It Started in Paris

Chapter Twenty: Absolutely, Yes

Days went by without saying. It's only hours before we head back to New York and I was barely aware of it. For the past few days he took me out on lunch dates and dinner dates. We kept coming back to Helen's grave to wait for the old lady that we saw reading letters to Helen until finally, one day, we got there and found the old lady reading another letter to Helen.

We found out that she was Helen's sister. Her name was Adela. She admitted that she had taken some of Jean's letters from our apartment's front door and brought them to Helen because they have been kept in a drawer by their mother. She hated herself for not standing up for her sister back then. She also said that Helen secretly sent letters out to Jean but he failed to receive them since their mother worked at the post office. Their mother's job is the only thing that kept them fed and sheltered. Whenever their mother comes home, Helen says her little prayers with a tiny flicker of hope that their mother wasn't able to sort her letter that she was supposedly to send Jean but, unfortunately, their mother did and she throws them away every time.

Helen gets spanked and whipped with their deceased father's belt. Adela eventually married but lost her daughter because her husband had taken her away after a big argument. After Adela's marriage, Helen spent her whole time taking care of their mother who was diagnosed with Leukemia. After that big row Adela and her husband had, Adela came back home a few hours before their mother's death. Helen felt like she lost everything except for the letters that came from Jean.

"Until now, I still couldn't figure out why she didn't write back even after our mother had died," Adela said, standing before Helen's grave. "She was diagnosed with Alzheimer's in 1996 and I didn't have a choice but to check her in to a care facility. I visited her everyday and read Jean's letters to her." I could hear the sad reminisce in her voice. "At times, she'd remember Jean and smile when she hears me read his letters but, she got worse and she gets confused and until the worst came that she doesn't even remember me anymore," Adela said shakily. She propped up her elbow with her other forearm and cupped her hand over her mouth. She closed her eyes and tears began to fall down her dry cheeks.

I put my arms around her and rubbed her shoulders in comfort.

"At her last minute, she wondered and asked me about Jean," Adela continued. "I told her that he loves her so much. She smiled and weakly said, "Tell him I love him, too.""

We politely said our goodbyes to her and left her alone with Helen.

Last Sunday, we picked up a picnic lunch at the Richard Lenoir street market that was only open on Sundays then headed over to Jean's place for lunch.

I looked nervously at Jack before speaking to Jean. "We found Helen."

Just as I imagined how his face would brighten up, he said, "Really? Where is she? Tell me, is she fine?"

I swallowed and was wordless for a long moment before I've found the courage to speak again. "She's...in a better place now."

Somehow, I could tell that Jean had understood this perfectly.

His face saddened and his voice became an old man's husky tone. "Will you...take me to her?"

I nodded tentatively.

After we finished lunch, Jack and I took Jean to Helen's grave. There were familiar decaying letters all bundled up and placed by Helen's stone. He picked up the bunch of envelopes and felt them with his aged hand. He looked at it with much emotion that I could feel just by watching him.

He turned to me and asked, "Who brought these here?"

I told him about Helen's sister and what Helen has been through.