Simone taps her finger against her teacup in thought. The campus café is busy for a Thursday morning, but the noise around us disappears as I wait anxiously for her reaction.
“When did you decide this?” she asks, her face giving no indication of what she’s thinking.
“It’s been evolving,” I say, not sure I can give her an exact answer. “The last couple of weeks that I’ve been home, I’ve been thinking about it more and more. But I guess in some ways I knew before I even left.”
I don’t expect the smile she gives me.
“I think you’ve made the right choice. Don’t get me wrong, you’re an amazing teacher, and we’re all going to miss you. But it was the choice I was hoping you were going to make.”
“You’re not angry, then?”
“No.” She shakes her head. “To be honest, I didn’t expect that you’d come back to work. I’m surprised you stayed as long as you did.”
I’m taken aback at her response. “I always thought I took the job to help my grandpa. But, in some ways, I think I chose teaching because he taught. He was such a gifted teacher. I saw the way he could make a student love music. I wanted to do that for someone else.”
“And you did,” she says with sincerity. “For some of us, it’s a calling. For others, it’s a stepping stone, something to help get you to the next thing.”
“All I have to do now is figure out what that is.”
“Do you have any ideas?”
“I need to play,” I tell her. “Smaller venues, nothing big like I used to. And I need to get out of Seattle.”
“Where do you think you’ll go?”
“I’m not sure. My lease is up in September, so I’ve got a little time to come up with a plan.”
“Well, whatever you do,” she says, lifting her cup to her lips, “it’ll be amazing.”
I laugh, somewhat stunned. “I was so worried you’d be upset. That I’d let you down.”
“On the contrary.” She puts the cup on the table, keeping her fingers wrapped around it. “You’ve encouraged me.”
“I have?” I can’t imagine how.
“I’ve been teaching for thirty years, Charlotte. And I’ve seen a lot of people take the easy road, choose the path of least resistance. We tell ourselves little lies to make it feel better, but at the end of the day, talent is an easy thing to squander.” Her regard of me turns pensive. “When I first heard that you were interested in teaching here I was thrilled. Your education, your experience, that was a part of it, yes, but what I was most excited about was the way you connected to the music. I’d seen you play a few months earlier.”
“You did?”
“You were at Benaroya Hall, and you played a notoriously difficult piece by Chopin.”
I smile at the recollection. “Etude op.25 No.6.”
“I sat in that audience, and like everyone else, I was blown away. So, when I heard not long after that you were looking for a position, I jumped at the chance to hire you. I thought you’d stay two semesters at most. But three years later you were still here.”
“I had to...” My words catch in my throat. “He needed me to be here.”
“I know,” she says kindly. “And we were all the better for having you with us. But what I’ve been waiting for, all this time, was for you to quit.”
I stare at her, uncertain how to take that.
Her smile broadens. “Don’t get me wrong, I selfishly would have loved to keep you here. But I’m so excited that you’re going to play again. It doesn’t matter what size the venue is. It only matters that you play.”
“Thank you,” I say, encouraged. “For everything you’ve done.”
She looks at me, her eyes sparkling. “It’s been my absolute pleasure.”
I drive home with the window down, the music adding to my elevated mood. I feel like I’m on a high after that meeting with Simone. Knowing I have her support has given me even more confidence in my decision.
My phone rings as I park the car, and I fish it out of my bag. “Hey, Fi.”
“How was the meeting?”
“It went really well, a little surprising how well.”
“That’s great. Oh, hang on a sec.”
I hear her yelling out something to Denis but can’t make out any of it with Kayla crying somewhere close by. As I wait for her to return, I glance out the window and nearly drop my phone.
“Sorry about that. Denis had to—”
“Fi, I have to call you back.”
“Oh, okay, sure.”
I hang up, wondering if I’m seeing things. Grabbing my bag, I get out of my car and walk over to the safety of the sidewalk. Catriona spots me and gets up from the step.
“Hi,” she says as I approach.
What the hell is she doing here?
“Sorry, I suppose we haven’t officially met. I’m—”
“I know who you are.” My heart races. The fact that she’s here can’t be good.
“Do you think we could talk?”
I don’t know what to say, so I nod and walk over to the door. Unlocking it, I lead her into the lobby.
“This is really nice,” she says, looking around.
She follows me up the stairs as a thousand questions go through my mind. When we reach my apartment, I invite her in, and she steps through to the hallway, her eyes glancing around curiously.
There’s nothing in her demeanor to make me think she’s angry. Maybe she hides it well, but I keep my distance just in case.
“Jonah said you’re a pianist.” She points to the piano and smiles. “I’ve always wanted to be able to play, but I have no musical talent.”
I’m certain I don’t blink.
“Look at that view.” She walks over to the window and stares out, her hands on her hips. “Wow, it’s so beautiful.”
When she turns back to me, smiling, I can’t take another second. “Sorry,” I say quickly. “What exact ... why are you ...?”
She laughs, the sound delicate. “Do you mind if we sit?”
I don’t see as though I have many options, so I go and perch myself on the edge of the sofa.
“I’ve heard so many things about you,” she says, taking the seat next to me. “It’s strange, but I feel like I know you.”
What the hell does someone reply to that? “I didn’t know,” I say, needing to get it out before she says another word. “I didn’t know you were...” I drop my gaze to my lap, unable to finish my sentence. My embarrassment and shame swirl.
“Charlotte,” she says, reaching out and touching my hand. “I think I owe you an explanation.”
I can’t fathom her owing me anything. “I’m so sorry.”
She shakes her head. “I’m the one who’s sorry.”
This conversation is taking a confusing turn. “What would you have to be sorry for?”
“I’m the reason for all of this,” she says sheepishly. “I’m afraid I made a mess of things.”
I stare at her, clarity slipping further away. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“How could you?” She frowns slightly. “I made him promise not to tell anyone.”
She doesn’t make eye contact with me for a moment. When she does, the muscles around her mouth tense. “I suppose I should start from the beginning.” She nods, as though agreeing with herself. “I’ve known Jonah since we were twelve. We met when my family moved from Dingle to Wycombe. We went to school together, and our fathers worked at the same company. They became good friends, as did our mothers. It’s been that way ever since.”
I listen, wondering all the while what this has to do with me.
“We’ve been through everything together,” she says, pensive. “Jonah has been that one person in my life that I know loves me, no matter what. And I feel the same.”
My breath catches in my throat.
“He could have said no. Most people would. But Jonah’s not most people.” A flicker of sadness crosses her face. “My parents are devout Catholics. It’s not just faith to them, it’s everything. Are you religious?”
I shake my head.
“There are rules, you know?” She drops her eyes to her thumbs, making slow, distracted circles. “I was around thirteen when I started to suspect. I’d heard my parents talk about homosexuality before.” Her voice lowers as she lifts her gaze to me. “To them it was a sin, something shameful. My dad said that if he ever had a kid like that, he’d disown them.”
She purses her lips in thought. “One drunken night in college, Jonah and I were hanging out, and I thought that maybe I was wrong, maybe I did like guys. That maybe all I needed was to sleep with one, and I’d miraculously turn straight.” She laughs at the assumption. “It didn’t work. Afterwards, things got a little awkward between us, and I knew I had to say something. He was the first person I’d ever said it out loud to.”
I can’t imagine how difficult that must have been.
“I didn’t tell anyone else. But then, just over a year and a half ago, I met Mel.” Her face lights up at speaking her name. “And that’s when this all started.”
I don’t say anything, letting her tell it at her own pace.
“My parents had been putting so much pressure on me to get married and have kids.” She clutches her hands together before releasing them. “I knew I couldn’t tell them the truth. So I created a lie. I told them I was dating Jonah. I never meant for it to become what it did, but they told his parents, and everyone was so happy, and Jonah, bless him, he went along with it.”
She leans against the sofa with a sigh. “All I wanted was the space to get to know Mel without my parents breathing down my neck. I don’t know if that makes any sense, but I just wanted to have time to figure out how I felt about her without my parents’ voices in my head.”
She turns to look at me, a lock of dark hair falling free from her messy bun. “Things got a little out of hand over Christmas. I was at my parents’ place, on the phone with Mel. She’d gone home to Canada for the break and we hadn’t seen each other in weeks. I was missing her like crazy, and I told her that I didn’t want to spend another day apart. And then she asked me to marry her.”
Her eyes well up with tears. “I was so happy. It was the fastest yes of my life. But I didn’t notice that my mum had come into my room. She’d heard what I’d said and assumed I was talking to Jonah.”
The tangled web spins into place.
“I should have told her the truth right then.” A tear falls down her cheek. “But she was so happy, and I knew what would happen if I did. So I let her believe it.” She wipes a finger beneath both eyes. “When I told Jonah, we got into an argument. He hated lying to his parents. I promised him I’d tell everyone the truth, that I just needed a little more time.”
Catriona exhales softly. “In all the years I’ve known Jonah, he’s never really been that serious about any of the girls he dated. He keeps people at arm’s length, especially since Aaron died.” She pauses a moment, her thoughts burdened. “Last month my parents and I were in Paris, and I’d asked Jonah to come. I was going to tell them everything. But when it came time to do it, I couldn’t.”
I remember the day she’s speaking of. It was the morning he woke me up to tell me he’d help me find Charlotte.
“After that, Jonah said he couldn’t do it anymore.” She looks at me and smiles. “He said he’d met someone. And I could tell from the way he said it that this wasn’t just any someone.”
I feel my own tears threaten but hold them back.
“Things got tense between Mel and I when she found out I hadn’t told my parents. She has the patience of a saint, but she said it was a sign that I wasn’t ready.” Her voice breaks. “She told me that she loved me, but that I needed to figure things out. And then she went back to Canada.”
I watch as Catriona takes in a deep breath, her face grimacing with her pain.
“I knew, after that, that I couldn’t live a lie anymore. So I told my parents the truth. And they reacted as I feared they would. There was a lot of quiet, and then yelling, and finally they told me to leave, that they didn’t want to see me again until I made myself right with God.” The laugh she gives has no humor.
A wayward tear escapes down my cheek. “I’m so sorry.”
“I needed to be somewhere safe, with someone who loved me, so I went to Jonah. And I think you know the rest.”
I take a moment, letting the weight of her story sink in. That’s why she was so upset when she showed up in Bayeux. “I’m not sure I know what to say.”
“Say you’ll forgive me,” she pleads. “Say, that somehow, even though I’ve fucked everything up, that you still love him. Because he loves you, Charlotte.”
The anger I’ve been carrying leaves me, a sorrow taking its place. “I’ve spent the last two weeks thinking he’d lied to me.”
“I’m the one who was doing the lying,” she says gravely. “And that’s why I came here today, because I needed to make it right. Consider it my apology tour. Next stop is Victoria to beg the love of my life to take me back.”
Love of my life. I remember the caption beneath her Instagram photo.
“Why didn’t he just tell me?” I ask.
“Because I made him promise not to.” She swallows hard. “And he kept my secret, even though it cost him you.”
My mind is a flurry of questions, but there’s one I need an answer to more than others. “Does he know you’re here?”
She shakes her head. “He’s in London.”
“London?”
“Selling the bar.”
“Wow,” I murmur, somewhat shocked.
“Seeing his dad like that, it scared him, and I think he realized just how much they need him there.”
“How is Steve?” I ask.
“He’s doing well, getting stronger every day. And Jane is loving fussing over him.”
I smile at the thought. “They’re really lovely people.”
“Yeah, they are. And I hope one day they’ll forgive me, too.”
I see the burden she carries, the aftermath of her truth. “There’s nothing to forgive,” I tell her. “Love is complicated enough. I think what you did took courage.”
She watches me, her gaze intent. “I can see why he loves you.”
Her words strike to the core of my affliction. “What do you think I should do?”
“It depends,” she says. “Do you still love him?”
I don’t have to consider her question. It’s a battle I’ve been losing for weeks now. “I never stopped.”
“Then it’s simple.” Her smile reaches her eyes. “You do whatever it takes.”