It’s five o’clock by the time we drive away from our last town for the day. I can’t help it. I feel defeated. No matter how many times Jonah assures me that we’ll find answers, today has not boosted my confidence.
I look at the list of towns crossed out. We went to ten of them. My doubt weighs heavy on my chest. What if I don’t ever find her? What if I’ve done all of this for nothing?
My discouraging thoughts are interrupted when Jonah pulls into the parking lot of a hotel. I stare out the window at the three-story red brick mansion. A green awning over the front door has the words L’hotel de la Mer painted in white.
“I thought we’d be staying in a motel or something.”
“It’s not as fancy as it looks.”
That turns out to be both true and false. The hotel is, in fact, very fancy, in a trapped-in-the-early-twentieth-century sort of way. The light blue carpet in every room is worn in places, and the paintings on the walls are in need of a good dusting, but the furnishings are elegant.
Jonah checks us in and gives me a key to my room. He then leads me up to the second floor, and down a long narrow hallway, stopping at two doors near the end. I try my key, and step into a bright, airy room.
The walls are covered in blue and white damask wallpaper, and a bedspread over the queen bed is a similar shade of blue. Aside from two bedside tables and a set of drawers in the same dark wood, there’s no other furniture. The view from the window looks out over the street, with a sliver of ocean in the distance.
Turning back toward the hall, I see Jonah unlock his door, directly opposite. He gives me a quick smile, and then disappears inside, closing the door behind him.
I don’t expect the loneliness that follows the quiet.
My thoughts turn somber, back to all the places we visited. The people we spoke with. It was a trying day. Eye-opening and heartbreaking, hearing the different accounts of the war. What struck me the most was how fresh the memories were for some. You could see it in their eyes, their ordeal unaltered by the passage of time.
What was even more surprising was Jonah and the empathy he showed to each person. The way he listened, patiently translating everything. It was a stark contrast to the man I met only days ago. His actions were entirely selfless, and yet I still can’t understand his reasons for helping me.
Maybe it’s because I wanted to get to know you more.
Why does that answer frighten me more than any other?
After a quick shower, needing to wash the travel off of me, I try to figure out what to wear. We didn’t talk about what our plan was for the evening, so I have no idea how I’m supposed to dress.
Staring at the different tops I bought with me, I figure a t-shirt is too casual. I pick up a lacy black camisole but realize it’s too dressy. Instead, I choose a sleeveless yellow peplum top. It’s comfortable and feminine, but with my dark jeans, passes as dress-casual. Going to the mirror, I run a brush through my hair then pull it up into a ponytail.
Taking out my makeup bag, I start with foundation, planning to do a very quick look. I reach for my mascara when I see my eyeliner and decide to add just a little. This leads to mascara, blush, highlighter on my cheeks, and a soft pink lipstick. I finish off the look with blue feather earrings and a quick spray of Chanel perfume.
Standing back, I look at my reflection, happy with how it turned out. It’s the most effort I’ve made in a while, and I feel a boost of confidence. That is until the embarrassment sets in.
What am I doing?
That fluttering in my stomach returns with abandon and I sit at the edge of my bed trying to get a grip on myself. This is ridiculous. I don’t like Jonah.
I don’t.
He’s arrogant and conceited, and has been a pain in my ass since I met him. Okay, sure he’s handsome, and he’s being unusually kind with helping me, and he’s shown a side of himself today that is surprisingly quite sweet. But let’s not forget the shit he’s pulled in the little time I’ve known him.
There’s no way I like him.
Frustrated, I grab my handbag and head downstairs, deciding to distract myself with a tour. A little exploration leads me to discover a laundry room, a small dining area, a large collection of tourist pamphlets, and an ice machine. Off the lobby is a sitting area, and as I turn to walk away, I notice an upright piano in the corner.
I can’t help myself. I go over and touch my fingers to the keys, expecting it to be out of tune. It isn’t. I glance over my shoulder, not seeing anyone else around, so I take a seat on the stool.
A familiar feeling comes over me. That sense of coming home. With my eyes closed, I can imagine my grandpa close by, watching, unable to stop himself from instructing me, even after all these years, his guidance as present as ever.
Focus and then forget.
The mantra he always told me before every recital. His way of reminding me to get out of my head and play from my heart.
Alright, Grandpa.
I brush the keys and begin to play, the soft melancholic tune filling the room. It’s escapism at its best, being transported somewhere else, an ephemeral connection between the music and myself, lasting only as long as the song does.
When I finish, my fingers playing the last chord, the world around me returns to my peripheral, and I notice that someone else is in the room.
Turning around, I see Jonah leaning against the doorframe, his arms folded across his chest. His eyes are on me, watching. He’s also changed clothes, the black pants and button-up olive green shirt dressier than the t-shirt and shorts he was wearing earlier. He’s shaved too, the smooth lines of his jaw prominent. I drop my gaze back to the piano.
“What were you playing?” he asks. “I don’t think I’ve heard that before.”
“You wouldn’t have. It’s my own.” When I look at him, I find his eyes intent upon me.
“You wrote that?”
“It’s called Sunflower. Not the most innovative title, but I was fourteen.”
His gaze deepens. “You’re incredible.”
I avert my eyes, embarrassed at his sincerity. At the way he observes me.
“Do you think I could take you to dinner?”
There’s something in the way he asks it that has me feeling nervous. “I owe you for lunch,” I say, trying to deflect my awkwardness.
The intensity in his gaze doesn’t shift. “You can get lunch tomorrow. Tonight is on me.”
I try not to read into it, but I can’t help myself. With my breath caught in my throat, I nod, and wonder all the while. Did Jonah just ask me out on a date?
As we walk down the street, I find myself stealing glances at him. Maybe it’s all in my head, and dinner is just dinner. Do I want it to be a date? Do I want Jonah to like me? I begin a mental pros and cons list, trying to get a handle on my conflicting emotions when I remember what he said to me at lunch.
You like being in control.
Control. How do I explain that it’s not even about that? For so long, taking care of Grandpa, I got used to being needed, having someone rely on me for everything. And then, one day, that was gone.
How can I tell him that it’s not control that I’m afraid to relinquish, it’s the thought of being missed? Of my decisions mattering to someone else other than me. The need of having my absences noticed, my bad days comforted, my bullshit confronted.
It’s the idea that in a big, bad, lonely world, I’m not actually alone.
“You alright?” he asks as we turn onto the quay.
I quickly neutralize my face, hoping my thoughts aren’t playing across it. “I’m fine, just hungry.”
“Then it’s good that we’re here.”
He points to a quaint restaurant, the wood painted a light sky blue, the windows overlooking the water. Jonah holds the door open for me, and I notice the stained glass above depicting a mermaid. I’m suddenly overcome with a sense of déjà vu. It’s so powerful, and yet confusing.
I’ve never been here before.
A hostess leads us to an attached conservatory. There are plants everywhere, as though we’ve stepped through to some enchanting garden. Light pours in from the glass ceiling above, casting a soft glow over the room.
“This place is incredible,” I say once we’re seated. It’s early still, and only a few of the tables are occupied, each spaced enough for privacy.
“The reviews online said the food is really good.”
I try not to overthink that he looked in advance.
The menu is a great distraction for my nervousness. Jonah dictates it to me, and we decide to share a few plates with a bottle of Merlot. Between ordering and the return of our waiter with the wine, the conversation is easily navigated, the topic circling entirely around food and drink.
The French cuisine ends up being the best I’ve ever tasted. At some point, the conversation turns to Fiona and Zoe. I tell him about the restaurant we worked at, and the trouble we used to get up to.
“It’s a weird but wonderful thing,” I say after finishing my last bite. “Seeing a friend become a parent. One minute you’re at college, getting drunk on a Monday night, and then suddenly they’re responsible for this little creature.”
Jonah refills our wine glasses. “Do you want kids?”
It’s one of those questions that can still the air between two people getting to know one another. “Maybe,” I say honestly. “I suppose I’m on the fence about it. Fiona always knew she wanted to be a mom, and Zoe always knew she didn’t. I’ve never felt strongly one way or the other.”
He traces his finger around the base of his glass. “I have a mate back in England who had a kid when he was sixteen.”
“Sixteen, wow, that’s young.”
“I remember at the time thinking that that was it, his life was over. We all went off to university, but Chris had to stay behind and get work. He started a trade, became a plumber. You know what though? Of all my friends, he’s the happiest. Married, got a good set-up, had a couple more kids since then. And Jack, his firstborn, turns eighteen this year. He’s off to Oxford in the fall.”
“That’s amazing.”
“Yeah,” he agrees. “Some of my other mates that I graduated with though, they did the whole dance, got married, had some kids. They don’t seem as happy.”
“Why do you think that is?” I ask, picking up my wine.
“I don’t know. Maybe it’s that some people, like Chris, can take a difficult situation and make something great out of it. For some, though, it’s like they fall into their lives. They settle, even if it’s not what they want.”
“And what about you? What is it you want?”
His brow creases in thought. “I think it’s more what I don’t want.”
“Let me guess, marriage and kids?”
He shakes his head. “No, I’m all for that, if it’s the right thing. What I don’t want is to live by other people’s expectations. Get that job, marry that person because I’m supposed to. Because it’ll look good on some social media profile. If or when those things happen, it won’t be because I’m following some preconceived plan. It’ll be arbitrary.”
It’s not the most romantic description of love I’ve ever heard, yet there’s something in his confidence that I wish I had myself. That assuredness. Trusting that you’ll make the right decision when the time calls for it.
“What did you study at university?” I ask him.
“Computer science.”
“Have you always liked computers?”
“I like problem solving,” he says, taking a sip of his drink. “Knowing that there’s an answer, and if I find the right algorithm, then I can fix it.”
It’s not the reply I was expecting. “I’ve never loved math.”
“Music is mathematic, though, isn’t it?”
“I suppose you can draw lines of comparison, but with math you’re trying to get to an answer. It’s logical, structured.”
“And music isn’t like that?”
I consider what he’s asking. “I like to think that music is a living thing, constantly evolving. I mean, look at jazz, the way it emerged from the African American community in New Orleans at the turn of a turbulent time. It wasn’t about control and rules, but about improvisation and expression. There’s something organic to it. And you can hear that still.”
He gives me a lopsided grin. “You really love it, don’t you?”
“Jazz?”
“Music.”
It’s a simple but yet impossible question. “The only way I can explain it is that’s it’s the one language that always made sense to me.” His gaze deepens, and I pick up my glass, needing the distraction. “Do you like being an interface user...” I trail off, not remembering the proper title.
“User interface designer.” He laughs. “Yeah, I do. I like seeing something go from concept to reality.”
“But you have a bar, too, right?”
There’s the slightest shift in his expression, the subtlest shadow crossing his features. “Yeah.”
I’m curious but decide not to press it.
“What about you, do you like teaching?”
I wonder if he sees a similar shadow cross my own face. “I don’t know if I want to teach anymore.” I’m surprised at how easy the words fall from my lips.
“What would you like to do instead?”
I swirl my glass, watching the wine settle. “That is the million dollar question.”
“You should play.”
He says it so casually and yet with unfaltering conviction. “You’ve only heard me play once.”
He shrugs. “I may not be a pianist myself, but I grew up hearing what a great one sounds like. But you don’t need me or anyone else to say it. You know how good you are. Maybe you just need to remember why you play.”
It’s a profound statement, and one that hits deeply, striking the core of my grief.
“Did I say something wrong?” he asks, watching me.
I shake my head, grappling with raw emotions. “I never would have thought there’d be a time when I’d even question playing. Up until recently, it was my entire life.”
“What happened?”
The memories flood back like it was yesterday. “My grandpa got sick. I couldn’t tour and take care of him at the same time.”
He sighs in understanding. “That’s why you started teaching.”
“The job at the university allowed me the time to be there with him. I hired a nurse to help out during the day, and at night we’d listen to music, or I’d play for him. Anything to help take his mind off it. Really, I think I was just trying to pretend that things weren’t getting worse.” I down the rest of my wine and Jonah quickly refills it.
How can time seem to have passed so quickly and yet not at all? “I tried to play after, but I couldn’t feel him anymore. Not even through the music. It made it worse somehow.”
“And what about now?” he asks.
“Now? I don’t know. The piano still feels like the only place I can make sense of things. But it’s different. Not as easy as it used to be.”
He looks at me intently. “I hope I get to hear you play again someday.”
The sincerity in his voice catches me off-guard, the air between us becoming heavy. I’m saved from having to attempt a reply by the return of the waiter.
After dinner, as we exit the restaurant, I feel my nerves firing. Walking to the edge of the quay, I stare out at the ocean, inhaling a deep, steadying breath. The sun is slowly making its way toward the horizon, a few dark gray clouds rolling in from the east. There’s a smell in the air that makes me think it’s going to rain.
“Do you want to go for a walk?” Jonah asks, coming up beside me.
All thoughts of the weather disappear. “Sure.”
We head in the opposite direction of the hotel, following the trail along the harbor. It’s quiet, with very few people on the streets. That sense of déjà vu returns, and I wonder what it could mean. I once read somewhere that it’s a sign you’re exactly where you’re meant to be. I’m not sure if I believe that, but there’s comfort to be found in the thought.
Could it mean I’m on the right path? That I’m going to find her?
Jonah gently nudges me. “Penny for your thoughts.”
“Sorry. I was thinking about my grandmother. Wondering if there’s a chance we’ll find out who she was.”
“We’re going to do everything we can.”
“Thank you,” I say, meaning it. “And not just for coming with me. Though it’s nice not to have to do this alone.”
The smile he gives me highlights those dimples once again. “You’re not getting sick of me yet?”
Quite the opposite. The thought comes from nowhere, and I feel my cheeks blush. “Well, it is only the first day. I’m sure you’ll do something to make me mad tomorrow.”
His laughter carries on the wind. “See, we are getting to know one another.”
We reach the edge of the town, a country road stretching out ahead. Crossing it, we choose a narrow cobblestone lane, and head back in the direction of the hotel. We’re not halfway down when the rain begins to fall.
“That came in fast,” I say, hugging my arms around my chest, the temperature dropping significantly.
“Damn, I thought we were gonna miss it.”
As though in response, the skies open up, the rain hitting the ground with fury. Within seconds my clothes are soaked through.
“Come,” Jonah says, quickly leading me over to a covered passage. “It shouldn’t take too long. We can wait it out here.”
He looks up, studying the angry clouds blanketing the sky. I watch as he runs a hand through his hair, the color even darker from the rain. My eyes slowly drift down. He’s as soaked through as I am, the material of his shirt clinging to his body.
It’s one hell of a body.
He turns and catches me looking, but I don’t drop my gaze. Instead, I dig for a little courage and keep my eyes fixed on his. We don’t move or speak, the rain falling harder as my breathing shallows.
Then all at once, he moves, reaching for me as his lips meet mine. Within seconds, my surprise gives way to need. I open my mouth to his as he gently presses me against the wall.
Gripping the wet fabric of his shirt, I draw him in, trailing my fingers across the lines of his back, his muscles tensing beneath my touch. The kiss intensifies as he braces the wall with one hand, the other moving slowly up my neck.
When he reaches my face, he pulls his mouth from mine, his breathing labored, his eyes heavy upon me. He runs his thumb across my lower lip before kissing me again, softly.
“Catriona!” The name comes sharply to mind and out my mouth before I can stop it.
Jonah stares at me, startled. “What?”
Well, I can’t take it back now. “Are you and her ... is she your—”
“She’s a friend,” he says.
“But the way your dad made it sound.”
“She’s a friend,” he repeats emphatically as he releases his hold on me.
I move away from the wall, putting some distance between us. “We shouldn’t have ... this was a mistake.”
“Why?”
I’m not sure I have an answer.
He seems to realize, and takes a step toward me, then another.
“What are we doing?” I ask, my voice barely heard over the rain.
He lifts his hand, gently touching my cheek. “This,” he says, leaning forward and kissing me slowly.
My doubts fade away, a stirring need taking their place. My fingers are at his hips once more, pulling him closer.
Everything around us disappears, his mouth on mine the only connection to time passing. When we finally draw apart, I have no idea how long we’ve been there. The rain has stopped, the world gone quiet in its wake.
“We should get out of these wet clothes,” he says, tucking a lock of hair behind my ear.
All I can do is nod.
We step out from under the shelter and back into the lane. The clouds have gone, the sky turned a soft pink and orange. Everything feels different somehow, as though the world has altered slightly. When Jonah reaches for my hand, entwining his fingers with mine, I get the feeling the sky has nothing to do with it.