I stared into her angry eyes, seeing the genuine hurt she felt, like my doubt was a slap in the face. She was beautiful all the time, with makeup or without, when she was asleep or wide awake. But when she was emotional like this, there was something particularly magnetic about it. It was when I was most fascinated with her, when she spoke her mind candidly and with confidence. “Alright.”
I parked the car outside her apartment, and we walked up the steps of the stoop and then the staircase inside. Like before, there were envelopes underneath the door, telling her that the rent was late.
She tested the knob, and it was unlocked.
The door creaked open.
She stared inside, saw that it looked exactly the same as before, and then stepped into the room.
I followed behind her and watched her look around at the place that must have stopped feeling like home months ago. I could feel her energy in the room, feel a past I wasn’t a part of. I could picture her making dinner every night for her and her sister. I could picture her working upstairs in her office, while glancing up at the tower every time she took a sip of her coffee.
With her arms crossed over her chest, she looked around.
It seemed cruel to bring her to box up her possessions, never to return, but it was better than leaving it behind so someone would throw it all away. Her favorite books, family photos, keepsakes that meant a lot to her… It would just end up in the dump.
After a long pause, she grabbed a box and set it on the counter. She seemed to know exactly what she wanted to take because she grabbed the things and quickly put them inside.
I stayed by the door and watched.
She went upstairs a couple times, grabbing photo albums, picture frames, and books. She placed them inside and returned up the stairs.
I grabbed one of the picture frames and took a look.
It was a woman with two little girls. Even though the girls had the same eye color, I knew exactly which one was Raven. She looked to be maybe five at the time, sitting on her mother’s lap with that fiery brightness in her gaze…a shine that was still there to this day. I put it back in the box.
She stuffed the box with everything that meant something to her, and the last thing she placed inside was a purple scarf. “That’s everything.”
“You don’t want to take anything else?” She left behind all her furniture, clothes, and shoes. She didn’t touch anything in the kitchen, except removing a few magnets from the fridge.
She shook her head. “These are the only things that matter.” She pulled the box to the edge to pick it up.
I grabbed the top and slid it toward myself so I could carry it.
“I pick up boxes like that all the time at the camp.”
I picked it up and headed to the door. “I know.”
She placed her things in her old bedroom. It still held her new clothes and accessories, so she showered in that bathroom and set up her picture frames and photo albums. The two of us fell into a routine just the way we did at the camp, albeit it was completely different.
Whenever I was out of the house working, she spent her time walking around Paris, window-shopping with the money I gave her, buying coffees and pastries and books at the bookstore.
I never worried about her running again.
Sometimes, I worked on my laptop upstairs in the parlor, and she knew to leave me alone.
When we were together, we shared meals, went on walks, made love, stuff other couples did. It felt like a relationship, even though I’d never had a relationship like this before. There were a lot of odd things about it, given our circumstances, but the oddest thing about it was the foundation we stood on. She wasn’t just my lover, and she wasn’t just my friend…she was somewhere in between.
I came downstairs and saw her pull her purse over her head and onto the opposite shoulder then tug her hair free from the strap across the back of her neck. She was in a blue dress with her hair curled. When she heard me approach, she lifted her gaze and looked at me. “I’m going to the bookstore. Want to come with me?”
I read spreadsheets and emails, but that was it. “Sure.”
We left the apartment then walked side by side farther into the city. The cafes and shops came into view, people sitting outside and enjoying a cup of coffee with a baguette with a side of jam. We always stood a few feet apart. We didn’t show affection in public. It wasn’t my thing, and it didn’t seem to be hers either because she never tried to hold my hand or kiss me.
She entered the bookstore and browsed through the shelves.
“What are you looking for?”
She moved down the aisle and browsed the titles, most of them in French. “Nothing in particular. I just like the way it smells in here.”
“Like dust?”
“Like fresh pages, rich details, history…”
With my hands in my pockets, I walked alongside her.
“You should give it a chance.”
“I never cared for reading when I was in school.”
“What did you care for?”
I shrugged. “Math, science, stuff like that.”
She turned to look at me. “I didn’t know that.”
“Why would you?”
“I guess it makes sense. You seem more pragmatic and logical than most people.” She turned back to the books. “But I think you should give it another try. You might be surprised.” She stepped back so she could crane her neck and look higher up.
I left her side and walked down the aisles to see what was available, not that I would find something I liked. The books were new, but the shelves were dusty. My eyes scanned the titles, and the only time I stopped was when I was on the other side of the store.
I looked at the spine and read the title.
I pulled it off the shelf and opened the cover, looking through the words in French. I’d read this book a long time ago in school, but I couldn’t remember the details anymore. I closed the book and held it at my side.
“Have any recommendations?” A woman came to my side and addressed me in French.
I stepped back slightly because I’d been so focused on the book and not my surroundings. I replied back in French. “I don’t work here.”
“I know…just wanted a reason to talk to you.”
I gave her a blank stare before I walked away and returned to the other side of the store. Raven was still there, flipping through the pages of a book in her hand, oblivious to the world around her because the only thing that mattered was already in the palm of her hand.
When she felt my presence, she addressed me. “Find anything?”
I held up the book.
She looked away from her pages and stared at it, a slow smile coming onto her lips. “The Count of Monte Cristo…good choice.”
Twenty-Three
La Petite Amie
I waited in the downstairs living room, pulling back the sleeve of my tuxedo to check the time.
She was taking a long time to get ready.
I hated these social events, so I didn’t care about getting there on time anyway. She could take all night for all I cared. But she wouldn’t see Melanie, so it was her loss and not mine.
She finally stepped out of the bedroom, the dress fitting her like the designer made it with her in mind. Black was a great color on her, and the tightness over her chest highlighted the sexy cleavage she had. The high slit in the dress showed her toned and strong legs, the muscles prominent when she was in high heels like that.