“Caitlin?” Polly said slowly, bewildered, looking back and forth between the two. “You haven’t introduced me to your friend.”
Caitlin stood there speechless, not sure what to say.
“Um…” she started, but then stopped. She tried to think of how to explain, but she had no idea where to begin.
So she stood there, speechless, until it got awkward.
“I’m Blake,” he said finally, extending a hand to Polly.
Polly took his hand, warily. She looked at Caitlin, who was still staring at Blake as if she had seen a ghost. Not only was Caitlin overwhelmed by this connection to her past—but she also felt overwhelmed by her feeling of connection to him. She’d forgotten how striking he looked.
“You okay?” Polly asked.
Caitlin slowly nodded, still transfixed. That feeling she’d felt when they’d danced, when they’d held hands…she knew it was real. She had felt certain it had been Caleb. The connection had been overpowering. How could it be that it was not Caleb? That it was Blake? And how could it be that Caleb didn’t appear the entire night?
Caitlin felt certain that, since Caleb hadn’t appeared this night, with her searching so hard for him, with her willing him to be there, that he wasn’t here. She felt a mix of emotions, as her heart dropped, as the reality began to hit her that Caleb may not have survived the trip. Or maybe he had survived, but had ended up in another time and place.
At the same time, her heart soared at her feeling of connection to Blake. There was so much left unsaid between them. And she had no idea where to begin. On the one hand, she felt disloyal to Caleb to even talk to Blake. But at the same time, it seemed like Caleb was no longer here.
Polly looked back and forth between the two of them, each staring at the other, and seemed to grow uncomfortable.
“Caitlin,” she said, “I think you and I should go home now. It’s almost five. Most everyone’s left already.”
Caitlin nodded, but did not say anything, unable to peel her eyes away from Blake’s. He was so gorgeous, so perfect, so sculpted, his chiseled jaw standing against his perfect skin. His dark brown eyes shone, looking at her with an energy she had never felt.
“Actually, if you don’t mind, I’d like to accompany her for a while,” Blake said.
Polly began to protest, but he quickly added, “Don’t worry—I’ll bring her back safe and sound.”
“Caitlin?” Polly asked. “Is that what you want?”
Is that what I want? she thought. It was what she wanted more than anything. In fact, at that moment, she could not imagine herself anywhere else but with him. She felt as if she didn’t even have a choice. Like she didn’t want to have a choice.
“Yes,” was all Caitlin, finally, managed to say.
“Do you know where we live?” Polly asked, ever the protective friend.
Blake nodded back. “Of course. Everyone does. Isola di San Michele.”
Polly still seemed reluctant to walk away.
Finally, Blake stepped forward, and held out an open palm to Caitlin.
Caitlin hesitated just a beat, and then reached out and placed her palm in his.
Caitlin sat in the gondola, as Blake stood on the bow behind her, gently rowing them through the small, narrow canals in the inner city of Venice. It was so late now, the city seemed asleep, completely silent and getting darker by the moment, as more and more street torches extinguished.
The only thing left to light the night was the large moon above, and the occasional burning candle in a window sill. Caitlin could only hear the slight lapping of the water against her boat, the sounds of Blake’s wooden oar cutting through the water. It was so peaceful, so romantic.
This was a whole different Venice, one Caitlin hadn’t yet seen. It was quiet and empty. This was the inner Venice, the narrow canals that cut through the heart of the inner-city, twisting and turning, just like the alleyways did, but on water. Every hundred feet or so, she and Blake would have to duck so as not to hit their heads on a small, stone footbridge. The canals were so narrow, there was barely room for two gondolas to fit side-by-side.
Caitlin looked up as they went, and saw the crumbling interiors of the homes built on the city.
They all had doors that opened right onto the water, and most had their own gondolas tied to posts.
High above, clothes hung on lines everywhere. This was the quiet interior of Venice, where the locals lived. It felt ancient.
Caitlin wondered what Blake was thinking as they rode together in silence. He was one of the most silent men she had ever met, and it was always hard for her to tell what he was thinking. They had been quiet together for so long. On the one hand, she had a million questions she was burning to ask him; but on the other, strangely enough, she felt very comfortable with him just like this, in the silence. She didn’t really feel a need to talk around him in order to be comfortable, and she could tell that he didn’t, either. She thought back to their time on Pollepel, of how silent he been then.
Nothing had really changed. Centuries could pass, but people were who they were.
Which was all right with her. She was just thrilled to be with him, to be taking this ride. She closed her eyes, breathed in the saltwater air, and tried to freeze the moment. A moonlit, gondola ride in Venice. What more could she ask for?
Finally, though, some questions burned to the forefront of Caitlin’s mind, and she just had to ask them. She took a deep breath, hoping that she wouldn’t ruin the moment.
“How much do you remember?” Caitlin asked, finally.
The question hung in the air for what seemed like forever, so long that Caitlin began to wonder if he had heard it, if she had even asked it.
Finally, his response came: “Enough.”
Caitlin wondered what that meant. That was Blake. He was always so cryptic, never saying more than he had to. “Do you remember Pollepel?” she asked.
Again, a silence. Then, finally: “I wouldn’t call it remembering,” he said. “It’s more like looking into the future. Looking into a life that would have been. I see it, intellectually. But I haven’t experienced it.”
“Then…” Caitlin paused. “Can you see our time together?”
He paused. “Some of it,” he said. “It’s more like an impression. I have an impression of you from another time that is very strong. The details, though…are hazy. I think they’re meant to be.
After all, we need to start fresh each time, don’t we?”
“And what is your impression?” she asked.
She couldn’t see him, as he stood behind her, rowing, but she thought, in the silence, that she could hear him smile. “Very positive,” he said.
Then he added, “They say that there are certain people we are destined to see again and again, in every lifetime, in every place….I feel that with you.”
Caitlin knew exactly what he meant. She felt it, too. It wasn’t a matter of love. It was something stronger. Destiny. Fate. Inevitability. Being meant to be with a person, whether you liked it or not. It was that magical moment when the universe forced paths to cross, overrode anyone’s option of free will. It was that one moment in life when free will was forced to submit to something even bigger, more important. Destiny. And that, she felt, was even bigger than love. Love, she felt, true love, she could only have with one person in one lifetime, and that was something she could choose. But destiny—she felt that she could have a destiny with many people, and that she wouldn’t have a choice.
She was afraid to ask the next question, her heart pounding.
“Did you know I would be here tonight?” she asked.
There was a long silence. Finally, he said: “Yes. That’s why I came.”
“Are we destined to be together in this lifetime?” she asked.