The river, fluid and seamless as ever, continues to flow silent and strong, breathing life into its inhabitants, yet it remains as a cruel reminder of the life it took away.
Running my hands over my face and through my hair, I make myself stand. I know I can’t prolong this for much longer. I need to go back. I have to say good-bye.
Staring out into the night, the inky water swirls and shifts around the rocks. As I look up into the stars, I wonder how Chantel really felt that night.
How does one feel, knowing that her time is running out? Terrified? Angry? Or am I projecting my own feelings? Was she peaceful? That’s what I like to believe. I wonder if she felt scared. Did his arms bring her some semblance of comfort? A moment of solace?
Blinking away the brightness of the stars, I look out once more to where the moon now shines over the trees lining the bank opposite me. As I stand there, I feel her come from out of the shadows. However, this time, I’m not scared. This time, as I stand here looking across the wide body of running water, I feel my heart splinter and crack, wishing I could reach out to her. I wish I could be the one to comfort her. Am I insane? Ghosts don’t exist. I know that, but my eyes and the feeling I have deep inside my chest won’t let it go. Although I might be hallucinating, as I stand here on the bank of the Fleuve Sauvage de Fleurs, I can see her.
She is standing by the water, toes touching the cool liquid, as a long white dress flows around her with hair dark as night surrounding her pale beautiful face. As she stares back at me with eyes unseeing, I feel my own heart break for a woman I now love.
As Phillipe stands in his room, looking out at the old arbor, he tries to remind himself that what he did earlier was necessary. Reliving old wounds frees one’s soul, right?
Then, why don’t I feel free? Instead, he feels trapped.
Standing down by the river tonight, he felt her there, holding his hand, as he relived the most horrible night of his existence. Once again, she was there comforting him, letting him know that everything would be okay. When Gemma finally let him walk away, he knew that he was leaving them both by the river as broken as he was.
Closing his eyes, he takes a deep breath in and runs a hand up through his hair. This is it. The story has been told, and the tale has now ended. He knows Gemma will be leaving soon. Although he has done everything he can to push her away, he still feels her inside of him almost as strongly as he felt her.
When did this story morph? When did it change from a tale of two to a tragedy of three?
Shaking his head at his own selfishness and need to touch another, he berates himself for ever involving Gemma in the first place. When he first decided to grant this glimpse into his private life, he thought he would be smart. He planned to bring in a woman that did not resemble Chantel at all, someone who was the complete opposite of her, so he could look at her and feel nothing. That was not the case.
This independent, curious, and brave woman pushed her way in. She took everything he threw at her and stored it away behind a fierce wall of strength. She listened and shared in his love—his love of art, his love of music, and his love of a woman who was no longer here.
Gemma gave her back to him in ways he couldn’t understand and would never have suspected possible. As a result, she also witnessed and shared in his agonizing heartache.
Turning away from the window, he moves to the locked closet. Opening it, he stares at the clothes still hanging untouched and cold. At the very end, still in the plastic garment bag, he finds what he was looking for. Avoiding all the other clothing, he reaches in and pulls it out.
Maybe if I do this? Maybe if he gave Gemma this, he can send her away, knowing she would be leaving with all of them, and she wouldn’t be alone, like him and, ultimately, her.
When I arrive back at the chateau, I go straight up to my room. I am under no illusions that my time here will continue. There are no more journal entries to be read. There are no more tales to be told. The story is over. The problem I’m having is what to do with everything I now knew.
I open the door to the room that has been my sanctuary for the past few weeks. I’m surprised to see that the small bedside lamp is turned on, and my bed is turned back. As I move across the small space, I notice a dress laying out across the bed. Stepping even closer, I spot a small note nestled in the V-neck of the soft material.
Gemma,
I’ll be waiting in the showroom.
Phillipe
Reaching out, I trace my finger over the rose trim of the bodice. I take a deep breath and close my eyes for a moment.
I hadn’t known what to expect when I arrived here all those days ago. As I scoop up the beautiful ivory gown from the bed, I find I still have no expectations of what I will find down in the showroom where Phillipe is waiting. One thing I do know for certain is that nothing will stop me from finding out.
Showering quickly, I style my hair in a regal notch at the nape of my neck, sweeping my blonde bangs across my forehead. Believing this gown calls for elegance, I am determined to do it justice.
Making my way out into the bathroom, I spot heels that were covered by the gown. Beautiful taupe tips adorned with rose-colored jewels peek out from under the bed.
Sitting on the edge of the bed where I slept, dreamed, and fantasized, I slip my feet into the leather-lined shoes and stretched my legs out in front of me, admiring the sparkling jewels as the light hits them. Taking a deep breath, I stand and look myself over in the mirror by the dresser. I’m struck by the woman who is looking back at me.
She is a stranger, she is a woman who has given her heart away, and she is a woman who will never be the same.
She is now me.
Phillipe feels her the minute she enters the room.
He’s waiting by the corner in the shadows, wanting to give her the time and space to feel whatever it is she needs to feel.
Once again, the room is dimly lit, except for the spotlights on each of the paintings. As Gemma moves into the space, Phillipe is surprised when he feels that the room is now complete with her presence.
Breathtaking. That’s how she looks as she steps carefully into the low-lit space. The dress he chose for her cloaks her body like candlelight, and with every step she takes, the satin parts and her long, sensuous leg appears through the clouds of fabric. He is mesmerized.
He notices that she has pulled her hair back to the nape of her neck. Smooth and graceful, her elegance calls to him as she moves farther into the room. She stops before the painting, Armor. Watching silently, he is spellbound as she reaches out, and this time, shows no hesitation as she strokes her fingers down Chantel’s arm.
Phillipe steps out from the shadows and takes a step toward her, but he finds himself paralyzed as she moves even closer to the painting. Resting her right palm on Chantel’s shoulder, she inches in as close as possible and turns her head, laying her cheek against Chantel’s breast. Whispering, she asks, “How do I leave him?”
Phillipe holds his breath as she raises her left hand and traces her fingers along Chantel’s naked thigh.