More Than Words
Page 39

“Illiterate?” I asked, my voice cracking again, my heartbeat sounding loud in my ears.
“Mmm,” Jessie hummed. “Farmers’ children weren’t generally taught to read in the fourteen hundreds.”
“Oh.”
At the single utterance, she turned her head, her expression concerned, as if she’d heard something in that one word that gave her pause. “It’s why stained glass became so popular in the Middle Ages. So the people sitting in the pews—many of whom were illiterate—could understand biblical stories.”
“Huh. Interesting.”
Jessie nodded. “Yes, and that’s why the writings I’m translating are so fascinating. Joan of Arc had a few letters transcribed at different points, but she wouldn’t have been able to keep a diary, would have no way to record her personal thoughts back then; nor would she likely have had someone else write them down for her. And so to see her through this girl’s eyes is … just an amazing window to the past and an incredible insight into the mind of a young woman who couldn’t have left behind her own story. We’re very lucky she had someone to help her do what she couldn’t do herself.”
Her eyes had lit up as she spoke, the passion for her work obvious, and I loved seeing her that way. But it also caused a lump to settle in my throat because it confirmed what I already knew: there was no place for me in her life. She was a woman who deserved everything good life had to offer, including a man she could look up to and feel proud of.
That man wasn’t me, and damn if I didn’t feel a small piece of my heart crack every time I was reminded of that fact.
“I’ve never, uh, been much for the church.”
“No?”
“No. I prefer to confess my sins to the bottom of a bottle of bourbon.”
She laughed softly. “I’m not much of a churchgoer either. My family wasn’t religious.”
I studied her as she gazed at the window again. I’d noticed the reverence in her eyes as she looked at the statues, the pews, the etchings in the wooden pictures hung on the walls. She might not be religious, but she seemed to be spiritual. “Do you believe in God, Jessie?”
She tilted her head, not answering for a moment. Finally, she said, “There’s this story I heard once about a religious man who got caught in a flood. He climbed onto the roof of his house and trusted that God would rescue him. A neighbor came by in a boat and said, ‘The water is rising. Get in my boat.’
“But the religious man replied, ‘No thanks. I’ve prayed to God, and I know he’ll save me.’
“A little while later, a rescue team came by in a boat. ‘The water is rising. Get in our boat.’
“But, again, the religious man said, ‘No thanks. I’ve prayed to God, and I know he’ll save me.’
“A short time after that, a police helicopter hovered overhead and threw down a ladder. ‘The water is rising,’ they said. ‘Grab the ladder, and we’ll fly you to safety.’
“But the religious man replied, ‘No thanks. I’ve prayed to God, and I know he’ll save me.’
“All this time the water had continued to rise, until soon it reached above the roof and the religious man drowned. When he arrived in heaven, he demanded to see God immediately. When he was standing before him, he said, ‘Lord, why am I here in heaven? I prayed for you to save me. I trusted that you would rescue me from that flood.’
“ ‘Yes, my child, you did,’ replied God. ‘And I sent you two boats and a rescue helicopter. But you sent them away.’ ”
I stared at her, a strange feeling swirling inside me, the sensation that tiny ants were crawling on my skin. I gave Jessie a wry smile.
“Anyway,” Jessie said, smiling back, giving a bashful chuckle. “That’s sort of my spiritual belief summed up in a story. Maybe there’s such a thing as God or fate, but ultimately, I believe that if there is a God, he helps those who help themselves.”
I didn’t comment. God had never helped me. God took my mother away and left me with a monster. God had always left me to drown. “Should we go?” I asked. “I’m sure you have things to do to get ready for your day tomorrow.”
“Yeah. I do.” She walked the few steps to where I stood and took my hand. “Thank you, Callen. Thank you for this weekend and all the thought you put into it for me.” She glanced down, her lashes fluttering against her cheeks, and my heart flipped slowly. “I’ll never forget it.”
“I won’t either, Jessie.” And no truer words had ever been spoken.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
JESSICA
My heart dropped just a bit when Château de la Bellefeuille came into view. As magnificent and breathtaking as the structure was, it signaled the end of this glorious weekend, and even more heartbreakingly, the dwindling time we had together in France. Five days and Callen would be gone. Was there any chance at all that he’d want to make our relationship more permanent? And if so, how would that work exactly? I hardly wanted to allow my mind to try to work out solutions, but somehow it kept wandering there. He could work from France as well as anywhere, couldn’t he? He’d have to uproot his entire life to do so, but—
“Here we are,” Callen said, pulling up to the curb. I wasn’t sure if I imagined the disappointment in his voice or if I was merely transferring my own emotions onto him and hearing things in his tone that weren’t actually there.
The valet opened my door, and I stepped out, meeting Callen on the sidewalk after he’d collected our bags from the trunk and tipped the valet. We entered the château and walked toward the elevator. I wasn’t sure what to do. Was this where we parted, or should I ask him if he’d like to go to dinner? I did need an early night so I’d be well rested for work tomorrow, but Callen and I had so little time, and I wanted to take advantage of every moment we had. And I’d grown used to his body next to mine as I drifted off to sleep, the scent of his skin as he held me tight against him.
Oh, Jessica, you’re in for so much heartbreak. “Jessie,” Callen said, stopping as we stepped inside of the main foyer. “I know you have things to do and that you have to work tomorrow, but … stay with me tonight. I’ll let you sleep. I promise. I—”
“Yes.” I nodded, exhaling a relieved breath. “Yes.”
The relief that washed over Callen’s expression made my heart jump, and I gave him a kiss.
His body seemed looser beside me as we walked the short distance to the elevator and then rode to the top floor. The hallway carpeting was soft beneath my feet, and I could hardly wait to use that tub of his and soak my muscles after being in the car half the day. Maybe Callen would join me. A secretive smile tilted my lips, and Callen glanced over at me, raising his brows as we got to the door of his suite and he set our bags down to root in his pocket for the key. “What exactly are you thinking right now?”
I leaned against the wall, watching him as he put the key in the lock. “I was just thinking about that big tub of yours.”
His eyes flared, and he grinned as he pushed the door open, picking up the bags and nodding toward the suite, indicating I should enter ahead of him. “I like where that thought is going. Let’s talk more about it,” he said as he closed the door behind him. I just grinned, heading toward the bedroom, where I stopped suddenly, inhaling a shocked breath of air.
There was a half-naked woman lying on his bed.
My blood chilled in my veins as she sat up and lifted one thin blond eyebrow, her full red mouth raised in an amused smirk, the skimpy black bra and panties she wore leaving nothing to the imagination.
“What the hell are you doing in my room, Annette?” Callen growled from behind me.
My limbs felt frozen, and yet my heart was beating a mile a minute. Who the hell was Annette? And why was she practically naked and lying in his bed as if she had every right to be there?
A dozen images ran through my mind, because this felt all too familiar. How many times had my mom stormed into hotel rooms where half-naked women had sat up in shock, pulling sheets around themselves? How many times had my brother and I trailed behind her, cheeks flaming and eyes stinging?