When Jonah and I left for Mont-Saint-Michel we were staring into the face of uncertainty. Just over twenty-four hours later, as we pull up into the driveway of the B&B, everything has changed.
“So I was thinking,” Jonah says as we grab our bags from the trunk. “Next weekend we should take a trip to Paris.”
“That’s a very romantic idea.”
“I thought so, too.” He takes my hand, and we walk down the path towards the barn. “Did you know my parents wanted to start hosting events here?” he asks.
“I did hear something about that.”
He pushes the door open for me. “Do you think you’d be interested in playing?”
“Piano?” I walk inside and drop my bag on the floor.
“Are there other instruments you play?”
I consider that for a moment. “I’m not terrible with a ukulele.”
“I’m sure you’re not,” he says suggestively.
“What about you? You could play guitar.”
“That’s a hard pass.” He laughs. “You couldn’t pay me to play in front of people.”
“Shame.” I walk over to the kitchen. “I’ve always had a thing for guitarists. All that skill in those fingers.”
I barely take another step before Jonah’s hands are at my waist, turning me to face him. “Well, you’ve seen what I can do with my fingers,” he says, leaning in close.
A familiar stirring takes root, and I reach my hand around his back, drawing him in. “I might have forgotten.”
He smirks and lifts me up onto the kitchen island. “How about a reminder?” His fingers trail down my neck, across my stomach, and further down still.
“Jonah! Anyone walking by could see us.”
He follows my gaze to the window overlooking the garden, the evening sun still offering plenty of light. When he looks back at me, there’s a hunger in his eyes. “I think we need a shower.”
He helps me down and then takes my hand, leading me over to the bathroom. I wait at the door while he turns on the faucet. He pulls off his shirt, and I stay where I am, enjoying the show.
“You know,” he says, undoing his jeans. “This would be a lot more fun if you got naked.”
“Oh, I’m already having fun.” I let my gaze travel over him.
He takes off the rest of his clothes, and I feel a fire ignite within me, watching as he steps under the rainfall showerhead. He runs his hands through his hair, the muscles in his arms contracting. I decide I’ve reached the limit of my observation.
Quickly removing my own clothing, I join him, slowly tracing my fingers down his back. He turns and bends his mouth to mine, and then grips my waist, turning me around. Bracing my hands against the wall, I feel his hand on the back of my thigh, trailing higher and higher.
“Tell me,” he murmurs into my ear, “if any of this is familiar.”
We lay languidly in Jonah’s bed, the sheets damp from the water we brought upstairs with us. With my head on his shoulder, I feel his chest rise and fall. Then all at once it hastens, the sound of his laughter filling the air.
“What?” I ask, craning to look up at him.
“I just realized I never got my jumper back.”
“What jumper?”
“The one I gave you that night at Omaha.”
“Oh, you mean the night you left me alone, in the pouring rain?”
“Yeah, that’s the one.”
His laughter increases, and I narrow my eyes at him. “That wasn’t funny.”
“It wasn’t,” he agrees. “I was freaking out the whole way back to the beach. I thought you were going to kill me.”
“Trust me, I wanted to.”
“I felt terrible.” He moves his hand slowly over my back. “When you got into the car and started shivering, all I wanted to do was take you in my arms.”
“I wouldn’t have appreciated it,” I say, remembering how angry I was.
He smiles. “No, I don’t think you would have. That’s why I offered the jumper instead.”
“Is this your not-so-subtle way of asking for the sweater back?”
“No, you can keep it.”
I turn myself over to face him. “What made you think of that?”
“I don’t know. I guess I was thinking about when we first met.”
Resting my chin on his chest, my thoughts go back to that day. “I remember thinking how handsome you were.”
“Oh yeah?”
“But then you opened your mouth and spoke.”
His body vibrates with laughter. “You know what I thought when I first saw you?”
“That I was an ignorant American?”
“I only thought that after I heard you talk.” He laughs at my playful glare. “When I first saw you, you were on the couch in the parlor, and you turned your head to look at me. There was this expression on your face, like you’d been expecting me. I don’t know if it makes any sense, but I got this feeling as though we knew each other, as though we’d had that exact experience before.”
“Déjà vu,” I say, contemplative. “I’ve been getting that a lot here.”
“I’ve never felt anything like it. To be honest, it freaked me out a little bit.” He runs his fingers through my hair and down my back. “The more time we spent together, the stronger the feeling got.”
“What do you think it means?”
“I don’t know,” he says, pensive.
“A more spiritual person might say we met in a past life.” I expect him to laugh the notion off, but he doesn’t.
“I guess that kind of makes sense.”
“Really?” I ask, surprised by his response.
He looks at me, a slight smile on his lips. “I’d like to think that whatever lives we’ve lived, I’ve found you in every one of them.”
I don’t expect the tenderness of his words, the way he speaks them without a hint of pretense. Moving closer, I bring my lips close to his. “I’m glad we found one another in this life.” I kiss him slowly, wanting him to feel the truth of my words.
Jonah tucks a lock of hair behind my ear. “Are you hungry?”
“Always,” I say with a grin.
We get out of bed, and I head downstairs to the bathroom to retrieve my clothes and run a brush through my tangled hair. When I join Jonah in the kitchen, he’s changed into track pants and a t-shirt. Even in his casual appearance he takes the breath from my lungs.
It’s not just the lines of him, the body I’ve come to find as familiar as my own. The connection between us has gone so much deeper than physical, beyond anything I could have foreseen.
I came to France looking for my past.
I never expected to find my future.
“Do you like olives?” Jonah asks, oblivious of my pondering.
“Love them.”
He goes to the pantry and pulls out a jar. “I’m going to make us some pasta.”
“That’s perfect.” I walk over and touch my hand to his back. “What can I do to help?”
“You,” he says, kissing me quickly, “can pick the music and pour some wine.”
I’ve never been much of a cook, preferring convenience over substance. With Jonah, though, I love being in the kitchen. And seemingly, through osmosis, I’ve managed to learn a thing or two about flavor.
“It’s needs more salt,” I tell him fifteen minutes later, tasting the sauce we’ve made from scratch. “And maybe something sweet.”
“There’s honey in the pantry.”
I go to get it when I hear a knock on the barn door. Glancing at Jonah, I see my confusion mirrored on his face. He throws the dishtowel onto the island and walks over to the door, opening it.
At first, I can’t see who it is, but when Jonah returns to the kitchen, his father follows behind him. When Steve sees me, there’s a look in his eye, something eerily similar to the one Jane had when she caught Jonah and me together.
“Hi, Charlotte,” he says, the expression remaining.
I force a smile on my lips, an uneasy feeling taking root.
“I need to talk to you,” Steve says to his son.
Jonah goes over to the stove and lowers the heat. “What’s up?”
Steve doesn’t reply immediately, his scrutiny going from me to Jonah. “Perhaps it’s better if we speak alone.”
“I can go,” I say, hearing the severity in Steve’s tone.
“No,” Jonah tells me. “You don’t have to go anywhere. What’s going on, Dad?”
Steve’s forehead creases. “You know what this is about.”
I look at Jonah, whose gaze is fixed on his father’s.
“Does she know?” Steve asks.
My apprehension amplifies.
“Dad,” Jonah presses. “This has nothing to do with you.”
Steve scoffs, a spark of anger I’ve never seen in him before. “I’m so disappointed in you.”
Though I have no idea what’s going on, everything in Steve’s demeanor has me anxious.
“She does not deserve this,” Steve says.
Much to my unease, his gaze flickers over to me. “What’s going on?” I ask Jonah.
He barely looks at me, instead giving his full attention to his father. “You have no right interfering in this. It’s my life.”
“Your life,” Steve says, discouraged. “And what a bloody mess you’re making of it.”
If it wasn’t for the fact that I’m somehow involved in whatever this is, I’d leave them to talk this out privately.
“We can discuss this later,” Jonah says, his voice edged with anger.
“No, son, we can’t.” Steve’s eyes bore into Jonah. “Because she’s here.”
Jonah’s expression turns severe. “You called her here?”
“She showed up fifteen minutes ago. She’s pretty upset.”
The pit in my stomach doubles in size. “Jonah, what’s going on?”
He finally looks at me, but only briefly. “Fuck,” he mumbles under his breath.
“Jonah,” I urge. “What the hell is going on?”
For a moment, no one says anything. The three of us stand in the kitchen, the tension radiating between us.
“You need to tell her,” Steve says, breaking the silence.
“Tell me what?” I glare at Jonah, waiting for an answer, any fucking answer that will explain what is happening.
The barn door opens, and we all turn to see Jane walk in. “What’s taking so long?” she asks, and then stops when she sees me. Her expression shifts sharply to her son, her disappointment clear. “Catriona is here.”
“I’ll be there in a second,” he says.
My mouth goes dry. Why is Catriona here?
“You’ll go now,” Jane tells him. “Because she’s your fiancée, and she needs you.”
At first, I think I’ve misheard. There’s no way she just said the word fiancée. But when I look at Jonah, and see the regret in his eyes, I feel the ground disappear beneath my feet.
“Charlotte,” he says cautiously, reaching for me.
I recoil from his touch. “You’re engaged?”
“Let me explain.”
The world around me blurs from view as my anger comes into focus. “You’re engaged?!”
“Just let me explain.” He moves closer and I back away.
“Don’t touch me,” I warn. “Don’t fucking touch me.”
“Okay,” he says, lifting his hands.
I look at Jane and Steve, their gazes sympathetic. “You said she was only a friend.” I direct my statement to Jonah. “I asked, and you said she was only a friend!”
He flinches at my anger, and then turns it on his parents. “This had nothing to do with you!”
“She deserved to know the truth,” Jane says, glaring at him.
“You had no right. No fucking right!”
“Don’t use that tone with your mother,” Steve yells. “This is your mess, Jonah.”
Jane takes a step toward her son. “I warned you, and you didn’t listen. You don’t toy with people like this. I expected more from you.”
“Really, Mum? Did you? Because from where I sit, it seems both you and Dad haven’t expected much of me for quite some time.”
“What does that mean?”
I watch the argument play out in front of me, my stomach twisting in knots.
“How long?” I ask, and they all stop to look at me. “How long have you been engaged?”
Jonah hesitates, glancing down at the floor.
“How long?” I demand.
“Six months,” Jane answers for him. “They’ve been engaged for six months.”
I think I’m going to be sick.
“Jonah?”
Her voice comes from the door. The delicate way she speaks his name is like a bullet through my chest. I stare at her, taking in her ethereal beauty. The long, dark wavy hair, pale skin like porcelain. She looks upon the scene with confusion, her green eyes burdened. She’s been crying. I all at once feel responsible.
She walks into the room, her slender frame bent slightly, as though she carries the world on her shoulders. When she looks at Jonah, she bursts into tears.
I watch, frozen in my anguish as Jonah rushes over, protectively wrapping his arms around her. Those very arms, that less than an hour ago, were holding me.
I’m on the verge of falling apart. I have to get out of here. I have to leave.
With my hands shaking, I move around the island, everything in my peripheral hazy. The only thing clear is the exit, and I walk briskly toward it.
“Charlotte!” Jonah calls after me, but I don’t dare turn around. “Wait!”
I step outside, inhaling as much breath as my lungs will allow. My tears come with the exhale. I’m halfway down the path when I hear Jane cry out Steve’s name. Stopping in my tracks, I turn back toward the door, and see Jane rushing to her husband’s side. He’s slumped down on the floor, a hand clutched to his chest.
Jonah moves quickly, helping to catch his dad from falling to the ground.
“Steve?” Jane asks desperately. “What’s going on?”
“Call the ambulance,” Jonah tells Catriona. “My phone’s on the bench.”
My emotions are suspended as I watch Steve struggle to breathe. I’ve seen this before. “Get him to the sofa,” I say as evenly as I can, knowing how important it is to keep him calm.
The three of us carefully help him over and sit him down.
“Are you allergic to aspirin?” I ask him. He shakes his head. “Get some.” I direct my command to Jonah.
He runs to the bathroom, returning with a bottle. “Does he need water?”
“No.” I take the bottle and tip a pill out onto my palm. “Chew this,” I tell Steve, putting it into his mouth. “And then swallow it.”
“Are you sure?” Jonah asks.
“Yes.” I don’t look at him as I reply. “I’ve been through this with my grandpa.” Careful to give him enough space, I crouch in front of Steve. “You’re going to be okay,” I say calmly.
Catriona comes over, her concern etched across her face. “The ambulance is on its way.”
The ten minutes it takes them to get there feels like a lifetime. When they arrive, there’s a relief in the air as the paramedics take over.
“He’s had 300mg of aspirin,” I tell one of them.
She nods in reply as she and her colleague begin their assessment. When they have him stable, they move him to a gurney and wheel him out of the barn, Jane going with them.
“We’ll be right behind you,” Jonah tells his mom.
“You’re not driving,” Catriona insists. “I’ll take you.” She reaches out and touches his arm. “He’s going to be okay, Jonah.”
They move to leave, but I stay where I stand. It’s not my place to go with them.
It’s no longer my place to be here at all.
Jonah stops in the doorway and looks at me, his expression pained. There are a thousand words on his lips, but he speaks only two of them.
“I’m sorry.”
When he walks away, he takes everything with him. I stand alone in the barn, my adrenaline giving way to anguish. The quiet that follows is numbing, halting everything like a caesura.
A total silence of sound. The world stopped, waiting for the music to resume.
It doesn’t.
The song was over long ago.