The Last Dress from Paris(29)
“My parents idolized Thomas for all his academic achievements and his bravery . . . but to me he was simply the very best older brother. He encouraged me to sketch, even when he could see how much it irritated my parents. He secretly paid for me to have private lessons with an art scholar he knew through school. He’d buy me new materials and reference books, accompany me to places he knew would inspire my work . . .”
“But?” Alice delicately nudges the conversation forward, wanting to know all there is to know about Antoine and his background.
“I ruined it all, and I’ve been paying for my mistake ever since, trying to live the life my parents want me to lead. Trying so hard not to disappoint them. I’ve begged them to let me pursue my love of art, to enroll at art school. They’ve seen my sketches, they know they’re good. But as a career? There’s no way. They see no value in it. It’s whimsical. Unrealistic. Not what a young man like me should be doing with his time. I’m as trapped as you are.”
She wants to question him further, to understand why he feels responsible for the breakdown of his relationship with his parents, but he has shifted upward in his seat, visibly breaking off from the subject.
Alice feels her own body stiffen at the conclusion he’s drawn about her own life. Is that what she is? Is that what he—and others—see? A woman who is trapped? She allows herself the smallest cursory look left and right. Is anyone overhearing their conversation? A small group of students and their guide have gathered behind the pews the two of them are sitting on and in front of the winged statues.
“I understand why you will want to leave now, and of course I won’t stop you. But please, meet me again. It doesn’t have to be anything more than a walk, Alice. That’s all I ask. A chance to talk, to get to know each other.”
He reaches for her hand, and their fingers briefly lace together, hers equally searching out his this time, squeezing together in secret agreement.
“I think I need you as much as you need me.”
He is interrupted by the voice of the guide behind them. “They are the symbols of piety and fidelity,” he announces, explaining the significance of the statues to his students.
Alice and Antoine’s eyes momentarily meet before she stands and walks briskly toward the exit with no goodbye and no direct answer to his request.
It isn’t Antoine’s face she sees as she leaves the church, it’s Albert’s, on their wedding day, the slight strain of panic across it when he saw her deep in conversation with his mother, Greta, and younger sister, Rebecca. She remembers the emotion that poured from his mother that day, the endless tears, the delicate white handkerchief that seemed permanently pressed to her eyes.
“She feared this day would never come,” explained Rebecca. “She is so proud that Albert has not allowed the sadness in our family to define the man he became.”
Alice immediately understood. “Losing your father to such a cruel disease so young must have been terribly hard for all of you.”
She visibly shuddered as the conversation sheared off abruptly with Rebecca’s response. “That’s not true! Our father wasn’t ill.”
Then it was Albert’s firm hand on Alice’s arm, steering her away, but not before his mother quietly added, “It is up to Albert to correct any inaccuracies, Rebecca. Today is not the day.”
Alice withheld all her questions, hoping Albert would offer his own explanation, until the final day of their honeymoon, not wanting to burst the bubble of happiness they had both enjoyed.
“Never ask me about him again,” he had barked. And the subject was closed, the bond of their easy togetherness broken.
Alice looks for her driver. Her eyes have started to pool with tears again, but there is a glimmer of something else inside. A curiosity for the world Antoine has described and the woman she might be in it.
7
Lucille
MONDAY
PARIS
I have never seen a church quite like it—not that I exactly make a habit of hanging out in churches. But the colors! From the moment Leon and I step inside, it’s a total assault on the senses, which is so unexpected. I’m prepared for quiet, meaningful good thoughts. No smiles. Definitely no chatter. But this is, well, a celebration. A happy place that has been stripped of all the dirt and grime that must have built up in the hundreds of years it’s been standing. This place is alive, singing to the sound of the giant organ that sits high above the entrance. There are no pews, but rows and rows of wooden chairs that seem much friendlier.
I worry it’s just me having a moment of awe, but then I look at Leon, who has already made it halfway up the aisle and paused, hands on hips, head thrown backward, shoulders tilting the same way to allow him to gaze at the ceiling above.
“Whoa!” he half shouts back at me. And he’s right to. The ceiling, arched way above us, is painted royal blue and speckled with hundreds of gold stars. It’s flanked by walls that are covered at the top with the most vivid painted scenes from the Bible, which look perfect enough to be photographs. There are bloodred and bright turquoise columns, and gold detailing everywhere. Even the tiny candle votives you can buy and light in memory of a loved one are a cheerful mix of green, red, orange, and blue.
“Why have I never been here before?” marvels Leon as the two of us start to track a circular route around the perimeter. “It’s just mind-blowing.”