I was walking through the park to pick up my kids when I saw her. Surprised, I come to a stop and stared. She probably wouldn’t have noticed me otherwise. Caught up in her own thoughts she was strolling slowly, eyes focused inwards. My abruptness manages to capture her attention. Then she too stops and stares. “Charlie?” She asks.
A smile of unexpected delight stretching my face I nod and hold open my arms. We hug the hug of old friends newly found. “Celeste,” I ask. “What are you doing here?”
“Visiting my son and meeting his lady friend.”
Celeste and I had met fifteen years ago in America. It was the turn of the century and we were both women in a male dominated business. She was almost twenty years my elder and owned the small consulting company the tech firm I worked for hired for a job. Celeste offered to be my mentor and I took her up on it immediately. Soon afterwards we became friends.
Then her marriage fell apart. It was messy, protracted, and when it was finally over Celeste and her son and cut all ties to their past. Guy, the son, was eighteen by that time. I’d missed her but, having been witness to the destruction, could summon no anger at being collateral damage.
Celeste looks wonderful. Unlike myself she has not gained a pound and though her face has a few more lines she still looked more the same than not. Closer to forty than the sixty plus I know her to be. Maybe it was a French thing. “How is Guy?”
“Flourishing!”
“As are you!” I note.
“Thank you,” she replies accepting the complement as nothing more than the truth it was. Must be a French thing. She puts a hand to her unabashedly greying pageboy and pats some nonexistent errant strands in place. “What are you doing here? The last I heard you were in Asia somewhere.”
“We moved back to the US for a while after I had the twins – “
“Twins!”
“Yeah, that’s a story. Then Theo’s organization got a grant to come here. As you know, I can work from anywhere. Anyway,” I end with a shrug. “We liked it so much we decided to stay. It helps that Theo has an EU passport through his father.”
“How old are your children?”
“Their names are Quinn and Cole, a girl and a boy, and they are almost nine.”
“I can’t believe I missed all of that. Charlie, I’m sorry for leaving the way I did.”
“I was there, Celeste. I saw what happened. Trust me, there are no hard feelings. I’m on my way to get the kids now if you would like to meet them.”
“That would be wonderful. Let me just text Guy. He still speaks of you, you know. Where are the children?” I rattle off the address and she sends off the text. It is a mere five minute walk to the kids, but Celeste is able to give me a brief outline of how her life had gone after she returned to Paris.
I’d picked this school for its diversity, so Quinn and Cole were not the only dark-skinned kids in the group. Still, they are easy to pick out. Despite not being identical twins, obviously, they look a lot alike. Especially as they are still cloaked in the androgyny of prepubescence. And they are close, always together. Not that they didn’t have the occasional sibling battle. Today they are sandwiching their friend, Jacob, who was apparently showing them a new game. This would start a new round of begging for phones, no doubt.
“They look a perfect blend of you and Theo.”
“Yep. The best of both of us.” Quinn looks up, sees me, and nudges her brother. They run back inside to grab their things.
“Oh, there are Guy and Margot,” Celeste notes, waving to get their attention.
I turn to see Guy, I’d recognize those true green eyes anywhere, and my friend Margot walking hand in hand. Margot’s mother was Kenyan, her father was Scottish, and she’d been raised mostly in Brazil. She had golden brown skin, a riot of red curls, and tended to be enthusiastic about everything. Younger than I we had kids the same age. She’d been widowed when her eldest was only four. Drunk driver.
Margot draws me in for one of her breath stealing hugs. “When we got the text, I hoped we would catch you here.” She turns to see Gaston kissing his mother’s cheeks. “Oh, you must be Celeste. I am so happy to meet you!” Margot gives Celeste a slightly less spirited hug meaning Celeste escapes relatively unscathed.
Gaston turns to me and his jaw drops. “Charlie?!?” He picks me up and twirls me around before kissing my cheeks and hugging me again. “It’s been forever!”
“Almost fifteen years.”
“You look exactly the same. I’d recognize you anywhere.”
“You grew up.” Thinking about when I’d last seen Guy leaves me a bit flustered.
Margot stands back, “I see you all know one another.”
Quinn and Cole come out giving Marot a quick hug before flanking me with their arms wrapped around my waist eyeing Guy and Celeste. “Wow, I guess I don’t have to ask if you and Theo are still together. They look just like the two of you.” He laughs and says, “I was so jealous of Theo back then.”
“Theo?” Margot asks, “Why?”
“I had the biggest crush on Charlie back then. I was convinced that if I could just get Theo out of the way Charlie would fall in love with me and we’d live happily ever after.” He shakes his head, “God, I was young.’’
The school clock chimes four. “Sorry, guys, I have to run. The kids have Music and Movement in half an hour and they still have to change. Celeste, you have my information.”
“No, uh uh. There is a story here and I want it. You, Theo and the kids will be at my place tomorrow night for dinner. No arguments. Quinn and Cole can play with Jacob and Alipha. 18:00. Be there or I will find you.”
Quivering in mock fear I say, “Yes, ma’am.” And escape.
Fifteen years earlier.
Theo was away. Again. I understood that what he did was important. And dangerous. It did little to ease the fear and the loneliness. Especially when he left pieces of himself in the places he left behind. It was causing distance between them. Soon I would have to decide. Fight or flee? There was a knock on the door. I glanced at the clock. It was late, after ten. I was already in my sleepwear. I then shook my head at my life. A year ago, I would have just been heading out for the night.
The knock came again, and I hurried to the door. Hand on the handle I asked, “Who is it?”
“Me, Guy,” came the answer. I opened the door. A visibly upset Guy rushed into the room.
I ask, “What’s wrong?” He is pacing in my tiny dining area. The small space intensifies how much he has changed in the last three years. Taller, more muscled, he has gone from boy to young man. “Sit down,” I say. “I’ll make tea and you can tell me what is wrong.” But he is silent as I boil the water in the electric kettle. Silent as I put the bags in the mugs and pour the hot water over them. Still silent when I place the mugs on the table and sit down beside him. I take his hands in mine and look into the true green of his eyes. “Tell me.”
“The police came by. My father put a hit out on my mother. We have to leave town. Just until the cops sort things out. But Mother wants to go back to France. For good.”
Whoa. Whatever I was expecting it was not this. “Okay. I need a minute to process this.” Celeste’s divorce had been acrimonious but murder? We are still hand in hand. His thumbs are rubbing light circles on my palms. Doubtlessly just nerves on his part but it is…distracting. My palms are an erogenous zone.
I stand up to do some pacing on my own. Stopping in front of his chair I say, “I’m not sure what do here. Whatever you and Celeste need from me, you’ve got it.” He stands and envelopes me in a fierce hug. I am reminded that my sleepwear consist of a tiny, strappy, tee and even smaller pair of shorts. This a boy in pain, I am telling myself when I feel his hands slide under my shirt along my back. Startled, I look up at him. He takes advantage of my upturned face and kisses me. For a moment, just a moment, I respond. I’d forgotten what it was like to be on the receiving end of such passion. His mouth slants across mine as I open to him. My own hands find my way to the soft skin and hard muscles of his stomach. His thumbs skim my breasts, stroking the nipples.
The jolt of intense pleasure shocks me to my senses. I pull myself free putting the table between us. “We can’t do this. You’re my friend’s son.”
“I’m not a child.”
“You’re eighteen!”
“Yes. A man.” He takes a step closer. “I can vote.” Another step. “Fight for my country.” Another step. “Get married.” He is in front of me now. Close, very close, but not touching me. “Father children.”
“You are in a very emotionally vulnerable place.”
“I’ve loved you since I met you.”
“When you were fifteen?”
He shrugs. A very French gesture that reminds me of his mother. He leans forward and whispers in my ear, “I’m not fifteen anymore.”
My entire body strains to cross the distance between us.
“I can’t go with you. I have a life here. Clients. Theo.”
“Just tonight, then. We have to leave in the morning. You’ll probably never see us again.” He touches me. Finally. The lightest of touches. Barely felt. His lips upon mine.
I close the scant distance between us, pulling his head down to me. Hungry, so hungry.