the couch. “A few hours ago you nearly clawed yourself out of the car to get away from me, and now you want to hang out for a few days.”
“You’re not so bad after all. And besides,” I nodded toward the window, “it’s raining. I hate flying in the rain.”
He grinned, looked at me in disbelief. “What about your job?”
“I’ll figure it out. I need a little more time.”
“Well, I brought you here with the hopes that you’d stay for a little bit. You’re just making my job easier.”
“Maybe I’ll go sightseeing tomorrow. I’ve always wanted to see London—”
He cleared his throat, stood again. “I can’t have you gallivanting around this city right now, it’s not safe.”
“I won’t go by myself, you can come with me. You have all the time in the world, right?” I pleaded with my hands, gave him the puppy dog eyes.
“All right. I can’t argue with that.” Smiling, he headed for the door. “I’m going to run out and grab some human food, since you’re going to be here for a while. I won’t be far.” He slipped into his jacket and picked up his wallet. “Stay put, kiddo.”
“Okay, thanks.” I listened as he locked the door behind him.
Skimming the bookshelves again to find something to read myself to sleep, a small brown journal with scribbles and drawings on the cover caught my eye. I flipped it open, figuring it couldn’t be too personal if it was left sitting on the shelf. About halfway through, I examined what appeared to be a journal entry of some sort.
February 3rd, 1890
My Love,
It’s been some time since the crescent moon, yet I find myself still waiting for your return. Do I entertain such foolish thoughts? I cannot seem to simply let you fade, even when I am aware your love is my demise. You should know the men are growing impatient and seemingly restless lately. I am beginning to wonder what Samira intends to do about it, and I must admit I fear for our safety. I will continue to wait at the gate every month so that I may see your warm eyes and hear your wise voice again. Do pray that my head will catch up with my heart and soon shake me from my naïve deceptions.
Yours in eternity,
Arianna
I immediately shut the book, felt the worn leather binding with the tips of my fingers. Stepping to the window, I looked past the sheets of rain that watered the sidewalk and down into the street, suddenly felt like I’d stumbled upon something intimate. A wave of empathy moved through me, of feeling for the girl who’d left her love behind. She clearly missed him, and I sensed the regret in her words. Her longing reminded me of a conversation I had with my mother when I was younger, not too long after she and my father split up.
“That’s the problem with life, you know,” she said to me one afternoon, atop the Space Needle. “Once you know something, you can never unknow it. Truth doesn’t let you do that.” She looked out over Puget Sound and placed her hands inside her warm coat pockets, her light breath visible against the gray sky. “That’s the tragedy of knowledge.”
I could still see the heaviness in her eyes and hear the defeat in her voice. She hadn’t said much else to me that afternoon, but when she finally spoke, I knew exactly what she was referring to—the knowledge of my father and his string of affairs, the ones that fueled her addictions. She spent ten years hoping to fight it, stuff it away, or change it. Acceptance wasn’t an option. I imagined that was how Arianna felt, living with her decision.
“Camille?” Joel walked in, his long brown hair damp. “You all right?” He dropped some bags on the kitchen counter and noticed the journal in my hands, then set his keys down.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry.” I set the book on the coffee table and folded my arms, kept my distance from him.
“It’s personal, but not off limits. Don’t worry about it.”
“Let me help you with that,” I said, rushed over to help put the food away.
“She gave it to me the last time I saw her. In case you were wondering.”
I placed milk and eggs in the fridge. “It must’ve been really hard for you, to read those things. I can’t imagine.”
“It was. It is.” He tossed oranges into a big wood bowl, offered me one.
“Thanks.” I