Chapter 6

Paris, August, Saturday—Present Time

Pauline poured me a cup of coffee. “Do you feel as bad as you look?”

“Worse,” I moaned and sat next to her, sipping the lifesaving liquid.

Pauline’s two-bedroom apartment on Place du Marche Sainte Catherine must have been at least two hundred years old. Her decorating style gravitated to modern, but she had left the Art Deco chandelier in the living room, and the old mantelpiece held a few carefully arranged antiques. Utensils and kitchen ingredients in matching jars neatly lined the counters. Herbs in small pots were planted outside her kitchen window. Everything from the stainless-steel countertops to the antique range hood looked picture-perfect.

I envied Pauline. I’ve never had a sense of home as an adult. Dorms, shared apartments, and resident on-call rooms at the hospital were my life. It would be nice to have a home one day, where I could feel at peace. Would it ever be possible?

“I never saw you look so bad. What’s the matter?” Pauline asked.

I took another sip of coffee. “The ring gave me another dream. Except that I’m not exactly sure it was a dream. It felt more like a memory flashback, to be honest.”

“Oooh.” She poured another cup of coffee for herself and sat down next to me.

I continued. “This time, I was just sad, and I couldn’t stop crying. I kept thinking…and the thoughts…they weren’t mine. They belonged to someone else. I was crying about a friend. Her name was Sarah. I’ve never had a friend named Sarah…”

“Are you sure? It’s a frequent name.”

“I’m sure. Never heard of any Sarah.”

“A child you maybe saw as a doctor?”

“Nope. It wasn’t a patient. It was a friend. I was sad her husband was hitting her.”

“Mon Dieu!”

“And here is the thing that’s the most confusing. When I was dreaming last night about this Sarah, I believe I was the woman who owned the ring. But, last time, I think I was dreaming as the man who loved her. How does this make any sense?”

“So you’re dreaming as two different people?” Pauline asked, eyes wide.

“Yes, I’m having flashbacks to two different people’s lives.” My hands shook, and I set down the coffee cup.

“C’est merveilleuse!” She clapped her hands.

“Not very merveilleuse when you get no sleep and you get frightened by crying and seeing things at night, and you are already a person who gets nervous at night,” I grumbled.

“No, listen,” she said, turning her laptop toward me. “I searched today for why this could happen. Look what I found. There’s this science of parapsychology, and people that study it say that objects and people—they have, like, this energy around them. When we meet people or touch objects, we can take or give some of this energy. So when you buy something that belonged to a person a long time ago, possibly it has some of her energy, and now you feel it. You understand?”

I rubbed my forehead. “So this ring could be like a memory stick? It kept this woman’s experiences and feelings in it, and somehow I’m accessing that? But who is this other person?”

“Maybe their memories are linked together.”

“Because they were a couple?”

“Right. But it could be what the woman remembers, also.”

“Possible. I wonder if anyone can touch it and then access it? Here, you try it.” I twisted the ring off and handed it to her.

“Oh, no. Thank you. I have many of my own feelings and dreams to experience. You can keep it.” Pauline backed away.

“So if I get rid of this ring, I’m going to stop having these dreams, right?”

“The question is—do you want to?”

“I don’t know. What if her life is terribly sad? So far everything I’ve dreamt has been so sad, and I ended up sobbing last night. I’m not strong enough emotionally to take on someone’s heartbreak. Maybe that’s why her memories are trapped in there?”

“Because she had heartbreak? Possibly. But it could be also her memories were saved because her life was very happy. I’d think for someone’s energy to transfer to an object, they have to be a person with strong happy feelings,” Pauline said.

“I’ll just keep it on for a few days and then sell it at home if it still gives me dreams that keep me up at night crying. For now, I desperately want to find that shop where the ring originally came from.”

“All right. I’ll help you.” Pauline got up and gave me a quick hug. “But first you must borrow some clothes, chérie. You’re out of the jungle and this is Paris. And…” She touched my curls with some distress. “When was last time you styled your hair?”

“Styled my hair?”

“Never mind.” Pauline sighed.

She, herself, of course looked radiant, in full makeup despite the early morning, hair beautifully styled, skinny jeans, and a flowing blouse. Even dressed casually, she looked better than I could ever hope to look.

To my surprise, two hours later, I was looking in the mirror at a complete stranger. Pauline had managed to wrangle my hair into shiny cascading waves, and I looked rather fashionable in one of her dresses. She was pleased, and I had to say that wearing something clean was a welcome change. The rest of my clothes were in the process of being freshly laundered in Pauline’s washer and dryer to remove the smell of Guatemala, where I had last washed them in a public washbasin by hand with goo that was supposed to pass for soap.

“I promise we can go shopping for clothes later, but can we please go to the antique store now? I’ve been waiting all morning,” I pleaded. “I only have five days before I have to leave!”

“Yes, fine,” Pauline finally agreed, silencing her cell phone.

“You’ve been texting all morning. Boyfriend?” I teased.

She winked. “Maybe.”

“I was right? Tell me, or I’m not wearing the dress!”

She laughed. “Well, I have been having some nice evenings with someone. And maybe even nights.”

“Oh, this is such great news! I’m so happy for you!”

“He is a movie producer, so he travels. Not such an easy man to see. His family has a vineyard in Provence. We met when we were children, and then we met each other at a party here, in Paris, almost a month ago.”

“So you’ve liked him your whole life?”

“No, not at all. I hated him when I met him. He put a frog in my dollhouse!” She pretended to pout, but her lips were smiling.

“Well, he’s not going to do that now. Or at least we can hope he won’t.” I raised my brows. “Is he handsome?”

“Gorgeous.”

“Kind? Funny?”

“All those things. Fantastic lover. His name is Nicolas, by the way.” She grabbed her purse, and we left the apartment.

“Score, then. I’m so happy for you.” I gave her a quick peck on the cheek. “Are you falling in love with him?”

Pauline giggled.

“You are, aren’t you!”

“Nicolas wants to meet us later. He is in Paris now. Would you like to meet him?”

“Of course I want to meet him! After we go to the antique store.”

I rushed my friend through the square to get a taxi. Then I paused. A little bird with an orange chest and a white belly sat on one of the benches, looking at me. It sang as we approached.

“I know this bird.”

“What?”

“See that bird with the orange chest? I know this bird,” I said with certainty.

“Le rouge-gorge? You know the robin? It’s a bird. They are everywhere, especially in Paris.”

“Oh, that’s what it is? A robin? I got lost in Edinburgh a few days ago, and this bird helped me find my way. It was the day I bought the ring.” I walked slowly toward the bird. It continued to sit and look at me, with no fear.

“Come on, leave the bird alone.” Pauline shook her head. “I think you need some rest, chérie, but seeing le rouge-gorge is a good sign. It means you’ll have a new start, maybe a new chance.”

My imagination ran wild with all the information we were likely to find out about my ring. I felt a pang of sadness as the taxi drove past Notre Dame. Ella and I had drawn so many pictures of Notre Dame. It was going to be our first stop in Paris. And now I was off on some selfish quest. Before my career and my life were over. In six days.