More Than Words
Page 54
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“It hurt me, too.”
“I know.”
I looked at him, saw the grief etched in his eyes. Yes, he did know. Only not in the same way. But he cared about Callen as a brother would, and so watching Callen ruin his own life must bring him pain as well. “He’s very lucky to have you,” I murmured. “I hope he realizes it.”
He gave me a wan smile and then studied me for a moment. “Callen told me what he did to you when you went to his room that night.” That night. The ill-fated night when I’d tried to tell him the truth. The truth he hadn’t wanted to hear.
I flinched, looking away, not wanting to think about that night at all. “Yeah.”
He took another sip of coffee and then toyed with the cardboard cup for a moment, seeming to be considering something. “It’s not really my place to tell you this, but … nothing happened between Callen and that girl. She left right after you did, Jessica. Callen and I checked out thirty minutes later. He hurt you on purpose, but he didn’t have sex with her. I just thought you should know the truth about that.”
I blinked at him, furrowing my brow. “Then why …?”
“To hurt you, and to hurt himself. He’s spent these last weeks in Paris trying to get into the lifestyle he led before, but it’s not working for him. He comes back to the hotel alone every night and sits out on the balcony looking pathetic and completely miserable.” He smiled brightly. “It’s giving me hope.”
I couldn’t help the confused laugh that bubbled up from my chest as I simultaneously shook my head.
“He’s sick with jealousy over who you might be with, and he’s never been jealous before. I think it’s making him just a bit crazy. He’s a mess, but maybe … maybe in a good way for the first time ever. Only time will tell.”
I sighed, watching him polish off the last of his cake. “Nick, I hope he makes a turn for the better, but I can’t invest in hoping. And even if he pulls himself together, there’s no future for us. I’m here, he’s in L.A., and our lives are a thousand miles apart in other ways as well.”
He nodded. “I know. I hope me coming here didn’t upset you. I meant it as an act of goodwill between two people who care about him. We might be the only people on earth who really do.”
God, that was a sad thought. And even sadder was that while I still loved Callen, I couldn’t be part of his life anymore without driving a stake through my heart every day.
“I don’t suppose you’d have any interest in keeping in touch?”
I shook my head slowly. “That wouldn’t be good for me, Nick. I hope you understand why.”
“Yeah.” He breathed out the word, a sound of resignation. “I do.”
“But I’m so thankful to you for coming to me today. I’ve been … struggling, and now I think I can put some of that to rest.”
“Good.” He smiled, tilting his head. “I think fate knew what she was doing when she brought you and Callen together.”
I smiled, a genuine one, as I picked up my things and stood. I agreed. No matter the outcome, I had faith that our time spent together was for a purpose, even if I wouldn’t know that purpose for a long time to come. “I think so, too.”
“Take care of yourself, Jessica.”
“You too, Nick.”
I turned and walked out of the coffee shop, heading toward my apartment while I pondered Nick’s words. Callen hadn’t slept with the girl who had been in his hotel room that night. Why, I wasn’t sure, and maybe it shouldn’t matter whether he had or he hadn’t, because either way, he’d wanted me to believe he was going to. That he was capable of doing it. But it did matter to me, and the relief I felt was like a balm to my heart. It didn’t change anything now, but the knowledge brought me a measure of peace.
I turned the corner to my street, leaving my past behind, grateful to be able to enter into Adélaïde’s past instead. Inside my apartment, I sat on the couch and brought my legs up under me, taking out the top copy of Adélaïde’s writing.
In the year of our Lord 1431, on the first day of June
It is over. Her spirit soars with the angels. I did not want to watch her suffering. My heart bled with agony, and I trembled with horror to see her body tied to the stake, a wooden cross clutched to her chest. I know not much, but I know that what happened to Jehanne today is an injustice of which the world will come to grieve. And so I forced myself to bear witness, to be as brave as she taught me to be, to watch as she met her earthly end with composure and courage. And I vow always to remember the truth she lived: that there is more than what we see with our human eyes, that God shows us our path and fate whispers her dreams for us, guiding with love and grace. It matters not who doubts us, only that we listen with our heart and are fearless enough to look with the vision of faith. In the end, my only hope is that it brought her some small comfort to know that as the flames licked higher, she was watched with celestial eyes of love.
Live fiercely and without regret, I promise to remind myself when I am afraid or uncertain, repeating the words Jehanne first said to me in that quiet stream what seems so long ago. The same words she whispered to Charles the Seventh, the phrase the wise and kindly priest who gave Charles comfort in his father’s desertion said to him as he passed from this world to the next, words Charles had never repeated to another living soul. But they were more than words. They were the very thing that secured Jehanne an army, won an abandoned king a throne, and gifted France a heroine.
And I myself shall live by them all the days of my life.
Now I sit here at the edge of the sea looking out over God’s masterpiece as the sun rises and casts the water in shades of gold. I did not board the carriage my father sent for me; nor will I return home to the life I once led, to the stranger I was promised to by those who do not know my heart.
The wind is blowing against me, plastering my dress to my body and forcing me to turn my face north, and I swear I feel Jehanne beside me pointing the way. Facing me toward a cave in the Loire Valley where my beloved Olivier promised we’d find each other again if ever we were lost. Is he alive? Is he injured? Will he find his way back to me? Does he love me as I love him? With body and soul? I have no answers, and yet I have faith. I carry inside me the peace of knowing my life will be led fiercely and without regret. Please, dear Lord, dear beloved Jehanne, guide me where you would have me go and I will humbly follow.
PART THREE
I am not afraid. I was born to do this.
—Joan of Arc
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CALLEN
The California sunshine blazed through a gap in the blinds, hitting me like a spotlight, causing me to groan and bring my pillow over my eyes. We’d gotten in close to dawn and I’d slept for only four or five hours. Apparently, I hadn’t made sure the shade was completely shut before I stumbled into bed last night.
I attempted to go back to sleep, but the damn light was too bright now that I’d woken up. I tossed the pillow aside and rolled over, opening one eye blearily to look at the clock: 12:17. I stared at the familiar ceiling of my bedroom, depression settling in around me like the unwelcome visitor it’d become. Would a drink help? It was only noon here, but it was nighttime in Paris.
Paris.
Jessie.
My gut clenched at the reminder that an ocean now separated us. That was good, but still, it fucking hurt. Everything hurt, and I had no idea what to do about that other than what I’d always done. Except that hadn’t worked in Paris, and it no longer sounded appealing, either. Nothing did.
My mind returned to that balcony in Paris, the way Jessie had looked in the gown of golden roses. Roses. Shimmery and elegant. A beacon of light. So incredibly beautiful it’d clawed at my heart. I’d seen a poster for the gala and gone to find out if she was pregnant, knowing inside that I was hoping for it, praying even, because I still wanted her—so fucking badly—and the agony of missing her had made me selfish enough to cling to any reason she might want me back. Selfish enough to show up uninvited where I knew she’d be, but not before a few shots of liquid courage.
And then I’d seen him kiss her, touch her. I’d been jealous and hurt and angry, and so I’d been cruel—again.
“I know.”
I looked at him, saw the grief etched in his eyes. Yes, he did know. Only not in the same way. But he cared about Callen as a brother would, and so watching Callen ruin his own life must bring him pain as well. “He’s very lucky to have you,” I murmured. “I hope he realizes it.”
He gave me a wan smile and then studied me for a moment. “Callen told me what he did to you when you went to his room that night.” That night. The ill-fated night when I’d tried to tell him the truth. The truth he hadn’t wanted to hear.
I flinched, looking away, not wanting to think about that night at all. “Yeah.”
He took another sip of coffee and then toyed with the cardboard cup for a moment, seeming to be considering something. “It’s not really my place to tell you this, but … nothing happened between Callen and that girl. She left right after you did, Jessica. Callen and I checked out thirty minutes later. He hurt you on purpose, but he didn’t have sex with her. I just thought you should know the truth about that.”
I blinked at him, furrowing my brow. “Then why …?”
“To hurt you, and to hurt himself. He’s spent these last weeks in Paris trying to get into the lifestyle he led before, but it’s not working for him. He comes back to the hotel alone every night and sits out on the balcony looking pathetic and completely miserable.” He smiled brightly. “It’s giving me hope.”
I couldn’t help the confused laugh that bubbled up from my chest as I simultaneously shook my head.
“He’s sick with jealousy over who you might be with, and he’s never been jealous before. I think it’s making him just a bit crazy. He’s a mess, but maybe … maybe in a good way for the first time ever. Only time will tell.”
I sighed, watching him polish off the last of his cake. “Nick, I hope he makes a turn for the better, but I can’t invest in hoping. And even if he pulls himself together, there’s no future for us. I’m here, he’s in L.A., and our lives are a thousand miles apart in other ways as well.”
He nodded. “I know. I hope me coming here didn’t upset you. I meant it as an act of goodwill between two people who care about him. We might be the only people on earth who really do.”
God, that was a sad thought. And even sadder was that while I still loved Callen, I couldn’t be part of his life anymore without driving a stake through my heart every day.
“I don’t suppose you’d have any interest in keeping in touch?”
I shook my head slowly. “That wouldn’t be good for me, Nick. I hope you understand why.”
“Yeah.” He breathed out the word, a sound of resignation. “I do.”
“But I’m so thankful to you for coming to me today. I’ve been … struggling, and now I think I can put some of that to rest.”
“Good.” He smiled, tilting his head. “I think fate knew what she was doing when she brought you and Callen together.”
I smiled, a genuine one, as I picked up my things and stood. I agreed. No matter the outcome, I had faith that our time spent together was for a purpose, even if I wouldn’t know that purpose for a long time to come. “I think so, too.”
“Take care of yourself, Jessica.”
“You too, Nick.”
I turned and walked out of the coffee shop, heading toward my apartment while I pondered Nick’s words. Callen hadn’t slept with the girl who had been in his hotel room that night. Why, I wasn’t sure, and maybe it shouldn’t matter whether he had or he hadn’t, because either way, he’d wanted me to believe he was going to. That he was capable of doing it. But it did matter to me, and the relief I felt was like a balm to my heart. It didn’t change anything now, but the knowledge brought me a measure of peace.
I turned the corner to my street, leaving my past behind, grateful to be able to enter into Adélaïde’s past instead. Inside my apartment, I sat on the couch and brought my legs up under me, taking out the top copy of Adélaïde’s writing.
In the year of our Lord 1431, on the first day of June
It is over. Her spirit soars with the angels. I did not want to watch her suffering. My heart bled with agony, and I trembled with horror to see her body tied to the stake, a wooden cross clutched to her chest. I know not much, but I know that what happened to Jehanne today is an injustice of which the world will come to grieve. And so I forced myself to bear witness, to be as brave as she taught me to be, to watch as she met her earthly end with composure and courage. And I vow always to remember the truth she lived: that there is more than what we see with our human eyes, that God shows us our path and fate whispers her dreams for us, guiding with love and grace. It matters not who doubts us, only that we listen with our heart and are fearless enough to look with the vision of faith. In the end, my only hope is that it brought her some small comfort to know that as the flames licked higher, she was watched with celestial eyes of love.
Live fiercely and without regret, I promise to remind myself when I am afraid or uncertain, repeating the words Jehanne first said to me in that quiet stream what seems so long ago. The same words she whispered to Charles the Seventh, the phrase the wise and kindly priest who gave Charles comfort in his father’s desertion said to him as he passed from this world to the next, words Charles had never repeated to another living soul. But they were more than words. They were the very thing that secured Jehanne an army, won an abandoned king a throne, and gifted France a heroine.
And I myself shall live by them all the days of my life.
Now I sit here at the edge of the sea looking out over God’s masterpiece as the sun rises and casts the water in shades of gold. I did not board the carriage my father sent for me; nor will I return home to the life I once led, to the stranger I was promised to by those who do not know my heart.
The wind is blowing against me, plastering my dress to my body and forcing me to turn my face north, and I swear I feel Jehanne beside me pointing the way. Facing me toward a cave in the Loire Valley where my beloved Olivier promised we’d find each other again if ever we were lost. Is he alive? Is he injured? Will he find his way back to me? Does he love me as I love him? With body and soul? I have no answers, and yet I have faith. I carry inside me the peace of knowing my life will be led fiercely and without regret. Please, dear Lord, dear beloved Jehanne, guide me where you would have me go and I will humbly follow.
PART THREE
I am not afraid. I was born to do this.
—Joan of Arc
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CALLEN
The California sunshine blazed through a gap in the blinds, hitting me like a spotlight, causing me to groan and bring my pillow over my eyes. We’d gotten in close to dawn and I’d slept for only four or five hours. Apparently, I hadn’t made sure the shade was completely shut before I stumbled into bed last night.
I attempted to go back to sleep, but the damn light was too bright now that I’d woken up. I tossed the pillow aside and rolled over, opening one eye blearily to look at the clock: 12:17. I stared at the familiar ceiling of my bedroom, depression settling in around me like the unwelcome visitor it’d become. Would a drink help? It was only noon here, but it was nighttime in Paris.
Paris.
Jessie.
My gut clenched at the reminder that an ocean now separated us. That was good, but still, it fucking hurt. Everything hurt, and I had no idea what to do about that other than what I’d always done. Except that hadn’t worked in Paris, and it no longer sounded appealing, either. Nothing did.
My mind returned to that balcony in Paris, the way Jessie had looked in the gown of golden roses. Roses. Shimmery and elegant. A beacon of light. So incredibly beautiful it’d clawed at my heart. I’d seen a poster for the gala and gone to find out if she was pregnant, knowing inside that I was hoping for it, praying even, because I still wanted her—so fucking badly—and the agony of missing her had made me selfish enough to cling to any reason she might want me back. Selfish enough to show up uninvited where I knew she’d be, but not before a few shots of liquid courage.
And then I’d seen him kiss her, touch her. I’d been jealous and hurt and angry, and so I’d been cruel—again.
