Lost In Rewind (Audio Fools #3) Read online

  It’s time to bury my life in work and my kids, and help Sara get back the life she deserves. I will no longer be a selfish prick creating heartache with false promises. Jacky, Sara, and now Kali have helped me grow up and accept my actions and their consequences.

  My kids are ecstatic they get to meet and play with Emily and Louis’ children tonight. It’s one of our first family outings since Jacky passed away. We have a constant swarm of friends and family come visit us, but this is the first time in over six months that we’re physically going somewhere.

  The Bruels live within walking distance to our house, and since the rain from this afternoon has stopped, I’ve decided to walk rather than drive to their home.

  I knock on the door using the big-ass knocker that looks as if it were stolen from Versailles, and knowing a thing or two about Louis Bruel, I don’t doubt that at all. I haven’t cracked a smile all day, and this stupid doorknocker makes me and the kids giggle like a bunch of maniacs.

  Emily opens the door with a small blond boy at her side. He looks like Louis’ carbon copy with the bluest eyes I’ve ever seen. He looks a bit younger than my kids, but that doesn’t stop Juliet from walking in and taking his hand, leading the way like the boss that she is. She’s my little Sara to a T. Emily and I smile as I lift Jacob, who’s more reserved than his no-nonsense sister, and walk in. Emily’s older daughter approaches and introduces herself as Rose. She’s stunning, just like her mother.

  Jacob goes off with Rose, giving me one last look, to go see a promised playroom as I’m left standing in the middle of Sara’s best friend’s foyer. I feel like an intruder, an imposter, as if I got lost in someone else’s story. Maybe this wasn’t a good idea. I hope that Emily inviting me over doesn’t make Sara even more upset with me. She hasn’t answered any of my calls or texts. William said she’s not ready to talk to me—I don’t blame her. I get all my information either from Emily or Eddie, but I long to talk to her and make sure she knows how sorry I am. She needs to know that her children will always be here waiting for her, if she ever wants to be a physical part of their lives. I will never stand in her way of knowing her babies.

  “Don’t worry about the kids—they’ll be fine. There are plenty of babysitters downstairs watching over them.” Emily tries to put me at ease, but I feel wrong about being here.

  I lie and say, “Not worried at all. Thank you for inviting us. It’s nice for the kids to get out, and I know Sara would be pleased to have her kids meet yours.” I recall Sara’s excitement years ago at Louis and Emily starting a family, no doubt hoping to one day have a family of her own.

  Emily leads us toward her living room, and busies herself making me a drink by the corner drink cart. Moments later, she hands me a glass full of amber liquid.

  “Did Sara ever tell you how we became friends?” she inquires without taking her eyes off me.

  “I recall her mentioning that your mothers went to school together.”

  She giggles, nodding her head. “Yes, our mothers are college friends, but Sara and I didn’t really like each other when we were little. I was shy and Sara, well, Sara was never shy about anything. I suspect she didn’t like being my friend because she constantly ended up punished when our mothers forced us to play together. I desperately wanted Sara to like me. I used to go to all her ballet recitals, but she was too cool to hang out with me. My mom always used to say that Sara would come around, that kids are mean, sometimes unintentionally, but that she was sure Sara loved me.”

  I listen to every word coming out of Emily’s mouth as if a holy sermon; after all, she is one of the only links I have left to Sara.

  “Everything changed once we got into sixth grade. I entered a silly talent show and chose to sing ‘Wind Beneath My Wings’ by Bette Midler. My parents couldn’t come to the actual show, they had an out of town medical lecture that my mom was giving, so Sara’s folks were supposed to come and support me instead. Sara’s parents never showed up, but Sara still came by herself. She found me after the embarrassing performance and I can’t remember being away from her from that point on. We were inseparable. She slept over at my house almost every weekend. We even invented our own ‘80s language to make sure nobody understood us. I thought I knew everything about her. I mean, I never believed half the things she said she did without me, but I was her best friend, and it was my job to listen. She shaped my life and taught me everything I know about friendship, boys, love, and sex.” Emily snorts out a giggle. “I’ve done nothing for her. I just want to be a better friend. I owe her that.”

  I nod, happy at the prospect of Emily Bruel, public enemy number one, welcoming me into her home and sharing a part of Sara with me.

  “Sara’s here,” Emily announces to me. Her words aren’t making sense, as if far-fetched.

  “Where?” I look around. The house seems empty. I haven’t even seen Louis.

  “She’s downstairs in the playroom with the kids. She wanted to meet them and introduce herself to her children without you. She’s not strong enough to see you and them together, not yet. But I think her finally meeting them will help her heal and get better.”

  I’m now standing with my back toward Emily, not wanting her to see my tears fall.

  “Jeff, I hope you’re not mad at me. She’s been talking about them and missing them. She just wanted to meet them.”

  She doesn’t need to explain herself for Sara wanting to see Juliet and Jacob to me. “I’m not mad, I’m happy. Jacqueline told the kids about their guardian angel named Sara, and they’ve been asking me to go find her ever since.” I wipe the tears now fully running down my cheeks with the back of my hand and turn to face Emily.

  She takes a TV remote and punches in a code. A huge oil painting above the fireplace disappears and is replaced with a big screen with a live camera feed of what appears to be the Bruel playroom. I instantly spot Sara sitting on the floor surrounded by pillows, talking to Juliet and fixing her hair.

  Emily turns the volume up, walks over to me, and hands me the remote. She whispers, “Thank you for saving her life.” Then she walks out of the room, leaving me spellbound as I watch and listen to the scene I’ve imagined and dreamt about for eight years. It’s my Sara, who’s not mine anymore, meeting her children for the first time.

  “Like A Prayer” by Madonna

  I walk into the bar and without Lauren or any of the staff members noticing me, I run upstairs, painfully clutching the key in my hand. I don’t know who I’m trying to hide from. I own this place and have every right to be in Joella’s private rooms just as much as Joella herself. I’m in a hyperaware state of anxiety, noticing things around me that I’ve never before registered, as the desire to feel close to someone without having to explain what’s happening inside my mind suffocates me.

  It’s early in the day and the bar is still quiet. I look around to make sure I’m the only one upstairs as I draw the black curtains at the top of the staircase. I insert the old key Jeff left under my pillow and open the hidden door that only a handful of people know about, one of those people being the complex man I can’t remove from my thoughts.

  My decision to not call him back after my phone died was one of the hardest choices I’ve ever had to make, but I require time to digest and try to make sense of the things I now know, since logic and reason haven’t been on my team ever since I met him. How can a perfect stranger make me feel everything all at once? He was married for fourteen years, he has children with his wife, who died of cancer, and I now know that his friend’s sister played a damaging role in his life. But everything I’ve collected and learned about him makes no difference. He was right, nothing makes sense and I can’t help him. Joella’s reading means very little to me and I still don’t know this other girl’s name or what exactly happened between them once he got married. Did he use Joella’s words as a crutch to justify his actions? And who’s to say that my grand-mère’s prophecy won’t still happen? Why does he harbor such anger toward Joella if his life is not ye
t over?

  He and Eddie’s little sister may still have a future, if perhaps she’s the girl with the biblical name Joella saw in his future—unless, of course, something happened to her, too. The thought of him with this nameless girl stings more than I care to admit, but it shouldn’t, because he’s not mine. I have no answers for him, I can’t help him interpret my grand-mère’s words, and therefore it only makes sense I stay away and let his life fall back into place. I was certain that once I heard the fortune, I’d know exactly why Joella chose him, but I’m just as much lost about their interaction as he is.

  I slip the warm key, that hasn’t left my hand, into the door and say a silent prayer before I enter my portal. As soon as I cross the threshold of the hidden apartment my grand-mère and my maman once called home, the scent of roses seeps in and neutralizes every part of me. The sweet familiar scent regenerates and clears my mind as if by magic. The last time I was here, I had Jeff with me, but it’s time for me to face my ghosts on my own. I will get through this, with or without him.

  I pass the room with the circular table at its center and carefully open the door leading to Joella’s private apartment. It feels as if I’m walking into a museum or a frozen time capsule. It’s the first time I’m here alone and I better not faint, because no one will catch me or find me this time. The dark living room reminds me of my tiny dollhouses my papa and I built back in Cassis. There isn’t a centimeter of wall space that isn’t covered in my maman’s pictures, who is still the most exquisite creature in the world. I pass by a mirror hanging between the hundreds of photographs, and when I catch my refection, I see what everybody else sees—my maman staring back at me. If I stand still, my reflection looks to be another one of her old photos hanging. Her eyes in every frame follow me, comfort me, as I walk around the room taking each morsel of the past in. A delicate, see-through, glass armoire on the far left side of the room stands full of vibrant colorful scarves. I can’t contain myself; they call to me. I pry open the rusted glass doors and choose a green and brown floral wool shawl to cover my body and soothe my soul.

  The fact that I’ll need to go through all of Joella’s belongings before selling this building cripples me. I don’t want to be alone and I don’t want to feel alone anymore, and this place reminds me of just how alone I really am. I don’t regret coming here and spending time with the matriarch and last relative left to my maman, but now that she’s gone too, I need to find a place that feels like home. The man with two colored eyes felt like home. It was only one night, but he still tasted like home should. I sigh, he is home; it’s just that in this case, he’s someone else’s home.

  I shake Jeff and his eyes from my mind and advance deeper inside. The last time I was here with him, I was hyperventilating and in shock. I didn’t have a chance to inspect and touch this suspended encapsulated past that was left to me. I fainted but seeing it all now still seems familiar. I lightly push a half opened door and cringe at the awful shrieking sound it makes before I find myself inside the room that was once Joella’s bedroom. Again, as if being slapped in the face with his memory, I experience something I have no right to feel for a stranger I can’t stop thinking about.

  I throw myself on a bed that’s covered in white sheets and let out a cry that seems to come from somewhere too deep to name. No one can hear me and I make sure to let it all out. A good honest cry is sometimes the only answer. My cathartic sob finally subsides, followed by hiccups, and I can’t help but take out my phone to look at the picture of his eyes again. I’m a horrible person for wanting someone who clearly doesn’t belong to me. I lured him to kiss me. I orchestrated and forced our attraction. If I didn’t come on to him in this room, we’d just sit like two regular adults and exchange words and nothing else. He was weak. He’d just lost his wife and I attacked him because he mentioned a piece of my past.

  I won’t ever call him again.

  I’ve done enough.

  I wipe my tears and sit up, inspecting the charming, feminine bedroom my grand-mère once slept in. The draped ceiling and the soft lighting make this room feel like a honeymoon suite at some overpriced boutique hotel somewhere in the south of France. I smile at the graceful statue of the dark-skinned saint that’s placed prominently at the center of the room against the wall, adorned in dried flowers and melted candles.

  After my maman’s accident, and after her funeral, my papa and I haven’t once visited a church—God couldn’t help us, she was gone, and we had to live without her. We both felt responsible for her death in our own silly ways. But as I sit here on my own, surrounded by memories full of heartbreak, the urge to touch the patron saint of my people feels almost unbearable. I remove the relic from its chosen display and bring it close to my chest. I say another silent prayer and question the silence around me as to why I wasn’t in the car that day with her? I ask for only one thing, I ask for guidance to help me find a place to call home, wherever that may be. I close my eyes, clutching the black Madonna to my heart, and the craving for sleep wins over my weary body. In my dreams I’m never alone.

  I feel my phone vibrating under me as I wake up disoriented in a sunless room. I have no idea where I am as consciousness manifests. I adjust my eyes to the bright phone display and Lauren’s chubby familiar face fills my screen.

  “Hello,” I whisper in a hackneyed voice that sounds as if I’m sick.

  “Where have you been all day? I went up to your place twice already. Should I be calling the police to track you down?” I smile. Perhaps I’m not alone after all. If I went missing, someone would notice. Lauren would find me.

  “You won’t believe it, but I’m upstairs on the second floor. I fell asleep in Joella’s bed.” I hear her gasp even with the loud music and yelling in the background.

  “Frenchy! How in the world did you get inside? Wait! Did you find a key?”

  I touch Jeff’s key that now hangs around my neck. His eyes materialize before me without warning and a stupid smile highjacks my lips against my better judgment.

  “That guy that came asking about her a few nights ago—Jeff—he had a key. He left it to me before he ran away.” I don’t mean to sound disappointed, but I also can’t mask how I feel. It will take everything I have to not call him back, but I have no choice. I need to leave him alone and not escalate our mistake—and him not calling me back confirms that.

  “Why do I feel like you’re not telling me something?”

  “Nothing to tell, he’s not important,” I hiss out.

  “Okay, whatever you say, Frenchy. That definitely sounds like nothing to me,” she adds with a snort at the end of her sarcastic comment.

  “I’m ready to sell the bar and I’ve decided that you and your mom should own it,” I declare without warning, just having come up with my brilliant plan. I always knew that Lauren and her mother would be the only people I would ever consider entrusting this place to, and I don’t need any money from them. I just want them to run it like they always have.

  “Shut the fuck up. You know I don’t have the dough to buy this place from you. The building alone is worth millions.” She giggles as if I just told her a joke.

  “Lauren, I don’t need any more dough. Joella and my maman left me enough of that. I just want peace of mind knowing this place stays in the family. The last couple of days it became clear I can’t stay here; I don’t belong. I feel alone without her here. There must be a place in the world where my heart will feel whole again.” I continue rubbing the key as if a genie may pop out and grant me three wishes. No genie, no wishes, just a land of questions and a sea full of sorrow.

  “Frenchy, Frenchy, haven’t Joella and your mom taught you anything? Running away won’t fill your heart. Your mom ran away to France but she never left. You first need to find all the scattered pieces of your heart for it to feel whole, and then no matter where you are in the world, you’ll feel complete. Home is not a place, it’s a state of mind. You had no intentions of leaving Rhode Island or this bar a few days ago and now
you’re ready to jump ship … tell me what happened with that good-looking bathroom creep!”

  I have no idea how to explain Jeff to Lauren. I haven’t been able to explain him to myself. Everything my eyes land on feels touched by him. But I shake my head and my hopes of Jeffery Rossi, until his image disintegrates and disappears. He’s not my future; he’s just a roadblock—an obstacle in my mind right now. I smile as hard as I can to tip my emotional scale and deny myself the urge to cry again. He belongs to someone else, he gave his heart away, and I don’t need a man without a heart.

  “There’s nothing to tell. He was kind enough to tell me what Joella once told him fourteen years ago on the night they met, and I was lucky enough to get to hear it. It’s that simple.” My face begins to ache from the fake smile plastered on it.

  “So you two didn’t sleep together?”

  Fuck! Is it that obvious?

  “Why would you think we slept together?” I didn’t say anything to Lauren or anybody else about him.

  “I saw him leave through your staircase the next morning. I could be off, but I believe he was wearing the same clothes—I did get a good look at him and his attire when he first came in, just in case I needed to describe him to authorities. And another interesting little tidbit I picked up was the way he couldn’t quite bring himself to leave and drive away. He just stood by his car, looking up at your window. It was very Romeo of him. It seemed as if he kept waiting for you to come running after him or something. And you seem different—blue, sad, very Juliet-ish. I don’t know, I may have an overactive imagination and I may be over-analyzing your suspicious absence around here in the last few days, or perhaps I just put two and two together.”

  I hear the smile in her voice, and she’s spot on. I’m an amateur. I wear my stupid feelings on the outside for the world to see and I can’t fool anyone, especially her.