Between Octobers

January 5th

January 5th

He took me in his arms for a long moment, whispering. "How I wish you'd come with me." His breath caressed my neck, giving me goosebumps. "I'll be thinking of you every second, mon seul amour." 

I held on a second longer, feeling his fingers loosen their grip. The sensation aroused a maddening dread. "Evan—"  

"Yes?" He touched my cheek, looking deep into my eyes. His appeared brown over his black jacket.

I couldn't escape the feeling. It didn't help that Sheri was behind him, checking the time. 

"I love you, please be f— . . . be careful." A different word almost slipped out—faithful—and I wondered at it. 

"You sound almost cryptic."

"I hate goodbyes," I sniffed.

"It's not 'goodbye.'" He slipped on his baseball cap and opened the front door. We'd promised to keep in constant contact: talking, texting, emailing, and Skype. "It's 'see you later.' I will see you Friday."

"It will hardly seem like we're apart," I told him, trying to comfort us both. He was being sweet, with a doubtful expression behind the smile. I knew better and he knew I knew better. But he wouldn't let his fears out. And I couldn't, either. Not when he had to leave. I settled for watching him make a beeline for the car that was waiting to take him to the airport.

"He'll be fine. Trust me." Sheri patted my arm, awkwardly. "Evan tells me you want to go back to work?"

I watched Evan crawl smoothly into the back seat and shut the door. "There's an opening in post-op cardiac."

Sheri took in my glum expression. "Grace, I'm going to tell you something that Evan won't approve of."

She looked out to the car and back to me before closing the door. "You are the life he's chosen; and while I respect that, you must also understand the position he's in. He's worked in this business since he was eighteen, slaved and sacrificed to get where he is."

She straightened her jacket, casually spilling the information. "From his easy manner, one would never know the far reaches of his influence. But I am telling you—there is a reason they call him The King of Hollywood. For him, merely speaking someone's name improves their careers. Everyone wants to work with him. I receive, daily, hundreds of offers from companies begging him to use their products or mumble their name in an interview, but he refuses to wield all that they lay, so willingly, at his feet."

My eyes grew wide, remembering Evan talking about the amazing pressure he faced.

"He could make any movie. His name is money in the bank to a lot of powerful people and it doesn't matter to him. He wants the one thing they can't give—acclaim—and it's only a matter of time." She popped open her black leather bag and handed me a plain looking DVD. "This is a rough cut but it's also his best work. That's for your eyes only. Guard it with your life."

Through the jewel case the title, Triumph in the Sky, was written in black marker.

"This is what being his Queen means, Grace. He works in places all over the world for extended periods of time at an exorbitant rate. It's a selfish, indulgent profession and something you, the espoused, must get used to. The work is too important and must be the priority." She straightened the front of her wool jacket over her pant suit and opened the front door. 

"If you don't mind my saying, I think you're in the right by keeping the kids settled here. He only works six months out of the year. Just keep yourself busy; it will help the time pass." She offered a brief goodbye with a stiff smile. 

I caught a glimpse of Evan as she maneuvered into the car. His head was down, covered by his hat, and one elbow was slung over the side of his face. When they drove off, a caravan followed behind.

It was both amazing and pathetic how those strangers seemed to know every move he made.