CHAPTER 36
If suffering brings wisdom I would wish to be less wise
William Butler Yeats
Scenery blurred before me as I wandered down one avenue then the next absorbing none Paris' beauty. Only faces paraded before me; fresh young faces of students dressed in school uniforms sharing secrets and laughter, deeply lined faces of old men and women arranged haphazardly on various benches; some alone others clustered together in heated debates or friendly games, ambitious faces of up and coming executives studying their paper while sipping steaming cups of espresso. An endless array of faces moving about in their daily lives; lives full of family and friends, deadlines and responsibilities, hope and normality. A life so foreign to me it seemed a fairy tale. My wish was to disappear; vanish into this crowd out of my father's prying eyes. I could probably do it too, right now. He hadn't anticipated my running out; he whole heartedly expected me to fall to my knees in gratitude. Had I slipped away without being followed? Was this my chance? Had he given me a gift after all?
Drunk with the idea of freedom my head swirled with possibilities. It was at this moment I recognized the need to stop, rest, and gather my thoughts. The day's heat had peaked and wandering the streets had left me drained especially after the previous night – God I wish I could remember the details. My stomach ached but not from hunger and I was in great need of something to drink; my legs were softening, barely able to support my own weight were about to give out. I stumbled into a newly vacated seat at a nearby café and with eyes closed rested my head on my forearms. Within moments I felt the uncomfortable stare of an impatient waiter followed by a very loud throat clearing. He bristled as I lifted my head "Espresso et croissant. Qui." This was not a question but more of a demand.
"Qui" was my weak response as he quickly turned to leave. "I mean no" realizing what I needed was water and shouted out "Perrier! I definitely need Perrier." Not sure if he had heard me I tossed a crisp hundred dollar bill on the table and figured he would at least take notice of that. The one thing money could buy was attention, lots and lots of attention.
Resting my head in my hands my eyes closed again; tired of all the faces I now focused on the sounds; the sharp sound of a spoon taping a cup, the tinkle of glasses and the rattle of silverware, the honking of horns and the whir of a bicycle passing close by, the chime of the clock tower at Gare de Lyon the hum of conversation. One by one each sound faded into the background as my mind focused on one; one conversation – one voice.
It's kind of funny how the mind works; odd things will connect you to old memories. For years the delicate sent of roses took me back to my first moments with Hannah, the heady fragrance of gardenias to Claire's studio and the clicking of knitting needles to my sick bed so many years ago. This time I was transported to art class, with my eyes squeezed shut I could see my sketches, feel clay between my fingers and my nose tingled with the strong but sweet smell of oil paint.
I could not understand the conversation as it was in French but with the faintest hint of an American accent. The few words I actually remembered from French class; rouge, bleu, vert, jaune were the only ones I recognized. She was speaking of color and the passion in her voice transcended the language barrier. Then I heard the laugh, almost childlike but with a fullness that was contagious trailing off to a sigh. It was a laugh I had heard before but it couldn't be possible, just my mind playing games. Upon opening my eyes I saw 3 bottles of water sitting before me and had decided I must have dozed off. Grabbing the first bottle I drank quickly letting the cool sparkling water overflow my mouth and dribble down the sides of my face to my shirt. The second bottle went down slower but was still sucked dry in moments. The third actually found its way into a glass; I leaned back in my chair and the corner I'd been painted into, yet again, began to crystallize. As much as I wanted to run what effect would that have on Lynn? Her freedom for mine didn't seem quite fair. What would become of her baby, the baby that existed only because of her willingness to sacrifice for me? I couldn't take off now. I was bound to protect her; compelled set her free. Only then could I find the escape I craved.
Concepts and ideas formed in my mind and were quickly dismissed. I could only use contacts I knew to spirit her away; sure they would gladly help, but unknowingly would lead my father directly to her once I was gone. No, I needed more. We could start with Pablo or Ingrid or Vera but their knowledge would have to be kept to a minimum, none of them could know where she would go or what name she would use. Money could always buy her a new name or a plane ticket but the Cambias coffers were bottomless and anyone bought could always be bought again. Unfortunately my reach was small compared to my father's; it infuriated me to feel so helpless to which depths I have felt only a few times since, with Ethan and Ian. It was at this moment I vowed to always have a network in place; not one based exclusively on money but on mutual respect, a priceless commodity indeed. Hopelessness began to overwhelm me as I drew in a sharp breathe of defeat. There it was again; lifting me from my self-loathing…..that laugh. I wasn't dreaming this time. Attempting to get a glimpse I turned nonchalantly and moved my chair slightly. Which one was she? There was a table of four to my right all huddled around a sketch pad; the woman speaking was not the one I'd heard; her voice was much too deep. Studying each woman's face I searched for something familiar; though I still was not exactly sure who I was looking for. Finally, as if responding to my thoughts she laughed again. I stared at the face that rang absolutely no bells. The deep red hair, bright green eyes and small nose did not belong to anyone from my past but the way she tipped her head as she listened and the absentminded way she would balance her drawing pencil on the back of her hand……. Amy….Amy Peterson! It had been seven years; but I'd watched her teach my art class for months and she was the one to snatch me from my lonely school existence and deposit me safely into the only place I had, until then, called home. And here she was seated a few feet from me. Finding it difficult to catch my breath, my heart pounded violently in my chest as emotions long buried churned their way to the surface.
Was she aware of the outcome of her actions? Did she know Claire was dead and Todd was in prison? Most of those memories had clouded over long ago; the result of my delirium and Alexander's oft-repeated version of the truth. I confess to finding it unimaginable that Todd could have killed Claire but images flashed into my nightmares of his drugged state and bizarre behavior besides the alternative was even more unsettling. At this time my perception had become so skewed, thanks to Alexander, that I was certain only Todd and I were present at the time of her death.
Lost in my thoughts I was unaware I'd been staring at Amy. Or should I say Lizette? She felt my gaze; as our eyes met she would quickly refocused on her drawings but would glance again moments later. Try as I might to turn away I just couldn't, though it was obvious I was making her very uneasy.
Her agitation finally boiled over "Perverti! Quel est votre problème?" she screamed while jumping from her chair which she proceeded to knock over. Her hands were waving me off.
"I'm sorry. I'm sorry" I rose slowly and moved to right her chair. "Please accept my apology I did not mean to frighten you." We stood toe to toe as I realized what she said "Did you just call me a pervert?" A smile spread across my face as I recalled her feisty streak. She studied my face; hands on her hips in a defiant stance and then a look of recognition gradually softened her eyes.
"Alex?" her words were soft, almost inaudible "Alex is that you?" Tears collected in her eyes until a single drop slowly traveled down each cheek. She licked them from her lips then tried to wipe the streaks away by pretending to push back her hair. She moved in cautiously for a hug; at least that's what I expected but before we had a chance to embrace she pulled back and slapped me hard across the face. "Me laisser seul!"
"I'm sorry" in a louder voice I continued "I thought you were someone I knew, and obviously I'm mistaken; very mistaken. Please forgive me." How could I have been so careless? I returned to my seat with a cautious bow realizing none of her friends knew of her previous life. She was had to be careful and here I blundered in.
It did not take long for Amy to slap her hands on the table, close up her sketch pad and pass it off to one of her colleagues as a gesture to send them on their way. One looked at me uneasily and questioned her "J'irai bien" was her matter of fact response. "Au revoir."
We sat facing each other, neither one of us making a move. She paid her bill and rose to leave. I began to follow but she shook her head almost imperceptivity. Moments later the waiter passed me a hand drawn map with an address and the words 'make sure you are not being followed'. I remained seated for a while before making my move. I was certain I had left before my father could have set up a tail but I wound my way through numerous back alleys before heading toward my destination.