by Susan Finlay
Isabelle, glass half raised, ready to take another sip, stopped and stared. What was she supposed to say? Oh God! “They were having an affair?” she finally blurted, setting down the unsipped wine glass.
“Yep. I couldn’t stay in Paris with them. All of them just wanted me to brush the affair aside, but I couldn’t. When I found Paulette’s ad, I jumped at the chance to get away. I didn’t know how long I would be gone or what I would do when the job was over. All I knew was I needed time away to think.”
“I am very sorry for you. What are you going to do? Are you going back?”
He shrugged. “I doubt I have a job to go back to in the U.S. I worked for Vanessa’s father. Don’t think he’ll take kindly to my dumping his daughter, no matter that she caused it. He thinks Vanessa can do no wrong.”
Isabelle reached out and took his hand, squeezing it gently. “I had no idea. I’m sorry. I wish I knew what to say.”
Josh shrugged his shoulders. “I’ll figure out what I want—eventually. One thing I’m sure of is that it’s over between me and Vanessa. I might someday forgive her and my father, though they don’t deserve it. Certainly not gonna marry her. That boat’s already sailed.”
The waitress showed up, bringing their appetizer. Isabelle gave a slight smile and said lamely, “Bon Appetit?”
Josh smiled and immediately helped himself to a large portion, pointing for her to dig in.
Isabelle smiled and took a smaller portion for herself. “How old are you?”
“Younger than you, I think. But not by much. I did the math back at your apartment.” He grinned, a silly kind of grin. “I’m twenty-six.”
Four years younger than me, yet I feel like the child here. “Where are you from?”
“Santa Barbara, California.”
“What is California like? I’ve never been to America.”
“New. Well, newer than most of Europe.” She watched him tick off a list on his raised hand. “Crowded. Hot. White sand beaches. Pacific Ocean. Hills. Desert. Palm trees. Boutiques. Disneyland. Sea World. World-class zoo. The Golden Gate Bridge. Did I mention crowded?”
She nodded.
“Traffic is out of this world. Freeways with six or more lanes each direction, cars jammed together, bumper to bumper. Gangs, illegal aliens, no drinking water, dried up lakes, forest fires, landslides. Oh, and I forgot to mention earthquakes.”
“Oh my! I can’t imagine it. Some of it sounds wonderful and some not so much, but all so different from here.”
“Yep. There are things I love about California. Then again, there are getting to be more things I don’t love about it.”
“They say Americans are in love with their cars. Does everyone have to drive a car in America? Can you get around in the cities on trains and subways?”
“No, in most cities, you have to drive. Not a lot of public transportation except buses and taxis. Los Angeles, New York City, Chicago, Boston, and a few other big cities have trains and subways, I’ve heard. Do you like to travel? Do you think you’ll ever visit the U.S.?”
She reached for her glass, nervously taking a deep gulp of wine at the thought of flying. “I’ve never been on an airplane. My parents took us on the train to Paris occasionally, and a few times to other cities in France. I’ve never traveled out of the country. I wouldn’t know how to get around on my own, and my brother couldn’t travel.”
He didn’t say anything, only tilted his head and watched her, as if trying to figure her out. She wanted to suddenly fade into the wallpaper or hide underneath the table but instead just averted her eyes, remaining silent.
“What happened to your brother? You told me he was quadriplegic.”
Oh no, why did I remind him about Henri? Thinking quickly, she diverted with, “I will tell you the whole story one day, but today I want us to talk about other things. I hope you don’t mind.”
He picked up his wine glass and stared momentarily into the clear liquid. “Okay, if you’ll tell me about yourself. What do you like to do?”
“Me? Hmm. Oh well, I bake and go for walks in the woods. Sometimes I stroll through town or go shopping. I love to read and watch television.”
“Do you ever go to see movies at the theater?”
“Not so much. We don’t have a theater in town and it’s a forty minute train ride to the nearest city with a theater, unfortunately.”
“So what do young people do for fun in Mythe?”
She took another swig of wine and then coughed a couple times, accidentally swallowing at the wrong time with the wine going down the wrong way. “Pardon. Hmm, that isn’t easy to answer. I guess they go out to eat, go to the bars and clubs in nearby towns. Some go to parties or take the train elsewhere.”
“What about you? You don’t do those things?”
“Um, not really. After finishing school, beginning when I was eighteen, I worked in the bakery running it for the past twelve years. And I took care of my brother up until a couple of months ago.”
“That’s a long time. You never got to choose whether to go to college?”
She shook her head. “My life was already decided for me. We had exercises which the doctor wanted us to try. He, the doctor, told us they might help Henri. Though, from what I’ve read, the exercises were more to give Henri and I some hope and get Henri part of the time off his bed. Bed sores are a huge problem for quadriplegics.”
“Oh, wow. I hadn’t thought of that.”
“I had to bathe him, apply ointments to his sores and lotions to his legs. I washed his sheets every few days, moved him into a wheelchair sometimes for an hour or two of sitting on the balcony to get fresh air and a change of scenery. My brother liked listening to music and loved listening to audio books, which meant I had to shop for him, too.”
“And you did everything yourself? You didn’t have any help?”
She shrugged. “We have no relatives here and I couldn’t afford to hire someone. The bakery is doing all right, we got by, but Mythe is small. My business doesn’t bring in a lot of money.”
Josh nodded. “Your brother was very lucky to have you in his life. I’m beginning to learn how difficult it is to care for someone who is ill. I can’t imagine how you did it for all those years.”
All the sadness welled up in Isabelle. “It’s all that I know. I maybe shouldn’t tell you this, but since my brother died, I have been feeling lost. What am I supposed to do with my life now?” She looked down at her food, picked up her fork, and hid any further feelings in small bites of food from her plate.
Josh, too, remained silent as he took a few bites of his food.
Breaking the silence after a minute, Josh said, “Sounds like it’s time for you to think about and choose what ‘you’ want. Same as me. We both need to figure out our paths in life. Paulette has made me think a lot about having regrets. I don’t know about you, but I don’t want to lie on my deathbed and wish I’d made different choices.”
“I don’t, either,” She took another bite of her Wild Mushroom Fricassee, which was already turning cold, and decided Josh was right. She had to start thinking about her life, what she wanted, where she wanted to be, who she wanted to be. It was all so frightening though. How would she know what was right? She watched Josh shovel in another large mouthful of appetizer.
After swallowing, he continued. “Problem is, I’m not sure how to make the right choices. What if I blow it again? It’s getting harder to trust other people—and to trust my own judgment. Does that make any sense?”
“It does.” More than he could know. She wasn’t sure she could ever trust anyone. People did terrible things to each other. Just hearing poor Josh tell his story scared her. How could she think about letting anyone into her life? Did she even want to?
“Maybe we aren’t as different as you think,” Josh said. “Cultural differences, sure, but we’re both damaged goods, injured inside. Maybe we can help each other.”
She squirmed slightly, her fingers wrapping firmly around the st
em of her glass. She sipped the last drops of wine and set it back down. Without looking at Josh, she picked up her napkin and refolded it.
“I am making you uncomfortable, aren’t I?”
“A little bit. I’m sorry. I’m not used to dating.” The minute she said it she wanted to reclaim the words. This might not be a date. What will he think?
“It’s okay, Isabelle. This is not really a date. I’m not trying to pressure you into anything. Getting to know someone—really know—takes time. It’s not easy. I jumped into bed with Vanessa on our first or second date. I don’t remember. But it was a big mistake. If I’d gotten to know her first, really know who she was, I think everything would have been different.”
“You might not have proposed to her?”
“Probably wouldn’t even have kept dating her. Probably wouldn’t have gone to work for her father. Probably wouldn’t have lost my father.”
“And you wouldn’t be here in France.”
“Hmm. True. You’ve got a point there. He seemed to think a moment, then waxing philosophical said, “I suppose the bad things that happen to us sometimes help build our characters, maybe take us into situations that eventually help us make better choices, and allow us to do new things and meet others we might not otherwise have met.” He shoveled in the last of his appetizer and concluded with, “Okay, I guess I shouldn’t complain anymore. Meeting Paulette and you, I think, has been good for me.”
“What you say is true, I guess. I am happy to know you as well. You must realize by now, though, that I don’t have much life experience.”
Josh finished his wine. “Yep. I figured that out. It’s okay. Slow and careful, that’s what we both need.”
The waitress reappeared, setting their main courses in front of them.
“Bon appetit,” Isabelle said again, this time feeling more comfortable, and Josh smiled and repeated the phrase, while he refilled both of their wine glasses.
As they ate and talked, they kept the remainder of their conversation light. France, villages Josh should see if he got the chance, movies, shows, literature, and music.
By the time they finished their meal, Isabelle’s fears had all but vanished. Josh paid and then rushed over to help Isabelle to her feet. She swayed slightly, for a moment, apparently the effect of too many glasses of wine.
Josh wrapped her arm within his. “I guess we should check into a hotel and then we can stroll around the town some more and clear our heads. I don’t know about you, but I think I had a bit too much wine. Maybe go into the cathedral? What do you think?”
“That sounds lovely.”
Two blocks away, they found a hotel close by that looked okay and went inside. Josh said, “Please ask them for two rooms? I’m paying, remember.”
It occurred to her to ask, “How did you check into the hotel in Mythe without a translator?”
He looked surprised. “How did you know about that?”
“Everyone in town was talking about it the next day. They stand in line in my bakery, remember?”
“Geez, I should have known. I know a few words in French. Enough to ask if they spoke English, which they did, although Claudine didn’t want to tell me at first, until she figured out my French was way worse than her English.” He grinned. “I might understand a bit more French now than I did when I first arrived in France, but no amount of watching French television is going to help me with my horrible pronunciation.”
“Oui. My customers commented on that as well. We had a good laugh.”
“Oh, ha ha,” he chided, but then smiled.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
THE NEXT MORNING, shortly after eleven-thirty, Josh and Isabelle disembarked the train in Mythe and stood on the train platform for a second while Josh adjusted straps on his duffel and his cloth bags stuffed with goodies for Paulette he had procured while in Troyes. He didn’t have to get her anything, but the thought of her big smile when he presented her with the gifts was too much to pass up.
Josh took hold of Isabelle’s hand, earning him a different kind of smile—one that he figured meant she was beginning to see him as someone special in her life. He couldn’t help smiling back. He suspected it was his goofiest grin, but he didn’t care because he was in the best mood he’d been in since he’d arrived in Mythe. After he and Isabelle had checked into their rooms and dropped off their bags yesterday evening, they had met up and strolled through Troyes until all the businesses closed up. Isabelle had relaxed after the awkward beginning of their lunch/dinner ‘date’ and since then had talked his ear off, which he hadn’t minded one bit.
He’d worried that after the effects of the wine wore off, she’d become quiet again. But that hadn’t happened. They’d met in the hotel lobby in the morning, grabbed croissants and coffee for breakfast, and then walked to the train station, her talking and laughing with him the whole time. They were finally getting used to each other’s quirky sense of humor, too, so neither of them had embarrassed the other, for which he was grateful.
As they walked toward the bakery, a voice behind them said, “Josh! Josh! Wait up.”
WTF. That sounded like—no it couldn’t be—it sounded like Vanessa. Oh God. No! He cringed. The last damned thing he needed now.
He stopped in his tracks, pulling Isabelle to a stop, too. Taking a deep breath, he steeled himself, then swung around.
Vanessa was half running, half twisting her ankles in six-inch heels on the cobbled road, pulling a rattling suitcase on wheels behind her with one hand, purse dangling from her other arm, her hand waving.
“I’m glad I caught you,” she said. “My train arrived ten minutes ago and I was trying to figure out where to go. You got off a train, too?”
“Yeah.”
“I brought you your camera. You left it behind in the hotel. I know how much you love taking pictures. I told Daddy that I had to get it to you, or you would just die. You do want it, don’t you?”
She laid her suitcase down, opened it, and pulled out his camera bag, handing it to him, and flashed a quick glare at Isabelle.
He had half a mind to refuse anything from her. But it was his camera. His pride and joy. He snatched it from her hand a little more aggressively than he’d intended, especially with Isabelle standing beside him and watching.
“Thanks. I missed having my camera. How did you know where to find me? I didn’t tell anyone I was here, not even my mother.”
She waved her hands the annoying way she always did when she didn’t want to answer.
“That’s not an answer. How did you find me?”
“Oh, okay, I got your location from Daddy. That phone he gave you—it has a tracker on it. Didn’t I tell you?”
“Goddamn it, Vanessa. No, you didn’t tell me.”
She shrugged, in the way she always did when she wanted to brush something aside.
“I need to go to work. Again, thanks for the camera.” He turned to leave.
“Wait. I came such a long way. I was hoping we could talk and maybe get back together.”
He swung back around, seeing her give Isabelle another quick glance. “Really? After what you did?”
“You still love me don’t you?”
He looked away, toward the river, trying to compose himself. “I’m sorry, but we can’t be together anymore. We’re done.”
“Can’t we talk? Haven’t you missed me?”
“No to both.”
She stamped her feet, her nose flaring slightly. Her long red hair, glistening in the sun, and with the wind blowing, whipping it around her shoulders, looked like it was on fire. Her bright green eyes sparkled. The high heels accentuated her shapely legs, and she knew it, which was why she rarely wore any other kind of shoes.
Isabelle looked smaller and plainer by comparison, which surprised him, because he found her appealing. A different kind of appeal—natural, understated. As he studied both women, it dawned on him: a good heart trumped beauty.
He turned again and started walking.
He stopped, turning his head to look back. “You think mentioning my parents is going to make me accept you back in my life? How can you possibly think that? You can get on the next train back to Paris.”
“Mother is waiting for me in Paris. She expects me to bring you back. We’ve almost finished the wedding plans.”
Biting his anger back as best he could, he said, “It’s. Not. Going. To. Happen. Go back to Paris or to the U.S. I don’t care where.”
“You can’t mean that. I know you’re angry. It won’t happen again. You don’t have to punish me anymore. I get it.”
“Vanessa, I’m not punishing you. I have a job to do here. I’m staying. But we’re through.”
He turned his head back and started walking. He whispered to Isabelle, “I’m really sorry. Maybe you should go on. I don’t want her following you back to your home.”
“She’s beautiful,” she whispered. “Are you sure you’re not still in love with her?”
“Oh yes; I’m sure.”
“All right. I’ll talk to you later. Bonjour.”
Josh watched as she hurried along the street, until she turned the corner and was out of sight.
“Who is she? You’re already involved with someone else?” He turned his head again and her face suddenly looked vile to him.
“She’s a friend. Vanessa, you have to go home. I’m serious. I’m not marrying you. You can keep the ring if you want, but it doesn’t mean anything anymore.”
“Take me to where you’re living. We’ll spend some time together. I’m sure I can convince you that you don’t want to end what we have.”
She had moved close to him and was running her hand over his lower back. “Too many tense muscles, my love. Let me help you get rid of that.”
He jerked away from her. “No. I’m going to work. Catch the next train or check into a hotel. I don’t care.” Remembering the phrase that Veronique had said to Apollo and that Paulette had said to him when she was angry, he said, “Rentrez à la maison!”