When the Heart Falls

BRAVING MILD WINDS and a chill in the air, Cade and I walk to the abbey from our hotel. The island of Mont Saint-Michel is a contradiction in itself—so remote it feels like it’s the edge of the world, and yet packed with tourists who are as fascinated by the history as we are.

My legs are stronger from my time in Paris, hiking and climbing and walking everywhere. I’m not winded as we make our way up the road.

Cade holds my hand as we walk, and that gesture reassures me that despite his bad mood, we’re still okay. In fact, his mood has improved now that we’re out sightseeing and he can regale me with his knowledge. "The monks built the abbey at the very top in order to get as close to the heavens as possible. The problem was, they didn't have enough even ground."

He’s looking at the abbey, but my eyes fall on him, the profile of his handsome face, his jaw line strong. "What'd they do?"

He points. "They built four giant crypts at the top of the mount for support."

I try to imagine the actual building of this place. "I can't believe they moved all that stone over the bay and up this hill."

"They didn't have a bridge at the time either.” Cade looks at me, his blue eyes sparkling with his excitement. “They had to ferry all the materials across.”

"How long did it take to finish?"

"It's never finished," he says. "They're rebuilding the causeway in a few years." He points up the hill. "Today's abbey is built on the remains of a Romanesque church, built on the remains of a Carolingian church." He turns me back toward the bay. "The walls are 15th century fortifications built to defend against cannons. They're low, rather than tall, to make for a smaller target, and they're connected by protected passages, so soldiers could get where they needed in safety. Even during the hundred year war between England and France, while the English took all of Normandy, they didn't take Mont Saint-Michel."

I get why he loves this so much. It's as if you can see all the layers of history, all the journeys this island has been through. “I wonder if the famous ghost hunter has found anything. Seems if ghosts do exist, there’d be a lot haunting this place.”

Something buzzes in Cade’s pocket, and he pulls out his cell phone, frowns at the number, cancels the call and puts it back.

He’s ignored several calls so far on our trip, and I know it must be his dad. "Are things easier now that you're away from him?" I ask.

"They're harder," he says. "I feel guilty for how I left things and guiltier for leaving."

"It's not your fault.” I squeeze his hand. "You're a grown man. You had to leave your brother and family eventually. They can’t expect you to live there forever, can they?"

"I know. But I should have fixed things with Dad before I left."

"You tried, right?"

"Right."

"Then you did your best."

"Not enough."

The wind whips around us, blowing my hair into my face. I lean in closer to Cade. "Maybe your dad has to work out his own issues. You’re only responsible for your actions, your choices, not his."

"I think we blamed each other for a lot.” His eyes are sad, his look far away. "Still do."

"You can be the first to stop the cycle. To forgive and move on.” But even as I say the words, I know it's not that easy. Some acts of betrayal are unforgivable.

Cade turns away from me, letting go of my hand as he walks ahead. "I'm not sure I can."

I hurry to catch up to him. “I read once that choosing to stay angry with someone is like drinking poison and waiting for the other person to die.”

He stops, his face hard and unreadable. The wind picks up, pushing us harder as the sky darkens. I can feel the wind trying to reach into me, chilling my bones. It attacks Cade as if it wants to tear him apart.

The water surrounding the island is angry, crashing against the rocks. Cade looks out at the horizon. "I thought I'd left my problems back home, but they followed me here. Across a continent and an ocean. I still expect too much from people. I know I shouldn't, but I do. And they inevitably disappoint."

He seems so far away, and I worry he’s talking about me, about us. Did he want more from me? From our relationship? He knew he’d be leaving at the end of summer, and I’d be staying. Staying… because I’m running too. Running away from New York, from what happened there. I’m so driven by my shame of what Rodney did to me, I thought if I could start over somewhere else, somewhere with no memories of him, I’d be able to get over it and get on with my life. But he followed me here. And even if he hadn’t, it’s inside of me. All of my problems, all of my fears, everything I’m running from is inside of me. I can’t run from myself.