Chapter 12
Paris, France
It was nearly mid-July when Estelle and Sam journeyed from the United States to Paris.
At Charles de Gaulle Airport, they collected their bags, smiling through their jet lag as they sailed through French accents and dropped into a waiting taxi out front.
It was in the mid-seventies and gorgeous, with bright blue skies above.
When Estelle saw the Eiffel Tower through the taxi window, she shrieked with excitement.
Sam took her hand. They’d done it! Their book tour had made it overseas!
And shop, they did. Along Saint-Germain-des-Prés, they went in and out of boutiques, carrying bags of dresses, silk tops, and leather boots.
Midafternoon, they paused at an outdoor café, where they shared a large Nicoise salad and a bottle of rosé wine.
Estelle raised her chin to bask in the sunlight, suddenly unafraid of anything that the world might bring her way.
She was in Paris! She could handle anything.
“Darcy’s been a little bit quiet this week,” Sam mentioned, sipping her wine, her eyes slightly shadowed.
“I’m sure she’s busy with the kids,” Estelle said.
“I’m sure! And she mentioned she wanted to keep working on a potential app idea,” Sam said. “So I’m sure she’s busy with that.”
“And she probably wishes she could be in Paris with us,” Estelle said. “Jealousy is a powerful thing.”
“It really is.” Sam smiled.
Estelle felt sorrowful for Sam, of course. Sam had already lost Rachelle. She didn’t want to lose Darcy, too.
But there was no losing Darcy, Estelle felt. Darcy was locked into Nantucket life.
Still, it was strange how these patterns repeated themselves.
They returned to their apartment to change for the evening.
Estelle donned the same earrings she’d been wearing since the tour began, but she opted for an emerald-green dress that swept to her ankles and tied tightly around her waist. She felt sleek and beautiful.
As they walked the six minutes to the bookstore, she and Sam remained quiet and speechless, as the summer day softened around them.
At the bookstore, Estelle was introduced to the current manager, a woman in her fifties, who explained that she hadn’t read any of Estelle’s books until this one.
“And I found it to be quite wonderful!” she said, smiling.
“I never imagined myself to be a romance novel reader. Maybe you’ve changed my mind! ”
Estelle blushed. “I never wanted to change anyone’s mind about anything. But literature is literature, no matter what the genre.”
“I didn’t think like that before,” the manager said. “It’s funny that you never stop learning in life.”
Unlike in New York, Estelle’s agent couldn’t make it. But in time, the bookstore was full of Estelle’s fanbase, many of whom were in their forties, fifties, sixties, seventies, and eighties. Women, mostly. But there were a few men sprinkled in.
And then, as Estelle settled into her reading chair and opened her book to begin, Sam touched her shoulder, bent down, and whispered into her ear, “Isn’t that the guy from Manhattan?”
Estelle was careful not to make any sudden, crazy movements.
Slowly, she drew her chin upward and allowed her eyes to skate along the crowd until she found him.
There he was—Albert, wearing that same suit jacket and that same mischievous smile.
He winked at her, sending a shiver down her spine.
Had he arranged all of his business meetings so that he could come here today and hear her read?
Estelle didn’t know what to make of it. But of course, she’d absolutely thought of him since their encounter at the hotel.
She’d played it over and over again in her mind, wondering if they’d been flirting, if that was the kind of conversation you were meant to have on a date, and so on.
She’d only just allowed herself to begin to forget it.
And now, here he was again—daring her to think about it some more.
She offered him a small smile, then proceeded to read.
A half hour later, Estelle finished with her reading and opened the Q&A session.
Most of the women who asked questions were French, who’d read translated versions of Estelle’s novels, but others were American, maybe women living abroad who missed American voices and stories.
Estelle found it funny and beautiful that every woman across the world seemed to have a different way of approaching the books she’d written.
It made reading a very intimate experience, she felt.
When the Q&A was finished, Estelle turned to hug Sam, who congratulated her on yet another brilliant reading.
“I can’t believe that guy came back,” Sam breathed again.
It was then that Estelle remembered that she’d never told Sam about her encounter with Albert at the hotel bar in Manhattan.
She’d kept their little flirtation a secret, if only to have something for herself.
And she hadn’t wanted Sam to obsess over it and ask what it all meant. “He’s a fan,” she said now, shrugging.
“I think you should go over and say hi,” Sam said, grinning.
Estelle swatted her daughter. “Come on. He’s nobody.” Did her daughter really want her to flirt with someone like that? Did her daughter really want her to move on from Roland?
No, Estelle knew. But maybe Sam wanted her to live again, if only a little bit. Maybe she wanted her to embrace the years she had left. It wasn’t like she was terribly old. Seventy-three was nothing.
She should have had more years with Roland left! Anxiety splintered her heart. Suddenly, it was too loud in the bookstore, too hot. Too many people were lined up to greet her, to take what they could from her.
“Mom?” Sam interrupted her swirling thoughts. “Are you okay?”
“Fine, honey.” Estelle reached for a glass of wine and steadied herself.
She turned back to address the line of fans, all of whom wanted her autograph and a brief conversation.
Some of them wanted to take her photograph.
She had to seem normal, or better than normal.
She had to seem worthy of the fame she had, somehow.
Albert waited for her throughout the book signing, just as she’d half hoped he would.
When she walked over to him, she eyed him warily as her heart pounded in her neck.
Was this a dream? She’d certainly had many strange dreams lately, all of which she’d attributed to traveling so much.
Roland hadn’t appeared in any of them, which sort of bothered her.
Where was he? Why couldn’t he grace her with his presence, at least for a little while, in the dream world?
There was no mistaking that Albert was very pleased to see her.
“Albert,” Estelle said, tilting her head.
“Estelle. Nice venue.” Albert raised his eyebrows. “Isn’t this where all the greats started?”
Estelle laughed. “I can’t count myself among them.”
“I think you should.” Albert looked suddenly very stern. “I read your new book when I got to Europe. It floored me, Estelle. But it made me realize that you’re not done yet. We need to know about this next stage of your life. More words are waiting back there behind those eyes.”
Estelle blushed. She didn’t know what to say, not to Albert, not to anyone here. She felt put on the spot. She was conscious of so many eyes on her. Were they talking about her and Albert? Were they wondering if she already had a new boyfriend?
She hated gossip. She didn’t want any part of it.
“I should get back to my party,” she said.
“You’re in your party,” Albert reminded her. “I’m a part of it.”
Estelle brushed her fingers through her hair and glanced back at Sam, who was in conversation with the bookstore manager. A few other readers hung behind Estelle’s shoulder, as though waiting to nab her.
“Go for a walk with me after this,” Albert urged. “Walking through Paris on a summer night is the most incredible thing.”
How could Estelle say no? Albert said he’d pick her up when the time came. They didn’t exchange numbers, perhaps because they were from another time, a time when that wasn’t necessary.
Feeling like a teenage girl, after the party ended a couple of hours later, Estelle walked with Sam back to their apartment, pretending she didn’t have plans.
Why wasn’t she acting like a grown woman, going out with her male friend and telling her daughter about it?
Did she think Sam would act strangely or tease her?
Maybe. Or maybe she just didn’t want to have to account for herself.
She didn’t want to have to explain all the wild thoughts running through her mind.
After Sam retreated to her bedroom, Estelle fixed her makeup, then crept outside, careful to close the door as quietly as she could so as not to alert Sam.
When she emerged, she found Albert already waiting for her.
A single red rose dangled from his right hand.
As she walked toward him, he raised it, smiling.
“For the most beautiful woman I’ve seen in weeks,” he said.
Estelle took it. “You’re shameless,” she said.
Albert smiled. “Come on,” he said. “We don’t want to waste a moment.”
Together, they walked toward the Seine, where they strolled in the orange light of the streetlamps.
Estelle imagined they were living in a different time, a time when Ernest Hemingway hung out at that very bookstore, thinking about the books he wanted to write next.
She wondered if the conversations she and Albert were having were up to par with the writers’ conversations from back then. She guessed not, but it didn’t matter.
“How has it been in Europe for you?” she asked Albert, too frightened to look him in the eye. She had her rose in her hands, and she twirled it.
“What do you want to know about?” Albert asked. “Do you want the play-by-play of my business meetings?”
Estelle laughed. “I guess not, no.”
Albert paused at the edge of the river, then dropped down to let his legs hang over the side. From a leather backpack, he retrieved a bottle of champagne and two glasses. They’d already been walking for half an hour, and Estelle guessed they deserved a short rest.
“I’ll keep it brief,” he said. “I’ve sold my business, and I’m changing everything in my life.”
“What a whirlwind,” Estelle said. She wondered how much money he’d gotten in his business sale, but she didn’t want to be crude and ask. She guessed it was a great deal. He smelled of money, of expensive champagne and fine and decadent food.
But right now, he wanted to talk about her. “Did you ever want to be anything else besides a writer?”
Estelle shook her head. “Never.” She then added, “Well, I wanted to be a mother.”
Albert beamed. “Was it hard to balance motherhood with writing?”
“I felt that the two jobs counterbalanced each other,” Estelle recalled.
“I had very strange hours, staying up nights with my babies and writing whenever I could. We sometimes hired help when I had a deadline or needed to get more work done. But mostly, I did it all myself. They were some of the happiest years of my life even though I was exhausted.”
“It’s strange, looking back. It’s always the most stressful years that stick out in my mind as the very best,” Albert said.
“When my children were young, the childcare didn’t usually fall on me.
I guess my relationships were more old-fashioned in that way.
I think it’s good the way things have shifted, now. ”
Estelle nodded. “My granddaughter’s husband is very active with the kids. It’s amazing to see.” She didn’t say that she couldn’t have imagined Roland changing so many diapers. His career had been too essential to him. He’d been a different kind of man.
“Time marches on,” Albert agreed.
Albert popped the champagne and poured their glasses.
Estelle tried to visualize what they looked like from overhead.
In her mind, they were much younger than they looked.
It was as though they were in their twenties, with their entire lives out in front of them.
Instead, they were in their seventies, trying to make the most out of the years they had left.
Estelle told herself not to obsess over what this was and what this meant.
She told herself to engage with the moonlight, with Albert’s smile and laugh, with how gorgeous it all was.
She told herself to hold on to this for as long as she could.
If she’d learned anything in her seventy-three years, it was that time was fleeting. She wasn’t going to let it slip away.
Two hours later, after a gorgeous and soulful conversation, Albert walked Estelle back to the apartment she shared with her daughter.
At the door, she half expected him to kiss her on the lips.
Wasn’t that what lovers were meant to do in Paris?
But instead, he hugged her close and whispered, “I’ll see you soon, Estelle Coleman.
” With that, he turned and disappeared into the night, leaving Estelle with a swollen heart and a rare bit of hope. How wonderful.