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I've been spending time this month reading through those books, which I feel that Jack wouldn't mind, given that he A) kept the diaries, and B) most likely knew that they would outlive him and that somebody might read them after he was gone.
In reading them, I've found some entries that I think you would perhaps like to read. I've scanned and attached one herethat I felt in particular was meant for you. I understand that there are still plenty of things left unresolved between us, but for now, I just wanted to send this.
Sincerely,
Ruby
Etienne quickly opens the attachment.
April 7, 2011
It goes without saying that I feel guilty for the way my life and my choices could affect Ruby, and I understand that, to many (perhaps to everyone), I would be the villain here. I accept that. But I also feel guilt for what my choices have done to Etienne.
Every time I leave her, I understand that I'm leaving not just her, but a little boy who only knows me as Papa. In his eyes, I am the man who arrives with gifts and open arms, scooping him up and flinging him into the air with excitement. I read to him, take nature walks, and feed him while we listen to the Beatles together. And then I leave. Every time, I leave. What must that do to a child? And who has to deal with the fallout of that? It's Etienne. So much rides on her shoulders that it sometimes leaves me awed.
I feel like this is as good a place as any to explain the justification for all of my feelings and actions, though some would say there is no justification. I gave my word at the altar to love, honor, protect, and be faithful to Ruby, and I've fallen down on the job with her in some very important ways. Ultimately, I'd like to believe that I've loved her (I do), protected her (I try to--hence her never knowing about Etienne), I honor that she's a vital, strong woman and a wonderful mother, and...no, I have not been faithful, and that bothers me.
But we ask so much of ourselves, don't we? We ask ourselves to choose a mate at a fairly young age, to partner up, to create a home, a life, and a family, and to be happy with that until the end of our lives, no matter how long that may be. Is that an impossible task? For some--for many--I think it is. The heart grows and changes and takes on new angles with every passing year. New corridors of possibility open up as we learn about the world and about ourselves, and there are chambers of the heart demanding to be filled. Some we occupy with children, with joyful moments, with pets, with travel, and others echo softly in the background demanding attention.
And then one day we meet someone who slides neatly into the biggest empty spot, and with them tucked so gently into the folds of ourselves, we feel whole. The world is suddenly technicolor, and every sound rings clearly. There is joy again in the smallest details, in the tiniest jokes. We have someone whose eye we catch with ours and send little sparks of understanding back and forth. We wait for their calls, their messages, for our time together, and through these things, it somehow feels like the years between now and the end aren't filled with the same placid, staid things.
Again, I understand that wanting to fill every chamber of my own heart is selfish, is unnecessary, and is wrong, but am I alone there? Has no other person gotten halfway into their life and realized that love is boundless and not contained in just one other person? Has anyone ever felt as though their home life was their safe haven and their comfort, but that this new person is the meteor that streaks across their otherwise dark sky?
Etienne is my meteor, and Julien is our little star. With her, I've created a new galaxy and I can't even imagine the way that will grow and change in the future. I can't know what Julien will be when he grows up, what life choices he will make,who he might marry, or what children and grandchildren and great-grandchildren he might someday have. Just like my girls, he can be anything, go anywhere. He can do important things, save lives, be kind, live big, and create a life of wonder and stars and meteors of his own.
I can never be sorry for that.
Etienne reads the diary entry twice, wiping tears from her eyes as she sits at the foot of her bed.Jack, she thinks.Jack and his poor, tormented soul. If only he'd been born French, then maybe he could have more readily accepted his own choices, and he would have understood that the heart's chambers sometimes do demand to be filled.
Etienne forgives him--she forgave him long ago--for coming and going, and for leaving her to clean up the mess with Julien each time he left them in France to go back to his real life. She'd known from the beginning of their relationship what she was signing up for, and because it was her choice, she'd accepted that fate without complaint.
Etienne looks up at the mirror on the vanity that sits against the wall at the foot of the bed and sees her own reflection. She can only imagine how much it must have cost Ruby not only to read this, but to share it with her. There is no way that they will ever be friends, but this willingness to share Jack with her touches Etienne in a way that most things don't. Over the years, she's developed a tough exterior to protect herself and her son, but Jack's words rip through that tough outer layer, and Ruby's email hits her right in the heart.
"Merci," she whispers aloud, though Ruby cannot hear her.
Without overthinking it, Etienne opens a message in her phone and taps it out to Lou Perot. She won't be meeting her that morning--or ever. The story of Etienne and Jack is not one thatshe feels the need to tell this woman. She'll help Dexter with the book if he needs it, but she's not talking to any reporter about the man she still loves with all her heart. No amount of money or promise that she can "tell her side of things" will entice her to let someone else write her love story.
Etienne sends the message and stands up, her satin dressing gown falling smoothly around her. She will dress and take the train back to her house in the country.
She will go home to Julien, her little star, her giant galaxy.
Ruby
"So you're feeling good about this, honey?"
Ruby is on the phone again with Helen Pullman, talking out her feelings about sending Etienne a copy of Jack's diary entry.
"I think so," Ruby says. She's standing behind the counter of the bookstore, entering a new stack of books into her computer to count them in her inventory. Either Vanessa or Tilly could have just as easily completed this task, but Dexter has decided to spend the day working on edits in the guest room at Ruby's house, and it sounded like a good idea to her to get out and work on something other than poring over Jack's diaries. "It felt like something she might want to hear, and at this point, I can fault her all I want for taking up with my husband, or I can accept that it happened and that we're all humans with feelings."
"Psshhhh," Helen says, letting out a long stream of air. "You're more evolved than I am, babe. Way more evolved."
Ruby tosses a book onto the pile once she's logged it into the computer. "Not really. I'm just trying to see things from Etienne's perspective. She essentially raised a child alone. She sat on another continent and waited for a man to come to her whenever he could fit it into his schedule. I have no idea whattheir arrangements looked like in terms of her dating other men, but I do know Jack fairly well, and I'm guessing he would not have wanted to share her."
"Oh, the irony," Helen says dryly.
"Right?"
The door of the bookstore swings open and two ladies in matching mint green capris and white tank tops walk in.
