Chapter 46
“Good Lord, Bee,” he muttered to himself.
“What do you have in there? We’re only going for six days, not moving to Paris permanently.
” Daniel was in Bianca’s driveway waiting for her to make one last bathroom visit before the taxi arrived.
Beside him were her two full-sized suitcases, garment bag, carry-on bag and absurdly big purse.
Next to all that, his one carry-on suitcase looked sad and lonely.
Well, if that wasn’t symbolic, he didn’t know what was.
She emerged from the house wearing—he had to blink and look again to believe it—the fur coat she’d gotten for her eighteenth birthday. Under that was a low-cut red dress, and she had on ridiculously high heels, almost enough to bring her eye-to-eye with him.
“Bee, you realize we’re going to have to walk probably two miles to get to our gate once we get to the airport, right? You’re going to break your ankle.”
She threw her scarf—also red, naturally—around her neck dramatically.
“The way you start something is the way it’ll go.
If we’re going to the fashion capital of the world, I’m going to take the first steps looking like a million bucks.
” She laughed. “Look in the top of my carry-on. I’ll put the sneakers on once we get inside the airport. ”
He should have known; that was Bianca in a nutshell; both showy and practical at the same time. Just like… her .
Nora wasn’t going to be in Paris. This trip was all about spending time with Bee, and figuring out how to restart his personal life.
“Good idea, Bee.” He heard a car turning the corner, three houses down from Bee’s property. It was their taxi. “And here he comes. You ready?”
“If you are, Danny.”
She walked over—tottered, really, on the uneven gravel of her driveway—and hugged him. “As ready as I’ll ever be. And if I haven’t said it enough, thank you for this.”
She kissed his forehead; it was really weird not having to bend down for her to do that. “I love you, Danny. You never need to thank me. I just hope it’s going to be everything you could wish for.”
So did he.
Nora , around the same time
The last time—the only time—Nora had been on an international flight was sophomore year of high school.
Mom had literally pulled her out of class, right in the middle of frog dissection day in Biology.
“I have to go to Rome, it’s an emergency with the gallery.
You’re coming with me,” she’d said. She’d given Nora fifteen minutes to pack a bag and then it was off to the airport.
Mom sat in first class, Nora back in coach; there had been only one seat left in first and, “I need to mentally prepare for this negotiation, I can’t possibly do that back in steerage. ”
This time, Nora would be in first class; she hadn’t looked closely at the ticket when Rachel handed it to her two months ago but she finally read all the details this morning while she was waiting for the taxi.
She still had an hour before boarding started; she was enjoying a pre-flight glass of champagne in the International Lounge.
She glanced at a copy of Le Monde , but her barely-remembered three years of high school French were not much help.
She recognized the words—a lot of them, anyway—but her recall of French grammar was hopeless.
This trip had to be better than Rome with her mother.
She’d had maybe an hour of actual time with Mom in her four days there.
Most of the trip had been spent waiting in the lobby of an Italian office building.
The highlight—well, in the moment; she’d felt pretty crummy about it once she got home—was the two hours with a young man named Paolo she’d run into when she snuck away from Mom.
Of course this would be better. She was an accomplished, mature adult now.
She’d be with her aunt, who would not abandon her for hours at a time to conduct business with handsy Italian men.
And she did remember enough French words that she could probably read most of the signs and store price tags she’d encounter.
She’d make sure it was better.
Daniel , December 28, nine o’clock in the morning (Paris time)
Daniel had no one to blame but himself. He’d convinced Bianca to take the aisle seat, on the theory that she’d have to go to the bathroom more often than he did. The last night in the hospital after her appendectomy, she’d gotten up twelve times—he’d counted.
He should have factored in that the doctors were giving her liters and liters of fluids in her IV, so of course she had to pee every half hour. Here on the flight, she hadn’t gotten up once. The flight took off at eight-thirty, and she was asleep by a quarter to nine.
She’d taken a sleeping pill, and offered one to him. But, never having taken one before, he was nervous about how it might affect him. “I’ll fall asleep just fine on my own,” he’d said.
Famous last words.
He never did fall asleep. There were too many different noises and sudden movements from the plane. And his bladder demanding attention. And then there was Bianca’s snoring. How had he forgotten that she snored?
To be fair to himself, there was also the excitement of his first trip to Europe keeping him awake.
So what if he was totally fried by the time they landed?
He could make it through the first day in Paris, and then after a nice heavy French meal with plenty of butter and cream sauces—and a bottle or two of wine—he’d sleep the sleep of the angels tonight and be back to normal for the rest of the trip.
Whatever might happen in the City of Light, he’d be ready for it.
Nora , two hours later
She’d slept through most of the flight, which was a mercy. If Nora hadn’t been fully alert, she would never have been able to navigate the trains from Charles de Gaulle airport into downtown Paris.
Getting to the terminal for the B line of the RER train had taxed her decade-old memories of French class to the limit.
Once she’d gotten to Chaatelet-les-Halles , her directional skills were severely challenged; she’d made three wrong turns before a friendly American exchange student took pity on her and got her pointed in the right direction.
The station was a maze, with tunnels leading to six different train lines, but she finally got to the correct platform for the short ride to Pont Neuf station.
The number 7 train headed to La Courneuve was crowded; she was shoved against a very stylish blonde woman, probably around her own age.
She apologized in English. The woman smiled and replied, “No problem,” in an accent Nora couldn’t quite place.
Thankfully, it was only one stop on the train, and even better, only one line went through Pont Neuf , so there was no rabbit warren of tunnels to try and navigate.
She emerged onto the streets of Paris maybe twenty feet from the bridge at Pont Neuf . There was a deep chill in the air, and the hard-to-describe smell that meant snow was coming soon. Hopefully it would hold off until she got to the hotel.
She hadn’t looked at a map and planned out the route from the Metro to the hotel ahead of time; this was a vacation, and leisurely walks were the order of the day. But she hadn’t reckoned with her luggage, or the crowds or the way the street signs were not where she expected them to be.
Daniel would have.
No, he’d have insisted on taking a taxi all the way from the airport so she wouldn’t have to lug her suitcase through labyrinthine subway tunnels and crowded streets.
He wasn’t here, though; wasn’t this whole trip about finally trying to get over him?
So it took her an hour for what the tourist guide she’d flipped through a couple of weeks ago billed as a ten minute walk.
When she entered the beautiful lobby of L’H?tel , with its red marble columns, she was ready to collapse; it was only the last residual drops of adrenaline that got her to the check-in desk.
Still, she did make it in one piece, and she’d already seen more beautiful architecture—and more beautifully-dressed people—than she normally encountered in a typical month back in Boston.
That counted as a good start to this trip, didn’t it?
Daniel , an hour later
“I’m impressed, Bee.” The lobby of H?tel Le Six was somehow both modern-looking and cozy. “Looks like you picked a winner.”
“You can thank Bethany. If it was up to me I would’ve just picked one of the big chain hotels.
” Bethany was a travel agent, and Daniel doubted she’d want his thanks.
He’d met her once, three months ago, at Bianca’s house, in what had been a very awkward attempt at his cousin trying again to set him up with someone.
“I’ll write her a thank-you note when we get home.”
They went up to the check-in desk. A perfectly made-up woman in a crisp uniform greeted them. “Yes? May I help you?” To Daniel’s surprise, there was almost no trace of an accent.
“Oui,” Bianca said brightly. But apparently that was the extent of her French vocabulary. “We have a reservation, under Cavelli, two rooms.”
Daniel blinked. “Bee?”
She laughed. “Of course I got us separate rooms. What if I want to walk around naked when I get out of the shower?”
The woman at reception didn’t react at all. Neither did Daniel. “You’ve never done that in your life, Bee.” He grinned. “And, anyway, I have seen you naked, or did you forget I was the one changing your bandages and getting you undressed for bed after your surgery?”
Two minutes later, they had their keys and a bellhop was lugging all of Bianca’s bags up to their rooms. “See, we’re right next to each other in case you get lonely, Danny.”
He opened his door; the room wasn’t big, but it was beautiful, with a queen bed, a tiny balcony looking out onto a courtyard, and a very fancy bathroom. Bianca definitely picked a winner.
He unpacked his one bag, set out his toiletries on the bathroom sink, and then there was a knock at the door. Bianca was there, fur coat and all. “Ready to go exploring?”
“Aren’t you going to unpack first?”
She rolled her eyes. “How long have you known me, Danny? Fun first, chores later. Let’s go!”
He couldn’t argue with that. They set off in the general direction of the Eiffel Tower, and when they crossed Rue de Sèvres , Daniel stopped short.
“I know her,” he said, pointing towards a dark-haired woman with a bright blue scarf across the street. “I can’t remember from where, but I know I’ve seen her before.”
“At least she’s not blonde. I’m glad you’re not seeing Nora’s ghost here,” Bianca answered.
It wasn’t Nora, obviously, but the woman with the scarf somehow put him in mind of her anyway.
Nora , that evening
“Rachel, what are you doing?”
Nora had never seen her aunt pull out a phone—or do anything else distracting—at a meal. She didn’t think Rachel even knew how to communicate by text message, but that’s what she had to be up to now.
“I’m sorry, Nora. I have to put out a quick fire at work.”
Rachel had also never before interrupted a vacation for work emergencies. “Time off is time off,” she’d told Nora more than once. “You remember that.”
But she had been promoted recently, so maybe occasional messages on vacation were the price of a bigger title and fatter paycheck.
It occurred to her that there might be a dozen messages on her cell phone, too. But if so, they’d have to wait; her cell phone was plugged into its charger in her kitchen back in Boston. She’d made it clear to everyone that she would be completely unreachable until January 3 rd .
“No problem. I hope it’s nothing too crazy.” It had to be something fairly important, to stop Rachel from eating the grape leaves and the handmade hummus. If she didn’t get off her phone quickly, there wouldn’t be any left for her, and it would be her own fault.
Nora hadn’t ever had Lebanese food before, and she hadn’t planned to have it tonight.
The aroma that hit her when she crossed Rue Bonaparte was irresistible, though, so here they were in Assanabel , which, as best she could piece together from the historical note on the back of the menu, had been in this exact spot since 1985.
Five minutes later, Rachel finally put her phone away. “Nice of you to leave me some hummus,” she said, glaring at the empty bowl in the middle of the table.
“We can order more,” Nora answered. “And maybe some of the—I’m not even going to try and pronounce it, the yogurt dip?
” She looked around, trying to catch the eye of their waiter, but instead something caught her eye.
A woman in a fur coat, with her dark hair in a bob cut, walking right past the window.
“Bianca!” She didn’t mean to say it out loud, but Rachel stared at her in surprise.
“Daniel’s cousin. I could swear that was her, right outside.
” She’d only met Bianca once, at Daniel’s graduation, eight years ago.
But she had a great memory for faces, and she’d bet—maybe not everything she owned, but quite a bit—that it was her.
She was here to try and move past Daniel, to start a new millennium—even if it technically wasn’t until next year—fresh.
So why was she still seeing signs of him wherever she went?