The Paris Mysteries (Confessions #3)(46)

I crumpled C.P.’s disgusting card; then I straightened it out so that I could shred it into tiny pieces. When all that was left of C.P.’s spidery apology was a pile of confetti, I scooped it into my fist and then flushed every word down the toilet.

I felt relieved.

But I was still a mess.





My therapist at Waterside is Dr. Mary Robosson.

I actually like her quite a bit. We’re dealing with some heavy stuff, mostly trying to peel back the thousands of rubbery layers of lies I’ve been told to find the truth about my life.

We’re also talking about love and what it means. This is going to be a long course, and I’m not looking for shortcuts. I have a lot to learn about love, when it’s real and when it’s not. Dr. Robosson assures me I will love again.

“Really?”

“Definitely. You’re just sixteen. First love isn’t last love or only love or even the best love. The pain you feel is appropriate. You’ve been hurt, and not because of something you did or didn’t do, Tandy. You’re very real. And you’re wonderful.”

I won’t lie. I have thought about both C.P. and James a lot, even after I thought I’d wiped them out of my mind. I confess that I’ve written them each a few letters under the heading of “people who are dead to me,” but I’ve deleted all the letters without sending.

That’s a pretty effective kind of therapy. James and C.P. matter less and less to me as the pain drains away.

I spend more time remembering the Cordeaux family in France: how their lives were savaged by Peter. I think about Monsieur Laurier at the Parfumerie Bellaire and his long-lasting love for Gram Hilda. I’m very grateful for her incredible generosity, and I think about her lovely house, which was our home when we didn’t have any other.

It’s gone, and yet I remember every room and every view, the whole length and breadth and depth of it. In a way, the Gram Hilda museum is now within me.

I still meditate about the things I’ve done wrong, as Father Jean-Jacques had prescribed. It helps me feel acceptance about the people who have hurt me, because we all have reasons for the things we do, whether justified or not. And one of those reasons might actually be love.

Case in point: Malcolm and Maud left me damaged, I know, but they loved me. And so I can forgive them.

Jacob, Harry, and Hugo visit almost every day. Even Matty comes to visit as often as he can. Hugo wears a T-shirt that reads WHAT DOESN’T KILL YOU MAKES YOU STRONGER.

He strikes poses, like he’s a bodybuilder, and that makes me laugh. Every time.

It’s indisputable that my family and I have been tried, tested, even baptized by fire, and we share the strongest possible bonds siblings could have. And that includes my sister, Katherine… the Angel who rose from the dead.





Yesterday, I got an e-mail from an address I didn’t recognize. I was about to delete it, but for some reason—boredom, curiosity, gut instinct—I clicked it open.

The subject line read, “Someone I want you to meet.”

The body of the e-mail contained only a link to a video—but not so fast. Who, exactly, wanted me to meet whom? Was this hate mail from Peter? Had Mr. Rampling sent another threat in the form of a virus, this time from the grave? Was C.P. trying to reach me again?

For better or for worse, I was curious. And so, with great trepidation, I clicked on the link.

The video opened on a close-up of a darling baby in a carrier. He was wearing blue, and between giggles, he beat the air with his little hands and cooed. At the halfway mark of the twenty-second clip, another face came on the screen.

It was Katherine.

She said, “Tandoo, meet your nephew, George. He’s the sweetest little boy in the world and also very, very special. I’m going to tell him all about you.”

The baby was gorgeous, and he had Katherine’s eyes. My eyes.

Katherine looked at me through my computer screen and breathed, “I love you.” She grinned and kissed the baby’s hand. They both waved—and the screen went black.

Tears shot out of my eyes.

I played the video over and over again, each time feeling elated, connected, renewed, and yes, curious.

Kath had said that George was very special. In what way? I was aching to see him, to hold him, and to know more. And I haven’t told this to anyone before now.

I swear I will see Katherine again if it’s the last thing I ever do. That’s part of my plan for the future.

And when I have more to tell, I promise I’ll confess all.

Your sadder, smarter, and cautiously hopeful friend,

Tandoori Angel





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JAMES PATTERSON is the internationally bestselling author of the popular Confessions, Maximum Ride, and Witch & Wizard novels, as well as Homeroom Diaries and the highly praised Middle School, I Funny, Daniel X, Treasure Hunters, and Alex Cross series. His books have sold more than 300 million copies worldwide, making him one of the bestselling authors of all time. He lives in Florida.

MAXINE PAETRO has also collaborated with James Patterson on the bestselling Women’s Murder Club and Private series. She lives with her husband in New York State.