The Love Letter(5)

After making sure there was nothing further that Justine wanted for the garden, I moved over to the fence and began to chat with Chloë. To my relief, Justine faded into the background.

That was when, standing at the edge of Justine’s brother’s lawn, I asked Chloë out to dinner. I could hear Justine putting away the shovels, doing clean-up, jobs for which I had not offered to help her. I was sure she was listening to every word. I told myself that I didn’t care. She probably didn’t care either. Hadn’t she once treated me the same way? And had she not just brushed me off as if there had never been a past between us at all?

So Justine was unhappy with her life. That was unfortunate, but it was the life she had chosen. By her choice, deep love had been crushed to please others and her own ambition.



I sighed, unable to sleep despite my aching fatigue, mind racing. No, I hadn’t forgiven her. I couldn’t. It hurt too much to even consider.

He had not forgiven Anne Elliot. She had used him ill, deserted and disappointed him; and worse, she had shown a feebleness of character in doing so, which his own decided, confident temper could not endure.

***

By my second date with Chloë, I knew we could never amount to anything serious. For one thing, I had less than a week left before I had to return to Colorado to finish my residency. The other reasons? I couldn’t really name them. But I promised myself that they had nothing to do with Justine.

But as I fixed myself a pot of coffee after that sleepless night, I realized with surprising clarity that all of my relationships since Justine had been similarly haunted by our past.

He had been most warmly attached to her, and had never seen a woman since whom he thought her equal…

***

I finished the novel on the plane the next day. Then I fell against the window and slept the remaining hours. I dreamt of Justine. Of the smell of her hair. Of the first time I’d kissed her, pressed up against the stacks in the back of the library. Of the first time we made love, with fierce kisses and shaking hands. In my agitation, I awoke, shifted positions, willed my restless mind to find something different to dwell on. It didn’t. I dreamt of the plans we’d made for our life after graduation. She’d applied to the law school at the University of Colorado. We’d be there, together, in the mountains. We’d start our life there, together, as husband and wife.

I dreamt of the night I’d proposed to her. The happiest night of my life. She cried when I slipped the ring on her finger.

I cried the night she gave it back. “I can’t do this,” she said. “I’m sorry. I’ve been accepted at UCLA. I’m going to live there and work in my Dad’s firm.”

My world froze. All of our hopes, plans, our future together breaking to pieces before my eyes.

“I’m sorry,” she said over and over again between sobs.



***

The following day, Thanksgiving dinner at my sister’s was a trial. Throughout the meal, I couldn’t keep my mind off the house across the street. Was Justine still living there or had she moved on? Was she still unattached? I didn’t dare ask the questions hovering on my lips. What the hell had that book done to me?

Then Kathy announced that she had invited Justine and her brother’s family over for dessert. A warm sense of hope washed over me. The sentiments of the novel were still fresh in my mind. I was now determined to let her know, somehow, that I still thought of her. That she was still in my heart.

When she entered the room, I was struck by her glowing skin, her hair—now honey-colored once again. She had gained weight. The wan smile had new life and now reached her eyes.

Her face lit up when she saw me and my heart missed a beat. “Mark! I’m glad you made it home.” Even her voice sounded stronger. She came close to me. My throat closed and the words I wanted to say went unspoken.

What had brought about this change in me? Why, now, could I look past all that had happened before? I could feel the hurt and resentment fading, dissolving a barrier between us.

All that mattered was that the girl of my dreams was before me again. Damaged a little, but still there, underneath the pain and failure of the years that had separated two hearts and minds as connected as ours once were.

Before I could do anything besides ask her about her garden, Kathy hauled me into the kitchen to help her serve pie.

“She’s seeing someone.”

I said nothing, slicing the pies into eighths with surgical precision.

“I said—”

“I heard you.” My heart was in my shoes. I swallowed. “Does her therapist approve? So soon?”

“Ah, sweetie. I think the therapist encouraged it.”