The Handkerchief

“We have all the time in the world,” Zelda said, reaching across the space betwixt herself and her fiancé. She lovingly caressed his forearm in an attempt to assure that his despondency was due to nothing more than the gloomy weather that filled the streets of Paris that rainy day.

“We have all the time in the world to go all the places and see all the things your heart desires, Jacques. In a month we’ll be married and living together right here in this lovely Parisian apartment. Life is young. We are on the precipice of so many possibilities, so why in heaven’s name are you talking like your world has suddenly screeched to an unexpected stop?” Zelda asked.

Jacques gave her a meek smile and a shrug, but she could still see the sadness deep in his green eyes – sense the melancholy that had invaded his being as if it were tangible.

“You are right, my sweet,” Jacques said in his thick, French-laced accent as he patted Zelda’s hand. “We have plenty of time,” he repeated absentmindedly. He walked across the room to the small tabletop bar. “Do you want a drink, Zel?” he asked, pouring himself a glass of amber-colored whiskey.

Zelda eyed him and shook her head. It was not like Jacques to drink whiskey, especially early in the afternoon. He usually preferred wine.

Zelda rose and walked over to place a kiss on his cheek. “None for me, Jacques. I will have my usual glass of wine,” she said, heading to the kitchen. Pausing and glancing back, she added, “Besides, wine helps me cook better. Would you put some music on?”

Jacques didn't respond, but it wasn’t long before Beethoven drifted on the evening air, a bit louder than usual. Surprise filled her. Jacques must definitely be in a mood if he was playing Beethoven. He was partial to the softer music of composers like Chopin. Beethoven, on the other hand, could be loud and powerful at times.

“Would you turn that down a bit? Suzette will complain,” Zelda called from the kitchen as she poured a glass of wine, but the volume of the music did not change.

Suzette was the neighbor from hell that Zelda wished on no one. For whatever reason – maybe because of the age difference – they had never melded or been able to coexist. If Suzette could find anything, no matter how trivial, to complain about, she would do so, and it was more than likely that this evening she would complain about the volume of the music.

“Jacques?” No response. Zelda gave up. The music was so loud Jacques couldn't hear her anyway. Suzette would just have to wear ear plugs.

Zelda busied herself in the kitchen, chopping vegetables and preparing the salmon for baking. As her long fingers wielded the knife and meticulously performed the tasks, her mind touched on Jacques. She was worried. What was going on with him? It had been months since he had last seemed to laugh. Sure, he would sometimes attempt it to reassure her he was fine – or possibly, to reassure himself - but she knew he didn’t really feel it within. She had been so sure that he would snap out of it one day and return to himself. They were getting married soon after all but now, because of his depressive state, she was not so sure.

Jacques’ words this September afternoon had left her perplexed, worried, and unsure how best to proceed. The truth was that she was a bit stunned by his declaration that he felt incomplete and at a standstill, going nowhere and with nothing to offer. Were they making a mistake proceeding with the wedding? Maybe the pressure was too much for him. He’d said his heart longed for something beyond understanding and that he felt bereft, misplaced. The crushed look on her face at the realization that she was not enough must not have registered with him, so deep was his melancholy. Was Jacques not as fulfilled by her as she by him? He was her everything. It was inconceivable that he would not feel the same.

As if attempting to reassure her yet again, Jacques had suddenly looked at her with those penetrating green eyes before he softly spoke again. “It’s not you, Zel. You are wonderful and by far the best part of me.”

Zelda had internalized a huge sigh of relief with his words, thus replying, “Well then, don’t be silly. We have all the time in the world, Jacques.” But, had that been the right thing to say? She had to wonder. From the look in his eyes, it had not helped to squelch his sadness, and she could not shake the deep-seated doubt that resided inside her.

The timer sounded, distracting Zelda from her thoughts. She hurriedly removed the salmon from the oven. Delicious aromas of lemon, sage, and other spices filled the room as she prepared two plates with the food before placing them on a tiny table. As she poured the wine, she looked out the large window. Living on the twenty-fourth floor provided a stunning view of the Southern side of Paris. The distant sunset this evening was beautiful, boldly hinting at hues of blue, pink, and yellow. She mused it was definitely worthy of the finest artist’s brush. She sighed. It was a lovely evening. Surely things would be fine with Jacques.

Finished in the kitchen, Zelda headed back to the den and immediately went to the stereo, turning down the music’s volume. As she did so, she could hear the subtle noises of the city below, including resounding sirens. Looking to her left, she realized Jacques had left the balcony doors open again. The curtains billowed in the soft breeze that flowed in across the balcony.

“Jacques, dinner is ready,” she called, assuming he was in the bedroom.

Before she could venture across the room to close the balcony doors, the doorbell sounded. A bit surprised, she made her way to the door where she found her neighbor, Suzette. Zelda noted that, as usual, there was no hint of a smile on Suzette’s. Assuredly, she had found the music far too loud this evening and was here to complain. If she had a breath left in her body, Zelda was sure Suzette would find something about which to complain.

Zelda grimaced inwardly and rushed in with an apology. “I’m sorry about the music, Suzette. You know how much Jacques enjoys his music.” She fully expected a sarcastic retort, but instead, something in Suzette’s face gave her pause. What was it she saw in Suzette’s brown eyes? Was it pity? They were talking about the music, for heaven's sake. Why in the world was Suzette looking at her as if she felt sorry for her?

Suzette seemed extremely nervous as she looked down at her feet. After a few moments, she hesitantly stepped aside and allowed a tall, lean police officer to fill the doorway. Zelda’s mind raced. It all made sense now. Was Suzette so angry about the loud music that she had used the opportunity to call the police? This was the ultimate payback. Seriously? Unbelievable! Zelda cleared her throat as she attempted to think of something to say, but the officer spoke first.

“Mme. Dubois?”

“Oui,” Zelda replied, keenly aware of her silent neighbor. “I’m so sorry, Officier, about the loud music. It won’t happen again.”

Jacques was never going to hear the end of this! What would the other neighbors think now that Suzette had involved the authorities? This was no joke. Where was Jacques anyway? She looked over her shoulder anxiously, hoping to see him emerging from the bedroom, but there was no sign of him.

“Mme. I apologize, but it is not the music. I am here with some very unfortunate news. We have asked your neighbor, Mme. Moreau, to come and sit with you while we speak, – to offer support,” he nodded at Suzette. The officer’s English, though stilted, was fluent enough that Zelda had no difficulty understanding him.

Surprise flickered across Zelda’s face before she quickly stepped aside. “Please come inside. I’ll get my fiancé.” She turned to call Jacques, but Suzette had quickly taken her by the arm and was steering her toward the sofa instead.

“Zelda, please sit,” she said hesitantly, pity now fully recognizable in her eyes.

Dread began to spread in Zelda’s chest, slowly permeating her entire body. What had happened? Why would Suzette not let her get Jacques from the bedroom? What unfortunate news did the officer have? Her eyes darted across the room and spied the open balcony doors as she slowly lowered herself onto the sofa beside Suzette. Sirens filled the silence, echoing from the busy streets below. Fear and a fervent denial took firm root in her mind as a horrible thought crept forward to taunt her like an insidious snake silently slithering into a beautiful garden.

The officer removed his hat and took a seat directly across from her. His brow creased and his lips pursed; he seemed to grapple with the necessary words that were all too obviously not easily forthcoming.

“Mme. Dubois, is this your fiancé’s wallet?” He handed her a brown leather wallet that she quickly recognized, although it appeared slightly more worn than when she had last seen it. Jacques was never without his wallet.

Zelda hesitated and then nodded, words refusing to leave her lips as she took ahold of the wallet, her delicate fingers clutching the worn leather with a sense of dread.

The officer cleared his throat, uneasily looked at the floor, and then at Suzette before his somber gaze returned to Zelda. “Mme., I regret to inform you that we believe your fiancé leapt from your balcony to his death only a short while ago. We are in the process of transporting the body to the morgue for further inquiries. We will require you, unfortunately, to identify him at some point. I am truly sorry, Mme.”

There was an overwhelming buzzing in Zelda’s ears as her breath caught in her throat. This could not be right; the officer must be mistaken. Jacques had just been here, in the apartment, with her, listening to Beethoven, waiting for dinner to be ready.

Zelda shook her head in fervent denial and rose to go to the bedroom, tears streaming down her cheeks as she repeatedly called Jacques’ name. Suzette followed her every step, words of comfort softly issuing forth as she walked with Zelda about the rooms of the small apartment. A chill invaded. Jacques was not there. This was a nightmare, and Zelda wished to awaken.

Riddled with shock, Zelda reluctantly took a seat on the sofa again. Lowering her head into both hands, she wept. Suzette’s palm caressed her back as she sought to comfort Zelda. Unbeknownst to Zelda, the officer rose and walked about the apartment, taking note of the dinner table set for two, the half-drunk glass of whiskey on the bar, and the note that lay atop the desk with Zelda’s name boldly scribbled on it. Picking it up, he read the hand inscribed note and quickly confirmed his suspicion that the body below belonged to Jacques Lyon. Walking out on the balcony, he peered over the wall to view the chaos below before he returned and resumed his seat. Nothing looked suspicious or out of order. It was all too apparent this was a most unfortunate incident and an obvious suicide. Such a horrible thing, he thought to himself.

“Do you have someone you can call, Mme. Dubois? Any family?” he quietly asked. “You should not be alone, Mme.”

Zelda looked up through tear-filled eyes and nodded. She would have to call both of their families. She was not sure how she would tell them, but she must. Suzette handed her a pretty, little lace-trimmed handkerchief. Distracted for a moment, Zelda took note of the irony in the handkerchief’s unblemished beauty. How could something appear so delicate and lovely amidst this horrific and unbelievable set of circumstances? It was oxymoron: a beautiful rose in an otherwise prickly, weed infested garden. Looking up, Zelda thanked her through tear stained eyes and accepted the handkerchief.

“Very well, Mme. Dubois. We will need you to come down to the morgue in the morning, s'il te plaît, and to the station for further inquiries into your Mr. Lyon’s death, but for tonight, you should call your family and attempt to rest. Again, I am truly sorry for your loss.”

Zelda watched the officer rise, don his hat, and leave. Suzette followed behind him and quietly closed the door. Zelda’s senses had gone into overdrive, and she became innately attuned to every fleck of dust on the side table, every precise noise that rose from the streets below, and every attempt at drawing breath that her body made.

“I’m going to make a pot of very strong café, Zelda,” Suzette said as she made herself at home, heading for the kitchen.

Zelda marveled that Suzette, her sworn enemy up until now, seemed very much at ease with her newly assigned caretaker, friend role. She had thought Suzette would be the last person on earth who she wanted to be with her, but she was thankful for the neighbor’s presence now. She would never look at the woman in the same harsh light again. Yes, it was definitely odd that she was finding comfort in the hands of someone she had never befriended or trusted. Then again, tonight was proving to be a night of many surprises. Life was not as it had so seemed only a mere hour ago. Indeed, life now seemed like a carousel that went round and round, no matter how anxiously Zelda wished to disembark and escape its repeated cycle.

As Suzette busied herself with the coffee, Zelda picked up the wallet on the coffee table. She gazed at it as if seeing it for the first time before lifting it to inhale of its musky smell. It smelled like Jacques. Tears stung her eyes anew. Overwhelmed with the essence of the man she loved, she was unable to fathom he was gone. How utterly and undeniably heartbreaking. What immense pain had filled him so that he must do this awful thing? Her heart was broken, and guilt filled her as she remembered her inability to make him feel better only a short while earlier. She should have done more, said more, helped more; and she should have loved him more. She should have known what to say and been there for him even when he had pushed her away. Doubt, grief, and guilt consumed her in one fell swoop, and she wept again with greater intensity as she realized her life had changed inexplicably beyond repair.

Finally, she steadied herself and reached down to smooth the delicate, lace handkerchief that lay in her lap. Again, she pondered the stark contrast of it and the devastating, awful reality. Lightly, she traced its edges, feeling the softness of the Belgium lace. Her life would never be like the soft, pretty lace again, and she would never look at things in the same light ever again.

It would take a great deal to overcome Jacques’ death. She realized belatedly that she had created a life of illusion where everything appeared easy and beautiful, but in actuality, it had been anything but those things. With a deep-seated, profound regret, Zelda realized appearances were nothing more than a façade created for the weak. Jacques’ death filled her with a fierce determination not to hide behind those weak, false appearances for it had been far too costly to do so. Indeed, the illusion of appearances had been no friend. Life as she had known it was now tarnished by a surreal turn of events, and she only wished to view it from this point forward through new eyes to ensure this sort of thing never happened again. She would confront life’s situations, including those riddled with pain and doubt, with a strong dose of reality and a renewed force. She would never fall short of the mark again for those whom she loved.

Slowly, Zelda crossed the room, opened the balcony doors and slowly made her way to the railing. She knew she was retracing Jacques’ final steps, and it nearly shook her resolve. Determined, however, she peered over the edge, looking down at the street below with no remaining evidence of Jacques’ final action. Her heart ached with unbearable pain as she thought of Jacques in his final moments of desperation and despair. He must have felt so all alone, so sad, so bereft of hope. Resolutely, Zelda clutched the delicate handkerchief within her grasp for a moment as he eyes filled anew with tears. She had been so utterly foolish and so wrong.

With every breath she took, she was keenly aware of the wind that seemed to whisper, echoing her regret, and it spurred her on. Lifting her slender arm and draping it across the balcony’s ledge, she dangled the delicate handkerchief from her fingertips and watched it dance against the wind. With determination borne of pain, she released it and watched as the wind lifted it across the Parisian skyline. She eventually lost sight of it, and only then did she allow a huge breath to escape her lips.

She and Jacques had not had all the time in the world. Today had been a day of reckoning and awakening, but somehow she knew she must persevere and continue with to live, to move beyond the guilt and regret she felt so profoundly. Her life was no longer an illusion, and just like the handkerchief, all of life's fantasies had been carried away with the wind. Yes, life’s false bravado was as dead this night as Jacques, disappearing into the moonlight along with the delicate little lace-trimmed handkerchief.