Turn Back Time (The Full Circle Series Book 1) Page 9

CHAPTER 18

  David—July 2018

  O

  n Monday morning, David breakfasted in his hotel room while looking out over the Tuileries Garden. He turned his phone over and read Stella’s message again.

  I’ll be in touch when I’m back. Maybe we can talk then. Stella.

  She had slipped through his fingers…

  Throughout Sunday night, he replayed the auditorium scene in his mind while the bright neon green numbers on his digital alarm clock relentlessly ticked off the passage of time. Stella was out there somewhere—so close, but not close enough.

  She must have left the auditorium while he was barreling down the stairs at breakneck speed. He must have missed her by seconds. Why didn’t she wait for him? She must’ve known he’d want to see her.

  Wrong, you dumbass! You said in your letter you ‘had to let her go.’ Why would she think you’d want to talk to her now?

  Chasing her through Paris was impossible. By the time he managed to leave the voice message on her phone, she could’ve been anywhere.

  He remembered a board game he used to play with his parents and sister on family game nights. One player was a criminal, Mr. X, and the other players were Scotland Yard detectives. They chased Mr. X through London by either taxi, bus, subway, or boat. Mr. X had to reveal his kind of transportation and his current location every five turns. But he also had a few black tokens. They were frustrating, because when he used them, he didn’t have to disclose his mode of transportation, and was harder to track.

  Right now Stella was in possession of a whole bag of black tokens, and David was empty-handed.

  He ran his fingers through his hair, then read her message again.

  I’ll be in touch when I’m back.

  He clung to those words like a lifeline.

  He hadn’t planned to stay the whole week. He was here on a two-day audition for the lead role in Don Giovanni, and was supposed to return to London Thursday.

  Aaron told him Jerome was impressed with his portfolio, but they still had to follow strict procedures to secure the contract for this highly coveted role. To work with this conductor, who had the reputation of being the wunderkind of the century, was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.

  And David might have sabotaged his chances without singing even one note, courtesy of yesterday’s display of wackiness.

  When he finally returned to the private box, Aaron was there waiting for him, but they agreed to let things settle a bit before discussing it. Aaron was not only his agent and manager, David considered him one of his few close friends.

  One thing was crystal clear to him. He would stay in Paris and wait for Stella. An understudy could fill in for him in London for a few more days.

  He loved his work, and took his career seriously, but it had morphed into a very demanding, egotistical lover. It took a lot more than it gave. The balance was off.

  He had known the price for this success going in, hadn’t been able to spend every holiday at home, and had been okay with it.

  And relationships? After the fiasco with an ex-girlfriend several years ago, it was easier to concentrate on his work. Which he was okay with, too.

  But then he met Stella and fell head over heels in love with her, and—within only a few weeks—allowed himself to dream of something more.

  David pulled Stella’s picture out of his wallet. She’d been sitting on the rim of Buckingham Fountain, her hand making circles in the water while she smiled at him.

  Just recalling the moment made his heart squeeze.

  He inhaled through his nose, exhaled through his mouth. Time to reply to her message. She’d be wondering what was taking him so long. In fact, knowing her, she’d probably been checking her phone every five minutes throughout the night. It was disrespectful of him to keep her waiting.

  Being disrespectful didn’t stop you last year.

  David put her photo on the table and started typing.

  Stella, I’m here until Wednesday for an audition, but I’ll change my ticket and stay until Saturday. I need to see and talk to you. Please call me as soon as you’re back in the city. D.

  After he read the message again, he deleted it. It sounded too impersonal. He’d write to her later.

  He needed to be composed, calm, and in control for his audition in a few hours, and right now he was neither. Being outdoors usually helped him relax and ground himself, and the park across the street would have to do.

  He finished his eggs, toast, fruit and tea—none of which he could taste—and left the hotel. Not even 9 am, but both sides of the boulevard were packed with idling tour buses, and herds of tourist groups with their stupid little umbrellas stood around gaping at every statue they could possibly find.

  Man, you’re in a great mood. Better snap out of it—fast!

  David found an unoccupied bench under a copse of trees close to one of the many fountains and water basins. As it so often did, the sound of the splashing water took David back to his childhood and afternoons spent in Grant Park.

  When he was no more than ten or eleven years old, his mother once found him near Buckingham Fountain. He wasn’t supposed to go there alone, but when he left his house, he hadn’t paid attention to where he was going until he found himself in the park.

  His mom sat down next to him and wiped away his tears. “Honey, you scared me. What are you doing here all by yourself?”

  “You’re telling us all the time to go to a quiet place to think when something bothers us. When I’m here, the water washes my pain away.”

  “I meant a quiet place at home, and you know it. But what kind of pain are you talking about?”

  He struggled how to tell her about what had happened. “Mom, some kids at school are making fun of me because I like to sing. They say I should play sports instead of doing music. I hate them.” He smacked the water.

  “Honey, hate is a strong word. We have to be very careful with it.” She dried his eyes with one of her soft, lavender-scented handkerchiefs.

  “But I don’t like them. They’re mean. And at least I’m not telling them they stink at soccer or tennis.”

  “I’m glad you don’t, and I’m proud of you for being the better person. Sometimes people say hurtful things because they don’t know what else to say.”

  “But they don’t say those things to Sabrina. And she likes to sing and dance.”

  “Yes, she does. But we live in a world where some talents are tied to a certain image. Classical singing or ballet dancing are seen by many as a female prerogative.”

  “What’s a pregotive?”

  “A prerogative? It means a right or a privilege reserved for a certain group of people.”

  “That’s stupid.”

  “Please don’t use that word either. But you’re right. It’s very wrong. And artists like Luciano Pavarotti, Fred Astaire, Mikhail Baryshnikov, and many more have exceptional talent and have proven those people wrong.”

  His mom pulled him into her arms then, even though he was a big boy and too old to be hugged in public. He didn’t care. His mom and dad made him feel safe. “What does Dad tell you at least once a week?”

  “He wants to be able to hit a ball like Frank Thomas.”

  “Well, yeah,” his mother laughed, “but what else?”

  “Oh, to find something I enjoy and follow my dreams.”

  “And is singing something you enjoy doing?”

  “Yes. I want to be a famous singer when I grow up.”

  “Then do it.”

  The voice of a tour guide brought David back to the present. Sitting in this park right now, twenty-five years after his conversation with his mother, he could still feel her arms around him.

  His parents were the best role models he could imagine. They showed their children how crucial it is to fight for what’s right, and to never accept prejudice and hateful behavior.

  What would his mother say if she knew how he had ended his rela
tionship with Stella? He only told his family they weren’t seeing each other anymore. His parents expressed their regret but said nothing more. His sister, on the other hand, called him some things which would make a sailor blush.

  David checked the time. Ten o’clock. He took a deep breath. Still plenty of time. His eyes were on the fountain in front of him, but he didn’t see the glittering drops of water shooting up in the air and collecting in the basin.

  He thought about the demands of his career.

  In the fall of 2016, after being on the road for Broadway tours for six years, he won the contract for the lead role of The Phantom in a permanent stage production in Hamburg, Germany, an opportunity he’d be crazy to refuse. His career was well established in the United States, and he was used to seeing his own masked face on billboards or magazine covers.

  Being onstage in Europe would skyrocket his international fame. The little boy who was harassed by classmates stood on the biggest stages worldwide and sang his heart out.

  He told Stella about the opportunity while he was in Philadelphia for a week and hadn’t yet accepted the offer.

  “Are we going to see each other while you’re in Germany? How long do you have to be there?” she asked. “Flying to Europe isn’t as easy as flying within the States.”

  “The contract is for six months, and I don’t know what’ll happen afterward,” he answered.

  “I don’t want to stand in your way or hold you back,” she looked up at him and he could see it wasn’t easy for her to say.

  “I have no right to ask you to decline such an incredible offer. You’ve worked too hard to get where you are. Just as I worked too hard to get my degrees and my job. I can’t imagine leaving the Library Company any more than you can imagine not performing onstage six out of seven days a week.”

  “I love you more than anything, Stella.” David fought back tears. “You have no idea what it means to me to have you support me this way, to have you encourage me to accept the contract.”

  “If you turned it down, you’d regret it for the rest of your life. Six months will fly by. Our love is strong enough to survive this. I believe in us, and I’ll wait here for you.”

  He left for Hamburg in December 2016, and for the next six months they didn’t see each other in person.

  In May of 2017 he signed a contract to perform in Budapest for six months. He flew to the States for an eight-day visit and told Stella. When she asked him, “And what are your plans after Budapest?” his honest answer was, “I don’t know.”

  But not long after he arrived in Budapest, he began to ask himself if it was fair to Stella to keep her waiting. How many more times would he have to tell her “I don’t know?”

  He was constantly on the move. She had her roots firmly planted in Philadelphia, like those old trees in the parks she loved so much. And what could he offer her? A life racing from city to city, from hotel to hotel.

  He loved Stella with his whole heart. But the fear of losing her was starting to plant tiny seeds of uncertainty in him.

  And a few weeks later, in July 2017, he wrote her a letter.

  Just thinking about the atrocious thing made him feel sick to his stomach. He couldn’t take it back—no matter how much he’d wanted to every blasted day since he dropped it in the mailbox.

  He was a coward last year, and he still hated himself for it. It wasn’t who his parents raised him to be, and who he prided himself on being. How could he encourage children to believe in themselves when he hadn’t been able to trust his own feelings?

  But the greatest shock hit him when he noticed how much his life mirrored the fictional Phantom’s life. And just like the desolate man who longed for Christine to ease his sorrow and pain, he knew Stella held the key to his happiness.

  If he didn’t find a way to set things right with her, he’d not only lose all self-respect, but the woman he loved more than anything would be forever gone from his life.

  Seeing Stella yesterday—for a split second from afar—showed him it was time to face his ghosts and fight his fears.

  CHAPTER 19

  Stella—July 2018

  A

  fter a full night of sleep, Stella and Naomi were awake in time to watch the sunrise over Arromanches from their room. They saw a few people on their morning stroll and a delivery van dropping off fresh produce at a restaurant. Seagulls circled over the beach, squawking to each other, and swooping down at astonishing speed to pick up anything edible.

  Still up on their balcony, Stella spotted the couple who was so clearly in love. Naomi had dubbed them “the honeymooners.” They cuddled together on a massive rock, the woman nestled in the man’s arms, her head resting on his shoulder. Stella couldn’t see their faces, but their body language told her they were content and cherishing the moment.

  “You know what?” she said, “this honeymoon tour is a great idea. When Caroline rattled off all the statistics about marriages, second marriages, money spent on destination weddings and so on, I thought it was over the top. But I’ve been thinking about it. When a couple gets married in their mid-twenties, they have loads of college debt and maybe their parents pay for a short honeymoon. But older couples have achieved something in life, maybe had to deal with some setbacks, and can appreciate their second chance at happiness so much more.”

  “You’re right, the average younger couple doesn’t look for a trip like this. We sell so many trips to Vegas or Florida, I started to ask myself if there’s nothing else out there,” Naomi said and put her phone away.

  “And granted, not everybody can afford this kind of trip, which is where Caroline’s numbers come into play, but I want to find a way to offer this to more customers. There could be two different packages, the more affordable one, and the luxury one.”

  Stella continued to watch the town waking up. Store owners raising the steel roll-up gates and bringing out racks of postcards and T-shirts. “You know, Caroline is wonderful. I’m fascinated by her stories. They add a nice touch to the tour.”

  Naomi threw a few personal items into her carry-on. “I don’t think she’s a random tour guide. Remember how she said she met Mom a few years ago in England? Mom told me later about a woman who had just gotten out of a bitter divorce. I bet it was Caroline. But she’s wearing some nice bling on her ring finger, so maybe she found her Prince Charming along the way and it gave her the idea for honeymoon tours.”

  “Who knows? In any case, I’m ready for breakfast. How ’bout you?”

  “Always ready.”

  Entering the restaurant, Stella saw the honeymooners sitting at a table for four. She elbowed Naomi and tilted her head in the direction of their table.

  “Good morning! Mind if we sit with you?” she asked.

  “Not at all. Please, join us,” the woman said and pointed to the empty chairs. “I have to admit, I couldn’t keep up with the names yesterday, so I’ll just introduce myself again. I’m Sarah, and this is my husband, Andrew.” Sarah beamed at him and reached for his hand.

  “I’d rather introduce myself each day anew if we can avoid wearing name tags. They make me feel like a kindergartener in the first week of school. I’m Naomi.”

  “And I’m Stella.”

  After they sat down and helped themselves to coffee from the thermal carafe, Naomi lowered her voice and asked, “Okay, you have to excuse my question, but how long have you been married?”

  Stella couldn’t believe Naomi’s bluntness.

  Andrew winked at Sarah and said, “I told you people would pick up on it right away.”

  “Two weeks,” Sarah said, her eyes locked on Andrew’s. “I still can’t believe it.”

  “Me neither, love,” Andrew squeezed her hand.

  How sweet; is he blushing? Stella felt as if they were intruding, and almost wanted to get up to sit at another table. But Andrew must have sensed it, because he said, “Sorry, we don’t want to make you uncomfortable. It took us a long, long tim
e, with many roadblocks, to get where we are today. But what counts is the now, and we intend to enjoy every second of it.”

  “Enough about us. Now we’ll eat,” Sarah commanded with a chuckle, “before all those yummy-smelling fresh, hot rolls and croissants are gone.”

  “You’re speaking my language, Sarah,” Naomi pushed her chair back. “Chocolate croissant number one, here I come.”

  During breakfast, Andrew and Sarah shared a little bit about themselves. They were from Baltimore, where Sarah owned a travel agency specializing in culinary tours, and Andrew worked as a laryngologist at Johns Hopkins Hospital.

  “Say it again?” Naomi asked. “Is there an English term?”

  “I’m an ear, nose and throat surgeon, and specialize in voice disorders and injuries.”

  “Thank you, but that sounds almost as complicated. At least now I know which body parts we’re talking about.”

  Caroline clapped her hands and called out, “Let’s get going, group. François is waiting for us. Fifteen minutes till departure.”

  Once they had boarded the bus, Caroline said, “We start today in Saint-Malo. The packages I handed out yesterday contain brochures about the mystical town. Maybe you had a chance to look at them last night, but if not, then you have two hours till we get there.”

  Of course, Harry had to call attention to himself. “What, we had homework? Shucks… Oops, I forgot my folder at the hotel. Julia, gimme yours.”

  “I don’t have one, Harry. We were given one to share, and you took it. I was only able to download some of the information on my cell phone during the bus ride.”

  Without looking at Harry, Caroline reached for two on the seat next to her and handed one to him and one to Julia.

  “’preciate it, hon!”

  A throat-clearing sound came from Steve. It was only 8:30 on their second day, but Harry seemed to try everyone’s patience.

  “Caroline, do you know what’s happening in the Paris catacombs?” Steve’s wife, Linda, asked after a while.