that way. It was most certainly easier for me to sneak away than to reject his invitation to his face. I was such a damned coward.
I started crying when the plane's wheel wells closed outside of Marseilles. I cried all the way to Paris. I cried all the way from Paris to New York, and part of the way from New York to Charleston. By the time I arrived in Charleston, I had no tears left, but I was a total wreck from all that sobbing. I took a cab to my house and went to bed immediately. I slept most of the next day.
On Wednesday I took my photos to the developer. Interestingly, I had not taken one single picture of Luke. The only photos I had of him were the one he gave me from the night on the boat, and the one Jean-Michel took on the veranda. I made those photos disappear along with all my other mementos of my trip. I picked up my mail and paid my bills. I called to re-start the paper. I let my boss know I was back in town and would return to work on the following Monday.
On Thursday, I got up early, made pot of coffee and started a letter to Luke. About twelve hours, two pots of coffee and a half bottle of wine later, I finished it. I put it out for the mailman. I put the treasures from my vacation, all except for my family photos and the pearl-and-cameo necklace, in that box and hauled it to the attic.
On Friday, I cleaned my house and prepared for your visit. I spent most of the day inventing a story to tell you about my vacation that would cover the enormous gaps where I excised the entire story of Luke.
"You got a ride home from school for the weekend. We spent Saturday and Sunday looking at my pictures. I told you story after story of the beautiful places I had seen and the wonderful things I had experienced. Everything I told you was the absolute truth. I just never mentioned the most important parts. I never mentioned Luke Payne at all.
The following week Henry Corbett called me to ask about my vacation. He had been calling and writing me between the summer camp sessions for a couple of years. He made no bones about the fact that he was interested in me and wanted to court me, and I use that expression intentionally. Henry was an old fashioned kind of man and what he had in mind amounted to old-fashioned courting. I had always rejected his advances because I thought he was boring and dull. I hadn't wanted to spend my life as a schoolteacher's wife in a small town. You had been giving me crap about how mean I was to him from the very beginning.
Anyway, that particular day when he called, I was more vulnerable than I had ever been in my life. I agreed to have dinner with Henry. Only a few months later, I agreed to marry him. We had a very happy life. We loved and cherished one another every day until the day he died. God, I miss him. Sometimes I don't know how I will get through the day without his gentle presence in this house.