When the first raindrop hit Brigitte's nose on what had been a sunny Sunday afternoon, she nearly cried out. Damn it, she thought, peddling a little faster and turning her head to see Bobby trailing after her on his bicycle.
"Bobby! We have to hurry if we are going to get back to town before this rain hits." There was a chill in the air, and Brigitte shivered.
Bobby just grinned. "Race you!"
Brigitte knew there was no way she could go as fast as he could, not in a skirt, but she'd be damned if she wasn't going to try. They sped down the hill towards town, but had only made it about another kilometer when the rain started coming down harder. It was starting to soak through the summer dress Brigitte wore, and the light sweater she had on did nothing to protect her from the chill of the rain.
Ahead of her, she saw Bobby pull over under a tree, so she slowed to join him. Under the leaves of the tree, they were partially protected from the rain, but the wind seemed to be taking what little body heat Brigitte had left. Bobby took her hands in his, rubbing them between his to warm them.
"You are freezing," Bobby whispered, pulling her fully against him and kissing her forehead. Wrapped tight in his arms, the concerns that had kept Brigitte awake the night before seemed as distant as the moon. She had been slightly nervous when he had appeared at her door early that afternoon to go on a bike ride, but after just a few minutes with him, everything seemed so normal. So what if he had a bit more money than her? She resolved to not let it get to her any longer.
Bobby's words broke into her thoughts. "I do not think we should try to get back to town. I live near here. We can just stay there until the rain stops. We can warm up and dry our clothes."
Brigitte pulled back a little from the warm comfort of his arms. It was perfect. She could finally see where he lived and maybe get some of her questions answered. "Yes, let's go there."
"We just have to turn left, and then it is at the end of the road."
Brigitte nodded and got back on her bicycle. They peddled quickly, but this time Bobby kept pace with Brigitte rather than speeding off ahead. She had kept her head down to keep her eyes out of the rain, so Brigitte was surprised when Bobby stopped and she looked up to see the Guillory Manor. Her mouth went dry. This was the largest house in their région. Everyone knew this place. This was where Bobby was staying for the summer? Her thoughts were interrupted again by Bobby's voice.
"Just leave the bicycles here. I will have someone put them away." His words confused Brigitte. Who was he referring to? Maybe he had misspoken? The rain was coming down harder, however, forcing Brigitte to hold her questions until they got inside.
Bobby pushed open one of the large, heavy doors and led her in. Brigitte was only just starting to absorb the interior of the house, the sheer scale of the entranceway, the fine detail put into every door, every light fixture, when she was completely distracted by a bigger surprise. The house had a staff. Bobby didn't just have a cook back home in New York.
He had an entire staff.
Bobby was speaking to a middle-aged man who had greeted him in the doorway. They spoke in English and Brigitte was only half listening, so she didn't catch all of it, but it sounded like Bobby was making arrangements.
Brigitte was pretty sure she was staring at Bobby and his butler in wide-eyed shock, so she quickly looked away. Scanning the entranceway for something else to look at, she found little else to make her feel any more comfortable. She jumped when she felt Bobby's hand on her elbow.
He gave her a warm smile when she turned to face him and gestured to a woman who had appeared next to him. "Margueritte will make a bath for you and dry your clothes." A bath? Not knowing what to say, Brigitte just nodded. She watched as several women scurried about the entryway and wondered just how many people worked here.
And all this, just for Bobby and his father? The older woman gestured for Brigitte to follow her up the grand stairway to the upper floor of the home, and Brigitte followed, leaving Bobby behind them. They continued down a long hallway until finally Margueritte opened a door and gestured Brigitte through it. She looked around the large bedroom, which alone was nearly half the size of her whole house. The room had a large fireplace and elegant furniture, but lacked any personal items. This is just a guest bedroom, she thought, slightly horrified.
She blindly followed Margueritte through the enormous room, towards a door in the back. The older woman opened the door, and Brigitte peeked inside.
It was an indoor bathroom. With a huge soaking tub and flush toilet. And it was on the second floor in a guest room.
Brigitte just stood there, shocked. Her mind immediately started running the numbers, trying to calculate how much it would have cost to retrofit this old mansion. Her family had only recently begun even discussing installing indoor plumbing in the garage. And even just the cost of that was enormous.
"What are you waiting for?"
Brigitte jumped at the sound of Margueritte's voice. "Excuse me?"
The older woman looked at her disapprovingly, lips pursed. "Just go put on the robe that's laid out on the bed while I get the bath ready. Leave your clothes on the chair by the door and Louise will launder them while you are in here." Brigitte nodded and walked back into the bedroom.
As Brigitte undressed, she tried to focus on Bobby and not on the house, or the servants. She had clearly tremendously underestimated his family's wealth. But the car, the fact that he always paid for her… the earrings. It certainly made sense now. But something else wasn't quite making sense. It tickled the back of her mind as she dropped her damp sweater on the chair. When she and Bobby had first met and he'd tried to find that word to describe what his father did, she had suggested 'foreman' or 'manager.' But that couldn't be correct. Owner maybe? The owner of many steel mills? Brigitte could only guess at the specifics. But clearly Bobby's father was no mere foreman to afford luxury like this.
She sighed. Five thousand Francs was probably nothing to his family.
Dropping her dress on the chair, she tried to push it all out of her mind. She told herself that none of this, the house, the material possessions, the wealth, none of it mattered. Bobby was Bobby and he cared for her. Brigitte set the rest of her clothes on the chair as instructed, pulled on the robe, and waited. Soon, a knock sounded from the bathroom and Margueritte reappeared. "Your bath is ready," the older woman said. Trying to hold her head high, Brigitte walked past the maid and shut the door.
She let the robe fall away and approached the tub. She sat on the edge, and then slowly slipped into the warm water. This is certainly much easier when hot water just flows from the tap, she thought as she let the warmth encircle her.
But she kept thinking that she'd been happier in the cold rain with Bobby's arms around her.
As the water started to cool, Brigitte wondered whether or not to get out of the tub. No one had returned to get her, and she was a little afraid someone would appear out of thin air to scold her for getting out at the wrong time. But Brigitte's fingers were turning into prunes, so consequences be damned, she rose from the water. Toweling off, she put the robe back on and went looking for a brush for her hair. She sat down at an elegant vanity and started looking through the drawers. Successfully finding what she needed, she brushed her hair and was in the middle of braiding it when someone entered the bedroom.
"Oh! I'm so sorry, ma'am, I didn't realize you were out of the tub! We have your clothes ready now. I'm so sorry!"
Brigitte turned around to assure her that it was no problem, but her voice stuck in her throat when she made eye contact with the maid. A young woman stood in the doorway, holding Brigitte's clothes, neatly folded. The look of shock on her face matched Brigitte's own.
Louise, the maid, wasn't just Bobby's family's maid. She was also Louise Beaumont, who had gone to school with Brigitte until they were fifteen, who had grown up a couple of streets over. They had never been close, but they had played together as children and continued to have mutual friends. And apparently, she had found work serving Bobby's family. Serving her.
Brigitte pulled her robe closer around her. Louise fumbled slightly as she set Brigitte's clothes down on the chair by the door. "I… I'll just leave these here." And with that, she hurried out of the room, shutting the door behind her.
Brigitte just sat for a moment in a state of shock. Never in her life had she felt so out of place. Feeling the sudden need to get out of this house as quickly as possible, she dressed and moved towards the door of the bedroom. As she approached, however, the sound of voices outside made her pause.
"—that her? Did she come to visit?"
"Who?"
"His fiancée! I heard there's a girl waiting for him back in New York. Did she come to visit?"
"What? I hadn't heard that."
"Yeah, I know my English isn't great, but I swear the other day in the kitchen I heard Monsieur Davis talk to Monsieur Bobby about his fiancée back home."
When Brigitte heard this, she pressed against the wall, trying to catch as much as possible.
The voices continued, "Fiancée, huh? So what's he doing with Brigitte? Monsieur Bobby seemed better than that."
"Oh, come on, Louise. All these rich men are alike. So, who's Brigitte?"
"The girl who's here. She and I went to school together. And her family owns the mechanic shop in town."
"Oh, I know Maria Bernard. Huh, a mechanic? Seems a little 'low born' for him."
"I suppose. Brigitte is nice, I guess… and pretty enough, but…"
"She must be just a little summer fun. You know, keep him entertained until he returns to his fiancée in the fall. But I wouldn't have expected Maria to allow her daughter to be a rich man's plaything!"
There was a pause. "You know, the other day I saw some awfully expensive looking earrings in Monsieur Bobby's room and now they aren't there. Do you think they were for Brigitte?"
"Maybe." There was another pause, then the voices continued. "I bet she wouldn't give it up. Trying to buy himself pussy, I suppose."
"Alice!"
"You know how these rich men are! They're perfectly willing to fuck the maids… but rich men don't marry mechanic's daughters. And they'll find ways to get what they want."
And with that pronouncement the voices moved away, leaving Brigitte pressed up against the wall, her head spinning. That can't be true. They misunderstood. Bobby's not engaged. And those earrings… they weren't… It wasn't like that. Right?
Her inner monologue trailed off, leaving her feeling empty. Returning to the vanity, she plopped down. It was already mid-July and Bobby would be going back to the United States in just over a month. And other than his glib remark about taking her to the Mediterranean next summer, they had yet to speak about what their enforced separation would mean.
She highly doubted he had a fiancée back home, he couldn't be that good of a liar, but… was she just some summer fling before university? Did he think that giving her some expensive earrings would, as the maids had so elegantly put it, buy her pussy?
Brigitte took a deep breath. No. This was all just idle gossip. These maids had not even seen them together. All they knew were some words they'd overheard in English… which Brigitte couldn't imagine they spoke better than her. It was all a misunderstanding. It had to be.
Except… she sighed as she let the truth of one thing settle in her head. Rich men don't marry mechanic's daughters.
Staring at her reflection for several long minutes, she tried to collect her thoughts. So what if this was just for the summer? It's not like she was planning to marry him after all… right? She just needed to talk with him, understand where he was coming from. All they really needed to do was talk.
Resolved, she stood and headed for the door. In the hall she found Louise, who was clearly waiting for Brigitte but who refused to meet her eyes.
"Do you know where Bobby is?" Brigitte asked, trying to sound more sure of herself than she actually was.
Louise still didn't look at Brigitte, but she did respond to the question. "Monsieur Bobby is in the parlor, waiting for you. I can take you to him. If you'd like."
Monsieur Bobby… She still couldn't get over that. "I…yes. Thank you."
Louise nodded and led her quietly out of the room. The silence was oppressively awkward to Brigitte. Had she run into Louise in the neighborhood, they would have exchanged pleasantries and chatted about family and life. But here… there was a giant chasm that had opened between them.
Finally, mercifully, they arrived at the parlor. But it was empty.
Louise turned to Brigitte. "Wait here, Bri—Mademoiselle. I will find Monsieur Bobby and tell him where you are."
Well, that was terribly awkward, Brigitte thought. After Louise left, she started wandering around the room. She was making her fifth nervous pass by the large windows on the side of the room when she heard another door open. Thank God, she thought, turning towards the door, grateful to see Bobby and get the hell out of here.
Instead of Bobby, however, a middle-aged man with thinning blond hair entered the room. Brigitte swallowed nervously. The man was well dressed and looked like he was in a hurry. That must be Bobby's father. The man didn't look in Brigitte's direction at first. He seemed about to pass through the room without stopping, when he slowed and turned towards her.
"Who the hell are you?" he asked in English.
Brigitte froze. What should she say? It didn't seem like a hard question, but his manner so completely unsettled her that she couldn't convince her brain and mouth to work together to form words. She was still struggling to respond when she heard the door open again.
This time, thankfully, it was Bobby. His eyes met hers and he smiled widely for a moment. But then his face fell at the sight of his father with Brigitte and he rushed over to them, speaking somewhat quickly in English, "Brigitte! Dad! I… Dad, this is Brigitte. We got caught in the rain, but we were just leaving. Right, Brigitte?" He took her hand in his and looked pointedly at the door.
Robert looked from his son to Brigitte and back again, realization spreading across his face. "Bridget. Of course. You know, Bobby, you should really inform me when you are having guests. If you'll excuse me…" Robert left quickly, leaving Bobby and Brigitte alone again in the large parlor.
Brigitte stood there, trying to process all that had just happened. She tried to form words, to tell Bobby what she had heard the maids say, to ask why his father had been so dismissive, but she was still so perturbed by the whole situation she didn't know what to say. Was Bobby ashamed of me? All she could express was her overwhelming desire to get out of this house. "I... actually, can I just go home?" Bobby looked at Brigitte surprised.
"You do not want to continue the bike ride? The weather is nice again."
"No, I… I should help Mama prepare dinner."
Bobby still looked confused. "You did not say this before."
She knew it was a lame excuse, but for some reason, she felt the overwhelming desire to be home. "Yes, sorry," was Brigitte's only reply as she hurried towards the door.
"Hey, hold on. Where's the fire?" Bobby called after her in English, having to pause to grab his jacket before following her outside.
Brigitte ran down the steps, finding herself in the gravel drive in front of the house. Ignoring what she was sure was an idiom, she called to him, "Where're the bikes?"
"In the garage…" He paused for a moment. "Seriously, Brigitte. What is going on?"
"Nothing. I'm just late," she lied.
Bobby raised an eyebrow. He obviously wasn't buying it. "Well, okay. But you can tell me… if something is going on." He placed his hands on her shoulders, the concern evident in his eyes.
Taking his hands in hers, she removed them. "I'm fine, really. I just need to go home."
"Alright. I'll go get the bikes."
They rode back to her house in relative silence. Brigitte felt her heart lighten as the distance increased between her and that damn house. By the time they were in her garden, she was in a significantly better mood. Leaning her bike against the wall she turned to see Bobby doing the same.
"Maybe I can help too? I can learn to make that bean salad. Then I can make it for you in the future."
The future. The words echoed around in her head as Bobby smiled at her. She considered making an excuse, to say he should just go back home but then he placed his arms around her waist. Holding her close he kissed her neck and whispered in her ear in English, "Please."
Brigitte felt her doubts start to melt away as she leaned against him. "Okay, let's go see what Mama wants us to do."
Dinner that night was relatively uneventful, with one exception.
When Brigitte and Bobby had entered the kitchen, supposedly to help Madame Bernard, Maria had grabbed Brigitte, holding her tight. "Mama?" Brigitte asked, obviously a bit shocked by her mother's actions. Maria started talking quickly to Brigitte in Spanish, but Bobby did understand a few words. One of them was the same in French and Spanish: war.
Brigitte shook her head as her mother spoke, seeming to be in a shocked silence. Finally, Brigitte seemed to remember that Bobby was standing there. Maria had seemed to calm down a bit, allowing Brigitte to translate. "There has been a coup in Spain. A fascist group, the Nationalists, have taken Sevilla and maybe a large portion of the north. It's not totally clear what is happening. But it looks like civil war."
Bobby's eyes widened. "When did this happen?"
"Yesterday."
Bobby paused, trying to process all this. Brigitte brought him out of his thoughts. "My mama has sent letters to her family. She's from Córdoba, which is near Sevilla…" Brigitte trailed off. "But we won't know for days how they are."
What a day to have 'dinner with the parents', Bobby thought to himself. He turned to Brigitte's mom. "Madame Bernard, if you do not want me to stay for dinner, I understand."
"No, no." Maria waved her hand. "If we stop our lives for war, the enemy wins. You will stay." She walked over and grabbed the arms of the two young people. "I only thank God you were not here for the Great War… and that we are not in Spain now. God willing, you will never have to live through something so terrible. Now let us speak of it no more." Bobby was unsure of what to say, so he merely nodded.
Brigitte then told her mother that they were here to help her prepare the meal. Maria seemed a little surprised by this, which only further convinced Bobby that something had happened at his house. He thought back to how dismissive of her his father had been, not even saying hello. Downright rude, Bobby thought to himself as he chopped vegetables.
Working with Brigitte's mom to prepare dinner was… interesting. Brigitte was kicked out of the kitchen and told to set the table almost immediately, but Bobby was allowed to stay and Madame Bernard had actually complemented his ability to make the pieces of vegetables all approximately the same size. Bobby had smiled at her words, as it was obvious from her interaction with Brigitte that this woman was sparing with her praise.
Dinner came and went and Bobby was rather pleased that it had gone so well… except for how quiet Brigitte was. My stupid father, he mused, upset by the thought that his father had offended Brigitte. But he tried to put these thoughts aside and focus on the moment.
Brigitte's father was very nice and seemed interested in what Bobby was doing. He had a lot of technical questions about steel forming that Bobby was not fully able to answer. Soon, the conversation devolved into Brigitte and her father discussing the merits of different types of steels. Wow, Brigitte should be the one that works at the plant, not me. Bobby chuckled at the thought, but then wondered if Brigitte might actually be interested in seeing the plant… maybe on a day when his father was out of town. Brigitte's mother was quiet for most of dinner, having pretty thoroughly interrogated him while he was acting as her sous chef. By the end of the evening, Bobby was pretty sure he had won them both over.
After Bobby said his goodbyes to Brigitte's parents, she accompanied him outside and stood by his car with him for a more private farewell.
"I thought that went well." Bobby smiled and took Brigitte's hands in his.
"Yes," she agreed. "I think my mama might like you more than me."
"She only likes how I cut vegetables." Brigitte laughed slightly. Bobby hoped that her light mood would allow her to open up. "Brigitte… please tell me what bothered you today."
He watched as she fidgeted, obviously wrestling with her emotions. Finally, she spoke. "It was really nothing. I'm over it."
Bobby doubted the veracity of this claim, but he chose not to press her on it. That would only make her mad. Instead he kissed her lightly on the top of the head. "Okay. Can I see you again this week? Are you free?"
Brigitte smiled a smile that didn't quite make it to her eyes. "Yes. Um, I think Thursday?"
"I will come by Thursday after work. And maybe this weekend we can go to see the castle?"
Rolling her eyes, Brigitte replied, "I have no idea why you want to see that pile of rocks, but I did promise."
He moved his lips within inches of hers. "Yes, you did." He kissed her, relishing in the warmth of her lips and the taste that was uniquely Brigitte. It was warm and heady and in the moment, he began to tell her he loved her.
That was, until he pulled back and saw the expression on her face. "What?" he asked.
"You taste like onion."
The moment broken, Bobby broke out into a laugh. "I guess I should carry a mint."
"It would be prudent."
"'Prudent'?" he asked, not knowing the word.
"A good idea," Brigitte supplied.
"'Prudent'," Bobby repeated slowly, trying to get the word to stick in his head. He looked at the time, nearly ten p.m. "I better get going so I do not get in trouble with my father."
"Yes, of course."
He started to lean in to kiss her goodbye, but it was obvious she had something more to say. "What?" he asked, again.
"Well…" she began slowly. "Maybe I should have dinner with you and your father. Since you've met my parents. And I've only met your father so briefly today… Maybe at a restaurant or something…"
So it was his father that had upset her. But why does she want to have dinner with him? he wondered. Maybe she thought the second time he would actually be polite to her? Whatever her motivation, the whole idea did not sit well with Bobby. He thought of how to explain. "I do not know, Brigitte. He… I have enough trouble getting along with him. He is an ass. I do not want to make you suffer through that."
Brigitte's face fell a little. "Oh."
"Believe me, it is better to not spend time with him. Is that okay?"
He could see she was a bit bothered by his words. "Of course. No problem. But I will have to meet him someday."
Bobby sighed. His father being an ass to Brigitte was not a day he looked forward to. "I suppose one day," he lamented.
Brigitte still seemed less than satisfied with his response, but looking again at his watch he realized he had to go. "I am sorry, Brigitte. We can talk about it later? I really have to go."
"Of course. Later." Her voice was unnervingly even.
"And I will see you Thursday? After work?"
"Yes. See you then."
Bobby kissed her one last time and hopped into the car. Although he was still a bit concerned about what was going on with Brigitte, he was sure it would blow over. She would either get over it or finally get around to talking to him about it. Really, there was nothing he could do until then.
Well, maybe there was something. He thought back to the moment where he had almost told her he loved her and was almost glad he hadn't. It should be more special than that, he mused. Maybe at sunset… at the castle this weekend. Yes, he thought. That will be perfect.
Brigitte knocked at the door and waited.
"Just a moment," the voice came from the other side. Moments later, the door opened to reveal a tall, dark haired man. "Oh, hi Brigitte," Jean said, and then called over his shoulder, "Simone, Brigitte is here."
He stepped away from the door and headed over to the kitchen table. Brigitte closed the door and followed him to where Simone was still sitting at the table. "Brigitte, we were just finishing dinner. Have you eaten? We have just a little left over but I could-"
"No, it's fine, thanks," Brigitte interrupted. "I'm really sorry to interrupt dinner, but… can I talk to you for a moment?"
Brigitte watched as Jean and Simone exchanged a look. "Sure," Simone said, rising. "Let's go into the bedroom. Jean, feel free to finish without me."
Jean silently nodded as he continued to eat. Brigitte followed Simone into the bedroom and sat on the bed as Simone closed the door. "Alright, what is so important?" Simone asked.
"Well… a lot has happened this weekend." Brigitte then went on to describe the events of the past two days, the earrings and Bobby's wealth, the gossip from the maids, and finally Bobby not wanting her to meet his father. Simone sat silently, taking it all in. "Well, what do you think? Is it just a summer fling? And why is he so afraid of me meeting his father?"
Simone shrugged. "I don't know. You'll have to ask him."
"But what about how rich he is…?"
"He'd never mentioned that before?" Simone asked.
"Not really. But then again I never asked for a pay stub."
Simone laughed. "Well, maybe for him it's not a big deal. Probably everyone he knows is rich, so he didn't even think to mention it."
"But I'm not!" Brigitte sighed. "So why is he dating me?"
"Oh, come on Brigitte," Simone huffed. "The heart wants what it wants! You're pretty and smart and interesting. I mean, okay, maybe your relationship is a bit less probable given… the difference in social class." Simone paused, trying to gather her thoughts. "But look, you're not ready to get married anyway. So what if it's just for the summer? You're not in love with him or anything."
Brigitte froze. Simone must have noticed her reaction. "Oh, no. Did you tell him you loved him and he didn't say it back?"
"No…"
"But you are in love with him?"
"Maybe…" she admitted before putting her head in her hands. "I don't know. I like him a lot and it makes me," she paused, trying to think of the right way to put it. "My stomach feels sick when I think about how he has to go back to the United States in just a month. I just don't want it to happen."
Brigitte felt the bed depress slightly as Simone sat down next to her. "Look, it is what it is," Simone said, smoothing her younger cousin's hair. "Maybe you can make it work, maybe you can't. But you have to talk to him. Tell him what you're feeling. You can't have a good relationship without communication."
"Okay." Brigitte sighed. "I'll talk to him."
Simone smiled. "Good. Just promise me you won't stress yourself out about this before you talk. It might be nothing."
Philippe Bernard was putting away his tools for the day when he heard the distinctive sound of the Traction Avant coming down the street. Brigitte picked up the pace of putting her own tools away, evidently also having heard the sound of the car.
These evening visits were becoming increasingly frequent, and Philippe wondered how Brigitte would take it when Bobby left in August.
He hoped not too badly.
Brigitte was talking to Bobby now, the two of them standing just outside the garage door. Even though they had only spent a limited amount of time in each other's company, Philippe was surprised by how much he liked Bobby. He seemed like a good lad, respectful and obviously raised right. And Maria liked him… despite what happened at the lake.
Philippe had always expected that when men started chasing after his only daughter, he would be much more protective. But he found it strangely easy to let her be independent, to go off alone with Bobby. I suppose that's a good thing, considering that she's leaving in a month… she'll need to be able to take care of herself.
Despite wanting to give his daughter space, he was still curious. So, in the evenings when Bobby would come, Philippe would make himself scarce, but try to stay within earshot.
"I have something for you." Bobby's accented voice wafted to Philippe's somewhat hidden position at his workbench.
"Oh?" Brigitte replied as Philippe took out his ledger to start looking over the day's receipts.
"Yes. On 'English Day,' you told me about you and Simone on the moon. When you were young." Philippe smiled at the memory of the two girls running around and talking to the air. Bobby continued, bringing him out of his reverie, "It reminded me of this book. I found it in English at the bookshop. I want you to have it, so you can remember."
This boy is too sweet, Philippe thought, not for the first time.
He then heard Brigitte say something in English. He didn't understand it, except for the words 'Jules Verne'. Then a firestorm of French erupted from Brigitte. "Bobby! From the Earth to the Moon is a French novel! Jules Verne is French! He's from Amiens! This… this is like me giving you Great Expectations translated into French!"
Philippe chuckled when he heard Bobby stammer, "I… I know. I… you talked about the moon… I remembered reading this book as a child."
"You read Verne as a child!?"
"Yeah, why?"
"His novels are a bit avant-garde for children."
"Um, okay," came Bobby's reply.
There was a moment of silence and Philippe waited, a little on edge, to see how Bobby would react to one of Brigitte's typical outbursts. A moment later, he got his answer.
"Well, if you want to give me Great Expectations in French, that is fine. But I like A Christmas Carol better."
With that Brigitte's laughter echoed through the garage. "I'm sorry Bobby. This is very thoughtful. And I've read the book in French, so maybe I will be able to follow it better in English." There was a pause, which Philippe was sure was filled with a kiss. "Thank you."
"You are welcome." Another pause. "Would you like to go for a walk before dinner?"
"I would. Let me just get out of these coveralls." Philippe heard Brigitte's footsteps approaching and quickly busied himself with the ledger. As she stripped out of the dirty clothes, she said to him, "I'm going for a walk, I'll be back later."
"Have fun. Be home by eight for dinner," Philippe responded.
"I will."
Philippe turned and watched Brigitte walk back to where Bobby was standing in the garage door. He offered his hand and she grasped it.
Philippe shook his head. Leave it to Brigitte to fall in love with someone who lived halfway around the world.
"Oh my God! Brigitte! It's a murder hole!" Bobby cried out in English while standing precariously on the castle wall. He had scurried up there while Brigitte had trudged from the courtyard they had just been looking at, very much regretting her choice in footwear. Now he crouched down, peering at her through a hole that connected his level to the entryway where she stood. She looked up to see him smiling down at her. "Hello," he said and waved, then tried to reach his arm through the hole.
Brigitte sighed. This was seriously like chasing around a small child. Her feet hurt and she was tired of looking at rocks. Not to mention it had to be nearly 35 degrees outside… "I'm going to go sit over there," she said, pointing to a shady part of the dilapidated wall.
"Okay," Bobby called out, having already found a new rock to look at.
Sitting, she carefully removed her shoe, wincing at the blister that the strappy sandals had worn on her ankle. She really should have realized that when Bobby said he wanted to see the castle and have a picnic, he didn't mean just look at it from the roadside. He meant climb all the way to the top of the hill and explore every nook and cranny.
"Brigitte! Look!" Bobby called out. She turned and craned her head to see him standing next to a hole in the wall. His right hand was drawn back near his ear and his left was held out straight in front of him. "I'm an…" he trailed off, obviously not knowing the word. "One of those guys…" he attempted again, before pantomiming, and making little 'pew, pew' noises.
"An 'archer'," Brigitte called out to him.
"Yes! I am one of them!"
"Sure you are…" Brigitte turned her attention back to the countryside. She had been hoping to actually have a serious conversation about their future at some point today. Between the maids' gossip and his objection to the idea of her having dinner with his father, Brigitte really wanted to know what was going on. She had wanted to talk with him about it while they walked on Thursday, but she could never find the right moment.
But she was resolved to have this talk today. If only Bobby would stand still for thirty seconds.
Today was the day he was going to tell her he was in love with her.
Standing on the battlement, Bobby looked down at Brigitte. She was sitting on a short wall, examining her feet. It was obvious she was not nearly as interested in the castle as he was. He didn't quite understand why she didn't think this was interesting. The castle was just a skeleton of what he imagined it had been at its high point. But no one had given it any thought in probably at least one hundred years. And if Brigitte was any indication, no one from the town could have cared less about it.
Their loss, thought Bobby as he leapt from stone to stone. Their lack of fascination with it meant that he and Brigitte had it all to themselves.
After a few more hops, he looked back at Brigitte. She really looked bored. Maybe some food would pick her up a bit?
He hopped back over to where he had left the food and soon was standing next to Brigitte, basket in hand. "Do you want to go sit in the courtyard?"
After putting her shoe back on, Brigitte stood. "Sure."
They quickly got to the sheltered courtyard, which was surrounded on all sides by the remains of a high wall. Bobby laid out a blanket and Brigitte almost immediately plopped down on it and removed her shoes.
He took a sandwich out of the basket and offered it to her. She shook her head in refusal.
"Are you okay?" he asked as he put the sandwich back.
"I'm just not hungry."
"Okay."
Brigitte barely heard Bobby's response. She was trying to build up all her courage to ask the question: where is this going? He was finally sitting still, they were alone, and there was nothing that could interrupt them. It was the perfect time to ask.
She had just opened her mouth when she felt his lips on her neck. She closed her eyes and drank in the feeling of his kisses on her skin. It can wait a few minutes.
Bobby heard Brigitte sigh at his touch, and felt emboldened. He laid her down on the blanket, and moved his trail of kisses from her neck to her mouth. He was instantly hard, aching for her. His pants dug into his sensitive flesh, so he reached down, unfastening them before bringing his hand back up to her face. He drew back and looked at her, tucking her hair behind her ear. "You are not wearing the earrings," he commented, noting she was just wearing simple silver studs.
"No…" she trailed off.
"But they look so pretty on you," he murmured as he kissed down her neck.
"Yes, but they are very… fancy." He could barely focus on her voice, he was so caught up in the feel of her body.
"Maybe I need to take you to more fancy places before I leave you." He slipped his hand under her, grasping her ass with his hand.
Brigitte began to panic. More fancy places before he leaves me? Did he misspeak? Just what does "leaves" mean? Brigitte was too caught up in her own thoughts to really notice what Bobby was doing until he rolled on top of her. She could feel him hard against her crotch, his hips rocking lightly against her. Brigitte suddenly realized his pants were undone and her skirt was up around her waist. His hand had moved from her ass and now seemed to be seeking a way to get under her panties at the crotch. The heat and the humidity combined with the motions of Bobby on top of her felt suffocating and she began to get light-headed. His hips moved again and he moaned in her ear in English, "Oh God, I want you so badly."
Brigitte couldn't handle it. She shoved him off of her and sat up quickly. It's true, she thought. They were right. Mama was right too. He just wants to have sex. He wants me to sleep with him before he leaves. I am just some "summer fun".
One moment Bobby was in heaven and the next he was lying on his back, Brigitte having shoved him off of her. "Brigitte, are you okay? What is wrong?" Bobby looked at her, concerned. He wasn't sure what he had done. Sure, he'd been a bit aggressive in feeling her up, but considering what they'd done to each other at the lake, he didn't think she would be opposed to a little groping.
But now her knees were drawn up and her forehead was resting on them. She was taking deep gulps of air. He reached out and placed a hand attentively on her shoulder, just to have her bat it away.
"Brigitte, please, what is going on?"
"Oh, like you don't know," she spat.
"No, I don't."
"You just want to fuck me and then leave me!"
Bobby paused, having not really understood what she had said. "I want to what?"
Brigitte stood. "You just want to have sex with me!"
That one he understood, but Brigitte was already leaving the courtyard, her shoes in her hand, leaving Bobby to hurriedly throw everything back in the basket before following her.
Brigitte couldn't get very far, hobbled by her bare feet, so Bobby was back at her side quickly. "Brigitte, I do not understand. Of course I want to have sex with you. You are beautiful and I am a man."
Brigitte could have hit him in that moment. She should have known this was all too good to be true. How could she have been so blinded by his charms? He really was just like every other man. "Just take me home," she demanded.
"Brigitte, can we please just talk?"
"I'm too mad to talk. Just take me the hell home!"
They had just reached the car as Brigitte had let out her second demand to be taken home. "Fine!" Bobby nearly shouted in English, his confusion turning into anger. Unable to slow his thoughts enough to speak in French, he yelled at her in English. "I'll take you home, but you can't keep refusing to talk to me! What the hell did I do to you?"
Brigitte paused for a moment, and he could see the sadness in her eyes. "Please just take me home," she pleaded, her voice strangely soft.
Bobby's stomach felt slightly sick at the thought that, whatever he did, it had made Brigitte so upset. Not knowing what else to do, he relented. "Okay. Let's go."
As he drove back to town, Bobby kept glancing at Brigitte, but every time he looked at her, she was looking out the passenger window. Bobby was completely at a loss as to how things had gone downhill so fast. Things had been going so well, and then suddenly she was yelling at him.
Bobby sighed. "Look, Brigitte-"
"I don't want to talk, Bobby. Just take me home."
Bobby's hands clenched tightly on the steering wheel and he gritted his teeth. "I told you I would. I just thought-"
"Bobby! What part of 'I'm too angry to talk' are you not understanding!?"
Bobby looked back at Brigitte. "Damn it, Brigitte! Whatever I did, I am sorry, okay!"
This finally got a rise out of Brigitte. "What kills me is that you think all you have to do is say 'sorry' and that makes this whole situation okay!"
"What 'situation'?" Bobby yelled, still looking at Brigitte.
His eyes off the road, Bobby didn't see the sharp turn ahead of him until it was too late. The car went off the road and Bobby slammed on the brakes, throwing Brigitte forward.
The next thing Bobby knew, he had a splitting headache. He raised a hand to his forehead and swore. Realizing he was still in his car, he looked immediately for Brigitte. She was still there, but she was slumped between the door and the dashboard. She wasn't moving.
"Brigitte! Damn it!" He pulled her into his arms, running his hand along her face and pleading with her to wake up, but to no avail. Blood was dripping down the side of her face from an abrasion, probably where her forehead slammed against the dashboard. Not getting a response, Bobby watched her chest to see if she was breathing. He was reassured to see that her chest rose and fell slowly but surely. Now convinced that she was at least alive, Bobby turned his attention to the car. He had to get her to a doctor as soon as possible and to do that, he needed the car.
He turned the ignition to start the car, and was thankful when it roared to life. He threw the car in gear and started to engage the clutch. The terrible sound of metal clashing on metal was all that greeted him. Killing the engine, he quickly got out and started inspecting the car. A tire was flat, but no matter, he could drive on the wheel for the half-mile it was to his house. Opening the hood, everything looked in order there, to his novice eye. Finally, Bobby crawled under the car and saw it: the front axle was broken. He must have hit a rock on the way down the hill.
That was it, the car was kaput.
When Bobby realized he wouldn't be able to get the car moving again, he felt his stomach drop. He couldn't let anything happen to Brigitte. His head was still killing him, but they were on a quickly darkening road with no hope of being found and the car wasn't going anywhere. But his home was just over the hill. Bobby got out of the car, walked around to the passenger side, opened the door, and took Brigitte into his arms. Then he started walking.
The sun was going down as he approached his house. As he got close, he started yelling in English. "Edmond! Edmond! Call the doctor!" Bobby hadn't gotten a response by the time he got to the door, which he couldn't open while carrying Brigitte. "Edmond!" He started kicking the door and just as he started, the door suddenly opened.
"Monsieur Davis! What happened?"
Bobby strode through the door. "She needs a doctor. Call the doctor!" Edmond paused, startled by Bobby's sudden appearance. "What are you waiting for?" he demanded. The butler finally hurried off to place the call, and Bobby noticed that some of the maids had heard the commotion and were peering timidly through the various doorways into the entryway. "Margueritte! Alice! Louise! Get a guest room prepared. Help me get Brigitte into bed."
Once in the room, he laid Brigitte gently down on the bed and Alice appeared behind him to help him get her settled. Brigitte moaned but didn't wake up. Margueritte entered soon afterwards, carrying towels and a bucket of warm water. Bobby immediately started trying to clean the blood from Brigitte's face and neck, and she stirred a little at his touch but didn't open her eyes. He was so focused on Brigitte he almost didn't hear the voice behind him.
"Monsieur Bobby, is… is she okay? Can I help?" Bobby's mind processed the French with relative ease and he turned to see Louise standing in the doorway.
"I do not know. Please, bring the doctor here when he arrives."
Bobby expected her to leave immediately, but Louise shuffled nervously before saying, "I know her family. Should I contact them?"
"Yes, do that." Bobby said, turning his attention back to Brigitte. Wait, she knows Brigitte? Bobby questioned, but when he turned to ask, Louise had already hurried off.
A scraping noise momentarily drew Bobby's attention away from Brigitte. Margueritte was dragging a chair over, and motioned for him to sit down. She then gently took the washcloth from his hand, folded it, then returned it to him. "You have to stop the bleeding. Press firmly here," she said, taking his hand in her own and pressing it against the bleeding cut on Brigitte's forehead. Removing her hand, she whispered, "She'll be okay. Don't worry too much." All Bobby could do in response was nod. Margueritte, seeing nothing more that could be done, left, with Alice in tow.
What could have been minutes or hours passed as Bobby sat, pressing the damp washcloth against Brigitte's head. Finally, she groaned and her eyelids fluttered.
Bobby's heart skipped a beat. "Brigitte, how do you feel?"
She slowly opened her eyes and she struggled to focus on her surroundings. "Bobby? I... what happened? Where... where am I?"
"We were in a car accident, Brigitte. You were hurt. You are at my home. A doctor is coming." Bobby took her hand in his and she squeezed it in return before raising her other hand to her forehead.
Meeting his hand, she asked, "What's going on? My head, God, it hurts."
Bobby nodded. "I know, you hit it pretty hard. You were..." he searched for the word. "You were asleep. Do you understand?"
Brigitte nodded, and then winced from the motion.
"Just hold still. The doctor will be here soon."
"Okay. But I feel tired and queasy."
Although Bobby really didn't want to learn more French words at the moment, he did want to know Brigitte's symptoms. "I am so sorry, Brigitte. Explain 'queasy'."
Brigitte took a breath, but a voice interrupted. "She means her stomach is sick."
Bobby turned at the unfamiliar voice. A man was standing in the door, Louise next to him. "Monsieur Bobby, this is Doctor Proulx."
The doctor walked quickly to where Bobby was sitting. "You've done well, son, thank you. Now go wait and let me examine her."
Reluctantly, Bobby stood and walked towards the door, where Louise was still standing. "Monsieur, I sent the driver out to her house to get her parents. He will return with them."
Grateful, Bobby let out a long held breath. "Thank you, Louise." She had started to leave when Bobby called out. "Wait. How do you know her family?"
Louise slowly turned to face him. She seemed to consider her answer before speaking. "Brigitte and I went to grammar school together. She lives only a couple of streets from me."
"Oh." Bobby looked from Louise to Brigitte and back again. A strange feeling suddenly caught in his chest. How had he not noticed Louise before? She certainly had hopes and dreams, like he and Brigitte did. But until that moment he had just seen her… as a servant.
"Is that all, Monsieur?" Louise was still standing there, waiting for her next orders.
"Yes, that is all. And… please, call me just Bobby from now on."
Louise's eyebrows scrunched together. "Um, okay… Bobby."
He gave her a small smile before returning his attention to Brigitte and the doctor.
"They weren't there, Monsieur. I waited for about twenty minutes before I thought it best to come back," Mathieu, the driver, told Bobby.
Where the hell could they be? Pinching the bridge of his nose, Bobby sighed. He thought to send the driver after Simone, only to realize he didn't actually know where she lived. Not really knowing what else to do, Bobby replied, "That is okay, thank you, Mathieu."
"Do you want me to go back to her house and wait, Monsieur?"
Bobby eyed the young man, suddenly realizing that, like Louise, they were about the same age. "No. I will ask about it when she wakes." Bobby paused before continuing, "And just call me Bobby, okay?"
The other man arched his eyebrows. "Are you sure?"
"Yes, I am sure." Raising his voice slightly, he reiterated as he walked back up the stairs, "Everyone just call me Bobby."
Bobby could hear the commotion in the house stop for a moment after his pronouncement, but then the din slowly picked back up. Unconcerned with the staff for the moment, Bobby headed for the spare bedroom.
Once the doctor had finished examining Brigitte, he reported that she just had a sprained ankle and a concussion. Bobby had shown him out, thanking him profusely for coming. By the time Bobby had returned to her room, Brigitte was already asleep. Trudging back downstairs, Bobby had consulted with Edmond about what to do with his car, which was in a ditch near the main road. For once, Bobby wished that his father was around, but he had left that morning to go to Paris for a series of meetings early next week.
So that left Bobby in charge. And he was really unsure what do to. Fortunately, Edmond had taken pity on him and said he would deal with the stranded vehicle.
Bobby headed back to Brigitte's room, sighing for what felt like the millionth time that hour. He looked at the empty chair next to the bed, but it was hard and uncomfortable. Not knowing how long he would have to wait, Bobby went back into his room and grabbed his book. Returning to Brigitte, he kicked off his shoes, and stacked the pillows on the opposite side of the bed so that he could sit and read in relative comfort.
As Brigitte floated near consciousness, she regretted that she had a head. The pounding seemed unbearable, and she wanted nothing more than to float back into a deep sleep. But alas, her bladder refused to be ignored and she slowly opened her eyes.
She was still in Bobby's spare bedroom, the same one she had taken a bath in a week ago. Bobby was no longer in the chair next to her bed, and Brigitte felt a slight panic set in at being left alone in this stupid house again. Then she heard something behind her. Brigitte placed her right foot against the bed to roll over and instantly regretted it. Sucking in a deep breath of air, she recalled the whole 'sprained ankle' part of what the doctor had said. Sighing, she attempted the maneuver again, this time only using her left leg and arms. After what seemed like an eternity she succeeded, finding Bobby asleep next to her. At first she was relieved to see him, but then the panic sank in. Had Louise seen them like this? What would people say?
Reaching out, she shook him. "Bobby… Bobby!"
His eyes fluttered open. "Brigitte! How do you feel?" He looked her over, his eyes landing on her forehead. She wondered what it looked like.
"I feel…" she paused. "My head hurts. And my whole body aches."
Bobby glanced at a clock. "Do you want more pain medicine? Four hours have passed."
Brigitte nodded, causing Bobby to nearly jump out of the bed and start collecting the necessary items. Brigitte slowly sat herself up, careful to only use her left foot and arms to do so. She had just gotten herself situated when Bobby got back. He handed her a glass of water and a couple of white pills. "I could have helped you sit up."
"I managed on my own." Brigitte took the pills and water from him. She popped in the pills and took several long drinks of water to wash them down. Setting the water on the bedside table, Brigitte noticed that Bobby was down near the foot of the bed, starting to take the blanket off. "What are you doing?"
He looked up at her. "I want to check your foot."
"You could have asked me."
Bobby looked a bit confused, but replied, "Sorry."
Brigitte reached to throw off the blanket and gingerly adjusted her leg so they both could see it. It was as she expected. Her ankle was swollen to the point that her calf and foot now seemed directly connected. It had bruised slightly, but all in all not too bad. Satisfied that her ankle would be fine in time, Brigitte swung her feet off the bed and started to rise.
"What the hell are you doing?" Bobby gasped in English. He put his hands on her shoulders to stop her from moving. She started to fight him, but the pounding in her head gave her pause.
"I have to use the toilet," she snapped.
"Oh."
She started to rise again, but Bobby had not removed his hands. If she'd had the energy, she would have been tempted to slap him. "Bobby, it's not that bad. I've sprained my ankle before. I know I can walk the twenty steps to the toilet."
"Let me help you at least." Bobby moved his hands under her arms and lifted her into a standing position. Holding onto his shoulders, Brigitte slowly put weight onto her lame foot, increasing it to test the limits of what the ankle could handle. Normally she would have just hopped, but the pounding in her head made that sound like the worst idea ever. So she slowly hobbled, using Bobby as a crutch, until they had finally made it to the toilet.
Although they had arrived, Bobby just stood there. "I don't need help with this part."
Bobby still seemed hesitant to leave. "Are you sure? I mean, not that I want to watch you, but if you need help…" he trailed off.
"I'm very sure. Leave." Bobby finally turned to go, leaving Brigitte to her business.
After an only slightly harrowing experience of getting on and off the toilet, Brigitte hobbled over to the basin to wash her hands. Above the sink was a mirror, so she also took the opportunity to investigate her head. While she had been nonplussed by the ankle, her face was a completely different matter. She had known the doctor had stitched her head, having been awake for that. But she had not been prepared for the bruising and swelling. As she continued to investigate, she saw her dress had dark red stains and that her hair was matted with dried blood.
In short: she was a mess.
A knock interrupted her examination. "Brigitte? Are you alright? I heard the toilet… um… I do not know the word. Take away the water."
She sighed. The fact that he was listening made her a bit uncomfortable. "Flush. And yes, I'm fine."
There was a pause. "Do you need help?"
Brigitte hobbled over to the door and opened it, revealing Bobby.
Brigitte opened the door. Bobby reached out for her immediately. Why is she being so stubborn? he wondered as he tried to help her back to the bed. She had always been independent, but this was ridiculous. He chose not to say anything, knowing that would only make her even more recalcitrant.
They finally reached the bed, and he restacked the pillows at her feet. Gently lifting her leg, he placed it on the pile, trying to get her foot above her heart, as the doctor had recommended. He lightly brushed his fingers on her leg, staring at the swollen mass that had been her ankle. "I'm so sorry," he mumbled in English.
"Are you apologizing to my ankle?"
Bobby turned. "No. Well, yes. I mean, I am sorry I hurt you."
"It's okay, you didn't mean to."
"I still feel bad."
Brigitte had settled back into the bed, and it looked like her eyes were growing heavy again. Bobby felt an overwhelming need to hold her, to be physically close and know that she was okay. Circling the bed, he climbed back in, this time under the covers, and reached out for her.
Rather than settling into his arms, Brigitte stiffened and moved away. "Bobby…" she began. "This isn't appropriate."
Bobby wasn't exactly sure what she was talking about. How was holding her not appropriate? He thought back to how mad she had gotten this afternoon when they had been making out… and how strangely she had been acting the whole week. What was going on?
"Why is it not 'appropriate'?" he asked.
"Because… what will people think?"
Think about what? Me comforting my hurt girlfriend? "I do not understand. Everyone here knows you are my girlfriend. They saw me sitting here earlier."
"Oh, great. So now they all think we are sleeping together."
Bobby opened and shut his mouth a couple times. What in the world was she talking about? "Why… why do you say this?"
He watched as Brigitte curled up on her side, facing away from him. It was becoming clear to him that Brigitte seemed to have only two speeds when it came to emotions, yelling or withdrawn. He reached out, trying to comfort her. "Brigitte, tell me why you say this."
He heard her let out a long breath. "Because that is what rich men do with poor girls."
Bobby was shocked silent. His mind suddenly jumped back to New York, where he had heard rumors of his friends' fathers carrying on with the maid. The faceless maid in the stories was suddenly replaced with Louise… the girl that went to school with Brigitte. Is this how Brigitte saw herself? Is that what Brigitte thought was going on? The mere thought made him sick. He was about to respond when Brigitte's voice cut into his thoughts. "I… heard rumors."
"Rumors about what?" Bobby asked. "About us?"
Brigitte nodded.
Bobby suddenly felt the need to know exactly what was said and by whom, so he could personally punch the mouth that had spoken ill of Brigitte. "What did they say? Who is talking?"
Brigitte shook her head. "'Who' is not important. But they said… that you have a girl back in New York. That you were just using me… for sex." How could people say this? Why in the world did Brigitte lend it any credence? He was trying to get his emotions under control when Brigitte spoke again. "I didn't really believe it at first, but it got me thinking, and then I started seeing things differently, and I got worried, and-"
Bobby slid down and took the curled up Brigitte into his arms, holding her tight. "None of that is true! There is no one else! Just you. And…" he paused. Well, I guess it's as good of a time as any. "And I love you."
Brigitte was silent for a long moment. He loved her? This was just insane. She broke out of his embrace and made an effort to roll over and face him. "Are you serious?" she responded, with more venom in her voice than she had really intended.
She watched as Bobby's expression went from loving, to hurt, to defensive. "Yes, I love you. Why is that hard for you to believe? You will think the worst of me but not this?"
"I just…" Brigitte started, also defensive. But then she took a breath, trying to keep her emotions in check. She sat up as well as she could, finding it easier to say these things when he wasn't so close to her. "Look, Bobby, this isn't the way the story goes. This isn't… Cinderella. I mean, it was hard enough with you just living in America to imagine this could go anywhere, and now this? Now not only will you leave in a month, but you're also rich? Your family will never allow us to be anything more than this."
"Fuck, Brigitte, I get enough of this shit from my father without having to hear it from you too!" Bobby exclaimed, also sitting up in the bed. Brigitte was still not looking at him, but she could hear him take a deep breath. Evidently she wasn't the only one having issues remaining levelheaded at the moment. "Did you understand?" he asked in French, his voice more even.
"Yes," she replied, shortly. "So your father already doesn't approve?" Something clicked in her head. "Is that why you didn't want me to have dinner with him?"
"Yes, that is why. I did not want… he would have been rude to you. I did not want to put you through that. But what he thinks… it does not matter to me." She turned to look at him, and he continued, "Brigitte, listen to me. I only want you. Sure, right now I am hurt you would believe such things about me… but I still love you. I want to make this work. I do not want to lose you."
Brigitte slowly reached out, caressing his face tenderly. "I don't want to lose you either."
A grin slowly spread across Bobby's face, and he grabbed her hand, laying a kiss on her inner wrist. Brigitte felt that old familiar feeling rise in her, that warmth that happened whenever she made Bobby happy.
"Bobby, I am really sorry for… all of it."
"It's okay," he murmured against her wrist. "I… I am sorry too, Brigitte. So sorry." He looked up at her and gingerly stroked the hair near her forehead. "I never wanted to hurt you."
"I know… and, just so you know…" she took a breath, and then the plunge, "I love you too."
Bobby and Brigitte talked for hours, arms and legs entwined, whispering about their futures. Bobby held her close and promised to return to her in the summers. Brigitte curled against Bobby's chest and promised to write to him every week. As the summer light faded, they continued to share soft words and kisses, promising each other that it would all work out. After all, if they really loved each other, nothing could stand in their way.