Chapter 56 Regan Without François
Regan Without Francois
Regan gripped the steering wheel of her rental car, tears blurring her vision as she exited the Palazzo Casino the blinding light from gazillions of cascading crystal chandeliers; the massive grandfather clock mocking Regan as she waited and waited: alone, perspiring, wearing pink lululemon leggings.
Finally, Regan could no longer sit still on the low, ottoman-style couch.
She checked into her room, thinking he would come to her in the night, wake her with kisses.
Her hope withered on the second day, yet still she did not leave.
How many days did she wait there for him?
Her phone had stopped working; it just wouldn’t connect.
When at last she left the room, she was broken; forgot her wallet and passport in the safe.
Regan needed to turn around.
She needed to go home to her girls.
Were you supposed to accelerate into hairpin turns?
Or decelerate? Regan wiped her eyes with the back of her hand and sped up as the mountain road twisted, revealing glimpses of the Mediterranean, the sunset making its waves gold.
She flew past ancient olive groves, rocky gorges, and whitewashed villages perched on cliff sides.
Regan blinked repeatedly, trying to clear her vision.
She should stop, should pull over, should—
A wild animal burst from the scrubland.
Regan’s mind went slow—Was that a cat? A goat?
Do goats come down from the mountains?—and she jerked the wheel instinctively.
The tires of her rental Renault lost their grip on the loose gravel.
As her world tilted sideways, Regan saw them, her daughters.
A vision of walking into her former home with newborn Flora, toddler Isabelle running to her, arms open, calling, Mama!