Patchwork Paradise(33)

“So she’s . . . It’s true? All these years?”

Imran shook his head. “She’s right. You are clueless. Yes, Ollie. All these years.”

I sat back down, tried not to listen to Imran and Cleo argue, but it was hard. Their voices rose and then they stilled, and they were quiet for a long time. Eventually I heard my front door fall into its lock. I wondered if there was anything of my circle of friends left. The thought made me want to weep.



I had a bit of a problem with crawling into my shell when things got uncomfortable. I went to see my mom for Christmas, and the days ticked past and no one called. I didn’t call them either. Some distance seemed to be a good idea at the time, but New Year’s Eve happened and still there was no word from anyone. I spent the evening with my mom, worrying about everyone else, and called Sam’s parents at her urging.

I didn’t particularly want to talk to them, and Simon felt the same, apparently.

“How are you doing, Oliver?” Martine asked after an awkward silence when Simon passed the phone on to her without saying a word.

“Okay,” I said. “I’m just calling to see how you are. And to say happy New Year.”

“Oh. Thank you,” Martine said softly. “I’m doing all right. It’s hard, without Sam.”

“It is.” Another tense silence fell.

“Oliver, I . . .” She trailed off, and I wondered if Simon was listening in, keeping her from speaking her mind. I felt sorry for the woman, but it only steeled my resolve. What they were doing was wrong, and I wouldn’t let them get away with it. The house belonged to me now. It was my home, and I wanted to stay here. “Happy New Year,” she eventually said. “I have to go now.”

“Okay, b—” I began, but the line went dead.

The silence from my friends continued to reign. To escape the anxiety that brought me, I wandered Antwerp’s cobbled streets. The ancient buildings leaned protectively over me as I breathed in the atmosphere. I loved imagining the old Antwerp, at the height of the Baroque period, with Peter Paul Rubens, the Treaty of Antwerp, the rise of commerce in the city. I walked the Great Market, watched for a while the fountain depicting Brabo throwing Antigoon’s hand—our own version of David and Goliath—stood in the cathedral’s shade, and wished Sam were here.

I didn’t ache for him like I had. It wasn’t the missing of a vital body part. It was simply the need to talk to someone who understood me as well as I understood him, who wouldn’t judge me for my mistakes, for being oblivious about Thomas’s feelings. I missed being known.

The weekend before I had to go back to work, I got into my car and drove to Thomas’s house. A tiny but quaint home in Bazel, an equally quaint village perched on a riverbed. The Wissekerke Castle grounds were open to the public, and he could see the entry gate from his living room. I liked where he lived. It was so open and free and soothing.

I found his car parked in front of the house. The trunk was open, stuffed to the brim with bags. He came out carrying a suitcase, and my heart just about stopped.

“Thomas,” I breathed. If I’d worn pearls, I’d have been clutching them. He’d cut his hair.

He jerked, startled, and actually took a step back when he saw me. “Ollie? What are you doing here?”

I couldn’t do anything but stare at him. “You . . . you cut your hair.”

The wind tugged it across his forehead, where it had been cut to eyebrow length in a chopped, modern style. It tapered down, leaving his neck pale and bare.

“I—” He brought his hand up self-consciously and ran his fingers through his locks in a way that showed he wasn’t used to the new length yet. It immediately flopped down again. He tried to smile. “I thought it was time for something new.”

His face was clean-shaven and smooth. Handsome.

“Are you . . .” okay, I wanted to ask, but what came out was, “going somewhere?”

“Uh, yeah.” His smile turned real. “I’ve been looking at that map you gave me. And I thought it was time to finally do some of that traveling, you know? I took time off work.”

I swallowed hard. “How long?”

His dark eyes fixed on me, and like a visceral shock, the memory of his mouth on mine came back to me. “Three months.”

“I— Wow. Where are you going?”

“Driving to the south of France to start with. I want to see Italy and take a ferry to Greece. Drive to Turkey, and maybe store my car for a while and hop on a plane to Egypt.”

“That sounds amazing,” I said, but my heart wasn’t in it. “Are you leaving right now?”

He shook his head. “Monday morning. A friend is coming to stay at my house while I’m gone, so I’m putting some stuff in storage.”

“You could’ve stored it at my house. I have enough room.”

Thomas shrugged. “I didn’t want to bother you with it.”

“Right.” I stuffed my hands into my pockets, trying to look like that didn’t sting. “I’m going to miss you. But I hope you have a great time.”

“Thanks.” He put the suitcase in the trunk of his car. “Do you want to take a walk around the castle? It’s a nice enough day.”

“Sure.”

He nodded and locked his front door, then gave me a hesitant smile before we set off through the large stone archway that led to the castle grounds. We walked by the lake, up the hill by a braying donkey in its rolling field, and down between the trees, following the path until we found a lonely bench. In silent agreement, we sat down, looking out at the lake below us.