s little sister, now that his wife has passed away and fate no longer stands in their way. I’m sure they found each other—as lovers always do. I don’t wish him mal, and I truthfully hope they finally have a happy life together. I will do my best to have a beautiful life as well.

  I enfold my arms around my own waist for a much-needed hug. All will be fine, I promise myself. I have grown up in the past six months, more than I had in six years. My existence now has priorities that are not based on juvenile impulses and curiosity. I ceased wishing for silly, unimportant things, such as for him to call, text, or come find me. I now only have one wish to be the strong person I need for myself, and never require more than what God gave me in order to feel whole.

  I have brought my beloved violin that once belonged to my maman—and before that, to Joella and her mère—and I’ve been joining in accompaniment of the divine melody emanating from dozens of guitars played by other gypsies that have come to honor this female deity almost all day. The hymns that fill this crypt have completely restored my aching soul, making me postulate that maybe I’ve been here hundreds of times before, and perhaps, in a way, my soul has.

  I inhale the scent of burning candles that light the prominent shrine, causing a sense of suspended euphoric reality; an enchanting environment. I would never be able to recap or explain to another person this feeling unless they came and stood next to me and witnessed her spirit for themselves.

  I stand on the long line to re-enter the underground shrine after taking a quick break to give my fingers and legs a rest.

  “This is amazing.”

  I hear someone speak English and look up immediately. The Provençal festival of St. Sarah has been known to bring thousands of tourists to this little seaside town, and I’m not at all surprised that a few Americans have found their way to the crypt. Two women stand in line directly in front of me, and it’s obvious they can’t contain their delight at the visual feast taking place a few feet away from them.

  I try to continue my peaceful meditation and absorb all the positive energy dancing around me, but I can’t help but listen in on their conversation, excited at being able to understand them.

  “Is it weird that we’re here?” The blonder woman asks the taller girl.

  “They don’t know we’re Jewish. You look like a shiksa anyway.”

  They both snort out an infectious kind of laugh that I can’t help but smile and silently join in on. By their comfort and ease, they seem as if they’ve know
n each other for years, perhaps they’re even sisters. As an only child growing up on a secluded vineyard without a mama and fearing the sea, I didn’t have many friends besides my musical instruments. I unintentionally become extremely envious when I see female friendships that someone like me can only dream about.

  “Do you think he’ll ever find her?” The shorter blond asks her friend—or sister.

  “I hope so. I’m afraid his heart can’t take any more pain … similar to how I was when Liam found me in London.”

  I look up to see the two women huddled together, resting their heads and drawing comfort in one another.

  “I was worried you’d be hurt by all this. He meant so much to you for so long that I couldn’t imagine the two of you moving on together like this.”

  A burst of adrenaline fuels my interests as I feel like a spy listening in on a conversation not meant for my ears, but these two women have completely captivated me, and now I can’t concentrate on anything but their tête-à-tête. I close my eyes as if praying, but really, I’m just eavesdropping.

  “Being loved by Liam and starting a life with him is beyond anything I’ve ever imagined for myself, but as happy as I was, there was still a piece of me that was missing. JJ and Jeffery … they’ll always be a part of me, and I need to be a part of them for my life to feel complete. We’ve both come to the conclusion that I don’t love him the way I love Liam, and he doesn’t love me the way he loved his wife, and that’s okay. Look at our children—they were the reason we came together. I want him to be a happy person and the perfect father I’ve watched him be from a distance, and for that, he needs another person to remind him that he’s human. He thinks he’s a villain, but he’s not. He’s just a good guy who got lost. He needs one woman and one life, a kind of life he doesn’t need an escape from. I’m not that woman—I never was, but I think she is. He needs to find her, I feel it in my bones. Our relationship reminds me of that song, ‘Making Love Out of Nothing At All’ by Air Supply.”

  I’m pretty sure I stopped breathing when the taller American mentioned the name Jeffery. I’m not sure if I’ve even heard her correctly, or if I’m just hearing what I want to hear. I haven’t uttered his name since I told Lauren about him, and hearing his name now feels illusory. I summon all my will to stay put and not bother these two American women. I want to ask the taller one if it’s Jeffery Rossi she’s referring to, and if by chance, she happens to be Eddie’s little sister? But that would be preposterous. There is zero way they could possibly know my Jeffery—well, he’s not mine in a physical sense, but he was mine for a short moment in time, and he will always be mine to me.

  Panic quickly spreads down my body and I suddenly can’t find enough air to breathe, as if the hundreds of lit candles around me are using up all the oxygen left in this tiny space. The concave walls around me unexpectedly begin to cause a claustrophobic anxiety that I’ve never before experienced.

  I step out from my place in the line, making more noise than I should, and begin to push myself out. I need to get out of here now! I’m a bit disoriented as dark spots smudge my vision. Which way is the exit? Sweat forms around my lips and I strain to ventilate my lungs, but there isn’t enough air here. I need to go outside.

  In my imagination, I hear one of the women—the one who spoke his name—call after me. In my mind, she yells “excuse me, miss” over and over, but it’s safe to say I have an overactive imagination, and I just need to get out of this overcrowded space fast, or I’ll faint.

  Where did all the air go?

  “All Out of Love” by Air Supply

  I clutch a fragile violin that I’m afraid might crumble in my hands by the look of its age. I doubt this old artifact can even produce any music; it looks as if it may dissolve if someone attempts to play it. Sara and Emily have given up trying to pursue the girl they claim this violin belongs to. If it weren’t for the fact that I saw Sarah play a violin that morning on the floor in her apartment before I left her to go back to my children, I’d think nothing of this ancient-stringed instrument, but this can’t be a coincidence, it must be hers. I have no doubt that Emily and Sara were at the right place at the right time.

  We’ve been scattered in a military style deployment throughout this little village of Saintes-Maries-de-la-Mer in the worst possible time to be here. There are way too many tourists and caravans everywhere with some kind of gypsy festival taking place in the next two days. After I gave my A-team Kali’s real name, we were able to received confirmation from Will’s father that the driver brought Kali—I mean, Sarah—to a small boutique hotel. I was there at the little hotel waiting in the lobby and knocking on her door for hours without any luck. Louis and Will spent all day driving Emily and Sara around town to try and maybe spot her on the avenues, which is useless with the amount of people wandering the streets. Thank God Eddie and Michelle had been entertaining all our children or we’d get nowhere.

  The sun has already set and we’re all back onboard sharing our findings, or in my case, lack of. I didn’t think it would be this hard to locate her, but I’ve had no prospects whatsoever. The only semi-interesting discoveries from our fruitless quest have come from the women. Emily has told us about some church she and Sara were told to go and investigate—being the number one tourist destination in Saintes-Maries-de-la-Mer. They somehow made it to the basement of said church after waiting in line for hours. They found out it was a very holy gathering place for gypsies who come from around the world to honor Saint Sarah, which I have deduced is the same place that Mr. LeBlanc had named and described to me. Emily goes on to tell us about the big crowds and the dimly candlelit crypt, how it was very loud, and men were playing guitars and singing songs. Emily produces a black Madonna statue, which she purchased, and announces that she will now be adding this unusual yet powerful relic to her long list of non-Jewish holiday paraphernalia, to which Louis promises that he’ll kill her if she observes one more fucking holiday that she has no business celebrating. But it’s clear that Emily will do whatever her heart wants, whether Louis approves or not, and he will love her for it.

  Emily then continues to narrate their emotional experience at the church. How they were ready to leave and then heard a loud sound behind them. It’s Sara who noticed this violin on the floor, and picked it up before it was trampled over. Sara then tells us how a dark-haired girl running out toward the door caught her attention, and that the two of them tried to catch up to her. When asked if the violin was theirs, all the other people shook their heads; therefore, they concluded that the instrument had to belong to the girl who ran out. They assumed she must’ve dropped it without realizing. Long story short—by the time they made their way above ground, the girl was gone, swallowed by the crowd surrounding the church, and they were left holding on to this violin which they now don’t know what to do with, or who to return it to.

  It has to be her violin.

  “What’s your next move, mate?” Will comes over and hands me a beer.

  “I’m gonna go back to the hotel where they confirmed she checked in yesterday, and hopefully, she’ll be back in her room by now.” I haven’t let go of the violin, because in my heart, I know it’s hers and I wish it were her I was holding onto and protecting right now instead of this wooden apparatus. “I can’t imagine it being very safe to be out alone this late.” I unconsciously tighten my grip as I feel one of the strings from the violin loosening from under my fingers. I look down and an overwhelming sense of fear blooms inside. What if something were to happen to her? What if someone tries to hurt her? What if we can’t find her? What if I never see her again?

  Will, probably reading my doomed facial expressions, puts his hand on my shoulder and says reassuringly, “Jeff, stop imagining the worse. She’ll be ace until you find her. And you will find her. The whole bloody universe is conspiring to bring you two together. It’s gonna bloody happen, mate.”

  I smile, because he’s right. I need to stay optimistic and believe that things will w
ork out. We didn’t come this far to fail.

  I pat his hand, still on my shoulder, and say, “Congratulations. I heard you’re somebody’s husband.” I joke around with the only man that deserves to be her husband.

  “I was itching to tell you, but she made me promise to keep a tight lid until she had the chance to speak to you first. I’m going to make up for all the rubbish we had to endure up to now, I want to give her the stars,” he vows, looking up at the clear, star-littered sky. I’m convinced that there is no man alive who could love Sara more than Will.

  We engulf each other in a man hug, and this is definitely not how I envisioned my life, but I couldn’t be happier for them and the good life I know they’ll have, content that, in a small way, the children and I will be a part of it.

  “Go fetch your little buttercup, mate. We need to meet this Sarah of yours.” He winks.

  I’m already walking toward the stairs to take a ride back to the hotel I spent most of the day scouting for her in, and hopefully, she’s back in her room, safe.

  “I promise I won’t come back without her,” I call out from the steps.

  “That’s the spirit!” I hear him yell back at me.

  She better be back at the hotel, or this may prove to be a very long, hard night for me. I was serious about not coming back without her, or at least news of her. Fate has to step in and help me find my Sarah.

  “Thief of Hearts” by Melissa Manchester

  It’s almost midnight, and I should go back to my hotel and not be here alone this late. I’m supposed to act like an adult and take care of myself because no one else will. In my delusional state of mind, I ran out like a madwoman upon overhearing his name, and as luck would have it, I somehow lost my beloved violin. I went back to the church twice already, but I haven’t been able to find it, or anybody who’s seen it. I’ve been assured that nobody returned a lost violin. How could I have dropped one of my most precious possessions? How could I have been so careless? I wonder if perhaps someone may have found it on the floor and just decided to keep it as a toy or souvenir? Or maybe it was stepped over, crushed, and reduced to dust—like me.