I blinked away a sudden tear. That may have been the case, Jane, and I’m glad of it. But you also gave back your extraordinary gifts to the world. Your presence in my life has been priceless, and I’ve always been grateful for the richness of spirit you brought to me.

There was a long pause, and then she said something I hadn’t expected. Something that made me feel connected to her, as a great-great niece of a beloved aunt might.

And by your kindness, your honesty and your courage in the face of love’s challenges, you, dear Ellie, have brought the same to me. If I understand anything of the trials a modern woman must confront and conquer in order to find her place in the world, it is because you have opened my eyes.

Chapter 14

She threw a retrospective glance over

the whole of their acquaintance,

so full of contradictions and varieties…

 — Pride and Prejudice


Just a few weeks later, on August fifteenth, we celebrated my thirty-third birthday in the city of Bath, complete with high tea at the renowned Pump Room.

Rather indulgent of me, having a feast like this at a table for one, wouldn’t you say? I said to Jane, taking in the full view of the open dining area from our little corner. Curious tourists strolled along the edges of the room and peered through the windows at the legendary bathing area below.

Jane made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a snort, then muttered something unintelligible.

What was that? I asked her. I raised my teacup in the air to toast myself and reached for a delicate chocolate petit four filled with custard. The jars of strawberry jam and clotted cream called to me from across the tiny table, and I was tempted to rush through my first treat so as to sample another.

I despise Bath, Jane said, louder this time. It is a noisy, dismal place, where purported gentlemen and ladies visit for the exercise of gossiping and gazing at strangers. My opinion of it has not improved with the centuries.

I pointed to the pyramid of sweets in front of me. But just look at these delicious —

Ellie, she said with a sigh. Do you recall the emotions you experienced during your school dances? You described them as times when gentlemen and ladies stared at each other yet did not speak. And the feast items on the table did not appeal to you either. Do you remember why?

Yeah. They were usually dried-out, awful things we ate so we had something to do with our hands.

Perhaps the desserts in my time had more flavour, she said, but our intention in consuming them was for much the same reason as yours. We relied on something else to divert our attention from the matter at hand.

The “matter” being husband-or wife-shopping?

Indeed, she said.

Okay. So you’re saying spending time in Bath left a bad taste in your mouth. I laughed at my own joke and nibbled on another teacake.

Jane ignored my attempts at lightening up the conversation. When we were living here for five years and, later, in Southampton for three, I wished only to be someplace settled. Someplace that was home. It was dreadful being on display every day and forever in transit. A short seaside holiday was a welcome change, yes. But eight years of displacement and rooming with relatives was not. I wish to depart this room and this city, Ellie. I will leave you to enjoy your desserts in the peace of your own company and shall rejoin you at a later time.

Jane? I asked, but I received no answer. She’d left. Hidden herself in the dark unconscious of my mind, just beyond my grasp.

I popped a final pastry into my mouth and sipped on the last of my tea, mindful of my solitary state. I knew I had distant relations living in the area. Maybe I should’ve done some serious genealogy work before I came…or maybe it was better I hadn’t.

Let’s face it, people never knew what weird stuff they might uncover about their families when they began to dig. Truth was, I probably didn’t want to know. But this left me, of course, with the downside of my reticence: There was no one I could really talk to here.

It was easy not to feel the sting of loneliness when Jane’s acerbic and witty observations kept me company. In her absence, awareness of the reality flooded my mind unfiltered, and I became haunted by a homesickness I tried unsuccessfully to ignore. I, too, wanted to be back home. To be settled again in the place I belonged.

My flight back to Chicago departed in three days and, whether or not I’d gained greater maturity as a result of this six-week sojourn, the time had come for me to go back.


On a crowded 777 heading west into the sunset, I thought about my sister’s soon-to-be-born baby. Di would need me, I reasoned. Maybe the two of us would end up like Jane and Cassandra, relying on each other when the hope of finding true love had gone.

I smiled thinking of this. Funny how life could change. Di was the one person I’d never imagined as a close friend and, yet, that was precisely what I now considered her to be. For sanity’s sake, though, it would be best if we never shared a house again.

My American Airlines flight required a quick plane change at Boston’s Logan Airport and, since we were an hour late departing London, “quick” meant “immediately.”

“Attention passengers with connecting flights to Chicago, we are beginning to board Flight 509,” I heard the gate attendant say over the loudspeaker as I wobbled my way down the plane ramp with my stuffed backpack, slogged into the airport proper and cleared the Customs line. “Flight 509 now boarding at Terminal B, Gate 17.”

“Oh, damn.” I was in Terminal E. “How do I get to Terminal B?” I asked the first person I could find wearing an airline uniform.

That person turned out to be a handsome, forty-something pilot (married, or so implied by his gold band) who pointed me in the direction of the shuttle bus, and off I raced. I made it to the gate just as a different attendant was saying, “Last call for Flight 509…”

But it wasn’t until I was struggling up this new plane ramp and away from the airport proper, that I realized where I’d been. In Boston.

Sam’s city.

And though I hadn’t seen him there, hadn’t seen anyone who looked remotely like him even, this was where he was. Somewhere nearby. As always, almost within reach, but not quite.

I grinned to myself, for no other reason than that I knew of his continued existence. He wasn’t dead, like Jane’s or Cassandra’s young admirers had been when the sisters were my age. No. Sam lived and breathed and was a part of my history. A history that, despite our fumbles, we’d gotten a fair amount of closure on.

And, so, I could claim the happier memories as my own. The odd camaraderie he and I shared in high school. The one amazing night we’d spent together. A night that had greatly influenced my view of love and relationships ever since. I could embrace our infrequent path-crossings in the years that followed. Sure, the recollections still held their fair share of pain, but at least I wasn’t left hanging, or wondering for eternity what might’ve happened between us if we’d had the chance. Right?

Because, hey, if I wanted to, I could still reach him. I could do a Yahoo People Search when I got home and look up Sam’s e-mail or his home phone number or his street address in Boston. I would’ve heard through our suburban gossipy grapevine if he’d moved, so he must still be somewhere in this city.

If my life were a romantic comedy, I could run right back down this ramp and look him up here and now. Take a chance he’d want to see me again. No, better yet, believe he’d fallen in love with me. Or, exponentially better, that he’d always been in love with me!

I’d call him from an airport pay phone, still breathless from my sprint past all those other gates. In violation of the laws of physics, he’d materialize almost instantly, and the two of us would pounce on each other. We’d wrinkle our previously pristine clothes and lock lips with a voraciousness only B movie stars could replicate. The flight attendants would all cheer.

Yeah.

I collapsed into my seat, 15F, and giggled at this fantastical, whimsical vision, complete with Heart’s Greatest Hits as the musical score.

As if something like that could ever happen — even if I wanted it to. Which I didn’t. Because I was too realistic.

Nevertheless, I daydreamed variations of this fantasy for two straight hours, amusing myself with dialogue worthy of a Mexican soap opera. Until somewhere, just above O’Hare’s sacred airspace, Jane reentered my mind with a Hello, Ellie. Enough of this nonsense, please.

Ah. Back to my real life.


Any lingering visions of Di and me forming a Jane-and-Cassandra–like, no-men-allowed-to-come-between-us-for-the-rest-of-our-naturallives sisterly bond were dashed the moment I spoke to Di in person.

“Alex and I are back together again,” she informed me, rubbing her belly and looking large enough to be carrying twin baby Orcas. Not that I told her that.

“Really? Wow,” I said, praying this was the right move for her. “And you’re happy about this?”

She nodded. Happiness radiated off every part of her.

“How does he feel about the baby?”

“He, um…wants to assist me during the birth.”

“Oh,” I said, trying to mask my disappointment by sounding extra upbeat and supportive.