That Spring in Paris

by Ciji Ware

  He gave her nose a brotherly tap with his index finger as if to retract any feeling of intimacy that might have briefly been flowing between them. Rising from his seat on her suitcase, he crossed to the leather easy chair where a copy of Hemingway: The Paris Years lay open, upside-down, on its arm. He closed the book, set it to one side and turned to face her. “It’s lights out time for this guy. What about you?”

  Juliet nodded, wondering at the lingering memory of his touch against her face. “Okay if I brush my teeth and use the head?”

  * * *

  If Finn Deschanel and Juliet Thayer had known each other better, both would have confided the next morning that their second night on the barge together in their separate sleeping quarters had resulted in the most peaceful eight hours’ slumber that either of them had enjoyed in a very long time.

  For Finn’s part, he opened one eye in his stateroom and stretched his body in the double bed that was built into the bulkhead. Amazed that the clock on the table at his elbow registered six a.m., he hadn’t woken up once in the night, which was a first in more than three years.

  He donned his jeans, a T-shirt, and his jacket, and tiptoed out the door, shoes in hand. His mission, per usual, was to secure fresh croissants and his daily loaf of bread to offer the sleeping beauty on his couch, along with a second cup of coffee he’d concoct in his French presse glass pot when he returned.

  Walking swiftly along the cobbled quay in the chilly morning air, Finn judged his mood was actually bordering on cheerful as he recalled the sight of the lovely young woman with reddish-brown, shoulder-length hair that was one shade shy of the color of the Rhone wine he’d served her the previous evening. He’d been surprised and even gratified by the jolt of sensation he’d experienced gazing down at her, sleeping so peacefully. She was curled on her side beneath the covers on his sofa in a posture he could easily imagine a man mirroring, a protective arm cast around her shoulder.

  In fact, he’d almost chuckled aloud to see Juliet’s hand tucked under her chin like a feminine version of The Thinker, the colossal statue dominating the gardens of the Rodin Museum on the Rue de Varenne where he’d often walked since arriving in Paris. Given the horror of the last few days, it felt strange and not a little curious to Finn to be enveloped by the comforting thought that a very attractive artist from San Francisco who had loyally raced to the rescue of a close friend was asleep in his home—and would be there waiting for him when he returned.

  * * *

  The first thing Juliet heard when she swam to consciousness her second morning on Finn’s barge was the rattle of a key in the door across from the sofa where she’d conked out the minute her head had touched the pillow the night before. Sunlight, bright and cool, poured through the large picture window above her head, and when she rose up on one elbow, her breath caught once more at the sight of the Eiffel Tower soaring into an azure sky across the water dotted with river traffic moving in both directions.

  And then she remembered why she was here, but before a cascade of worry could plunge her thoughts into all the troubling aspects of Avery’s injuries, a broad-shouldered figure loomed in the doorway. Finn held a waxy paper sack in one hand, as well as a baguette that was nearly two feet long in a paper sleeve stashed in the crook of his arm. In the hand clutching a dangling key, he also gripped a newspaper.

  “Good morning, Sleeping Beauty,” her host greeted her.

  “Here! Let me help you,” Juliet exclaimed, jumping out of bed, only to realize she was skimpily clad in her black tights and matching T-shirt with no bra underneath.

  “No worries, I got this.” Finn headed for the other end of the main salon. He deposited his packages on the desk with its two electric burners and small, stainless steel sink and faucet. Nearby rested a toaster oven, a small tin cupboard, and Finn’s open laptop. “Sleep okay?” he asked with his back toward his guest.

  “I don’t remember even closing my eyes.”

  “And how do you feel this morning?”

  Juliet watched him store his purchases in the limited space and answered, “I feel okay, I guess. Better than yesterday. I didn’t even dream, which is unusual for me.”

  Finn’s head rose abruptly and he said over his shoulder with a short laugh, “Me, too. Didn’t dream. Very unusual for me as well. I guess we both had hit the wall, given everything that’s been going on since last Friday.”

  “I do feel better,” she reflected slowly, “but I still feel a bit jumpy. Do you?”

  He turned, arched an eyebrow without answering her directly, and crossed the room, handing her the newspaper. “Here’s a copy of the International New York Times. The cops raided an apartment in the suburbs early this morning and killed two of the remaining terrorists. They’re still looking for the guy who threw away his vest with the explosives in it, undetonated. He may have escaped to Syria. I'd say it’s normal to feel jumpy, but the situation’s definitely improved. Want some coffee with your croissants?”

  “Oui, oui, oui! You are a total hero,” she murmured with a grateful sigh. “Gotta have my caffeine.” She grabbed a pair of jeans that she’d pulled out of her suitcase the previous night. “Okay if I use the head down below?”

  “And here I thought I’d have to drill you on nautical terms while you’re aboard.”

  “I live on San Francisco Bay, remember?” she teased as she descended the few steps to the stern compartment. “I’m a sailor and know my share of nautical terms. But can you teach them to me in French?”

  “Mais non,” he called to her, “but that’s a good suggestion for my next lesson with my language tutor. Coffee will be waiting.”

  For the next half hour with Juliet tucked into one end of the couch and Finn sitting on the other, the pair settled in, sharing flaky crescent pastries and strong, dark coffee. It was too early to head for the hospital, so Juliet gave herself permission to relax for an hour and enjoy the company.

  “Want more hot milk to top off your coffee?” Finn asked, and Juliet obediently held out her mug, watching him pour the frothy mixture he'd heated on his burner into her cup.

  She took a sip and leaned her head against the back of the couch. “Hmmm... I think I feel myself relaxing for the first time in a week,” she declared. “The croissants are fabulous and this is about the best coffee I’ve ever tasted—and in my hometown, we’re coffee fanatics.”

  “Studying French has led to my haunting the open-air food markets which, in turn has led to taking some cooking classes for novices at the Cordon Bleu,” Finn disclosed. “Making a decent cup of coffee was one of the first things they taught.”

  “And you cook on those two little burners,” she marveled once again.

  “The challenge keeps me on my toes.”

  “I’d love to study French cuisine,” she ventured, aware, suddenly, of how wistful she sounded. “I grew up with room service at our family’s hotel, but I adore good food and learning to cook it is on my Bucket List, believe it or not.”

  Her thoughts were suddenly filled with imagining what it would be like to be living and painting in Paris and taking trips to all the wonderful open-air markets, to say nothing of seeking out some of the stunning landscapes France had to offer. She could practically see herself shopping with one of those string bags to put her purchases in and eating her way across the city, sampling the fare produced by hundreds of charming bistros and cafés. She stole a glance in Finn’s direction. He was so easy to be with, she mused, and so considerate, even to getting up early to provide breakfast and securing a copy of an English-language newspaper on a day when every tourist in France was probably looking for one. If Jed Jarvis were here, he’d probably say, “Babe, how ’bout going out and finding us a box of Cheerios, okay? I hate all this French stuff.”

  She realized with a start that this was the first time she’d given Jed a single thought since she’d arrived in France and gotten her passport stamped.

  As she munched slowly on a bite of her croissant, its buttery goodness
virtually melting in her mouth, she glanced out the window at the soaring magnificence of the Eiffel Tower. What a change from her normal life, having a leisurely breakfast with a man who, even when they weren’t exchanging a word, felt so... compatible. Then, her eyes were drawn to the newspaper filled with stories of tragedy and terror and she felt guilty for enjoying anything during this terrible time.

  Finn, who’d returned to reading his section of the newspaper, sensed her looking at him and glanced across the space on the sofa that separated them. Embarrassed to be caught staring, Juliet said the first thing that came into her head. “God, I was so tired again last night, weren’t you?”

  “Totally bushed,” he agreed. “And before you rush anywhere, we can check with the nurses’ station to see how Avery is doing this morning. No point going over there if she’s still sleeping or they’re sending her for tests, or something.”

  “Sounds like you know hospital routines pretty well.”

  “My leg took its own sweet time to heal,” he said with a shrug, pointing to his left thigh. “I learned that I might as well do it ‘their’ way and not get all agitated by the medical staff’s sticking to their routines.”

  “Was it a bad break?”

  “Breaks. Three of them. Plus the shrapnel.”

  “Ouch! No wonder you seem like such a patient man,” Juliet responded, and took a deep sip of her delicious brew. “I suppose not getting a call in the middle of the night about Jean-Pierre from Madame Grenelle is a good sign, don’t you think?”

  Finn’s cheerful demeanor altered somewhat. “I expect it only means J-P is still on life support,” he said, his eyes drifting back to the newspaper page he’d been reading, although Juliet could tell he wasn’t really paying attention.

  When they’d both finished their breakfasts, Finn rose from the couch, gathered their plates and cups and took them to the sink. Juliet glanced down at the page of the newspaper he’d abandoned with its headline:

  MORE EVIDENCE THAT TERRORISTS LIKELY

  USED ENCRYPTION TO PLAN PARIS ATTACKS

  A shiver slid down her spine and she was unable to take her eyes off the bold letters. She wondered if Brad was reading the same reports. Did he have one iota of remorse about the sort of violent video games he’d developed in the last two years and from which he planned to make his millions? Her unhappy reverie was abruptly interrupted by the sound of a cell phone ringing in Finn’s bedroom. He bolted down below to retrieve it, and as soon as he answered, his voice lowered. Juliet reached for the newspaper article, but she couldn’t concentrate due to the indistinct but heated exchange between Finn and his caller. A few minutes later, he emerged and immediately returned to rinsing the plates in his tiny sink without looking in her direction.

  “Can I help?” Juliet called. “I can dry—”

  “Thanks,” he cut her short. “I got this.”

  When he again settled on the sofa a few feet from where she sat, she hastily handed him back the section of the newspaper she’d appropriated. He merely folded and wedged it between his thigh and the arm of the couch. A long silence ensued. Juliet felt the earlier pleasant mood had completely altered. She pointed to the picture of his family on the bookshelf that Finn had shown her the previous evening. “I probably shouldn’t ask, but how did such a veteran soldier react to your decision to resign from the military?”

  “Not well.” Finn’s voice had an angry edge and his gaze was aimed over her head in the direction of the Eiffel Tower across the water.

  “Ah... right,” Juliet murmured, adding in what she hoped was a casual, conversational tone, “I suppose that’s not very surprising for a general. And is that your mom?” she asked, pointing. “She’s so pretty.”

  “Yes. This was taken two years before she got cancer. She passed away when I was on my second tour in Iraq, before I was redeployed to Afghanistan.”

  “Oh, Finn. I-I’m so sorry... about your mom, I mean.”

  “Thank you. It was rough. And that’s my sister, Maureen.” He pointed to a young woman in a pale blue pants suit. Juliet could tell he was trying to sound more cheerful. “She married an Army guy... a colonel, now.”

  “And that?” she said, pointing to a very attractive blonde with a drop-dead figure clad in a crisp cotton lavender-and-white print dress and a wide-brimmed straw hat.

  “That’s Kim. She was my girlfriend at the time.”

  “Well, she’s a stunner.”

  “She still is.”

  At his clipped words, Juliet felt her heart lurch for some reason. She laughed nervously and attempted to joke, “She’s still pretty... or she’s still your girlfriend?”

  Finn continued to look at her with a steady gaze. “In the spirit of full disclosure, you know that phone call I just took?”

  “Yes.” Juliet was astonished to realize she was holding her breath.

  “That was my lawyer in Nevada.”

  “Do you have some legal issues left over from leaving the military?” Could he be in some sort of trouble? Might that be the reason he’d moved to France?

  “No, not that,” he replied. “It’s a different kind of legal issue—having to do with ending my marriage. My lawyer is in the process of negotiating my divorce.”

  You’re married?” Juliet blurted, her eyes drawn to his left hand, devoid of a ring. “To Kim?” she confirmed, pointing once more at the picture he’d returned to the shelf.

  “Technically... yes.”

  “Technically, married is married,” she repeated firmly, doing her best to hide a wholly embarrassing rush of disappointment that made her cheeks grow warm.

  Jeez, Juliet! You only met this guy exactly forty-eight hours ago! Cool it!

  Meanwhile, Finn was explaining, “We’ve been separated for quite a while. I’m just trying to finalize everything.”

  “Why? I mean, why are you separated?” Juliet was even more embarrassed by this inane outburst. “Man, am I nosey! You don’t have to answer,” she added, feeling ridiculous, a sensation that was soon replaced by irritation. Why hadn’t he mentioned he was married the first night I stayed on the barge? Perhaps that was the true reason that he was so reluctant, at first, to have me stay when Avery’s apartment turned out to be uninhabitable? Divorcing couples are usually still very much emotionally involved.

  An avalanche of questions began to bubble up. As far she could observe, Finn was one dishy guy. Why would his wife split with her husband after all he’d been through? And why would he leave her—unless something really bad had happened between them. And who was greatest at fault? Why did every single thing in life have to turn out to be so f-ing complicated?

  Finn cocked an eyebrow from across the couch. “As they say, an officer and a gentleman never speaks of the misdeeds of a lady.”

  Juliet felt herself bristle. “Oh, so they were all her misdeeds, were they?”

  “If you knew the whole story, you’d probably agree that most of them actually were.”

  Before she could respond, they were startled by a sharp series of knocks at the door. Outside stood a teenage girl with purple streaks in her black hair and bangs.

  “I am so sorry to disturb you,” she apologized, her English excellent. She glanced over Finn’s shoulder at Juliet on the far side of the cabin. Flushing slightly to see that he obviously was entertaining company at breakfast time, she explained for Juliet’s benefit that she was Colette, Eloise Grenelle’s granddaughter, and thus Jean-Pierre’s sister. “Can I trouble you to come speak to us at Grandmère’s?” she asked Finn, adding that the entire family was gathered next door. “It’s quite urgent, I’m afraid.”

  With a look of apology to his guest, Finn excused himself to follow Madame Grenelle’s messenger to the opposite end of the barge. Juliet listened to the sound of their retreating steps. Then she jumped to her feet, as if shot out of a canon, and began to pack.

  CHAPTER 8

  Juliet couldn’t even explain to herself why she felt she had to leave the barge in such a hurry
. She simply switched into automatic pilot and next thing she knew, she was snapping shut her small suitcase.

  Yes, after staying on his barge for two days, she was frankly shocked to learn that Finn was a married man—however technical or un-technical he might consider his status to be. As far as she was concerned—and despite the fact that she supposedly had a guy of her own that she saw exclusively at home—she could not deny the quiver of excitement she’d experienced in the former pilot’s company, or the hope that she might, at the very least, have met a kindred spirit.

  Yet, something else was in play that instantly had convinced Juliet she could no longer remain a visitor aboard Finn’s boat. She swiftly folded the sheets and blankets and placed them neatly on the couch. As a postscript to her very proper thank you note, she offered a little fib to make her departure seem less abrupt.

  Avery just called. I can stay at a small hotel near the hospital until they release her, which sounds sensible for all concerned.

  We’ll keep tabs on J-P and pray for the best. Again, thanks for everything,

  Juliet

  Carrying her suitcase by its handle instead of rolling it noisily along the deck, Juliet bolted down the gangway and sprinted along the quay toward the city street that ran above the stonewall overlooking the Seine. Miraculously, a cab came into view just then and she jumped into it. By the time it deposited her in front of the American Hospital, the reasons propelling her hasty exit from Finn’s abode finally had begun to form sentences in her mind.

  Finn Deschanel’s life is just as complicated and out of control as mine!

  Like her, he was still involved in an intimate relationship. He had a friend who’d gone through a horrible trauma and would need his help—if the poor guy lived. Even more amazingly coincidental, Finn had been part of a hated profession. If she were brutally honest with herself, the last thing she needed was getting entangled emotionally with a married man suffering from PTSD who lived in a foreign country!

  Even a man who said he was in the process of getting un-entangled...