Chasing Paris

by Jen Carter

  Amy closed her eyes and nodded, “You’re right.”

  “Don’t get me wrong—I’m glad Lizzie married John because if she hadn’t had kids, you wouldn’t be distracting me from looking for a job right now. And I hate looking for a job.”

  She sipped her coffee and then smiled. “You’re welcome?”

  Will chuckled, his voice trailing off as he thought about what he wanted to say next. He didn’t want to hurt her feelings, yet he didn’t want to miss the moment to speak his mind.

  “Hey Amy, don’t let this happen to you. Don’t find out what happens to shadows of dreams in your own life. When Professor Hollings told me about you, the last thing I expected to find was a girl working in Silicon Valley’s private sector with a boyfriend who wouldn’t indulge her curiosity. I expected a girl who was writing for a magazine in San Francisco or something.” He paused. “I thought you’d be jumping into your dreams head first.”

  Amy looked toward the rows of artists down the way and thought about the pictures of Lizzie she saw at Eva’s house. “I know. My job isn’t right for me. I guess after I got back from New York, I was so defeated that I just took whatever came my way first. And I don’t want to keep going that direction.” She looked around the café at the patrons at different tables, all in deep conversation. “I’m going to go back to school. It’s too late to apply for the fall term, but I’ll do some research and figure out when and where I want to go.”

  “UCLA, maybe?”

  Amy smiled. “Maybe.” She sipped her coffee again. “And as for the boyfriend who wouldn’t indulge my curiosity, I broke up with him. Right before you took me to the airport. I didn’t tell you on the way because I couldn’t bring myself to talk about it. I knew it was the right thing to do, but it was still sort of confusing. This whole search for Lizzie—you and Billy and everything in between—I didn’t know if I was doing it because of that or because deep down I hadn’t really been happy in a long time. Everything converged, and I just couldn’t bring myself to talk about it.”

  “That’s okay—you didn’t have to tell me. Are you happy with your decision now?

  “Yes.”

  “He didn’t seem right for you.”

  “I know.”

  “So what are you going to do now? Are you coming back home soon? Are you going to hang around Paris for awhile?”

  “I want to stay for a bit. I left a message on the voicemail at work letting them know that I had to take some time off unexpectedly. I figure I have a week or so. I’ve never been here before, and I don’t want to turn around and go home so quickly.”

  “Good. Make the most of the opportunity.”

  “Right. Who knows when it will come around again?”

  “Can you keep me updated about what you’re doing over there? Send me emails and let me know when you plan on coming home, okay? I can come and pick you up from the airport.”

  Amy smiled into the phone. She didn’t expect that she’d ever want to leave Paris, yet knowing that Will would be waiting at the baggage claim for her made the return trip seem worth it.

  They hung up, and as soon as Amy set her phone down on the table, she picked it up again to call her mom. The knot that had formed in her stomach while talking to Will about Lizzie returned.

  When Debbie picked up, Amy he said, “Hey, Mom, I’m here. I made it safe and sound.”

  “Hi, honey. Is it as beautiful as all the pictures look?”

  Amy relaxed. Her mother’s voice was normal—not at all angry. She had worried that her mother might have spent the last day thinking about the trip to Paris and working herself into a fit over it.

  “It is beautiful. I don’t think pictures do it justice.”

  “That’s what I’ve heard.”

  Neither spoke for a moment, and Amy wasn’t sure where to start.

  “Mom, I know I’ve upset you, and I’m sorry. I’ve just been so bored with—”

  “I know.”

  “And I’ve just wanted to understand why—”

  “I know.”

  “And finally I had a chance to go do—”

  “Honey, I know.”

  Amy stopped. She didn’t have to explain herself. In a softer tone, she switched gears and said, “Mom, I found out what happened with Lizzie. After she left you and your family, she wasn’t with Billy. He sent her to Paris where she became an actress.”

  Debbie didn’t answer right away. When her response finally came, her voice had dropped an octave.

  “Really.”

  “It doesn’t change the fact that she was gone, but she was here in Paris. Not New York. And Billy might be an awful person who helped her get to Paris—and essentially abandon you and your sisters—but I don’t think she chose him over you. She chose her dreams. Her ambition. She chose herself.”

  Again Debbie took a moment to let the information sink in. “That’s interesting.”

  “And since Eva couldn’t find her in New York after the fire, Lizzie really didn’t know what happened until years later. She didn’t knowingly stay away. When she did find out about it, she came back immediately. That doesn’t justify the fact that she left at all, but at least she didn’t stay away knowing what had happened.”

  Amy envisioned her mother on the other end, eyes closed, head shaking, trying to internalize the conversation and move on.

  “Nana thinks you needed to do this,” Debbie said, “to settle something inside you. She and April think this was more about you than it ever was about Lizzie. Are they right?”

  Amy considered her mom’s words. “Two days ago I would have said no. But now, I don’t know.” She ran her finger along the rim of her coffee cup. She thought about the aching pain she felt when reading Eva’s description of the fire and about sitting with Will on the park bench in the middle of the night, retelling Baucis and Philemon. She thought about Billy handing her a check and about listening to Marie’s story. “Actually, yes. I think they are right.”

  “And did it help settle something inside you?”

  “I’m getting there, I think.”

  “Then I’m glad. Lizzie never put her daughters first, and I promised myself I would never make that mistake. So if this was good for you, it’s good for me.”

  “Thank you, Mom.” Amy wished she could find better words. Nothing seemed good enough to describe how grateful she felt.

  “So now that you’re out there in Paris, what are you going to do? Are you going to travel around? Come home soon?”

  “I’d like to travel around some. I’ve never been here, and I don’t know when I’ll have another chance like this. I guess it depends on how much time I can take off work.”

  “Just keep us in the loop.”

  “I will.”

  “Be safe. And don’t talk to any artists named Billy.”

  Amy smiled. “Not in a million years. I’m steering clear of all the artists.”

  ***

  Just as Amy was placing a call to her mom, Will was placing his own call. Like the time before, when Kim picked up she didn’t say hello.

  “The last time you called me it was late at night,” she said. “Now you’re calling me first thing in the morning. I’m guessing you have more good news.”

  Will laughed. “You’re the only one who would appreciate this story, and I had to tell someone. I couldn’t wait any longer.”

  “Well, do tell.”

  He continued where he left off the last time they chatted. And he told her everything. Three trips to Monterey. One trip to Paris. John and Lizzie. Amy and Miles. The fire. Private investigators. Dreams and shadows.

  “I have an idea,” Kim said once he finished. Her voice was light and quick as though she had been thinking about this idea throughout Will’s narrative. “Hear me out before you say no. Promise?”

  “Your ideas have worked out for me pretty well so far. What are you thinking?”

  “You’re going to have to make one more trip out to Monterey.”

  FORTY />
  M

  arie said that Amy could stay as long as she liked, and somehow, Amy believed her. She knew why Lizzie had spent so much time with Marie and Jean. Their kindness drew Amy in, surrounding her with warmth. It reminded her of spending the night at Nana’s house as a child, it reminded her of April’s cooking, it reminded her of Will’s constant encouragement, and it reminder her of her parents’ unconditional love.

  So the next morning, when she awoke to birds chirping outside her window and the sun shining down on her face, she jumped out of bed and prepared for the day. She waved to Marie on the way out and made her way to a small souvenir shop she had spotted earlier. There, she bought a notebook and a pen. And with her supplies in hand, she went back to the outdoor café where she had placed calls to Will and Debbie the day before.

  She ordered a cappuccino and pulled an envelope from her messenger bag. From it she took Eva’s Words in its entirety. She skimmed the first few pages—the ones that recounted Lizzie’s first encounters with Billy. Then she looked up. People were sprinkled throughout the tables of the café, some sitting, deep in conversation, others gazing silently at the artists across the way at their easels. Amy followed those gazes and again imagined Billy sitting there, more than fifty years earlier, this time standing next to Jean as they both painted whatever moved them. The café played American music softly in the background. Tourists chatted as they passed by, café patrons laughed and clanked forks against plates, and waiters bustled around taking orders. She opened her notebook.

  As she touched her pen to the paper, it seemed to move without command, and as page after page filled, Amy felt the shape of the day changing. The sun moved overhead, warming the table on which her notebook sat and brightening the pages to a blinding white. She finished her cappuccino and ordered another, this time with a sandwich. The sun continued to move, and the throng of tourists thickened. The cacophony of their voices and their actions spurred Amy on. The energy they brought moved directly through her senses to her hand as it tore across the pages.

  Page after page, page after page. The sun began its descent, and Amy ordered another cappuccino. Page after page, page after page.

  When the day’s light had faded to shades of pink and orange, Amy closed her notebook. She thanked the waiters for allowing her to sit there all day, and she headed to Marie’s apartment.

  The following day, she found her way to the same café and did the same. Again, her pen moved without command. Page after page, page after page.

  Late in the afternoon, a thud on the table caught her attention, and she looked up toward the noise. Her book of Renaissance poetry had landed with a bounce next to her notebook.

  “You’ve got to stop leaving this book behind,” Will said. He stood on the other side of the table, grinning.

  Before he could say anything else, Amy jumped to her feet and threw her arms around his neck.

  “Will!” She pulled away slightly to look at him. “What are you doing here?”

  Will unwrapped her arms from his neck and held her hands down at their sides. The sun had darkened her skin and lightened her eyes, and the warmth of her smile spurred him on.

  “I came to give you that book. I didn’t see how you could be all the way over in Europe without it.”

  She laughed. “How did you find me?”

  He squeezed her hands. “Where else would you be? Coffee shops are kind of your thing, so I figured I’d just keep walking along this row of cafés until I spotted you. And I figured if I couldn’t find you, I always could just call your cell phone.”

  She laughed again. “I can’t believe you’re here. How—why—?”

  He smiled. “I was at home, thinking about why I brought you that Renaissance book in the first place—and I just realized…” his voice trailed off.

  She cocked her head to one side as if to ask, You realized what?

  “Remember ‘Ode on a Grecian Urn?’ That poem by John Keats we had to read in English 10B?” He looked toward the rows of artists before turning back to her. “I’m not the kind of guy who wants to wait in anticipation. I want to get what I’m reaching for.”

  He pushed a curl behind her ear and twirled its end around his finger. Then he took her hands and placed them back around his neck so that he would be close enough to kiss her.

  Without realizing it, Amy found herself rising to the tips of her toes to meet him halfway.

  “So,” he said slowly, moments after their lips met, “I knew that if I wanted to reach for you, I better get to Paris. And as it so happened, Billy Strath agreed with me.”

  “It’s a perfect ending to my story.”

  Will was just about to ask what story she was talking about when he noticed the notebook next to the Renaissance poetry book. “Hey, what’s this?” he asked, picking it up. “Is this your story?” He opened the book to the first page.

  Eva stood at the end of a long, sloping driveway lined by linden and oak trees.

  He closed the notebook and picked up the pen on the table. Across the front, he wrote Amy’s Words.

  She smiled at him.

  He picked up her messenger bag and put the notebook, pen, and Renaissance poetry book in it. “Come on, let’s go,” he said while holding his hand out to her. She took it and followed him out of the café.

  “Where do you want to go? Do you want me to show you around?” Amy asked. “There’s this big church at the top of a staircase not far from here called the Sacre Couer or something like that. It’s sort of a must-see when you’re in Montmartre. Or we could go see the Latin Quarter. It wouldn’t take too long to get there.”

  They stepped onto the sidewalk outside the café, and Will stopped walking. He turned to Amy and squeezed her hand. “Let’s go to Italy. I think Lizzie and Eva and Billy already wore all the stories out of this place. Let’s do something entirely new together—something entirely different. I heard pirates liked to ransack the coast in the north. Let’s get on a train and check that out.”

  Amy’s eyes grew. “Italy,” she breathed. “I’ve always wanted to go there.”

  “Let’s go. There’s absolutely nothing stopping us.”

  Amy listened to his words echo across her mind. There’s absolutely nothing stopping us. Absolutely nothing.

  He was right. No work, no family secrets, no shadows of lost dreams.

  She smiled. With a deep breath, she answered, “Yes, let’s do that.”

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  Also by Jen Carter:

  The Otto Viti Mysteries

  Honeymoon in Italy (Before the Otto Viti Mysteries: A non-mystery prequel novella)

  Only 99¢!

  http://a.co/2yWzMGC

  Must be Murder (Book 1)

  http://a.co/b7WkI3Z

  Fired and Inflamed (Book 2)

  http://a.co/bbD7oe9

  Starved for Attention (Book 3) Coming Late 2017!

  Remembering Summer

  http://amzn.com/B00EFYI626

  Read on for an excerpt from Jen Carter’s second novel!

  The Sarafina Series

  for Young Readers Ready for Chapter Books

  I am a mom. Find out why I wrote the Sarafina Series here: www.sarafinabooks.com

  Sarafina Series Volume 1: Books 1-4 https://amzn.com/B01FYMS3KM

  Sarafina Series Volume 2: Books 5-8 https://amzn.com/B01FYMS3R0

  Individual Books:

  Sarafina and the Mixed up Rainbow (#1) https://amzn.com/B00QZHHJ0Q

  Sarafina and the Muddy Mess (#2) https://amzn.com/B01BFURKSS

  Sarafina and the Bouncy Island (#3) https://amzn.com/B01BJUN9IY

  Sarafina and the Bubbly Volcano (#4) https://amzn.com/B01C68BC8M

  Sarafina and the Protected Pyramid (#5) https://amzn.com/B01E1PHHM8

  Sarafina and the Bamboozled Countryside (#6) https://amzn.com/B01E1PZKV8

  Sarafina and the Raging Rainforest (#7) https://amzn.com/B01FBE5UYK />
  Sarafina and the Broken Rules (#8) https://amzn.com/B01FBE6HC4

  ***

  Hunter closed the back door and stared at the garden stretching across the hilltop. Once boasting thick rainbows of vegetables and herbs, it was now muddled in the browns and grays of brittle leaves and broken stems. A moment passed as the realization settled over him.

  It was time.

  He pulled his cell phone from his pocket and punched in a phone number he hadn’t used in two years—the only number he had ever bothered to memorize.

  “Hey,” he said when she picked up. “Sara’s sick. You should come home.”

  ONE

  PRESENT DAY

  L

  ivy gripped her steering wheel. Sea air filled her car, and while it normally calmed her, today it did little to relax the knots in her stomach. She stared at the beach—the waves crashing against the shoreline, the seagulls hunting for dinner, and the sun sinking toward the horizon.

  I could just turn around, she thought. I could just go back to Los Angeles and pretend I never came up here at all. No one would know.

  Another knot formed in her stomach, and she squeezed the steering wheel tighter.

  She had gotten off the freeway sooner than originally intended. Her exit wasn’t even for another two miles. But when the signs pointing home began appearing on the side of the road, her stomach began to flutter. As she continued driving along the California coastline, those flutters turned into jabs. And right before the freeway began veering east toward Stratford, those jabs had twisted into knots. She had to stop. She didn’t know what those stomach knots could turn into, and she didn’t want to find out.