A Summer In Europe (46 page)

Zenia had, naturally, gotten into the spirit of things, adding a fist pump or two when it was least expected.

Possibly, most comical of all was Hans-Josef, whose hands were firmly fixed on Cynthia’s hips in front of him but who, also, had on a dark green alpine hat—like the kind German dancers wore at an Oktoberfest parade—along with lederhosen and suspenders.

“You will join us,
ja?
” their tour guide asked.

Dr. Louie said, “C’mon! What’s stoppin’ you, kids?”

Kamesh’s wife smiled at them and added a cheerful
“Olé!”

Emerson shot Gwen an amused look. “How about we take a walk instead?” he asked her.

“Yes, please,” she said quickly.

Bea piped up, “Well, we’ll escort you to the door then. Jump on the back and hold on!”

So, Gwen laughed and took hold of Connie Sue, and Emerson grabbed onto Gwen, and the whole line made its way through the mazelike hallways in the direction of the lobby.

It was funny. Gwen couldn’t help but think how very like Aunt Bea this was, leading her on yet another labyrinthine journey. But then, her aunt had taught her a little something about that on this trip. That humans—no matter what age they were or when they lived—were all on a similar quest. They moved into the maze of their life, picking up important skills and understandings along the way, getting into the very heart of the labyrinth.... But then, when they felt they’d learned the things most central to their own minds and spirits, they could begin moving outward. Sharing what they’d discovered with the newcomers wandering in. It was a form of generosity Gwen had only just begun to appreciate, but it moved her nearly to tears—even while she was laughing.

Aunt Bea and the rest of the line paused by the front door long enough for Gwen and Emerson to disembark.

Gwen hugged her aunt and whispered to her, “I love you. Thanks for everything.”

“I love you back, Gwennie,” Bea said, squeezing her tightly. “And you’re welcome. Have fun tonight and stay out
late
for a change, okay?”

“Okay,” she said.

Then Bea turned to Emerson and hugged him, too, whispering something in his ear that made him laugh aloud.

“I don’t know if she’ll go for that,” he called after Gwen’s aunt, as Bea flipped the boa over her shoulder and pranced onward, taking the rest of the conga-ers with her.

“What did she say to you?” Gwen asked, as they waved farewell to the grooving S&M members.

Emerson grinned and shook his head. He motioned for her to follow him outside and Gwen let him lead her around London, just as she’d let him lead her through Florence, Venice, Budapest, Vienna, Paris....

“One of these days, you’ll be in my corner of the world, and I can return the favor,” Gwen said. “I can show you Dubuque and Des Moines and
my
Waverly.” It was, however, an odd, displacing feeling, trying to imagine Emerson in her hometown.

“Hmm. Dubuque. It’s along the water, yes?” Emerson asked.

“Yes,” Gwen agreed. “The Mississippi River.”

“So, it’s a little like ... what? Miami, then?”

“Miami,”
Gwen cried before realizing he was just teasing her. “Fine, laugh at me. But don’t tell me you’ve been there, too. I know you haven’t.”

He smiled. “I’ve been close. Chicago. Milwaukee. This American Midwest of yours. But, indeed, you are correct. I have never set foot in Dubuque proper. I ought to now. Now that I have reason.” He shot her a significant look. “Right?”

She nodded first then grew braver. “Right.”

He took a deep breath and glanced pensively at the underground station they were approaching. Victoria. “Any interest in seeing Scotland?”

“Well, sure. Someday. I’m curious about the bagpipes and the kilts and—”

“Tonight?”

“WHAT?!”

“That was what your aunt suggested, you see. That I take you by train up to Scotland tonight. To elope.” He cleared his throat. “She pointed out that we’re far more conveniently located here in London for such a jaunt than we would be, say, in Iowa.”

Gwen laughed. “You’re kidding me? I finally get over the idea of needing to get engaged
this year
and she’s pushing for an elopement
tonight?
Sorry, Emerson! I’m not marrying anyone.” She glanced at him and noticed an odd expression skitter across his face. “Well, not yet, anyway.”

He squinted at her. Speculatively.

“What’s that look mean?” she asked him. “Don’t tell me you’re changing your mind. Not
you
. Not Mr. ‘No Commitment Ever’ Emerson. Are you?”

He rubbed his forehead with his free hand. “I’m finding myself, strangely, not
completely
opposed to the idea. At least theoretically. In one potential alternate universe. The part of me who inhabits that particular membrane considers it
one
possible outcome now.”

She couldn’t help but chuckle at that, recognizing their reversal of opinions. “Please tell me this isn’t part of some carefully crafted strategy to win me over on my very last night,” she said lightly, even though she didn’t really believe he’d be playing games now. “Ever since Florence you’ve had me wondering if, in fact, you could ever really commit to someone. Believe that you could find The One.”

“Gwen,” he said seriously. “There’s no game tonight.” He motioned swiping a chessboard clean of its pieces with the back of his hand. “Amidst all of this traveling, something changed for me. That’s all. I stopped playing—oh, God—somewhere back in Austria.” He tugged her closer to him so they were facing each other and less than a foot apart. “Do I want to have a romantic last night with you? Of course. But we don’t have to do
anything
more than this tonight.” He squeezed her hand and gave her a tiny hug. “The tour might be over but, honestly, I don’t think our journey is. So, I can wait. Be patient. See what happens on the next trip. The one where I come to visit the States in a few months to see you.” He paused and cleared his throat. “So, when do you go on holiday next?”

She thought about this. There was Labor Day weekend and Columbus Day, but these gave them only three days off. Thanksgiving break would only give them four full days together. There was two weeks at the end of December, but it was months away. She told him about all the possibilities. “Don’t you need to spend Christmas with your family, though?” she asked.

“Don’t you?” he shot back.

“Well, Aunt Bea would understand, although—if you were there with us—she’d want to celebrate with you. And I know my brothers would want to meet you, so ...”

“So, we’ll get it sorted, then,” he said, his voice confident. “No worries.”

“No worries,” she mimicked in a fake British accent, but she had to admit there was a relief in this plan, however vaguely arranged at present. A delight in simply knowing there would be a part two. That no decisions had to be made right at that very second. That there was no rush. That they could spend the night walking, talking and doing whatever they wanted, and that would be enough. Just that. That this was as far into the future as she had to see tonight.

“Okay,” she said.

“Okay,” he mimicked in a fake American accent, and they both laughed. “Listen, I know we ate not that long ago, but London’s known for their excellent curries. You shouldn’t fly home without trying some. There’s a Tandoori place in Covent Garden, near my mate’s flat. He’s gone on business to Morocco, so I need to pop over there, pick up his mail and check on the place. I figured we could nab some takeaway while we were in the area and then decide what to do next. Interested?”

“Definitely,” she said.

“Right. Follow me then.”

She and Emerson meandered through the bustling streets of London and, when they got to the little restaurant, Na’an For You, he ordered about five different kinds of Indian dishes.

“I am not going to be able to eat half of that,” she exclaimed.

“You don’t have to. Anything left over will be my breakfast. There’s nothing like spicy Tandoori to rouse your senses in the morning.”

“I usually just have cold cereal.”

“Then you don’t know what you’re missing, do you?” And with that, he guided her through the twists and turns of Covent Garden to the flat, which was up some metal stairs and above a bookstore on a fairly quiet street.

“Liam just left three days ago,” Emerson said when they entered, stashing the food in the fridge. “He rang me when we were in Brussels and asked if I could take care of things for the week. He’ll be back next Monday. I was actually planning to stay here tonight, after the farewell dinner, so I could do some things in the city tomorrow.”

Gwen raised an amused eyebrow at him. “And this is not strategy? Luring me here?”

“No, no! I fully intend to take you back at whatever time you would like, love.” He motioned at the living room. “Have a look around. Liam has collected some unusual items.”

She noticed the interesting art on the walls right away and took a few steps closer to get a better look. It was all very ...
Casablanca
. There was a Middle Eastern drum on one table, a brass demitasse coffee set on the kitchen counter, a decorative Moroccan water pipe on the carpet in the corner of the living room. This hint of a foreign world, even more removed and exotic from the foreign ones she’d been visiting, reminded her yet again what a vast place this planet was ... with so much left to explore. She’d only just scratched the surface, hadn’t she?

Emerson came to where she was standing by the window—looking out at the River Thames, which snaked through the city of London and just happened to pass by them. How different was this sight, really, from her view of the mighty Mississippi back home? Their towns were different sizes, sure, and the histories of the cities they became were far from similar. But the
people
weren’t so different. They all needed to interact with their environment and each other. They all needed to find meaningful work. They all needed to deal with challenging relatives (even well-meaning ones). And they all needed to learn the skill of knowing themselves well enough to make their own best choices.

“Do you like the view?” he asked.

“It’s pretty,” she said. “But we’ve seen a lot of lovely views. They’re all beginning to run together for me now. My memories of our adventure. I’m not so sure anymore what will stay a real solid memory and what’s just a blurry snapshot that I never looked at closely enough. Half the trip could have been an illusion of things I
thought
I saw.”
Or of emotions I thought I felt,
she added to herself.

Emerson put his arms around her, warming her shoulders. “Look outside. It’s hard to see the stars here with all the lights of the city, but nature has a way of finding us, even here.” He pointed at some indistinct portion of the night sky. “I know the stars are there and the galaxies exist, even when I can’t see them. My senses don’t have to keep proving to me that they’re real.” He let go of her and pulled out his cell phone. “I keep this certain quote on my mobile. Just a moment, and I’ll find it.”

“What? You don’t have it memorized?” she said, unable to hide the tinge of snarkiness.

He stuck his tongue out at her like a four-year-old. “It’s too long. But it’s from my namesake, and it addresses your question. Because, really, what difference would it make? Do you need to count everything, see everything, substantiate everything in order to believe it all exists? Isn’t the perception of its existence enough for it to matter?”

Gwen thought about this. Was it
enough
to have had the illusion of being on an amazing, wonderful trip where she was kind of falling in love with someone—even if the relationship didn’t hold up to the reality of everyday normal life when she got back home?

She’d never had the experience before, so she couldn’t be sure. Emerson, however, quoted from the original Emerson and, apparently, shared his outlook. “Listen to this, Gwen.
‘What difference does it make, whether Orion is up there in heaven, or some god paints the image in the firmament of the soul? ... what is the difference, whether land and sea interact, and worlds revolve and intermingle without number or end ... or, whether, without relations of time and space, the same appearances are inscribed in the constant faith of man? Whether nature enjoy a substantial existence without, or is only in the apocalypse of the mind, it is alike useful and alike venerable to me.’
See? It’s irrelevant. Ralph Waldo says so,” he said, a tad too cocky, in her opinion.

“Okay,” she said. “That’s fine and good for ‘nature,’ but what about people? What about relationships?”

He grinned. “Why is it that you always think nature and people don’t operate under the same principles? It’s connected.
We’re
connected. To the air molecules that vibrate around us. To the tiny particles we exchange without even touching. To our bodies in gravitational relation to our spinning, pulsating planet. Gwen, what’s true for nature is, likewise, true for humankind.”

“As it is in physics—” she began.

“Yes!” he said.

“—it is in life,” she finished.

“Yes, it
is
.” He shot her a triumphant look. “Now that we’ve
finally
got that settled, shall we walk some more?” He motioned toward the door. “We can stroll though Covent Garden. I can show you a few spots. If you’re hungry, we can have a bite first and then go out. Or stay in and watch a few naughty British comedies.” He grinned. “If you’re tired—I know you have a long flight tomorrow afternoon—we could take a taxi back to your hotel and I could brave your aunt’s displeasure at not keeping you out all night.”

“Yes, you’ve neglected to take me to Scotland.”

“She is going to be
very
discontented at the news,” he said with mock seriousness. “But I believe we’re strong enough to weather her wrath.”

Gwen laughed. And because she had a choice, because she really understood the many possible choices available to her in that moment, she weighed each option and—independently—se-lected the one she most wanted.

“I wouldn’t mind walking around and seeing more of this part of London,” she told him. “But I could save that for my next trip to Europe. I can be patient, too. I’m not done sightseeing here. Not by a long shot.” She ran her tongue over her lips, which were inexplicably parched. “We have curries to feed each other. Some British TV to watch. Other things I think we could do ...” she said, her pause laden with meaning. “So, if you don’t have any objection, Emerson, I’d rather stay here. With you. Tonight.”