Chapter 7 Taylor
Taylor
Now
“I need help.”
I grip onto the edge of the counter so hard my fingers hurt.
On the other side, the red-haired attendant opens her mouth in a neat O, her eyebrows knitting together.
She’s clearly a little shocked at my bursting into the lobby and rushing to her but professional enough to keep her reaction in check.
“Yes, madame,” she says, releasing the computer mouse to pull down both sides of her black blazer. “What can I do for you?”
When I ran from the terrace, I was convinced the man from the next table was on my heels, that he’d gotten up to follow me.
After I’d been racing down the street for a few minutes, ignoring the strange looks of everyone around, I attempted a quick glance behind me.
There were women carrying shopping bags, people strolling leisurely, none of whom I recognized.
He wasn’t there, so I slowed my pace to a power walk, turning around every ten steps or so.
When I reached my hotel—surprised that I even remembered where it was—I checked one last time that the coast was clear before entering. I even waited until two young guys in tracksuit pants and chunky gold neck chains turned the corner.
“Madame?”
The redhead is eyeing me. It’s possible I’ve been staring into space since she first spoke.
I clear my throat and force myself to stand straighter. “Um, yes. I would like some help with…the safe-deposit box in my room.”
“Oh.” She pauses, expecting more.
“I think something went wrong when I tried to lock it.”
She smiles a little brighter now, reassured that this is a problem she can handle. “I’ll send someone right up to fix that for you.” She pushes her red locks off her face, glancing behind me at the woman who just walked through the door.
“We will take care of it, madame,” she adds when I still haven’t moved.
She gives me a slight nod. It might be meant as encouraging, but I read it as, Now if you could please get the fuck out of here…I have way more important things to do.
***
My heart jumps at the sound of a knock. I’m lying on the bed, and I must have fallen asleep.
“Yes,” I say, or at least I try to. My mouth feels so dry. I look around for water, anything to relieve the discomfort, when another knock comes. “Je viens!” I call out.
On the other side of the door, Amir, the guy who checked me in yesterday, leans in with a sheepish smile.
“You need help,” he says. A statement, not a question.
I do, but I don’t really want to let this stranger inside my room and be alone with him.
Then again, I’m itching to check my phone, so I move out of the doorframe to let him in and follow his gaze as he scans the space.
Since there is no wardrobe, I’ve stacked up my new purchases in piles on the floor: cotton bras with delicate lace trims, tops with different types of stripes, another pair of jeans, the ballet flats, a straw hat, and a plain baseball cap.
The dresses and skirts dangle from the exposed rail.
To an outsider, it might look like I’ve been enjoying the benefits of the most fashionable city in the world.
Like I’m actually a thirty-year-old newlywed on her honeymoon.
“Your safe is locked?” Amir says.
“Yes. I think I remember the code wrong. I’m a little tired.” I attempt a chuckle, then shake my head. What was I thinking before? I was never going to last without my phone. My lifeline. My only way to check on…
“Jet lag,” he says, pulling up his dress pants and kneeling down in front of the safe. “It happens.”
I sit on the bed while he retrieves a key from his pocket. Moments later, the door opens with a creak, revealing my phone tucked in with all the cash.
I don’t owe him an explanation, but the silence between us as he gets back up is killing me. I’m sure he thinks it’s weird that I put my phone inside the safe, but he doesn’t let on.
“People leave their chargers here all the time. So I brought you this.”
He takes a phone charger out of his pocket. The relief on my face must be obvious as I snatch it from him.
“Thank you,” I say, getting down to plug it in by the side of the bed.
“So no news on your…luggage?”
I shake my head, hoping that will be enough to get him to leave. Then, I press the home button on my phone, which only flashes with the recharge battery sign, as it does when it is fully flat.
Amir walks over to the door and turns around. “How is…” He trails off, then swallows. “Your hon…your holiday, I mean?”
“Great,” I say, my throat tight. His eyes drop to my ring finger, which I start rubbing mindlessly. Of course it’s bare. I’m not the marrying kind. Never was. Never will be.
He glances at my left hand once more, then grabs the door handle, ready to leave. “If you’re free,” he says, emphasizing the “free” and all of its meanings, “we could go for a drink one night.”
I like that he doesn’t say that he’ll take me for a drink, that women aren’t something he gets to parade around and dispose of however he wishes.
But I haven’t responded, so he says it again, “If you’re free.”
There’s a spark in his eye. In another life, I would have said yes before he’d had time to finish his sentence.
If a man wanted me, I let him have me, wondering how he could possibly be interested.
I would go for the drink, and then I would putter around while he pulled out his wallet, pretending to be flattered when in fact I was too broke to pay for it myself.
And way too ashamed to admit it. I worked multiple jobs and I had so little to show for it.
“I need to…” I say, pointing at my phone.
“Of course. I hope you enjoy Paris. Most people think it can be lonely to travel alone, but I disagree. In a foreign place, no one’s there to judge you. You get to be whoever you want and do whatever you like. I like your new hair, by the way. It suits you.”
He looks deep into my eyes, smiles, and then he’s gone.
When my phone comes to life, my heart does a little jump at the red circle above the green call button. A voicemail, from a number I don’t know. This is bad. I hold my breath as I press Play.
Taylor? Hello? Is this working?
It’s the tentative voice of Ms. Richardson, a family friend who lives three streets down from us. She usually calls our landline, and I’ve never had to save her number in my contacts.
Hello Taylor, it’s Madeline. I… Well this might seem strange but I went on my walk early this morning, and I noticed your car wasn’t there.
Then I remembered it wasn’t there yesterday, either.
At least I think so. My memory is not what it used to be.
I thought I’d check in on you. It’s not like you to disappear.
She pauses, like she expects me to jump in and agree. She’s right. I have almost always been there in that house. Good Taylor, forever present.
Well, um, so I went to ring the bell, and I guess you really weren’t there. That bothered me a bit, so I went for another walk after lunch, and that’s when I saw a man.
My hand clenches around the phone, my heart in knots.
I was far away so I couldn’t see who it was… Anyway, he stood by the door for a while.
She clears her throat, and the wait feels excruciating. Get on with it, Madeline.
He had a suit on, but that doesn’t mean anything these days. I watched… You know I wanted to make sure you were okay now that… Well, I know what it’s like to be all alone.
It’s not exactly the same situation though, is it?
Mr. and Ms. Richardson were happily married for something like forty years before he died a few years back.
They had three children, some of whom now have children of their own.
Sure, Madeline will chew your ear off about how her family doesn’t visit her anywhere near as much as she’d like them to—they live so close!
No excuse!—but we’re not the same kind of alone.
Anyway, he searched around for a while, and then I saw he was holding something.
I press the phone harder against my ear, like that will make her speak faster. My heart stammers in my chest, trying to picture this man loitering around the house. Suddenly it hits me, how far away I am, how quickly I left. And I can’t explain any of it to anyone.
He had the keys! To your house!
Ms. Richardson pauses for effect, as if she knows how much this will startle me.
And he went in.
She’s whispering now, like she’s afraid of the man coming after her. I am too, and I’m on the other side of the world.
He didn’t try to hide or anything. I’d say he was in there for ten, maybe fifteen minutes. It felt… Well, I don’t know. With all the changes your family has gone through… Call me back, okay?
I put down the phone, my mind running a million miles an hour. There’s only one man who has the keys to the house, and there’s no way in hell he was there this morning. He’s gone, forever.
My brain buzzing, I check my social media feeds.
I never post on there; I have nothing to show, but I can’t help checking on other people’s lives.
Pictures of Paris fill my screen as I scroll.
Happy people having fun in this beautiful city.
Drinking wine at the terrace of a famous restaurant.
Taking in the view of the Eiffel Tower. Posing on the sidewalk of a charming little street.
Maybe it’s all for show, snippets of fantasies that don’t come close to reality, but I buy it all.
I can’t call Madeline back. Deep down, she means well—I still wear the emerald-green scarf she knit for me many years ago—but she’ll be full of questions and I’ll have none of the answers.
Maybe I should go home, forget about my past, forget about what my future could have been.
I brush away the thought as quickly as it comes, Amir’s words ring in my ears.
No one’s here to judge you.
But that’s not true. Because I’m here to judge me.
And maybe this guy thinks this is all just a bit of fun to me.
Some kind of self-empowerment crap about how women can have it all, even a solo honeymoon.
And I can’t tell him how wrong he is, because no one would understand what led me here.
I got in with the wrong family, the wrong person.
I believed the lies fed to me, when I’d sworn nothing would hurt me anymore.
So maybe that’s why I’m here. For closure.
One last hurrah. And then I, too, will go away forever.