Thanks for taking the time to continue reading this story; I know I went a long time between chapters seven and eight, but I'm going to try and post with more frequency, until the story is finished... your feedback, as always, is most appreciated.
Best, Jm08nyc@yahoo.com
CHAPTER NINE
I awoke with a start—you know the feeling you get when you forget where you are, when you wake up in a strange place for the first time: maybe it's a hotel room, or the first time you spend the night with a new love, or you move to a new house—it's startling and jarring.
Except that I had done none of those things. I had awoken as I had for years, save this summer in the south, in the house on Rue Charlot. With the sun starting to stream through the drapes I had failed to close last night before falling asleep.
Perhaps my momentary confusion was due to the fact that I had fallen asleep fully dressed—suit, tie, shoes, the works. Flat, face down on the bed. I didn't even pull the covers back.
Wednesday had come and gone.
And there had been no word from Cooper.
"Un billet pour Nice, s'il vous plait," I said to the man at the ticket counter.
It had turned out to be a brilliant, bright, sunny winter day in Paris—and three days since Cooper's supposed return to the city. And three days since he would've received the notebook. And three days without a word from him.
Did I want to hear a word from him, even? Did I want to see him? Was I truly ready?
I'm still not sure, but I know I had expected something more than the silence that followed Wednesday.
Which turned to Thursday. Which became Friday.
And lead me to where I am now. The ticket agent roughly handed me my ticket and told me what track the train was leaving from.
I gazed out the window as the train powered through the French countryside, reflecting on the last six months, since I had returned from the South. Days had come and gone. Turning to weeks. Turning to months. Turning to a life that was somehow functioning, if not quite complete.
I was certainly in a better place than nine months ago, when I headed South for the summer. In the wake of Cooper. At the lowest of low points.
I slid out of the train, out of the station, and found the car just where I had left it so many months before. Bag in the trunk. It felt good to be behind the wheel.
Years ago, when I first moved to France and didn't have a lot of money, I had stumbled across an old Citroen DS car from the 60s while I was out in the countryside—I bought it on the spot and had it refurbished over the years as I could afford to: a new paint job, new upholstery, finally putting the finishing touches on it just about a year ago. Since buying the house in the south, the car lived here as well—serving not only as a mode of transportation, but a mode of escape. Nothing like a good road trip. Cooper always loved the open road.
I wound my ways through the country roads, climbing through the hills to reach the small town where the house was. Finally reaching my destination, I turned off the ignition, and rested my head against the steering wheel.
After a few minutes, and a few deep breaths, I climbed out of the car, grabbed my bag and headed up to the house.
Key in the lock. Push the door open. Taking it all in. Dusk was starting to fall, and the windows in the back of the entry hall faced out onto the countryside, and the sky was changing color over the rolling hills. I left the lights off, moving slowly through the hall, dropping my bag on the floor, and shucking off my coat.
I wandered throughout the house. Getting reacquainted with my old friend. I laughed a little at that thought—a house as friend. But, to be fair, it had been here for me all summer—giving me protection, giving me purpose, giving me a project, giving me strength. Renewing me as I renewed it. Our histories and futures were intertwined.
I slipped through the passageway into the library. My hands running over the rough-hewn wood shelves I had built myself this summer, repurposing old lumber I had scrounged throughout the countryside—the perfect plank, the perfect patina. I allowed myself to fall into the chair in the corner, my legs swinging up over the arm, into an oh-so-familiar position, in an oh-so-familiar place. I grabbed the remote from where I had left it so many months ago, sitting on the window sill, and flicked on the stereo. The soft, warm melody of Francoise Hardy filling the room—abandoned at the end of the summer in the middle of a song, but picking up like no time had passed. I let my head fall back against the chair, closed my eyes, and drifted off to sleep.
Sometime after midnight I had woken up, and made my way upstairs. Letting my clothes fall to the floor, I climbed under the covers and drifted back to sleep. A deep, heavy, sleep—a sleep I hadn't had in months.
I arose before dawn and found my running clothes and headed out to watch the sunrise from the roads of Provence. Up and down and hills, round the bends, weaving in and out of curves. The warm glow of the sun beginning to beat down over me, warming me from the outside in; while the pounding of my heart warmed me from the inside out.
Reflecting on the last nine months, as I pounded out mile after mile, I realized that I was slowly starting to become a whole person again—the person on the outside slowing matching the person on the inside. The fractured life that Cooper had left me with, starting to get pieced back together.
Through time, through work, through pain and joy, and a little bit of humor—life was starting to come back to me. I worked my way through the brisk morning, allowing the heat I was feeling to carry me onward. Eventually looping my way back towards the house.
Up the final hill, round the final bend, down the final drive.
Until. A dead stop. Like I had hit a brick wall. A brick wall in the shape of a black Audi.
I fell to my knees.
This. This I was unprepared for. Panting. Trying to catch my breath.
Fuck.
How had I not anticipated this? How had I not seen this possibility.
A black Audi. Here. At the top of the hill, around the bend, at the end of the drive.
Here. At the house.
I'd know that car anywhere. Because, of course, I had paid for the car. Last spring. For his birthday. The car. Cooper.
I stood up and leaned and against the low wall that circled the property. Still catching my breath. The clarity of my morning run, the clarity that came with a deep sleep, fading away into a million thoughts leading to a million possibilities leading to a million futures.
I slowly walked the rest of the way down the drive, let my hand fall on the trunk of the car, and follow it's curves as I made my way towards the house.
He was nowhere to be seen. But, I hadn't changed the locks, so if had brought his keys he must be inside. He'd know I wouldn't be far with my car still in the drive.
What room would he be in? What would he be wearing? What would he look like?
I made my way up the front steps, and turned the knob, slowly pushing open the front door. Attempting to be as quiet as possible, not wanting to upset the quiet that filled the house.
I slid inside, and closed the door behind me. He wasn't in the entry hall. And a look to the right confirmed he wasn't in the dining room. To the left, the living room, empty.
I made my way towards the back of the hall, noticing the kitchen door closed. I had definitely left it open this morning. The kitchen.
Fuck. Cooper. Is right there.
I paused.
It's been nine months. Nine months It felt like a lifetime. Like five lifetimes. Or ten.
I breathed. Deep. Again. Deep. Breath. Deep. Deeper. Again. And again. Deep. Breath.
My hand on the door.
A soft push. The smell of fresh coffee hitting me in the face. Open wider.
Eyes wide open.
"Hi, Andrew."
TO BE CONTINUED.