That Spring in Paris

by Ciji Ware

  “Eloise is in the kitchen laying out the charcuterie,” Claudine announced in a low voice, describing the array of sliced meats and sausage, small, sweet pickles and radishes that would tempt them all, once Finn and Pierre returned from finalizing funeral arrangements. She took their coats and then directed briskly, “Juliet, dear, I still could use help arranging the vegetable platter and slicing the baguettes and some cheese.” She glanced at Avery, now deeply asleep.

  By the time Finn and Pierre arrived everyone was back in the grand salon sipping cups of strong, black tea laced with lemon and honey, including Avery sitting up in a wheel chair brought from the hospital. Claudine, still clearly in charge, gathered the somber group around her elegant dining room table with its matching, highly polished mahogany chairs.

  After the assembled ate their meal in near silence, she raised a glass of champagne like the ones that glittered at each place setting. “In French or English,” she urged, “let us each relate a fond memory we have of darling Jean-Pierre... and raise a toast.”

  In grief-laced tones, Eloise spoke of her grandson’s delight as a little boy visiting her on the barge and taking naps in the pilothouse before it was converted into an apartment as a way of supplementing her income after Jean-Pierre’s grandfather died.

  J-P’s father also choked up when it was his turn to speak, describing his son’s first attempts at drawing, noting that by six or seven years old, the parents knew for a certainty that he would one day become an accomplished artist.

  “It’s hard to believe he showed such talent at that age,” he murmured in English for the benefit of the Americans present, “but what I tell you is true.”

  When all eyes turned to Pierre’s wife, she merely shook her head and waved her hand in the air, unable to speak.

  Finn paused and then raised his glass of sparkling water.

  “Jean-Pierre possessed an almost instinctive empathy for people and the world around him.” A wry smile formed on his lips. “He must have been informed something about who his grandmother’s new tenant was on the barge. He always waved hello, and if he saw me sitting on deck, reading as I did most of last summer, he’d bring by a book he thought I might enjoy. And he never criticized my laboring French.”

  For a moment, a ripple of laughter relieved the mournful atmosphere that mantled the dining room.

  Avery spoke next, telling once more of Jean-Pierre’s befriending her at art school so “just like with Finn, he could improve his English and me my French, plus he truly had the desire to befriend people.”

  Glancing sideways, Juliet noticed tears once again beginning to fill Avery’s eyes.

  “He was eight years younger than I am,” Avery related softly in French. “He was kind of like the little brother I always wanted... and now, because I treated him to dinner at that restaurant as a thank-you for all the nice things he’d done for me, he’s—”

  Juliet leaned over and gingerly rubbed her friend’s good shoulder. “Avery, what has happened is nobody’s fault but the terrorists!”

  Finn rose abruptly from his chair, startling the assembled. “Yes, it’s the terrorists,” he said, his hands fisted at his sides, “but let’s not forget the actions of certain, heartless opportunists, a bunch of blind followers, plus the technology and propaganda that so easily twists minds.”

  A silence fell, then, and before anyone could say anything else, Claudine asked quickly if Juliet would come to the kitchen with her to help her fetch the coffee.

  “Yes, of course,” she murmured, rising from her chair, but not before she felt a flush fanning across her cheeks. All she could conclude was that Finn must truly harbor a deep-seated revulsion for the kind of violent videos her brother’s company had developed and spread throughout the world, including, possibly, some of the world’s terrorists. She had been knee-deep in that world, and he probably despised her for it.

  Claudine suddenly barked another order: “Finn, you will please clear the table, and everyone else, finish your champagne.”

  Juliet stumbled into Claudine’s white-tiled kitchen with its marbled-topped counters and enormous stove with six burners that once must have been commanded by a chef and an entire domestic staff. Neither she nor Finn spoke while she arranged delicate porcelain demitasse cups and saucers at the same time Finn made several trips in and out of the dining room, carrying the dishes, as commanded by their hostess. Juliet swallowed hard and concentrated on balancing a tray with the cups and a large, silver coffeepot, insisting on taking it without assistance into the dining room.

  In the time they’d all left the hospital and gathered for their meal, Claudine had somehow obtained a large apple tart with a glaze that glistened under the light of the mammoth chandelier hanging above the long dining table. With practiced efficiency, she began to cut generous slices of the confection, topped with Chantilly cream. Avery only picked at the magnificent dessert with her fork and Juliet sensed it was time to take her back to the hospital before she keeled over from both physical and emotional exhaustion—feelings Juliet was experiencing herself.

  Fifteen minutes later, Finn escorted the two women downstairs. He hailed a taxi, insisting he escort them back to Neuilly-sur-Seine to see Avery and her borrowed wheelchair safely to the hospital.

  “But what about your MG?” Juliet protested.

  “I’ll come get it later. Let’s get you both into this taxi.”

  His earlier remark about technology and those involved in it playing a role in the recent attacks continued to gnaw at Juliet and she wished he would let her handle Avery on her own. Once the patient was settled in the taxi and the chair tucked into the trunk, Juliet turned to Finn. “Look, we’ll be fine. There’s absolutely no need for you to come, too.”

  “I’m coming,” he said shortly. “Get in. I’ll ride in front with the driver.”

  Avery dozed while Juliet stared silently out the window during the drive back across Paris to the outskirts of the city. By this hour, the streets of Neuilly were deserted as the taxi chugged up the ramp and pulled to a stop in front of the hospital entrance. Finn gently took hold of Avery’s good arm and eased her into the waiting wheelchair.

  Juliet said, “I can take it from here.” She nodded in the direction of the taxi, its motor still running. “Better grab the cab before it takes off.”

  “I’ll see you home, too,” he said.

  She shook her head. “You’ve had an exhausting day. I’ll get Avery upstairs and take the metro back to her apartment. No problem.”

  Finn seemed surprised at her suggestion. Without further comment, he walked them both into the hospital lobby, hailed an orderly to help, and then bid them goodnight. Juliet saw out of the corner of her eye that he’d retreated outside and stood by the taxi, watching. As Avery was wheeled toward the elevators with Juliet trailing behind, she sensed Finn’s following stare on her back. It didn’t take long before Avery was settled into bed, extracting from Juliet a promise to see if she could be released soon.

  “Tell the nurses and doctors how well I did tonight,” she said, her eyes drooping as soon as her head touched the pillow. “I want to get out of here.”

  And within minutes, Juliet could tell that Avery was fast asleep.

  * * *

  “Hey, Ms. California... want a lift?”

  Juliet halted in her tracks just outside the hospital’s revolving door, sending cold night air swirling about her ankles.

  “Finn! What are you doing here? I thought—”

  “You don’t think I’d let you take the metro this late at night after the kind of day we both had?”

  She peered at the taxi still parked at the curb. “The meter’s been running all this time?” she asked, mildly horrified.

  “Right, so get in,” he commanded.

  With Finn sitting beside her in the back seat, they rode along in silence for several blocks. Finn finally spoke first. “You were upset by what I said at Claudine’s, weren’t you? About the blame for what happened here be
ing partly due to the actions of certain people and the technology they used?”

  Juliet stared at Finn across the expanse of the cab’s interior, silenced by the truth of his words. When she made no reply, he said, “I thought about it while you coolly said your goodbyes at Claudine’s, and again, just now, and took Avery upstairs. I realized that you thought I was referring to you and everyone at your brother’s company, didn’t you?”

  “Well, weren’t you?” A well of emotion had begun to fill her chest.

  “I was referring to defense contractors and their lobbyists. To politicians, who so easily vote to go to war. To myself. To everything I’ve been a part of. Everything our Brave New World is now a part of. And yes,” he admitted, “I was thinking of your brother, Brad.”

  Juliet continued to stare at Finn, her mind full of colliding thoughts about the choices she’d made and how earnestly the man sitting next to her was trying to tell the truth about himself. How the horror of the last days had exploded in everyone’s lives.

  All of it.

  Finn gently reached across the space that separated them and took her hand, his touch instantly causing tears to rim her eyes as they had on and off all day since learning of Jean-Pierre’s death.

  “I waited for you because I wanted to see you safely home, Juliet. This whole thing has been horrible for everyone, including you. And I’m so sorry if you misunderstood my words at dinner. I meant myself,” he repeated, “not you”

  “Oh, Finn,” she said, her voice sounding strangled even to her own ears. “There’s no way to untangle all this. It’s just... so... sad. It’s so awful and heartbreaking. And I feel... I guess I feel this bereft because there doesn’t seem any way to... to fix any of it.”

  “No one person can fix this.” His thumb gently strafed the palm of her hand that he had continued to hold. “All we can try to do is fix ourselves in whatever ways are needed.”

  “But I guess I’m just like you and Avery,” she said between gulps for air. “I feel responsible. What about the unintended consequences of everything I’ve done in the last five years? How could I have not predicted the ultimate outcome of millions of people—and especially the kids—playing ugly video war games that Brad and I and the rest of us produced? How could I not have spoken up more strongly in all those meetings I attended that the explicit packaging I’d designed was, itself, an incitement to violence and hatred? I reacted to what you said at Claudine’s because I do feel guilty that the Thayer family made the act of killing humans a lucrative sporting event! There’s an entire generation who are totally de-sensitized to what the real thing is actually like. They don’t wear a uniform or serve their country. They don’t see the carnage. They just play games!”

  “You didn’t do this all by yourself,” he said, holding her hand more firmly.

  “I know... but it all feels so... broken.”

  Juliet fought the great, heaving sobs welling up in her chest. The next thing she knew, Finn had pulled her against his chest and she was conscious of her tears spilling all over the front of his leather jacket.

  “Ah, Juliet...”

  After a few minutes, her shoulders still heaving, she drew away.

  “I-I can’t even blame this meltdown on jet-lag,” she said, staring into her lap.

  “Blame it on... everything.” By this time, the taxi had come to a halt in front of Avery’s flat. “C’mon. Let’s get you home.”

  Home? Where was home? She fought another wave of emotion.

  Meanwhile, Finn leaned back in his seat, ignoring the running meter.

  “Look, Juliet, we have to step back and take in the big picture. At least, that’s what I’m trying to do. What happened to Jean-Pierre and Avery are just two examples of the unintended consequences of a million tiny decisions we all made that nobody wants to think about, or take responsibility for. At least, you and I are considering what we, personally, brought to this chamber of horrors. You may find this hard to believe, but I have real confidence we can both determine from here on out the paths that work for us in this life. At least, that’s my goal.”

  “I hope you’re right,” Juliet murmured, looking out the window at the forbidding door that guarded the entrance to Avery’s garret at the top of the building.

  Finn noticed her glance and rested his hand on the taxi’s door handle.

  “By the way...” He titled his head and squinted at her. “How’re you doing with that damned heating system up there?”

  Juliet rolled her eyes and prepared to get out of the taxi. “On a good day? Comme si, comme ça.”

  “Well, that’s not very encouraging.”

  “At night I think the heat switches off in the entire building.”

  “Probably only in the former maids’ rooms and not in the rest of this swanky place,” he wagered. “How cold, exactly, is it, would you say?”

  Juliet hesitated. “Forty... forty-five degrees, maybe.”

  “Merde!” Continuing in French, he told the taxi driver, whose meter had been running for at least an hour since they’d left Claudine’s, to wait right there. “The young lady has to go upstairs to get her things. Then, we’re going back to Rue Jacob where my car is parked.” To Juliet, he said, “You’re sleeping on the barge, no arguments.” He gave her a stern glance. “Now, go get your suitcase and I’ll wait right here. I’d help you, but I don’t want to lose this cab.”

  CHAPTER 10

  A half an hour later, with the Eiffel Tower still glowing its patriotic lights, Finn and Juliet arrived back at L’Étoile de Paris bobbing peacefully on the Seine.

  “You make up your bed,” he suggested, handing her the sheets and blanket she’d so hastily folded the last time she had slept on Finn’s barge, “and I’ll brew us some tea.”

  “Won’t that keep us awake?”

  “Not this brand. Special stuff my shrink told me about... Dormez Bien.”

  “‘Sleep Well’ tea?” she said with a laugh. “Sounds good to me!”

  So much for her resolution to keep her distance from the dashing Major Deschanel. Within minutes they had each assumed their customary places on opposite ends of Finn’s sofa and he began to ask her about life in San Francisco.

  “You’ve never been there?” she asked, taking a sip of tea from her mug.

  “Yes, when I was a kid. My father was stationed at Fort Ord on the Monterey Peninsula for a year, before the base was shut down. All I remember about your town is the fog and riding the cable cars, which I loved.”

  “Well, it’s not always foggy,” she said, defending her hometown with a smile. “Come visit in October, sometime, and you will definitely leave your heart in San Francisco. I think it’s one of the most beautiful cities in the world. Like Paris,” she added, gazing over her shoulder at the magnificence of the Eiffel Tower whose sparkling reflection on the river’s wavy surface doubled her pleasure.

  “Maybe I will,” he said, smiling back at her. “Come visit sometime.”

  Juliet let his friendly words fill the pilothouse. She quickly glanced down at the mug full of tea she held in her hands. “My problem is, I’ve used whatever artistic skills I have living there as a commercial graphic designer, not as a painter. It’s not what I want, but—like the rest of the world—I have to make a living.” She looked up and met Finn’s steady gaze, adding, “And as my brother Brad constantly points out, no one is lining up to buy my landscapes.”

  “Are they good?”

  Juliet shrugged, oddly admiring the fact he’d asked such a blunt question.

  “Not good enough... not yet. But I honestly think they could be if I just had the chance to do what Avery’s done—come to Paris to get more advanced training. I’ve also heard about an art academy that’s in southern France. Have you ever been to Lake Annecy, near the border with Switzerland? Someone at the art store here told me there’s a great school down there, but I don’t know much about it. Cezanne painted there, I heard.”

  “Haven’t been to Lake Annecy, but you
have that dreamy-eyed look,” he said, a smile quirking at the corners of his mouth, “Better get with it, Juliet. None of us knows how much runway we have left.”

  Juliet stared back him. “Is that just a saying that pilots use, or are you... ill, or something?”

  The thought of Finn having a terminal disease struck a strange chord of dismay in her. Was that why he was leading such a solitary existence?

  He touched his forehead with a finger on his right hand. “PTSD, remember? When I first got here, I had some very dark thoughts about the top of that tower out there, a stupid idea that I seem to have shaken free of these last few months. But it got me to thinking. None of us knows how long we have in this life.”

  “Yeah... Jean-Pierre... a tragic case in point.”

  “Exactly. So, as I said, we’d better both get on it! Figure all this out so we have some runway to take off from and enjoy our lives, doing what matters.”

  “You’re a pretty wise fellow, you know that?” Juliet murmured.

  “Hard won wisdom,” he replied. “Just like yours.” He paused, and then said, “So why don’t you?”

  “Why don’t I what?”

  “Take a year or so off and come to Paris to paint? Or to paint better?”

  Once again, Juliet stared at the mug of tea resting in her lap. “I can’t for all the reasons I told you before... my obligation to see that Brad pays back the equity loan on the Bay View. The only way I can do it... is to help make the firm a continuing success so there’s money to—”

  Finn abruptly set his mug on the coffee table in front of the sofa. “How much money do you think will satisfy your brother Brad? What’s the dollar figure he’s set?”

  His tough questions silenced her for a long moment. Finally she said, “I don’t know. Probably he doesn’t know, either.”

  “Look, Juliet...” He was staring at her intensely in a way that she found totally unnerving. “We all get to choose how to spend our time on this earth. Your father chose to give his son the money. Isn’t it up to him to demand he be paid back? From what you’ve described, the GatherGames business is booming, big time, with or without you as design director. But without you, your brother will have to pay someone a higher salary than he’s probably paying you—so no wonder he wants you back. And, what if he’ll never declare how much money is enough? I gather those Silicon Valley guys rarely do.”