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In which Garland Lenox finds what he’s looking for.
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“Damn son, I thought you said you were a runner.”
“I am a—” I began to say, but my lungs weren’t quite ready to do anything but gasp for air, so I held up a hand and tried to catch my breath.
“Take your time,” Garland said, “but not too much of it.” When I finally sat up next to the old man I noticed he was still panting from his own journey up Montmartre.
“You okay?” I asked.
“I’m just fine,” he said, then pointed out at the city below and said, “Beautiful, ain’t it?”
“Yeah,” I said, too tired to actually look.
“I’ve probably come here a hundred times over the years. Hard to believe I never saw her ...”
I had to tell him. “Garland, Madeleine is dead. Sister Ava told me she died ... six years ago.”
The old man put an arm around me and patted my back and said, “I know, son.”
“Wait,” I said, “you knew?”
“Well I didn’t know for sure,” Garland said, “but even before we left home I knew odds were she wasn’t still alive. Then when she didn’t come forward, even after all the racket we’ve made since we’ve been here, I knew she was gone.”
We watched a couple stragglers walk into Sacré-Cœur for evening Vespers, then I asked Garland, “So what now? Just wait here until they come and arrest us?”
“I suppose so,” Garland said and laughed to himself.
“I don’t get it,” I said. “If you knew Madeleine wasn’t going to be here why didn’t we just turn ourselves in back in Saint-Lô?”
The old man smiled and said, “Son, I don’t know if this’ll make much sense to you, but Maddie and me, this was our place. This hill, this church, this view, it was ours. I didn’t know it until today, I just knew coming here reminded me of her somehow, and that’s why I came back, again and again.”
“Sister Ava ...,” I said. “She wanted me to tell you that Madeleine prayed for you every day, and that when she sang, she would pretend you were there in the church, listening.” Garland smiled and I said, “She wanted you to know Madeleine loved you, all her life.”
We were both crying now and Garland said, “See son, this was our place, and I couldn’t go back home without coming here one last time.”
I wiped my eyes and said, “I’m glad you made it back here.”
“Me too, son. Thank you for getting me here. Thank you for everything.”
I waved off his thanks and we both watched another late parishioner jog up the steps and into Sacré-Cœur, and as they opened the door to the church the sixteen angelic voices of the Benedictine Sisters of the Sacré-Cœur de Montmartre filled the evening air.
Garland smiled and I wanted to ask him why he wasn’t angry. Why he wasn’t cursing God or the universe or whoever decided that some people get a lifetime with their true love and he and Madeleine only got two months. Because if love wasn’t going to play fair I wasn’t sure I wanted to play anymore. But before I could ask, the old man stood up, and as if reading my mind said, “Edwin, I know you’re hurting now ... I’m hurting too ... but I want you to know I’d suffer for another seventy years just for five minutes more with my Madeleine. The pain is always worth it, son, so promise me, promise me you’ll never give up on love.”
“I won’t,” I said. “I promise.”
The old man tousled my hair and said, “Now if you’ll excuse me, son, I’d like to hear my angel sing, once more for the ages.” And Garland Lenox turned and walked up the final steps and into Sacré-Cœur.
I never saw him again.