"Ma cherie it's midnight. Can't it wait? Oh-Madeline, it's you. Come on in." Francis shuts the door behind me, but I don't budge from the door mat and instead just sit down right there. Despair threatens to overwhelm me. He leaves and comes back with two glasses of warm milk. Cautiously I accept. It tastes better than I thought it would; mixed with cinnamon and sugar. Despite Francis's spacious living room, he sees my position and stays nearby sitting on the arm of the closest chair. For a while we don't speak.
"For the last time, my name isn't Madeline. It's Maddy." What looks like a smile of relief fills his face.
"Oh, but in my country it would be." Stupid French. So what, he's here every summer making him practically ΒΌ American.
"I didn't come for sex." My bold statement somewhat surprises him but we both know that's what a lot of girls come here for though. When Francis comes to town, so does the party in his pants.
"Did David choose Jennifer?"
"How did you know?"
"Jennifer told me. She said she now has a boyfriend and I need to get my 'perverted ass' off of her." I can't help a short bark of laughter. Francis is most definitely perverted, but he knows when to stop at least. As suddenly as it started, my laughter turns to tears. Putting down his mug, he kneels down next to me and leads me over like a small child to the couch and pulls me into his chest.
"No one loves me. Is it because I'm that disgusting to them?" My voice catches, raw and red. "Why are guys incapable of loving me?" No one, not even Francis could every love me.
"Shhh ma cherie. Let me tell you a story." I roll my eyes and sniff; the first because I mashed against his chest, the second because I am getting snot on his robe. "Love is like the wind. It's always been blowing and I've always been following it. It goes from person to person; never settling, never staying. But as of late I have noticed it has gathered on one person. The way she walks, the way she moves the way she breathes, the way she lives all shape her love. But I have never acted upon that love, and I have caused her great pain. I want to tell her that I am sorry." I frown. What the heck? Is this supposed to make me feel better?
"I'm sure your apology will be accepted."
"You accept?" The anticipation on his face is in broad daylight, and that's when I realize it. He's talking about me.
I've always loved him. It hurt me to see him with other girls, but I always knew I could count on him. He was the sunshine in my summers. I guess the real reason why I came here was not to cry over David, but to subconsciously deal with our love for each other that we never knew we had.
"It's forgiven." We stay like that for a while. I feel safe in his arms, safer than I ever have before. But not just safe. I feel loved. And when he sets out an extra bed for me, I don't mind. He knows my values and won't compromise them. I leave early the next morning and I sneak back into the house, I realize I was loved all along.