Page 13 of After Paris
Chapter Thirteen
Ruby
Friday, July 4, 2025
2:00 p.m.
I spent my afternoon sitting under the bedcovers, eating popcorn, and reading the captain’s reports. He was fascinating, in a creepy stalker kind of way.
I glanced at my phone several times, half expecting to see Jason’s name. But he didn’t call me again. I needed to call him. I would call him later today as soon as I’d discarded this raging sense of avoidance. I didn’t want to hear any bad news. I wanted to write this article and grab my chance at a new life.
I flipped through the diary and thought about the pages I’d already read. Otto had lived in a different time and place, under different circumstances. That might have explained his attitude, but he annoyed me. He said he’d been a clerk and university student and then had joined the Nazi Party for more significant opportunities. And now he was in Paris, France, wielding power over an actress and her seamstress.
When my phone rang, my annoyance snapped. And then I saw Jason’s name. I should have called him back first. Damn it.
Drawing a breath, I held very still, bracing for the worst. “Jason? It’s good to hear from you.”
“Ruby.” His rough, graveled voice hadn’t changed. “You didn’t call me back.”
“I’m sorry.” What could I say? I was working. How often had someone annoyed me when I’d been sick? “Will you forgive me?”
Because I hadn’t tossed him an excuse, his voice softened. “Yes, you’re forgiven. God knows I owe you a thousand apologies.”
“Because you ghosted me?”
“Oh. That cuts like a knife.”
“In Jason’s words, ‘Life is too short for little, polite lies.’”
He chuckled. “You’re right. It’s short.”
The papers on my lap slid onto the bed as I sat up straighter. “Why the call now?”
“I wanted to know how you were doing. I had a dream about you last week.”
“Tell me it was a good one.”
“None of my dreams are good anymore. They tend to be a bit dystopian.”
“I told you to stop reading those novels,” I said. “They always put you in a difficult mood.”
“I gave them up, but the themes linger.”
“What’s going on with you? You haven’t called in a year. How’s your health?”
“Bit of a setback.” He sounded weary. “The beast caught me off guard, and I needed a friendly voice from the good old days.”
Our old days had been grueling and challenging. A chill iced over my skin. “What kind of setback?”
“The demon is alive and well. It had been waiting for a new moment to strike.”
“Where are you? I can come see you.”
“Nothing to see right now. I’m headed into the hospital for more tests tomorrow. My parents and husband are here. They’ve been amazing and do their best to cheer me up.”
“But they don’t quite get it, do they?” I loved and appreciated my family. And I wouldn’t have survived without them. But, in the end, the battle was between me and the cancer. Jason understood. So did Clara, Brenda, and Bob, our cancer partners in crime. The five of us were as different as anyone could be, but we shared the same struggle, and when it was us, we could drop the pretense and share our fears.
“No. And I hope they never do understand,” Jason said.
“I’m in Alexandria right now. I can drive out to your house in Fairfax.” The distance was less than twenty miles. “What about tomorrow?”
“What are you doing in Alexandria?”
I explained my article and the French film festival I hoped to manage one day. “It’s a small restart, but I’ll take it.”
“It sounds amazing and right up your alley.” His tone lightened. “Don’t tell me, Secrets in the Shadows .”
I chuckled. “Yes.”
“Congratulations.”
“Thanks. I’m keeping my fingers crossed that I’ll pull it off.” Asking questions and gathering data was one thing. Turning it into a piece that people would enjoy was another.
“You will. I always said you were the smartest of our merry band.”
I chuckled. “What have you been up to the last year? You were going to return to the law firm.” Jason was one of the best copyright lawyers in his field.
“I did. But I was never committed to working the insane hours like I used to. It was too much, and I have enough money.” A bitter chuckle rumbled over the phone. “I’m forty-two, but there are days when I feel eighty.”
“We know rest is a big part of recovery.”
“I hate it. All the mandatory downtime feels like a ball and chain.”
“I know.” I glanced at the blanket over my feet. In college, I’d never have been caught dead—no pun intended—in bed at 2:00 p.m. on a Friday.
“What are you doing today?” he asked.
“I’m reading historical journals by Cécile’s dressmaker. I’m also reading reports written by a German officer circa 1940. I need good questions to follow up with my contact, Madame Bernard.”
“A lady with a plan.”
“Remember, ‘We don’t make plans. We focus on today.’” Repeating the counselor’s mantra on our ward made me smile.
He chuckled and then coughed. “Planning a follow-up interview is safe enough.”
“And because we’re bold, we’ll make plans for tomorrow?”
“I’d like to see you.”
He gave me his home address. We’d never met outside the hospital. It felt oddly personal to stare at the scrawled address on my pad.
“I’ll find you.”
“Bring me good stories. I need entertainment.”
“I will. I love you, Jason.”
He hesitated. “I love you too.”
When the call ended, a restless energy consumed me. I couldn’t sit on this bed and hide away from the world wrapped in a blanket. It was a beautiful day outside, and a clock ticked somewhere in my head.
I pushed aside my notes, showered, washed, dried my hair, and applied my makeup just right. I glanced at my clothes in the closet, running my fingers over the selection. What did I feel like? I chose a white dress with a ruffled hemline that put off a positive, flirty vibe. I accented the dress not with wedge sandals but with whimsical white thick-soled sneakers. Red earrings added a final pop of color.
I had no idea where I was going, but I needed to start moving for myself and Jason.