As he makes to move by me, I reach out and grip his arm. He stops as I turn. Looking up at him, I see an expression so broken that I’m surprised he’s still able to breathe.
I offer him the only thing I am able. “She never did leave here that day.”
His eyes search my face, his expression never wavering as he moves away from me.
“Neither did I.”
Twenty-Eight
CONCLUSION
I DON’T KNOW how long I sit there on the riverbank, but as the sun begins to set, I feel as though the darkness is engulfing my very soul.This is it.I knew that at some stage, this would all be over. I just didn’t expect to feel as desolate as I now do, sitting here on the lonely, mossy bank.
The river, fluid and seamless as ever, continues to flow silent and strong, breathing life into its inhabitants, yet it remains as a cruel reminder of the life it took away.
Running my hands over my face and through my hair, I make myself stand. I know I can’t prolong this for much longer. I need to go back. I have to say goodbye.
The inky water swirls and shifts around the rocks. As I look up into the stars, I wonder how Chantel really felt that night.
How does one feel, knowing that her time is running out? Terrified? Angry?Or am I projecting my own feelings?Was she peaceful?That’s what I like to believe.I wonder if she felt scared.Did his arms bring her some semblance of comfort? A moment of solace?
Blinking away the brightness of the stars, I look out once more to where the moon shines over the trees lining the bank opposite me. As I stand there, I feel her come from out of theshadows. However, this time, I’m not scared. This time, as I stand here looking across the wide body of water, I feel my heart splinter and crack, wishing I could reach out to her. I wish I could be the one to comfort her.Am I insane?Ghosts don’t exist. I know that, but my eyes and the feeling I have deep inside my chest won’t let it go.
Although I might be hallucinating, as I stand here on the bank of the Fleuve Sauvage de Fleurs,I can see her.
She is standing by the water, toes touching the cool liquid, a long white dress flowing around her, hair dark as night surrounding her pale, beautiful face. As she stares back at me with eyes unseeing, I feel my own heart break for a woman I now love.
As Phillipe stands in his room, looking out at the old arbor, he tries to remind himself that what he did earlier was necessary. Reliving old wounds frees one’s soul, right?
Then why don’t I feel free?Instead, he feels trapped.
Standing down by the river tonight, he feltherthere, holding his hand, as he relived the most horrible night of his existence. Once again, she was there comforting him, letting him know that everything would be okay. When Gemma finally let him walk away, he knew that he was leaving them both by the river as broken as he was.
Closing his eyes, he takes a deep breath in and runs a hand through his hair. This is it. The story has been told, and the tale has now ended. He knows Gemma will be leaving soon. Although he has done everything he can to push her away, he still feels her inside of him almost as strongly as he felther.
When did this story morph? When did it change from a tale of two to a tragedy of three?
Shaking his head at his own selfishness and need to touch another, he berates himself for ever involving Gemma in the first place. When he first decided to grant this glimpse into his private life, he thought he would be smart. He planned to bring in a woman that did not resemble Chantel at all, someone who was the complete opposite of her, so he could look at her and feel nothing. That was not the case.
This independent, curious, and brave woman pushed her way in. She took everything he threw at her and stored it away behind a fierce wall of strength. She listened and shared in his love—his love of art, his love of music, and his love of a woman who was no longer here.
Gemma gaveherback to him in ways he couldn’t understand and would never have suspected possible. As a result, she also witnessed and shared in his agonizing heartache.
Turning away from the window, he moves to the locked closet. Opening it, he stares at the clothes still hanging untouched and cold. At the very end, still in the plastic garment bag, he finds what he was looking for. Avoiding all the other clothing, he reaches in and pulls it out.
Maybe if I do this?Maybe if he gives Gemma this, he can send her away, knowing she will be leaving with all of them, and she won’t be alone like him and, ultimately,her.
When I arrive back at the chateau, I go straight up to my room. I am under no illusions that my time here will continue. There are no more journal entries to be read. There are no more tales tobe told.The story is over. The problem I’m having is what to do with everything I now know.
I open the door to the room that has been my sanctuary for the past few weeks. I’m surprised to see that the small bedside lamp is turned on. As I move across the small space, I notice a dress lying across the bed. Stepping even closer, I spot a small note nestled in the V-neck of the soft material.
Gemma,
I’ll be waiting in the showroom.
Phillipe
I trace the rose trim of the bodice with my finger, then take a deep breath and close my eyes for a moment.
