James MacDonald, Annette’s set-up from all those months ago, had called while Tess was in Paris. The twins told him when she was due back, and he sent a dozen roses and a card that read:
Welcome home. Hope you had a wonderful time in Paris.
Hoping also that you’ll give me a second chance. Bientôt.
James.
They’d had dinner a few nights later and then again the next night.
And the next.
He took her and the boys and Clemmie bowling — I tagged along as Timmy’s “date” — and then skiing up at Lake Tahoe. The twins had pronounced him “cool” and were thrilled that at long last their mother had a man in her life.
I was too.
But at the moment that man was in Chicago on a business trip, so he and Tess were reduced to phone calls and emails.
Tess and I caught up on family stuff: Little Sophie was now two months old and doted upon by everyone in the family, particularly her grandparents; Julia and Justin had just bought their first house, so Mom and Julia were sewing up a storm, making curtains for all the windows; and Erica, the enfant terrible, had barfed all over her teacher after sneaking into the classroom during recess on Valentine’s Day and gobbling up all the candy hearts.
And then I told Tess my plan and asked for her help.
“You’re going to do what?” Becca said when I told her the next day.
“Go live in Paris,” I repeated.
“By yourself? You?”
“Just me, myself, and I.”
“But . . . how?” she sputtered. “When?”
“I’m not sure exactly when yet — hopefully in the next month or so once I get everything set up.”
Becca stared at me. “But what are you going to do there? You’re the one who told me it was impossible for Americans to get jobs in Paris, remember?”
“To err is human. To loaf is Parisian,” I said.
“Oscar Wilde?”
“Victor Hugo.” I pushed my hair behind my ears. “And actually, I don’t need a job. I’ve been setting aside money to buy a house ever since I was twelve, so I have a nice chunk of change in savings that will enable me to live there for a little while.”
“Which brings up the question, where are you going to live?”
I shrugged my shoulders. “I’m not exactly sure yet. I’ve gone on the Internet and looked at apartment rentals, and there are a few that look promising. I emailed Jacqueline, and she’s going to check them out for me in person. Otherwise, Tess has a flight attendant friend based there who’s gone a lot, and she thought I might be able to stay in her place. She emailed her, and we’re waiting to hear back.
“I’m not worried. It will all work out.” I grinned at my roommate. “Sometimes you just have to go for it and step out in faith.”
“I can’t believe you’re quitting your state job. Not sensible, practical Chloe.”
“Who says I’m quitting my job? I’m simply taking a leave of absence from it. It will be here waiting for me when I come back.”
Becca snorted. “Yeah, like you’re really going to want to go back to that boring job after living in Paris.”
“You never know. It’s just always good to have a back-up.”
“Well, it’s nice to see you haven’t thrown off all of the old Chloe.” She tilted her head and looked at me curiously. “So if you’re not going to work, what are you going to do over there? You’re not a party girl, so I know you won’t be knockin’ back the absinthe and painting Montmartre red.”
“No, but I will be painting. I’m actually hoping to take some art classes, along with some French language classes to help me get around.” My eyes sought my lady with the green umbrella that I’d framed and hung on the living room wall. “More than anything, I want to go sit in the Musée d’Orsay and just paint. I have no delusions about becoming an artist. I simply want to pick up a paintbrush again and feel the canvas beneath my hand.”
“Then you should go for it,” Becca said. “Carpe diem, baby!”
All at once she realized the implications of my decision. “Hey, what about me? I can’t afford this place all by myself. Where am I going to live?”
“I figured you could find another roommate, and I could sublet the place to her. Kailyn’s been wanting to move out from her folks’, and we already know she loves the condo.”
“Kailyn as a roommate?” Becca gaped. “You must be joking. We’d kill each other.”
“We didn’t.”
“That’s because you’re not a ditzy blonde clothesaholic. Kailyn and I have absolutely nothing in common.”
“You have book club. And I thought you guys bonded at the catacombs?”
“I guess,” she said grudgingly. “A little.”
When I told the Paperback Girls my Paris plans at our next book club meeting, they couldn’t believe it either.
“Serious?” Kailyn said. “You?”
“Why does everyone keep saying that?”
“Well I think it’s great,” Annette said. “If I were young and single, I’d probably do the same thing.” She grinned. “Oh wait — I already did that when I joined the Air Force right after high school.”
“I’m thrilled for you, Chloe, but I’m also jealous,” Paige said. “I’d love to spend a couple months in Paris studying cooking.”
“Or shopping.” Kailyn’s eyes glittered. “How fabulous would that be?”
Jenna frowned. “I just don’t get it, I guess. You’re doing this again, why?”
“Because.”
“Because why?”
“Because,” I said simply, “it feeds my soul.”
Julia and my folks had responded the same way. At least initially. But once I explained it all, they understood.
Sort of.
“I don’t know,” Mom worried. “A young girl going to Paris all by herself? Are you sure it’s safe? I’ve heard they have white slavers over there in Europe just waiting to pounce on pretty young girls and do who knows what to them.”
“I’m not eighteen, Mom. I’m twenty-nine. And believe it or not, I do know how to take care of myself.”
“Of course you do,” Dad said. He squeezed my mom’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, honey. Chloe’s got a good, steady head on her shoulders. She’ll be just fine.”
Julia winked. “Yeah, and by the time she gets back, Sophie might be walking and talking.”
Ryan was the only one who got it right away.
“That’s great!” he said, giving me a huge hug when I told him. “Good for you. It’s nice to see that the timid butterfly has at last shed her cocoon. I knew it was just a matter of time.” He grinned. “Now I have an even more compelling reason to visit Paris. If I come over, will you be my tour guide?”
“As long as you come within the next few months. I can only stay in Paris ninety days without a visa.”
“Oh, I’ll be over.” He sent me a slow smile full of promise. “You can count on it.”
A month later, early on a cool spring morning, I sat on a bench in Parc du Champ-de-Mars munching on a pain au chocolat and gazing at my iron lady before all the hordes of tourists descended for the day.
I thought back over the past year and all that had happened since Chris’s fateful text message — a message that, at the time, I was sure had destroyed all my happily-ever-after dreams. I thought of all the adventures with the Paperback Girls and how they had led me to this point.
Then I thought about my family and how my relationships with them had changed. Especially my sister.
And I realized that I had changed too.
I wasn’t Julia the Perfect, Becca the Adventurous, or Tess the Wise.
I was just Chloe, and that was enough.
My happily ever after was just beginning, and I couldn’t wait to see what tomorrow would bring.
The good ended happily, and the bad unhappily. That is what Fiction means.
The Importance of Being Earnest
Book Selections in Daring Chloer />
The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, Mark Twain, 2005 (originally published in 1884).
Coming Home, Rosamunde Pilcher, 1996.
Dove, Robin Graham, 1991 (originally published in 1972).
Emma, Jane Austen, 2003 (originally published in 1816).
French Women Don’t Get Fat, Mireille Guiliano, 2007.
From the Mixed-Up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler, E. L. Konigsburg, 1998 (originally published in 1967).
Heidi, Johanna Spyri, 2002 (originally published in 1880).
Les Misérables, Victor Hugo, 1987 (originally published in 1862).
Little Women, Louisa May Alcott, 2004 (originally published in 1868).
Marjorie Morningstar, Herman Wouk, copyright 1992 (originally published in 1955).
Murder on the Orient Express, Agatha Christie, 2004 (originally published in 1934).
A Walk in the Woods, Bill Bryson, 1999.
Acknowledgments
Reading is to the mind what exercise is to the body.
Sir Richard Steele
Thanks must first go to my fabulous and très cute agent, Beth Jusino, who helped me brainstorm Chloe and the Paperback Girls and also find the perfect home for them at Zondervan. Thanks for your encouragement (and the glasses tips too).
To my editor, Andy Meisenheimer, thank you for your enthusiasm, your availability, and your expertise, and for helping me to grow as a writer. Your insights made Chloe even stronger.
Thanks also are due to Becky Shingledecker and the creative and hardworking team at Zondervan.
A huge merci beaucoup to the talented and well-traveled Siri Mitchell for reading the Paris chapters to ensure I didn’t make some dreadful faux pas. Thanks, also, for correcting my extremely limited French. Any errors are mine.
A big thank you to Shannon Holme and Karen Tubbs for being my twenty-something eyes and ears. You guys rock!
For the snorkeling expertise, thanks are due Jamie Topper, Andi Davis, Beth Jusino, Cindy Martinusen, and Sean Gaffney, with a special nod to Jamie, the nurse-shark lover for the rule of thumb about sharks. I won’t test your theory.
Thank you to Mary Ann Adams for her foodie help in some French cooking choices.
My lasting gratitude also goes to writer friends Cindy Martinusen and Sean Gaffney for their loving act of kindness and selflessness during a difficult and frightening time. Also, to Jon Drury and the Redwood Chapel Christian Writers con ference for his servant’s heart and for their understanding and prayers.
I am blessed to have amazing friends who love and support me and encourage me in my writing.
Ginormous thanks to Dave and Dale Meurer for spoiling me again on my Redding getaway and for feeding my meat-starved stomach, with extra thanks to Dave for the brainstorming and editing advice on the camping chapters. Notice however, my funny friend, that the words Gitmo and Husqvarna appear nowhere in this novel — and will never appear in any of my novels.
Say it with me again, Dave: “This is a chick book.”
For providing encouragement, reading support, and crucial feedback when I needed it, my sincere gratitude goes to: Lisa Cook, Sheri Jameson, Jennie Damron, Katie Young, and Shane Galloway, with special thanks to Anne Peterson who’s always so willing and available to be my first reader. Anne, I appreciate your enthusiasm and feedback.
Deepest gratitude to my sweet writer friends Annette Smith and Cathy Elliott, who are always ready to read chapters and offer loving encouragement and support across the miles, as well as the occasional — and necessary — reality slap up the side of the head when I get too neurotic.
Last, but never least, to Michael, my beloved, best friend, and life’s traveling companion: Thank you for helping breathe life into some of Chloe’s adventures, especially those on or around water, and for keeping such a meticulous travel journal. Thanks, too, for refreshing my “mentalpause” memory in the Paris chapters and correcting my mistakes. Without you, I couldn’t do this. J’adore, mon amour. I can’t wait to return to Paris with you!
Meanwhile, we’ll always have the Musée d’Orsay.
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