Tracing Hearts (11 page)

“Who is it?” I get no response. “I’m not an idiot,” I shout. “I’m not going to open the door just to get hacked up by some serial killer.”

“It’s me,” says the man on the other side of the door. I recognize Cameron’s voice instantly. I roll my eyes but, after removing the chain lock, I open the door. He walks right in.

“What the hell, Julia? A serial killer? Why are you so paranoid?” he says.

“Cameron,” I whine. “What do you want? I’m kind of busy.”

“Too busy to see me?” His smile is charming, but I’m used to it. It doesn’t affect me like it used to.

“Yes. Do you need something?”

His face falls slightly but recovers quickly. “I need you, babe.” I roll my eyes again. “Aw, come on. Don’t you miss me just a little?” He stands in front of me, wrapping his arms around my waist, a come hither smile on his face. I push away, and he releases me.

“No. I don’t. Now what do you want?”

He frowns.

“I just wanted to come by and talk, that’s all. I’ve missed you. Can we talk about things?”

I knew it was a bad idea to let him in. Now, I really wish it was a serial killer at the door.

“Fine,” I say. “Sit.” I gesture to the chair adjacent to the couch I intend to sit on. He sits, leaning forward on the chair, with his hands folded together. I take my seat, crossing my arms in front of my chest. My look is expectant. He takes a deep breath.

“Babe, I know I haven’t been the best boyfriend in the world.” I snort, and he looks repentant. “But, I’d like to make it up to you.”

“This should be good,” I mutter petulantly.

“Can we start over? I’ve turned over a new leaf, so to speak. I know you only moved here to be close to me, and I’m sure it has affected our relationship in a lot of ways.” He sighs and hesitates as if trying to find the right words. “I have the opportunity to be transferred to another location for my job. It’ll mean a promotion and more money for me…er…us.” He pauses. “I’ll only take it, if you’ll come with me.”

My jaw drops open. Move with him? Again? Is he crazy? The smile on my face is one of amazement. I’m amazed he has the audacity to ask me to do this…again.

“You’re insane,” I say as I stand. He stands too and follows me to the door.

“Wait. Hear me out—”

“Cameron. I don’t have to hear you out. I’d rather
see
you out. Good bye.” I open the door to my apartment, holding it open for him to exit through.

“Julia, babe, wait. I know this would be another huge sacrifice for you, but, it’s in a really nice city, in a very sunny place. You’d love it there. I know you would.” I roll my eyes, more at myself for allowing him to keep talking. “I’d make enough money to support both of us. You wouldn’t have to work at all. We could live together, get married, have some kids—”

“Get married? Have kids? What are you
smoking
? You’re crazy if you think I’m falling for that shit ever again. That’s what you promised me the first time I agreed to move with you. ‘
Come with me. Get away from the snow. Leave your bad memories behind you
.
I’ll commit, I promise.’
”
I mimic his voice. “Well, how’d that work out for me?”

He places his hands on my shoulders.

“Babe, I know, and I’m sorry. I meant every word I said. It’s just that things happen sometimes and—”

“Things happen?” My voice is getting louder by the second. I shove his hands away from me and step back. “
Things
don't just
happen.
Clothes don’t just spontaneously fall off. Penises don’t accidentally fall into random vaginas…
three separate times!
” I’m fuming. I point at the door opening, silently demanding he leave. He opens his mouth to say something, but closes it. My pointed arm remains extended.

“Just think about it, okay?”

I point harder, feeling as if my arm might just become detached from my shoulder from the strain. He nods, then exits. I close the door behind him and lean against it. I exhale loudly as my fingernails dig angrily in to my palms. The
nerve
of that man. I need to calm down, so I head for the kitchen and make a cup of tea. Taking in a deep, cleansing breath and blowing it out slowly, I push all thoughts of Cameron out of my head.

When I feel my rage has dissipated, I get back to the task at hand, and sift through the letters from Sebastian. I’m almost sure he gave me his home telephone number at some point. I recall asking my mom if I could call him and her reaction to the potential, international calling charges. After what seems like an eternity, I find it. I wonder if it would still work. I copy it down, knowing I couldn’t call tonight anyway, as it’s the middle of the night in Germany. I’ll call tomorrow afternoon. I place the number in my wallet, next to his picture, and go to bed. My active mind wrestles with my weary body in a tug of war over the battle of sleep. My body eventually wins out, and I fall into a very troubled sleep.

***

Work is difficult today as I anticipate the phone call I’ll soon make. What am I going to say? What if they have no idea who I am? What if they know
exactly
who I am and refuse to talk to me? What has he told them about me? These and a million other questions cause butterflies to take up residence in my belly.

I decide it’s time. Reaching inside my wallet, I pull out the small piece of paper. With shaking fingers, I dial slowly, trying to talk myself out of this with every keystroke. Finally, there’s just one number left. Nervously I press it, and bite my lip, hard. It rings about three times before—

“Hello?” A woman’s voice answers.

“Um…hi. I’m… M—my name is Julia. Um…I’m Sebastian’s friend.” I stutter my way through the first sentence, and still don't know if this is the appropriate number.

“Julia? From America?” she asks, and I know I have the right house.

“Uh…Yes. Hi,” I say awkwardly. “Is this Sebastian’s mother?”

I can almost hear her smile.

“Yes, yes it is. How are you dear? How is America?”

“Um, I’m fine, and so is America.” I chuckle uneasily. I’m not sure what to say, as I haven’t rehearsed this at all.

“I’m so happy to finally hear your voice. Sebastian was right. You have a lovely voice.”

Oh my. When did he say that?

“Thank you, Mrs. Vau—”

“Sebastian talked about you all the time,” she interrupts. “He was the most content in those years. Every time I’d call him for dinner, he’d be writing to you.” She laughs. “Even after he got back from his trip there, the letters never stopped. I miss that time.”

What? I never got any letters from him after he left here? She must be mistaken.

“Yes, those were great years for me too. I have a question though.”

“He left the letters here, you know,” she interrupts again. “The ones you sent to him. He kept them in shoeboxes underneath his bed. He wouldn’t let anyone touch them, not even so I could clean. He said they were like a lifeline to him. I always respected that.”

He kept all of my letters? They were a lifeline? This is revelation Friday.

“Mrs. Vaughn, have you heard from Sebastian at all? Does he still live with you?”

She pauses, then sighs.

“No dear. He doesn’t.”

“Oh. Well, do you know how I can get a hold of him? He contacted me a couple times recently, but left no forwarding address or any other way to get in touch with him. I’d really like to reconnect.”

“I wish you could, but you see, about eight months ago, Sebastian was killed in an accident while on a mission.”

“What?” I whisper, disbelief in my voice. I cover my mouth as I’m shocked to my core.

“I thought you knew. Oh, but then, how could you know. Yes, he was flying on a routine surveillance mission when his plane went down over the North Sea. They searched for survivors. There were none.” I hear a small sob.

Sebastian’s dead? How can that be? He was so full of life. I can’t believe this. I feel the pressure building inside my head as I fight back tears. The sadness is overwhelming.

“Oh, my God. Mrs. Vaughn, I’m so, so sorry. I didn’t know. The truth is, I hadn’t heard from your son for six years or so. I wrote letter after letter, but never got any in return. He stopped writing after he got back from Ohio.”

“That’s impossible. I watched him write to you. Every week he sat at his desk and wrote page after page.”

“Are you sure he was writing to me?”

“Yes. Absolutely. You’re all he talked about.”

What the hell?

“Forgive me for the intrusion, but is there anything else you can tell me about him? I mean after he came back from visiting me? Maybe something you found odd?”

There’s a slight pause before she remembers something.

“Well, I always thought it was peculiar that he joined the Army almost the second he got home. His father and I didn’t understand it. He was always so dead set against being in the military. He didn’t offer an explanation either. That, and the fact that he had your email address, yet he insisted on writing letters by hand was also strange.”

He joined the Army? He became a pilot, or something to do with flying? He wrote to me, even though I never received anything after he left? Then, what about my strange stalker? It couldn’t be Sebastian, if he’s been dead for eight months. The blood drains from my face as the realization sinks in. I have no idea as to the identity of the mysterious author. Oh, God. This isn’t good.

“I have a favor to ask you. If it’s not too much to ask, or a financial burden, would it be all right if I asked you to send me the letters he kept? It would mean the world to me, but if not, I’ll understand.”

I hold my breath, hoping she’ll agree. I need to get inside his head from all those years ago.

“I think he would’ve liked that,” she says.

I exhale, relief washing over me.

“Thank you so much, Mrs. Vaughn. I can send you the money for the shipping cost if—”

“God, no,” she interrupts again. “It would be my pleasure to send them to you.”

I give her my current address and promise to visit if I’m ever in Germany.

“Thank you, again,” I say.

“You’re welcome. And for what it’s worth, I think he really cared deeply for you.”

We hang up, and I sit at my desk in a daze. As I contemplate every word, I’m surprised by most of it. Something he experienced while he was here, must’ve caused him to rethink his stance on joining the Army. I instantly feel guilty. I wonder if finding out about Cameron had anything to do with it. He seemed fine, until then. After that, he left. And, why did his mother say he continued to write handwritten letters to me? I never received any of them. The fact that I can't ask him fills my heart with such a profound sadness that I feel I may burst into tears, so I dash to the bathroom and sit in a stall, mourning the loss of a friend I thought I knew.

Julia

It takes more than a month for the package from Germany to arrive. Luckily, it’s been delivered to my apartment late in the day. When I get it inside, I waste no time ripping it open. On the very top, is a note.

Julia,

It was very nice talking to you on the phone. I only wish I could’ve given you better news. Here are the boxes of letters Sebastian kept safe. I know he’d want you to have them now. Please know, you’ll always be considered family to us. You helped our son get through some tough years, even if you never knew about them. Take care, and someday, if you find yourself in Europe, please don’t hesitate to stop by.

Sincerely,

Lily Vaughn

Her sincerity shows me exactly where Sebastian got his from. I lift the lid to one of the worn out shoeboxes and find dozens of letters. Each address is in my handwriting. It feels surreal to open such a time capsule. As I glance through them, I notice they’re in chronological order from earliest to latest. I open another box to find the same organization. I pull out my very first letter and laugh at my own, messy handwriting. There are some that are plain and some have so much artwork on the envelope, it’s a wonder it made it to its destination. I don’t feel the need to read them all; after all, I wrote them, but as I get toward the latest ones, the handwriting changes. No longer are the addresses German ones. These have my address on them. These are written
to
me, not
by
me. I grab a butter knife and carefully saw open the earliest one.

Dear Julia,

I’m so sorry to have left on such short notice. I feel like a coward. I wanted to tell you how much you mean to me, but I can’t be selfish. You have a boyfriend, and as much as I don't understand why you picked him, I do understand if it’s not him, it’ll be someone. I can’t ask you to wait for me. I have no idea when or if we’ll ever meet again. So I had to let go. It’s killing me, but I had to cut off all contact between us. I’m writing this letter with the intent of never sending it. I’ll pretend you’ll get it because, frankly, I’ll go crazy if I stop writing to you. I hope you can find a way to forgive me. I hate myself enough for the both of us. Please take care of yourself, and don’t worry about me.

Love forever,

Sebastian

Oh, my God. Tears instantly fall from my eyes and into my lap. I’m sobbing like a baby. Seeing Cameron and me together
was
the reason Sebastian left. The last time we saw each other, I was being led away by him. My heart breaks for the eighteen year old boy whose heart I, unknowingly, broke, and now it’s too late. I can’t tell him how I felt about him. I can’t say how much I wanted him to stay with me, how much I wish he was here now. Guilt and anger takeover as I pound my fist into the floor. I cry, until my head feels as though it’ll explode. I can’t read anymore tonight. I’m spent. As it is, I’ll look terrible tomorrow. Jessica will ask what’s wrong, and my tears will start again. I skip my shower and even though I try not to think about it, I can’t escape the guilt, not even in my sleep.