One Summer in Paris(70)

“Sophie! How are you, honey?”

“Great! Mom, you won’t believe the stuff we’ve been doing in Rome. It’s so cool…” She chattered away, bright and excited while Grace listened. She was relieved Sophie was having such a good time.

When had Audrey last spoken to her mother? Grace tried to remember a time when she’d seen her on the phone.

“How are you, Mom? How are you feeling?”

“I’m feeling great.” She’d said those words numerous times since David had left her, but tonight was the first time she’d meant them.

“What are you doing tonight?”

“I’m intending to enjoy Paris. Have dinner and maybe a stroll along the river.” And she wasn’t going to feel guilty. It had been David who had made the decision to end their marriage, not her.

She was picking up the pieces of her life, that was all.

She was in Paris, wearing a dress she loved, and she had a date in a pavement café.

Wedging the phone between her cheek and her shoulder, she twisted her wedding ring on her finger.

She remembered the day David had slid it onto her finger. She’d been nervous that he’d lose it, or forget it, that the wedding would never happen.

She’d been a mess. Still grieving her parents. Confused and guilty. Always guilty. Always thinking about other people.

Sophie was still talking. “I should go, Mom. Chrissie has found this amazing club.”

Another club? Sophie used to be all about museums and art galleries, but lately all she seemed to talk about was parties and the people they’d met.

Grace opened her mouth to tell her daughter to be careful, but then imagined Audrey rolling her eyes and making strangling sounds. She still wasn’t comfortable not knowing the details of her daughter’s life. When they were young you controlled almost everything about their world. You arranged the playdates and the trips to the movies. You never had to worry about where they were or who they were with. Letting go of the reins wasn’t easy. “Have fun. Talk to you soon.” Proud of herself for not interrogating Sophie on exactly where she was going, she ended the call.

She tugged off her wedding ring and left it on the table.

Without looking back, she locked her apartment.

The restaurant was only a short distance from the bookshop so she chose to walk.

Summer had descended on Paris, bringing with it sunshine and throngs of tourists. They crowded along the streets, sprawled by the river, watched pavement artists at work, took photographs constantly. The heat was oppressive, the air still with not a breath of wind.

Grateful for the sun hat, Grace leaned on the bridge for a moment and watched the sunlight play over the surface of the water. The river Seine wound lazily through Paris, the buildings that clustered along its banks mirrored in its glassy surface.

She’d been dreading traveling alone, but now she was glad she had. It had been exactly the right thing to do.

She had no idea how the evening would end, or what tomorrow would look like, but for once she didn’t feel as if she needed to know. That in itself was progress.

She heard the sound of music and laughter and saw a river cruiser drifting beneath the bridge. When she’d been in Paris the first time she’d thought it looked like fun, but Philippe had dismissed it as something for tourists.

The restaurant he’d chosen for tonight was tucked away in a paved courtyard and by the time she arrived it was already crowded with not a spare table to be found inside or out.

She felt a flicker of nerves. Would Philippe be angry with her for the way she’d ended their relationship?

Not that angry, surely, or he wouldn’t have agreed to meet. Unless he just wanted a chance to tell her what he thought of her.

She saw him right away, seated at a small table, shaded by a vine. He was reading. Not his phone like everyone around him, but a book. He sat with his head bent, engrossed, lost in the words. He gave his whole self to everything he did. There were no half measures where Philippe was concerned. His inky black hair showed not a fleck of gray. His skin was bronzed from the sun. His clothes were casual, yet effortlessly stylish.

It had been years since she’d last seen him but seeing him lost in a book made it seem like yesterday.

Philippe had always had a book under his arm, the pages marked, corners turned in. They’d argued about whether it was right to defile books. He’d believed that a book should live a life, show signs of age and use. Battered was good because it meant someone had read and read. Best of all were notes, above the text and in the margins. He’d added passages, lines, words—

She’d lain next to him on the grass, watching as he scribbled.

Are you rewriting Shakespeare?

He’d grinned. Just the parts he got wrong.

The memory was so vivid that she caught her breath and he glanced up even though he couldn’t possibly have heard her.

His gaze held hers and for a moment there was a throb of tension in the air. Then he put the book down and uncoiled himself.

He was taller than David. Not as broad. More athletic. Stop it, Grace. Stop making comparisons.

David had pushed her out of his life, and it was time she pushed him out of her head.

She was pondering whether to shake hands or kiss him when Philippe pulled her in for a tight hug, removing the burden of decision-making.

It made her think of those first heady days when they’d gone everywhere together.