by Tricia Goyer
Grandpa Jack had told her he planned on hitting the sack after dinner, and even though it meant waiting longer, Ava made sure he had everything he needed before she headed out.
Ava yawned and rubbed her eyes, wondering if she would be able to keep going despite losing half a day and sleeping poorly on the plane ride. But instead of being tired, she was excited and anxious. The idea of heading off across Europe with a map, Dennis, and their grandpas was as good as two venti lattes, at least.
Tana knew a great restaurant within walking distance, and Ava wondered what type of place would be open this time of night.
Just go with it, Ava. It’s Paris. Let your hair down, she thought as she played with the red beads on her bracelet and cautiously scanned the near-empty streets for any sign of danger.
A few cars passed, but no one seemed threatening. She walked by Tana’s side through what appeared to be a shopping and business district and passed a plain-looking bank with an ATM machine on the side of the building, just like at home. She was disappointed to see that so many things—like the ATM—were similar to Seattle. She found herself wishing that every street was filled with ornate architecture and quaint shops.
As they walked, Ava’s heels echoed off the pavement, and Tana rattled on about Pierre’s parents.
“Fabian and Magalie have an estate thirty minutes south of the city. Magalie is his third wife, and much younger. They built a house for Pierre’s sister when she married, and Magalie’s hinted about us looking at house plans. Not that I’m ready to marry anytime soon. That’s what I like about the French, though. Family matters. They dislike the idea of living too far apart, unlike Americans who scatter around the country like tiddlywinks. Oh,” she continued hurriedly, “you should see their swimming pool… .” Tana rattled on. Ava’s mind was on her grandfather, the trip, Jay, and Dennis, but she feigned interest.
As she glanced at her friend, Ava remembered that they used to have deep, insightful conversations, but she couldn’t remember what they used to talk about. Their lives had gone down two different paths, in opposite directions. Tana lived in the Paris art scene and lived a creative lifestyle with no regular schedule. Ava organized her day down to the minute. She needed to pull off a show every day, five days a week.
A soft breeze blew, ruffling Ava’s hair, and she brushed it out of her face, worried the same thing would happen with Dennis. After all these years, was it foolish to believe they’d still enjoy each other’s company? She pulled her arms tighter to her, considering what a long ride it would be with someone whom she no longer connected with. Maybe teaming up with Dennis hadn’t been the best idea. This had the potential for being the longest week of her life.
Just when Ava seriously doubted Tana knew where she was going, they turned onto a street with a few lighted restaurant windows. Tana led Ava into one, and she sucked in a breath as she entered. Stepping through the front door was like moving from a black-and-white movie into a 3-D, Technicolor adventure. Every table in the place was full, and there were people ahead of them waiting to be seated. Blue smoke trailed through the air, and Ava attempted to stifle her cough. Glancing around, it was evident she was far, far from Seattle.
As Tana jabbered with the host in French, Ava felt her senses being assaulted. Everyone spoke rapidly in words she couldn’t understand. Music played in the background. The scents of warm bread and garlic made her stomach growl again. Even the air felt thick, heavy, warm, strong.
Tana returned to Ava’s side just as Tana’s cell phone rang. She picked it up immediately. From the brightness in her friend’s eyes, Ava assumed it was Pierre yet again. Ava watched her and shook her head in amazement as her friend rattled on in French.
Ava glanced around and attempted to focus on different conversations, trying to pick out a few words. It was hopeless. She’d taken Spanish in high school and college, and that did little to help her here.
Finally, a waiter approached, and Tana continued to chat on the phone. The waiter spoke quickly, and Ava shook her head. “I’m sorry. I don’t understand.”
His eyes widened, and he smiled. “American, yes. Come with me.” He grabbed two menus and placed his hand on the small of her back, leading Ava to a tiny table. Very tiny. The table was nestled between two others of equal size, with only a foot or so between them.
One side of the table was a booth and the other had a solo chair. Since Tana followed, it was only polite for Ava to slide to the booth side. It was awkward, mostly because her rear felt like it was going to bump the food off the table next to her. Even though she was an average, healthy American size, compared to these French women, she felt like a bull in a china shop.
They sat and studied the menus. To the right of them, an older couple ate quietly. They were as neat and proper as the queen of England. On the other side, two young women shared a table. Ava couldn’t say they were dining together because one was puffing a cigarette while she talked on her phone and the other ate her salad in silence. Thankfully, Tana had gotten off the phone as soon as they sat.
Ava glanced at the menu and then looked to Tana for help.
Ava’s eyes darted to the older woman next to her, who had a plate full of what looked like raw meat. “I’ll try anything, except what she’s having.”
“That’s steak tartare.” Tana pursed her lips.
“You’ve eaten that?” Ava wrinkled her nose.
“Yes, I’ve eaten a lot of things.”
“It’s raw meat.”
Tana glanced up. “It’s just food.”
“I know, but seriously,” Ava whispered, leaning close, “there are so many other things on the menu. It makes my stomach churn just looking at it.”
Tana placed her menu on the table, shaking her head in disbelief. Then she glanced down at her manicured nails as if she was indicating to those around her that she too was bothered by the American.
With Tana’s help, Ava decided on mushroom ravioli for an appetizer, and a walnut salad and grilled fish for dinner. Crème brulée would finish the meal.
“So, how are you doing? I mean really doing?” Tana studied Ava’s face as they started in on their appetizer.
“As long as I don’t get my hopes up about someday finding love, getting married, and having kids, I’m fine. At least I still have my job.” Ava sighed. “I’m hoping this trip will help turn around the career slump I’ve had lately.”
Tana twirled a lock of hair around her finger and glanced at her watch. She looked at Ava briefly before turning her attention to the couple next to them, who were laughing and talking in French. Ava didn’t want to make their time together a total bomb and decided to change the subject.
“But I don’t want to talk about that. Have you noticed something strange about my grandpa?”
“What do you mean?”
“There’s something in his eyes.”
“Glaucoma?” Tana winked.
Ava almost choked on her ravioli. “No.” She swallowed, laughing. “I’m serious. It’s like he’s searching for something. Every chance he gets, he looks at the old maps. He did it at home and then on the plane.”
Tana put down her fork. Then she leaned forward and clasped her hands together. “What if he’s not searching for something, but someone?”
Ava cocked an eyebrow. “After all these years?”
“Maybe it’s your grandpa’s true love.”
Ava pointed her fork. “We’re talking about my grandfather here.”
“He was young once. I bet he met some girl during the war. Maybe a milk maiden on a farm. It was love at first sight and they spent every moment together before he moved on. He’s never forgotten her, but he can’t say anything. After all, he doesn’t want to make you think he didn’t love your grandmother.” She took a small bite of her salad, eyes wide.
“All those romance novels have gone to your head.”
“Well, just because I’m romantic doesn’t mean it’s not true.” Tana jutted out her chin. “Find ways to work q
uestions into your conversation, or when he’s in the shower, check out his suitcase. Maybe he has a photo of her tucked behind his socks.”
Ava smiled and again shook her head. The waiter came and took their plates and then laid out clean silverware.
Someone. It wasn’t possible—was it?
Their entrees came, and Ava switched the conversation again, focusing it on Tana. They talked about Tana’s job as an English-speaking tour guide around the city. She joked about the American tourists, their cameras, and their need to record every moment of their trip on video. Ava thought about her own video journal that would start the next day.
“Everyone loves the Louvre, but they miss so much when it’s the only place they visit. There’s also the Musée d’Orsay, which is in an old train station. And the Musée Jacquemart-André has amazing displays of art from the Italian Renaissance. Édouard André was a banker, and he and his wife were art collectors. Can you imagine one couple’s collection being enough for a museum?” Tana took a sip from her water. “Of course, the way Pierre’s parents are buying up art, that could be them soon.”
Ava rubbed her forehead, feeling a headache coming on. She pulled her European cell phone out of her pocket to check the time and tried to think of a good excuse to head back.
“It’s getting late.” Ava leaned back from the table. “And I haven’t gotten much sleep.”
“In Paris, the night is still young. But I understand.”
The walk back to the hotel was quiet, and in the hotel lobby they said their good-byes.
“Remember, if you have any problems I’m only a phone call away,” Tana offered.
“Thank you. I’ll let you know how it goes, but I think we’re going to be okay.” Ava tried to sound upbeat, as if convincing herself of the words. They gave each other a hug. It was quick, without tears. It was the same polite good-bye Ava had given to the nice older lady she met on the plane.
“It went by too fast,” she said, hoping her words sounded sincere. “Let me know if you ever make it back to the States.”
“Of course.”
“E-mail works too.”
“Okay, bye then. See you on e-mail.” Tana waved as she strode away, a foreign version of Ava’s old friend, in every sense of the word.
Ava breathed a sigh of relief as her friend walked out the door. Then a lump swelled in her throat as she realized she missed how things used to be. Again she questioned if it would be a good thing that she’d be spending so much time with Dennis. Maybe she’d just be disappointed to see how he had changed too.
Ava’s grandfather was sound asleep as she entered, his snores shaking his side of the room. Before she turned in for the night, Ava checked her camera, battery, and mic to make sure everything was working properly and charged. Then she made a list of some raw footage she hoped to get over the next few days—battlefields, gravestones, distant and close-up shots of her grandfather. She also made a list of basic interview questions: What is one incident you’ll never forget? Who were your friends? Did you lose any of them? What was it like fighting in one of the most famous battles in history?
Ava also labeled her video cards with a fine-tipped permanent marker—Europe 1, Europe 2, Europe 3—which would help when she needed to grab one fast. It was always easier to grab the next number than to sift through all the video cards to see which ones she’d used and which ones she hadn’t.
Finally, she turned her notebook to the back page where she’d kept her log. One of her media teachers had told her to log each shot to make things easier to find.
Ava realized she was smiling as she prepped everything, and she was reminded of why she’d gotten into this business in the first place. She liked systems. She liked creating order. She liked taking a jumble of words and photos and preparing a package that told a story.
She also liked the idea of her stories being appreciated by others. Sometimes when she watched Clark and Laurie on set, she thought about the young mom watching as she fed her baby rice cereal, or the worried woman in the hospital as she waited for her husband to get out of surgery, or the retired man eating his sandwich on a TV tray and chuckling at Clark’s jokes and spouting his opinion back to the television set.
Maybe sharing her grandfather’s story would make a difference to these people. It would remind viewers to spend time with their elders. To listen to their stories and learn from them.
Ava took a deep breath and then released it slowly, knowing that whatever came would make a good tale. Even if they got lost and ended up down a dirt road in the middle of nowhere with a cow and a kid on a bicycle who didn’t speak English, she would experience it with her grandfather and get a glimpse through his eyes of what he’d been carrying in his heart for all these years.
Chapter Nine
The following morning, Ava looked up expectantly as the elevator bell in the lobby dinged and the doors opened, but the man who stepped out wasn’t Dennis. She tried to hide her disappointment as she chatted with Grandpa Jack, who was finishing his breakfast in the lobby—croissants and jam.
Concern about how unsteady Grand-Paul had been the night before and anxiety about spending the day with Dennis weighed heavily. Her breathing felt labored—like she was trying to breathe through a straw. She fretted. Would it be a good day? Would she and Dennis have things to talk about? Would they still enjoy each other’s company?
It was strange, she realized, how you could be so close to someone—feel so strongly about them—and then have them disappear from your life completely. Looking back, she could see how young and independent she’d been. If she could transport her thirty-three-yearold self back to talk to who she’d been then, she’d tell herself a thing or two. Mostly that being on your own and facing the world with shoulders squared and chin cocked wasn’t all it was cracked up to be.
Ava gazed out the window, taking in the Paris view. Across the street from the hotel was what looked to be a park. If she had more time, she would have headed to the park to find a good bench to do some people watching. She could imagine old ladies feeding pigeons and mothers pushing their babies in prams.
On the street next to the hotel, there was a shopkeeper setting up an outdoor display of trinkets—miniature Eiffel towers, colorful scarves, postcards. She remembered what Todd had said about not buying too many souvenirs but decided she should buy something to take home. She would pay for it herself.
“Grandpa, I’m going to run outside real quick to get a souvenir. Do you want anything?”
“No, there’s enough stuff around my place that your mom’s going to have to sort through one of these days. Better not.”
Ava wanted to argue, but she decided to just pick out something nice and give it to him later.
“Okay, I’ll be back in five minutes.” She checked her purse to find her wallet and then hurried outside.
She’d just finished paying for a few postcards and a watercolor print of the Seine that would look nice in her grandfather’s dining room when someone approached from behind and grabbed her elbow. Ava froze and sucked in a breath. She clutched her purse tighter and took two quick steps away, turning to eye her perpetrator. Her heartbeat stilled and then began pounding again when she saw that it was Dennis.
“What are you doing? Are you crazy?” Ava spouted. “Are you trying to give me a heart attack? I should have figured it was you—Dennis the Menace.”
“Sorry, Ava-tude. I didn’t mean to scare you. I just wanted to let you know we were back.”
“Back?”
“Yeah, Grand-Paul wasn’t happy with breakfast. He said he needed protein, so we headed to an American café a few blocks away and had ham and eggs.”
Ava nodded, trying not to be upset that they had not been invited. She now understood that just because they were going to travel together didn’t mean they’d be doing everything together.
“I don’t know about you, but I’m ready to load up. How about I run and get the car and you get the guys to the sidewalk.”
/> “Sure.”
Twenty minutes later, Ava sat in the front next to Dennis. He’d scowled when he saw her luggage, so she’d pushed him aside to load it herself. She didn’t understand why Dennis was making a big deal about it. It was as if he was trying to stir up trouble.
Their grandfathers sat in the backseat, with Grand-Paul behind Ava. Before he started the engine, Dennis bowed his head.
“Dear God, You guided the Israelites across the desert. If You could get us to Bastogne today, it would be greatly appreciated. So glad You know the path and the journey, Lord. Amen.” Dennis finished praying, and then he glanced over at Ava. “My mom always prayed the Israelite prayer whenever we headed out on a long trip. It never fit as well as it did today. Strange people in a new land.”
“And, Lord, in fewer than forty years would be great,” Grandpa Jack quipped.
“Amen,” Grand-Paul chimed in.
Dennis smiled, giving Ava hope for the trip ahead. She liked it better when he smiled.
Dennis started the engine, glancing into the rearview mirror at Grandpa Jack. “Is my navigator ready?”
Her grandfather unfolded a roadmap on his lap. She’d heard long ago that her grandfather had been put into the recon unit because of his sense of direction. Maybe it was Paul who’d said it. She only hoped Paul wasn’t being sarcastic.
“Go out of the parking garage and make a right and then your first left,” Grandpa Jack ordered. She glanced into the backseat, noticing her grandfather’s eyes were bright.
Dennis left the parking garage and did as he was told. As they merged into traffic, Ava let out a sigh, relinquishing all the things she’d hoped to see in Paris: Notre Dame Cathedral, the Catacombs, the Louvre, especially the top of the Eiffel Tower. There were still plenty of years for her to return. Grandpa Jack and Grand-Paul, she knew, didn’t have that luxury.
From the corner of her eye, she saw Grandpa Jack marking out the route with his finger. “If we follow this road, it will take us by the Arc de Triomphe, and then we can get a better view of the Eiffel Tower on our way out of town.”