Chapter 42
Josh
With Sophia by my side, I enter the park of the Palais du Luxembourg. In front of the impressive palace lies a sea of flowers, nestled in a baroque garden landscape. In the midst of it all, there is a water basin adorned with children steering motorized sailboats.
"Look, there are ponies over there!" My daughter squeals at the top of her lungs. Suddenly, her legs become fidgety. "Can I ride, Daddy?"
When she looks at me with those big blue eyes, I can't refuse her anything. The little curly-haired monster knows that well, but I don't mind. I had to leave her alone all evening yesterday while I performed my concert in front of the Eiffel Tower. Tomorrow, we'll be heading to Rome where one appointment will follow another. I fought for today, and she should have what she wishes for.
"Of course, my darling," I say, smiling as I watch her jump up and down with joy.
If Maya were here, the two would have already stormed off. And by the time I would have arrived at the horses, both would have already been sitting on one, grinning blissfully.
A dull ache settles in my chest, but for the sake of my daughter, I don't let it show. Not even when I put her on the black-and-white-spotted pony a little later and watch as the animal zooms off at the hand of the horse's handler with Sophia on its back.
While I wait for her return, I try to relax. This park would be perfect for it. With the lively splashing of the fountain, the pleasantly cool air in the shade of the trees, and the contented faces of the visitors, sitting in their folding chairs, basking in the sun on their noses. Every time I'm in Paris, I'm drawn here. Because this place holds a comforting tranquility within it.
But today, it doesn't reach me. In fact, for days, nothing has reached me except for my daughter's smile and the music. The usually overwhelming feeling of happiness after a successful concert didn't come yesterday. The raving press reviews don't touch me.
"Joshua Friedberg?"
I turn around, my gaze falling upon a woman with voluptuous curves and bright doll-like eyes. "Yes?"
She covers her mouth with her hands. "I can't believe it," she says in English. "I'm your biggest fan. The concert yesterday was simply fantastic."
"How lovely. That makes me very happy," I respond with a practiced smile.
"Would you sign this for me?" She pulls out a picture of me from her handbag. "For Aline, please."
I gladly comply. I add a few kind words as well. As I hand her the photo, she slips a small note into my hand.
"In case you ever feel lonely," she whispers, raising her eyebrows suggestively. "Call anytime."
For a moment, I gaze at her. Hardly any man would refuse such an offer. Probably none. Except me.
I don't want to be impolite, but I return the note to her. "It was nice meeting you," I say, making it clear that she should leave now. She can't hold a candle to Maya. No one can.
She smiles sweetly. "The pleasure is all mine." With those words, she turns around and struts away, swaying her hips.
Relieved, I look around for Sophia. Indeed, she is making her way back with the pony and the instructor. Her hands firmly clutching the saddle handle, she rides toward me. "You have to take a photo, Dad," she shouts from a distance. "No, a video!"
Naturally, I retrieve my phone from my pocket and record her ride.
"You did great," I tell her as I lift her off the pony a little later.
She nods enthusiastically and gently pats the horse's neck. Then she brushes aside a few particularly unruly curls from her face. "I want to see the video."
Together, we sit down on a park bench. As the film begins, Sophia presses close to me. She scoots under my arm. I feel that something is weighing her down.
"Is everything okay, my darling?" I ask her cautiously.
She nibbles on her lower lip and pretends to watch herself riding. But my intuition tells me her thoughts are elsewhere.
"Will Maya come back?" The words escape her mouth softly, as if she has little hope.
What should I answer to that? Can I simply tell her the truth? "I miss her too."
Suddenly, she turns her head and looks up at me intensely. "We have to call her."
But I have already done that. About a thousand times. "She doesn't answer," I reply, crestfallen .
"Doesn't she love me anymore?" Tears gather in her eyes.
"No, my dear," I hurriedly say, pulling her close. "It has nothing to do with you. It's my fault."
"Were you mean to her?" Her expression darkens.
I shrug. Was I? "Maybe." I can't come up with a better answer to her question. It's not enough, I know.
"When you're mean to someone, you have to apologize," Sophia responds eagerly, wagging her finger.
Lovingly, I gaze at her flushed cheeks. I wish it were that simple. "She doesn't want to hear my apologies."
My little one pushes away from me and raises her index finger in a teacher-like manner. "Then you have to say them in a way that Maya has to listen."
I already know that. I have been pondering how to make it work for days. Clearly, continuing to send her messages is not the solution. I need something better.
Once again I start to contemplate. Next week, my tour will culminate at the International Music Awards in Rome. Everything will come to an end there. I will either fail or succeed. But regardless of what happens, all the pressure that has weighed on me for so many years will vanish. I will be free afterward.
But will Maya really listen to me if I stand at her door the following day, to prove to her that her father and I have nothing in common? Words have always failed me. There's no reason it should suddenly be different.
But what if I let the music speak for me? What would happen if I played with all my heart and soul for her?
Inevitably, a smile spreads across my face .
"Don't worry, my darling. I won't give up," I say absentmindedly to my daughter. Because suddenly, an idea emerges within me, a way to reach Maya after all.