They Spoke French To Hide It, Not Knowing I Understood Chapter 09

They Spoke French To Hide It, Not Knowing I Understood Chapter 09

Life in San Francisco was better than I’d imagined.

Investment banking kept me so busy I barely had time to breathe. Midnight at the office was the norm, but being consumed felt grounding.

On weekends I’d run along the Embarcadero, then sit on a bench at dusk and watch the sun go down.

The clouds here hung low, and at sunset they burned into huge swaths of orange and crimson-prettier

than any sky I’d ever seen in France.

One evening I came home to a heavy envelope stuffed in my parcel locker.

No return name, but I knew the handwriting too well.

I took it upstairs and opened it. Photographs.

A thick stack.

The first one, we were five. Both families had gone to the park in spring.

Two little kids crouched in the grass eating watermelon, faces smeared with juice.

On the back it read, [Ellie, you told me swallowing a seed would grow a watermelon in my stomach. You

cried about it for three days.]

The second, elementary school graduation. I wore a white blouse and a blue skirt. He stood next to me,

his hair forced into a middle part by the homeroom teacher, looking miserable.

On the back, [You secretly told me I looked like a Bond villain with that haircut. I chased you for three

blocks.]

The third, high school track meet. I fell during the eighthundred meter and he sprinted onto the track and

carried me off.

The photo showed his back as he rushed me toward the nurse’s office.

On the back, [You cried on my back and said your leg hurt. I told myself I’d never let you get hurt again.

Later, I was the one who hurt you the most.]

I flipped through them one by one.

Middle school. High school. College. Even the one from the sunrise at Lake Tahoe was there

On the back, [We promised we’d never let go of each other’s hands. I’m the one who let go first. I’m sorry.]

The last photo had nothing on the back except a single line,

[I’ll wait for you. No matter how long.]

I arranged the photos in order by date, tucked them neatly into the deepest drawer

My phone lit up. Same number.

[Ellie, I’ll wait forever. Until the day you decide to turn around. around, I’ll be there.]

I stared at the screen for a long time.

Anywhere in the world-if you turn

Outside my window, the lights of the Bay shimmered on the glass, rippling into broken gold.

In the distance, fireworks rose and burst-purple, gold, silver-one after another, spilling color across the

water.

I typed my reply and hit send.

[You’ll never get that day.

Never.]

Then I blocked the number.

The fireworks kept climbing.

The sky above the bay was bright and brilliant, almost like that purplepink sunrise at Lake Tahoe all

those years ago.

The wind slipped through the crack in the window and stirred the open book on my desk.

I reached over to close it. My fingers landed on the title page, where I’d written a line a long time ago, [You have to become your own light first. Then leave your shadow behind.]