𝗜𝗹𝗹𝗶𝗰𝗶𝘁 𝗔𝗳𝗳𝗮𝗶𝗿𝘀 | 𝐁𝗼𝐛𝐛𝐲 𝐊𝐞𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐝𝐲/𝗥𝗙𝗞

XLIV: "A Hollywood Deal"

There was a conflict, brewing like a storm in Evelyn's mind as she balanced the weight of love and Hollywood on a Libra scale. In her chartreuse Cadillac, Paul was seated beside her; lingering although they'd long arrived at their destination. His presence was there to remind her of the promise he had made on their first Christmas together.

At Peter's châteauesque cabin, the couple initially slept in separate rooms, taking it slow and whatnot. But on the Christmas gloaming, they had the living room and the fireplace to themselves. They'd talk and talk and talk; it was all they knew, it was all they wanted. Once in a while, Paul would add a log or two to feed the flame and keep the conversation going; be it of Bobby, Maurice, or Delphine—even McCarthy—he was willing to lend an ear as he did on the bus.

"I'm sorry," said Evelyn, "I got carried away with my life I forgot to ask about yours." She reached for her coffee mug on the chair's armrest, it was warm to the touch.

Paul, sitting across the woman, shook a dismissive hand. "You have lived more lives than me; everything you need to know about me has been told on the bus," he answered humbly.

Evelyn scoffed, "That can't be true."

"We talked on the phone every day. What else would you want to know?"

"Anything. Hell, you can repeat what you've said, I wouldn't mind."

Paul gave her a smile imbued with a sense of confusion. "You won't get bored?" His face was tinted in gold from the crackling fireside.

The woman shook her head, looking away from the blazing eyes. "Boredom is nothing but a word when I'm around you," she uttered.

The moment was tender and sweet, and everything she wanted it to be — it made her young again. It reminded her of a time when she and a few Kennedys would sit around a bonfire and sing carols in some ironic way. Even in the bleak midwinter, she was warm. Warm from the fire, warm from the laughter, and warm from the embrace of her soulmate. When they were left alone to decorate the Christmas tree, Bobby would decorate her face with kisses.

"Well, alright," Paul lightly said and rubbed his hands together. "Do you want to hear my wartime story?"

Evelyn nodded, she was no stranger to wartime stories; she was living in one.

"It's a gory one, you can stop me anytime you want."

She nodded again; hers was a gory one as well.

The story began with Paul thinking back to an incident during his early days in the Navy; he had witnessed his best friend sliced to pieces on an aircraft carrier by a plane's propeller. So brutal and tragic that Evelyn initially thought it was a mere tale until there was a sudden change in the atmosphere — and the man.

"Paul, that..." she leaned forward and was taken aback by his blue crystallized eyes. "Are you alright?" She sprang out of her seat to stand by him and cradled his head in her arms — worried, thoroughly worried for her beau.

Paul's tears bled through her sweater, leaving a saturated spot when he pulled away. "I'm fine, I don't know why I'm crying," he muttered through a bashful laugh.

Evelyn's hand remained on his back as it gave him more than just warmth, it was reassurance as well. The men in her life never had the courage to cry; not in Paris, not in London, and certainly not in Hyannis. But in Peter's cabin in the middle of the woods, surrounded by trees and animals, Paul was revealed to be the man she looked for all her life. All hope was not lost, after all.