Page 26 of Broken Butterfly
“I don’t even know what that means,” I reply. “I’m sorry about your daughter.”
“Her name is Elizabeth Ann Jameson. The men who cared for me while I was in Seattle—Daniel and Drew—named her. She’s buried there.”
Elizabeth pulls back and lifts the heart pendant up for me to see. I finger it and turn it over to see an inscription. “I noticed that you wore this every day but didn’t think anything of it.”
“Jayson gave it to me. We’re supposed to go visit her grave next month during Christmas break.”
“I can take you there now if you want to go,” I offer.
“I appreciate that, but it’s something I need to do with Jayson.”
A flash of light catches my eye outside.
“Look, kitten.” I point at the glow coming through the floor-to-ceiling windows. She turns her face, following where I’m pointing and gasps.
“Oh, my God!” she gushes, seeing the auroras for the first time. “Oh, Fallon. It looks like the sky is painted like a Claude Monet watercolor. It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”
I want to tell her she’s wrong. She’s the most beautiful thing.
“Go put on some dry clothes and we can sit out on the terrace and watch.”
I need to change as well, but instead go out on the terrace and move the two seats next to one another to form a makeshift love seat. I recall something Elizabeth said today. She told me she had a feeling this journey with me was going to irrevocably change her life in more ways than just deciding which Elizabeth she was going to be. “Perhaps another Elizabeth will emerge along the way,” she said. Would that Elizabeth belong to me? I think about our kiss. I won’t kiss her again. I won’t allow my darkness to consume her light.
When I hear her step out onto the terrace, I motion for her to come over and sit down. “I’ll be right back,” I tell her and go inside to put on some warm clothes and make us a drink. Whiskey would be good right about now.
Even though it’s in the lower thirties, we stay outside for hours, unwilling to take our eyes off the night sky’s iridescent light show. She snuggles up to me and rests her head against my shoulder as we sip our whiskey in silence. When she finally drifts off to sleep, I pick her up and take her to her bed. I have my own room and my own bed, but I slip under the covers with her, needing to feel her warmth for just a little bit longer. I play with the ends of her long hair and bring a lock of it up to my nose and sniff. She smells like goodness. After an hour, I slip out from under the covers and tuck her in, an unfamiliar and unwelcome emotion flowing through me that I don’t recognize.
“Sweet dreams, kitten,” I say and walk into my room. I never get around to texting Ryder.
Chapter 8
Day 14: Finding Elizabeth
Paris
We spent four days in London where we walked around the historic city looking at everything. I wanted to go there because it was where our families were planning to take us for summer vacation after we graduated high school. As Fallon and I strolled along looking at the Thames, I imagined all of them were there with me: Mom, Dad, and Hailey, Ryder, Brea, Jamie, Faith, and Randy, Jayson, Julien, Freda, and Mitch. I could perfectly picture Hailey and Brea walking arm in arm, their heads together while they whispered and giggled. I could feel my hand in Jayson’s as we casually walked along enjoying the sights of London like any other couple in love. I could hear Ryder and Julien cracking jokes and their deep booming laughter. I could see Dad with his arm around Mom and hear him hum one of his songs to her as they walked side by side. Being in London with Fallon was both bittersweet and heartbreaking. It was a promise fulfilled. It was also where Fallon gave me real memories to cherish alongside my imaginary ones.
Wonderful memories like him taking me to watch a Shakespeare play at the Globe or us strolling across the Jubilee Bridge. We rode in a double-decker bus and on the London Underground, where I giggled every time I heard “mind the gap” before the doors closed. Fallon held my hand when we were high above the city riding in the London Eye. He took me to St. Paul’s Cathedral, Buckingham Palace, Big Ben, Hyde Park, and Trafalgar Square.
We stopped at pubs, drank some pints, and ate fish and chips—without the vinegar because that’s just absolutely disgusting. I learned how to play snooker. An Irish band was playing at a beer garden we found, and I joined them on stage. Fallon had never seen me play a guitar before. We danced and drank. A lot.
Fallon took me to Goodwood where, somehow, he arranged for me to drive a McLaren Senna, a Porsche 911 Turbo S, and a Ferrari SF90 Stradale. We went for a picnic lunch at the Fishbourne Roman ruins and drove to Bath, stopping by Avebury along the way. We also helped out at a volunteer center passing out prepared meals to those in need. Our days were packed from morning until late at night. I’m surprised I’m still standing after the whirlwind trip through the southern parts of England.
When our time in England was up, we rode the Chunnel to Paris, France. Fallon took me to the Eiffel Tower where we ate lunch. We visited a perfumery and a chocolatier where I got to sample the most delicious dark chocolate; it had no dairy in it. We visited the Louvre and the Palace of Versailles. We volunteered to help pick up trash along the banks of the Seine. Tonight, Fallon is taking me for a helicopter ride over the city.
Each day, little by little, without me noticing, I’m changing. I’m becoming the woman I need to be. When I close my eyes now, I see me. I see the real Elizabeth Penelope Fairchild. Not the old version of me, and not the newer version either. I’m something different and unique.
I’m hesitant to tell Fallon this because I don’t want our adventure to end just yet. I want to enjoy life by his side a little bit longer before I have to give it up, give him up, and return home to fix the damage I know is waiting for me there. The damage I created. Fallon hasn’t tried to kiss me again since that day in the hotel in Nordurljosavegur. He’s actually been quite mellow, which is not a normal state of being for him. It’s different, but nice in its own way. However, I’ll always prefer cocky asshole Fallon; the version of him that lights me up and challenges me.
“You ready?” he asks me as we step off the elevators.
The helicopter’s rotor blade is already spinning creating swirls of whipping wind that blow my hair all around my head in a blond whirl. I grab hold of Fallon’s hand and we duck and run under the rotating blade. A man helps me up into the cabin, and Fallon gets in after me and buckles me in. He hands me a set of sound-dampening headphones with a microphone and I put them on as he does the same.
“We talk to each other through these,” he tells me, and I give him a thumb’s up. I listen to Fallon and the pilot chat for a minute, and then the helicopter lifts off its pad and we’re off. My stomach tightens at the brief feeling of heaviness as we ascend, and I grab Fallon’s hand, squeezing it tight.
“We’re good, kitten. Just enjoy.”
It was cloudy all day today, but it doesn’t hamper our views of the city tonight. As we fly over a dazzling Paris, Fallon points out various landmarks and monuments. I get to see the Eiffel Tower lit up like a Christmas tree and it reminds me of the Valentine’s Day when Jayson did the same thing to the old oak tree between our two houses.
