Separate Like Stars Read online

  “What do you mean? You still have a year left for your degree.”

  “A degree it doesn’t look like I’ll be needing.” I wait for her to argue, to ask me to go back to Paris with her, anything, but she doesn’t say a word. “When do you leave?”

  “Soon,” she cryptically answers. I feel the weight of my disappointment, even though I knew that this reunion of ours would likely be short-lived.

  “I could go back with you. If you’d like.” The offer escapes my mouth before I have time to censor it. How many times will I offer myself to her like this? Olivia shifts, sitting up slightly to look me in the eye.

  “You need to finish your degree. You’re so close.” I try to hide the wave of disappointment that crashes through me, but know I’ve failed when Olivia’s fingers begin caressing my cheek.

  “I wouldn’t say I need to. Book one sold unbelievably well, book two will be out soon, and then there is the movie deal. All that plus any future work I publish. I think I’ll be fine without it.”

  “Fine, maybe you don’t need to do it for a career, but you should finish it. It was one of your goals. You should to make it happen,” she argues before resting her head on my shoulder again. Is this why she never contacted me about the offer I made her in the advanced copy? “I’ll be fine in Paris. Work will keep me so busy that I won’t have time for anything else.” I sigh, knowing that if I asked anyone else what I should do they would tell me that I’m crazy for being in bed with her, much less volunteering to sacrifice part of my life to move to Paris. Is this what love does to everyone? “I don’t want to argue,” she whispers as her hand wanders over my stomach.

  *****

  The shifting of the mattress, coupled with the cool air against my skin wake me, as Olivia slips out of my bed. “Leaving?” I ask her, my voice heavy with sleep. Not that we spent much time sleeping.

  “I’ve gotta get going,” she answers, never turning to face me. A quiet clatter downstairs causes me to look at the clock. “Your mom is home,” Olivia practically whispers. When I turn my attention back to her, any questions I may have had are answered. There is no life in those blue eyes. Whatever happened last night is destined to remain a part of the past. That familiar sense of grief settles back in as I climb out of bed and grab my discarded shorts and shirt. I fight back tears as I work to get dressed, wishing I could reach out to Olivia to make myself feel better. I know I can’t, that it isn’t fair to levy these desires on her when her life just fell apart.

  “It’ll be fine. I’ll see you out,” I inform her, the steadiness of my voice surprising me. I poke my head through my shirt and realize Olivia has taken a step closer to me. We gaze at each other, neither of us saying a word. Seconds pass before Olivia’s lips part, but she thinks better of whatever she intended to say and turns for my bedroom door, exiting the confines of my room.

  “Good morning girls. There’s coffee in the kitchen,” mom calls as we descend the stairs.

  “Hey mom,” I respond when we turn into the living room.

  “Thanks, Dana, but I’ve gotta go,” Olivia answers. Mom smiles at her before giving me a questioning glance. I follow Olivia through the front door, closing it behind me, unable to deal with my mom’s inquiry right now. Olivia takes my hand and meets my gaze, her eyes still dull and lifeless. “I want you to know I meant everything I said last night,” she assures me as her thumb strokes over the back of my hand.

  “It’s ok. I get it,” I answer. The truth is that part of me does. Last night doesn’t change things between us. Olivia nods, the movement barely perceptible, before pulling me in for a hug. She brushes her lips against my cheek before releasing me, turning to walk off the porch without another word. I watch as she walks through our connected yards, her head down and her shoulders slumped. Tears slowly leak out of my eyes as I fight the urge to call out to her, to steal one last glance, one more kiss, even one more parting caress. I run the heels of my palms over my eyes, roughly swiping the unwanted tears away. When I lock eyes on Olivia again, she has turned back to me, frozen in her tracks, too far away for me to read her expression. We watch each other for a moment, before my feet carry me a few steps closer to her, willing her to return to me. I freeze at the bottom of the porch steps when Olivia hasn’t moved an inch. We stare at each other again before Olivia turns away, and finishes her retreat home.

  “You okay?” mom inquires as soon as the door is closed. I turn and see her eyes appraising me, trying to ascertain how I’m doing. I nod, somehow managing not to break down then and there.

  “I don’t think I’ll ever see her again,” I inform her. I’m not sure where that response came from, but somehow I feel it in my bones. I may not have all the answers I would like, but somehow I’m certain that I’ll never see Olivia again.

  Chapter 13

  Present Day

  I unleash a heavy sigh as I forcefully close my laptop. Why did I read that memoir of my past? Nothing good ever comes from going back there, not that I’ve tried since shortly after the last time I saw Olivia. I try to steady my thudding heart, torn between bittersweet memories and heartache, remembering those emotions like it was yesterday. I remember sitting down to write it as a means of closure those many years ago. Little did I know then that it would silently follow me, from one laptop to the next, never demanding attention, just lurking in the shadows, waiting for this opportunity. I look around the nearly empty coffee shop and attempt to recenter myself. Even after all these years, I still find it hard to believe the emotional impact trudging through those memories has on me.

  “Would you like more tea?” Steven asks as he wipes down a neighboring table. A glance at the clock reveals that the flower shop is now open, meaning I should be on my way.

  “No thanks,” I reply as I rub at the aching in my chest. Today is my least favorite day of the year. “Might as well get this over with,” I mumble to myself as I stuff my laptop into my messenger bag and swallow the remainder of my now cold tea.

  I make my way to the cemetery with my usual arrangement of zinnias, peonies, larkspurs, orchids, and white carnations. I remember the first time I went to the shop, trying to figure out what the appropriate assortment would be. After shedding several tears while telling Janet what I wanted them to convey, she settled me in a chair with a few tissues to compose myself while she created the perfect bouquet. The flowers combine to represent my remembrance of her beauty, spirit, friendship, and the hopeful healing that perhaps we both may find. I asked Janet if she could make a record of the arrangement, as I would need it whenever I returned to town. True to her word she did, and years later I collect the same arrangement once a week and take it to Mrs. O’Connor’s grave.

  The sun is shining brightly, and the warm air is comforting as I exit my car outside the cemetery. I make the all too familiar walk to her grave, noticing the slight color change in the leaves on the trees. “Hey,” I murmur the unnecessary greeting as I switch out last weeks arrangement for the fresh one and brush away the few stray blades of mown grass from her grave. My eyes fall to the date on the headstone, August 12, 2002. Satisfied that her resting place is clean enough, I take a seat to have my weekly chat with her.

  “I’m afraid I don’t have anything new to report. My mom is still living with Scott. They seem to be doing well, but she says she won’t be getting married again. I’m still struggling with writer’s block, but hopefully, it will end soon. I reread something that I wrote shortly after your death. I don’t think I’ll ever finish writing it though. I wish you were here to read it, to help me see what I’m missing there.” I pause as I take a breath and brush my hand over the blades of grass beneath me. “I still haven’t spoken to her. I’ve seen Jim a few times, but he never mentions her, and I’ve never asked about her. I think it’s what she wanted, to forget everyone who reminded her of you.” My phone chimes, pulling my mind away from my conversation with a ghost. I pull it from my pocket to discover a good morning text from Addison. Ignoring the message, I stuff
my phone back into my pocket. I try to remember where I left off, if there is anything else to say, but some sixth sense makes me realize I’m not alone, pulling me to my feet.

  “Hello, Jordan,” I hear the voice from my past behind me. Perhaps I should say the familiar voice, now dripping with a French accent. I turn to face her, my heart hammering away, my lungs unable to pull air into my body, the world around me swaying slightly. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” she says, flashing me that too familiar smile.

  “Two of them,” I manage as I force the breath from my lungs. Olivia is practically the mirror image of her mother when we were younger. How did I never notice the resemblance before? Why is she here? When will she be leaving so that it’ll be safe for me to leave the house again? Her haunting presence twice in one day is too much.

  “Sorry,” she says as she tilts her head and smiles again. I’m unable to answer as I feel the world around me sway and the parts of my heart that refused to heal begin to hemorrhage anew. “Are you okay?” she asks as she takes a step towards me, extending her hand to reach for my arm. I’m finally able to move as I take a step backward to evade the contact. I watch as she freezes, her brow furrowed in confusion. “All right,” she murmurs as she turns to look at her mother’s headstone. I force myself to take a deep breath and try to calm my racing heart. She turns and focuses on me again as I wonder if I’m hallucinating or dreaming. Surely either of those is a more viable option than Olivia standing before me. I was certain all those years ago that I would never see her again, and hopeful just a few months later that I never would. “The flowers are beautiful. She would have loved them,” she informs me with a small smile, her teeth as white as I remember them being. “I’ve wondered who was leaving them. Thank you for thinking of her.” I shake my head as I avert my gaze back to the headstone behind me.

  “I’ll see you next week, Mrs. O’Connor,” I utter before turning to leave.

  “Next week?” Olivia questions me before I manage three steps.

  “Yes, Olivia, next week. I bring her fresh flowers every week,” I inform her, halting my steps but refusing to turn around. I don’t know if there is a higher plane of existence beyond this life, but if there is, I want Mrs. O’Connor to know that she hasn’t been forgotten, that she was never as alone as she must have felt she was. I take another step before Olivia’s voice stops me again.

  “You don’t have to leave.”

  “It’s fine,” I respond, not stopping this time.

  “Maybe we could get together for lunch?” she calls out, halting me in my tracks. I turn back to her, giving her my best are you kidding me look. I see her features shift from hopeful to confused, her smile faltering as her brows knit together.

  “I don’t think so,” I inform her before turning back around and taking two more steps away from her.

  “Dinner then?”

  “Definitely not,” I quickly answer, not bothering to stop or look back.

  “What about sometime tomorrow?” Now I’m just irritated at her unwillingness to leave me alone.

  “Not tomorrow and not anytime before you scamper back to Paris,” I manage as I turn to face her again. Her jaw drops at my obvious anger before I turn and walk away, not waiting for any suggestion or question that may have followed. Despite my anger, I have to fight the urge to turn and look back at her. What the fuck is wrong with me? I question myself as I shut the car door and rest my head on the steering wheel. Today is not going how I thought it would. I pull in a few deep breaths, nearly calming down before the ringing of my phone causes me to jump, the familiar tone letting me know that it’s Addison calling. I quickly start the car and answer her call via Bluetooth so I can leave the cemetery before Olivia has the audacity to knock on my window.

  “Jordan are you there?” I hear her voice echo through the speakers.

  “Sorry. I’m here. How’s the shoot going?” I ask as I put the car in gear. I have no idea what my destination is; I just know that what I really need is some space to process.

  “It’s a shoot. You know how they are. I just called to see how you’re doing. I know this is a difficult day for you.” That’s the thing about Addison, she’s the perfect partner when you least expect it.

  “Thanks. I’m all right though. It’s been a long time. I just miss her more today than most others.”

  “I know you do. I’m sorry I couldn’t be there for you today.” She says the words, but I wonder if she really means them. She’s never been here on this day, and if I’m honest, I’m not sure I’ve ever wanted her to be. I’ve always visited Mrs. O’Connor’s grave alone, and prefer to do so, even now.

  “It’s fine, really. Olivia was there,” I blurt out, unsure why, other than I’m still a bit thrown from seeing her.

  “How did that go?” Addison knows about my history with Olivia. It isn’t that I’ve made it a point to share the details with everyone I’ve dated, but she asked me about it, so I painted her a picture of the broad strokes.

  “Well, I had no idea that she was even in town, so shocking at first. She asked if we could get lunch, which I refused. I also refused to meet with her any other time.” A decision I do not regret, I think to myself as I wait at the town’s original stoplight. Yes, there are two stoplights now, the second installed along Main street to help regulate driving speeds along the strip. It flashes the cautioning yellow from 9 pm until 6 am, only serving any real purpose during the daytime rush. If you can call it that.

  “Are you almost done?” I hear a voice in the background ask. I hear the sound of Addison likely putting her hand over the microphone and shake my head knowingly.

  “Why did you refuse?” she asks after a brief pause. “Maybe it’d be good for you to meet with her.”

  “There’s hardly a point,” I start as I hear the sound of the microphone being covered up again. “She’ll be here for a few days and then be gone.” I wait for a few beats, but lacking a response from Addison, I continue the conversation. “Anyway you sound like you’ve got to get going,” I give her the easy out, and myself really since I don’t feel like talking about Olivia.

  “I do. Try not to get too worked up about Olivia. I’m sure she won’t be there for more than a few days.” Didn’t I just say that? I think but manage not to ask. “If you need to talk later, just call.”

  “I will. Thanks for calling. Talk to you soon?”

  “I’ll give you a call tomorrow,” she tells me before disconnecting our call, the audio switching back to the radio. I quickly reach over and switch it off, longing for some peace and quiet.

  *****

  I return home a few hours later, feeling calmer having walked around the lake twice and shopped at the farmers market for some produce for my next few meals. Of course, I also picked up some soap from a local manufacturer as well as some catnip for Artemis and Apollo. I gather my belongings from the car and head for the front door, freezing in my tracks when I spot the paper rolled up and tucked between the doorknob and the door frame. I don’t need to read it to know who it’s from, the telltale steel blue paper giving the writer’s identity away. I know if I unroll it, that familiar cursive script in the glittering silver ink will reveal Olivia’s purpose. My heart stutters as I think about the many notes Olivia wrote to me on that same colored paper over the years, leaving them in random places in our apartment and mailing them to me after she left for Paris. She chose that color because I commented one day about how it reminded me of her eyes. Now the paper feels akin to a weapon, forcing me to remember when things between us were great. When I thought we might be together forever.

  I look over my shoulder and see the car parked in the driveway, the first one I’ve seen parked there in quite some time. Have I not been paying any attention all this time or is this a new development? I release a frustrated sigh as I walk up the steps and pull the paper from the door, tucking it into one of the bags. I could ignore that it exists, I think as I slip my key into the lock and let myself in. My heart has oth
er ideas though, its Pavlovian conditioning pushing me to retrieve the letter and read it immediately. I resist that urge, depositing my messenger bag on the couch before taking the other bags into the kitchen. I continue to ignore the letter as I take care of everything and give an impatient Artemis and Apollo some of their catnip. They immediately occupy themselves with it, sniffing it before starting to roll around like a pair of oversized Chinchillas in a giant dust bath. This is how it starts, I think to myself as I take the letter and sit at the dining room table.

  Jordan

  I’d like you to know that I was happy to see you today, even if the feeling wasn’t reciprocated. Please know that I had no idea that you would be there and no intent to ambush you. I had hoped to knock on your door and let you know I was back before that happened, but had been unable to catch you. I’d like an opportunity to reconnect with you, but judging by your reaction today, you may not be open to it. I’ll leave the decision up to you, but promise if you chose not to, I won’t force the issue. I’ll be at the house if you’d like to talk.

  Olivia

  I let the letter fall onto the table and sigh when I hear the first victim of today’s edition of cats on cat crack fall to the floor. Apollo comes tearing through the dining room with Artemis hot on his tail. Apollo may be the bigger and stronger of the pair, but Artemis runs the show in this house. They bolt back to the living room just as quickly as they entered, and I follow, looking for whatever is now out of place. The doorbell rings as I’m searching, causing me to abandon the effort. I approach the entryway, weary that it might be Olivia, but am relieved to see my mom on the other side of the screen door.