Page 68 of The Hundred Loves of Juliet
“I can’t. I don’t even know how I can get through the days right now. How can you be so…steady?”
“Because I’m not dead yet.”
That made her bawl harder.
He comforted her, and when her sobbing quieted to hiccups, he said, “There are infinite things that could happen, Bethie. Infinite things we could worry about. I had to let them go. Otherwise, the life I still have would be governed by fear. That’s all I meant when I said I wasn’t dead yet. Every second of life is worth too much to waste on the infinite what-ifs.”
I press Dad’s watch harder against my cheek, trying not to cry for the loss of him, and for what might be on the threshold for me.
But I know he was right, too. Maybe I’d saved this memory for now when I truly needed it. It’s as if Dad is here, showing me the path through from terror to bravery, and how to be happy even in the face of uncertainty.
And truth be told, uncertainty is all I’ve got. I might be Juliet. I might not be. Even if I’m just Helene, I might die any day. That car crash in the snowbank could have killed me, or the glaring moose right afterward. I could be diagnosed with the same kind of brain tumor Dad had. Or maybe I’ll live till 103.
Nobody knows the future. But I knowtoday.And hard or not, good or bad, every day is a gift, and I don’t want to waste it.
“Thanks, Dad,” I say, and gently kiss the watch.
As if he’s listening, a sunbeam finds its way through the melting snow outside the windows and lights up the room.
A minute later, Sebastien knocks on my door.
“Helene?” he asks. “The plow has finally come through, and the roads are cleared. Do you think you’re ready to venture out?”
I relish the sunbeam and my dad’s memory for a moment more. And then I nod and get up out of bed.
“Yes,” I say quietly to myself. And then, more loudly, “Yes, I am.”
HELENE
The silence in Sebastien’s truckis as awkward as it gets. We pull out of his just shoveled driveway as if in slow motion, not only the speed at which he drives on the ice, but also how long every minute of nonconversation feels. What do you say to someone after your worlds have collided in the most improbable way? And what do you say when you’re on the brink of goodbye to those possibilities?
“Uh, thanks for letting me stay at your house.”
“Of course.” He doesn’t take his eyes off the steering wheel.
I wait for something more, but there’s nothing forthcoming. A minute later, we’re on the road, which has been cleared just wide enough for two cars. I almost don’t see my rental car when we pass it, because the blizzard dumped so much snow over the last few days. Only part of its rear fender sticks out, dented a little from where the plow probably hit it, not knowing there was an abandoned car in the snowbank.
A grim shadow suddenly passes across Sebastien’s face. “I’m glad you weren’t hurt worse than your ankle.”
“I’m tough. Don’t worry about me.”
But I suspect he’s thinking of the supposed curse, and how that accident could have killed me. And I can’t tell him it isn’t true, because the crash really could have, regardless of a curse.
Yet that’s the peace I’ve made with myself, Juliet or not. Like Dad said, there’s an infinite number of things that I could worry about. Alternatively, I could choose to focus on good possibilities. Statistically speaking, the most impossible positive things are just as likely as the most impossible negative things. So I choose the good.
It feels right to be Optimistic Helene again, even though she’s a little out of practice after the walloping of the last few days at Sebastien’s.
“I’ll call the rental car company when I get back to my cottage,” I say.
“I already talked to Ron, the tow truck guy,” Sebastien says. “He’ll extract your car later today and take it back to the airport.”
“You didn’t have to do that. I got insurance on the rental.”
“The car company would’ve sent him anyway. He’s the only tow truck in Ryba Harbor.”
“Oh, well, thanks then.”
Sebastien makes a small noise of assent but doesn’t say anything else.
