Chapter 7

Paris, August, Saturday—Present Time

We made our way down Rue St. Honoré to the antique shop. Les Trésors Enchantés was a treasure trove of Edwardian powder boxes, tiny perfume vials, and china. Beautiful glass-covered tables displayed Art Deco and Art Nouveau jewelry in the center of the store, making me hold onto Pauline in excitement. A few small paintings immediately distracted my friend.

“Look at this—so beautiful!” I picked up a gold pocket watch with a cover depicting two fairies collecting tiny strawberries into baskets.

“You have a good eye.” An impeccably dressed woman came by with a tray holding a few more Art Nouveau pieces. “American?” she asked.

Pauline answered in a string of French that made no sense to me, so I continued to look around. I wasn’t sure what exactly I was looking for. I hoped that, if there was anything in the shop that belonged to the ring’s owner, I’d feel it somehow. I walked slowly from table to table and touched various items but nothing seemed right.

“This is Colette.” Pauline motioned for me to return. “Her family has owned this store since the ’30s. She wants to look at your ring.”

“Let me see,” Colette said. She took the ring behind the counter, where we watched her examine the stone through a magnifying glass. “Hmm, yes. It is Art Nouveau period. Made in Germany. Did you notice the inscription?”

“Yes, it’s a love poem,” I said. “An old German love song.”

“This kind of ring would likely be given for love. Moonstone was believed to be a sort of special symbol then, to—how do you say it—give you forever love?”

“Yes, we think this ring has a love story with it. But do you have any other things that belonged to the woman who owned this?” Pauline asked.

Colette returned the ring, and I handed her the receipt from Edinburgh. “All right,” she said. “It will take me some time to look through my records. Do you want to come back in a few hours perhaps?”

“This is impossible.” Pauline sighed as we left the store. “We would do better looking for your girl’s belongings at the Saint Ouen flea market. Well, now we have time to be Paris tourists. Where would you prefer to go: Le Louvre, Musée D’Orsay, La Tour Eiffel?”

“Notre Dame,” I said quietly.

Nicolas joined us ten minutes later, walking over from a bookstore he owned in the Left Bank. I learned he owned several of them as a hobby. It was immediately obvious why Pauline adored him. He was knowledgeable and witty, not to mention terribly handsome.

“We can walk through Pont de L’Archeveche,” he suggested.

“Oh, yes! You can see the famous love locks.” Pauline smiled.

We walked slowly, enjoying the Paris sunshine, sneaking into the narrow streets of the Latin Quarter. Nicolas and Pauline pointed out famous buildings to me and gave me a brief history of the city. When we finally came to the bridge, I recognized the view. The Point de L’Archeveche was one of those Parisian bridges you always saw on postcards, with Notre Dame in the background. But the metal mesh sides of the bridge were covered in thousands of locks, hanging on top of each other in a tangled mess. I looked closely. Each lock had names written on it. Some had hearts etched or drawn on them or the word “love.” Dates from the past several years were underneath the names.

“I heard these locks had been taken down,” I said.

“The city has tried to take them down several times. I’m afraid it’s doing some damage to the bridges. Too heavy for the delicate ironwork. But people return with more,” Nicolas said.

“I think it’s rather romantic. See how it says, You’re my forever.” Pauline pointed to one.

“So people who are in love come here, put on a lock, write down their names, and then throw away the key into the Seine?” I asked. “Do they hope their love will last if they clip a lock on here?”

“Exactement. I always wonder what they do when l’amour is over,” Pauline remarked. “Jump in the Seine and get the key?”

“I hope not,” I said. “I love it. Did this tradition start in Paris?”

“It did. Right on this bridge. We are the City of Love, after all,” Nicolas replied. “But it’s happening all over Europe now.”

Pauline looked at a few of the inscriptions. “Maybe you can feel the memories from these as well? I would think there are strong energy and emotions attached to them.”

I ran my hand along the locks, some shiny, some rusted now, some with ribbons or hearts attached to them. “Nope, nothing. It doesn’t work like that with the ring, either. It’s only when I go to sleep.”

“Maybe you can only do it with this ring and not with any other object?”

“Oh, yes, the magical ring,” said Nicolas.

“Ugh. You told him.” I glared at my friend.

“She told me because I happen to love unexplained phenomena,” Nicolas explained.

“So does it mean you can help me understand this?” I asked.

“No, not necessarily. But perhaps reason through it. Pauline said you’re experiencing memories of the previous owner of your ring, is that correct?”

“Yes. And sometimes I’m her and other times I’m watching her. Well, I’ve only had two dreams, so I don’t know what will happen next.”

“And you have no idea who this person is? No sense of what the connection is between you and her?”

“None at all. I walked into a random antique shop in Edinburgh and bought a random piece of jewelry.” I gripped the railing. “Wait a minute. It wasn’t quite so random, now that I think about it. It was late evening, and I was trying to get back to my hotel, but then I got totally lost and this little bird, the robin, showed me the way out and then disappeared right in front of an antique shop. Then I looked at the display and this ring…I just knew I had to have it.”

“Told you this was a great story!” Pauline said to Nicolas.

“This sounds like the beginning of a great script,” Nicolas said. “I can see the trailer in my mind. Wait. So, you just had this feeling that you had to buy the ring? Have you ever heard of synchronicity?”

“Synchronicity? You mean as in Fate? Things happening because Fate wants you to realize something?” I asked with curiosity.

“Synchronicity means meaningful coincidences. It was a term discussed at great length by Carl Jung, a psychologist. It’s like when you miss your friend because you lost their phone number, and then suddenly your friend calls you because they’ve been looking for you for a long time.”

“Or when you bump into a guy in a bookstore and later find out you grew up together?” Pauline gave him a quick kiss on the lips.

He pulled her closer to him. “Well, Jung and some of his followers think we should pay attention to this phenomenon, because maybe we’re all connected in some way, through some layers of consciousness. And all coincidences have a purpose, very likely.”

“If we’re all connected, wouldn’t life get terribly confusing as we’re constantly bombarded by synchronicities and trying to make sense of them?” I rubbed my forehead.

“True, but not all of them would have a meaningful impact on your life. The point is,” he continued, “there may be a reason we’re connected and why these coincidences happen. People who take time to notice synchronicity may find some interesting meaning to their lives.”

“How does this help me with my problem?”

“Maybe there’s a reason you decided to go to Scotland and then you found this ring?” Pauline chimed in.

“So you’re saying that it wasn’t just chance that I bought the ring. I was meant to find it?”

“It could even be that all the events in Edinburgh were connected and not random. You got lost so that you would see the robin, so that he would lead you to the shop, so that you would find the ring,” Nicolas said.

“And the ring needed the right person to read its memories. Voilà!” Pauline added.

“I suggest you pay some attention to other coincidences from now on and see if more things will start having meaning. The universe might lead you to an explanation as to what kind of connection there is between you and this mysterious woman.” Nicolas gave Pauline a kiss. “I’m afraid I have to get back to my work now, mon amour. Too many phone calls to return. See you later tonight?”

“We might have plans.”

“She’ll see you tonight,” I interrupted. “We won’t have plans.”

“It was great to meet you, Maya. Enjoy your trip to Paris.”

“He is fantastic,” I said to Pauline as we continued our walk toward Notre Dame.

“I think I might love him,” she admitted.

“Does he love you?”

“He told me he did.”

“Have you told him you loved him?”

“I will. Tonight. If that’s okay that I see him tonight? Can he come over after you and I are done with dinner?”

“Of course, silly!” I hugged her. “I’m so happy for you. Tell your man you love him.”

“What if I’m making a mistake? How long do you wait before you tell?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never been in love. You’re very lucky,” I said with a sigh.

“One day it will happen, you know it will. Well, here it is.”

I stood in front of Notre Dame Cathedral, with its two towers as majestic as Ella and I had ever imagined, and with three grand sets of doors open and inviting. This was all wrong. I shouldn’t be here with Pauline. I was supposed to be here with Ella. I’d been here with Ella a thousand times, in my mind. It felt wrong. Every single moment of this felt wrong.

There was a gentle touch on my shoulder. “Come, I want to show you something.”

Pauline led me inside, which was dark and musty, with sunlight streaking through the red-and-blue stained-glass windows. I inhaled the smell of incense and burning candles and touched the urn of holy water as we passed it.

“Here.” Pauline handed me a candle. “Anyone can light a candle in Notre Dame. Think of the patient you’re grieving. You do this in her memory.”

I watched her light a candle and firmly place it in its stand. I followed her with my candle, but it wasn’t for Hailey. It was for Ella, who would never get to see Paris.

Later, at the antique shop, Colette met us with a look of regret. “I am so sorry, but I have no news. I found no other jewelry or other pieces that came in at the same time. I simply have no record of anything else from that estate.”

My heart fell. “Do you have a record of the name of the person who brought you the ring? I don’t know if that’s something you can tell me or not…”

“Well, that’s the problem. We don’t have the name of the owner of the ring. All we have are the initials ‘C.T.’ We don’t know if it was a woman, a man, the real owner of the ring, or a servant of the owner. We have no way of finding out.”

“The initials ‘C.T.’! Well, that is some news.” Pauline was excited.

“ ‘C.T.’ I suppose that’s something. Are there any other shops I could go to for information?” I asked.

“Oh, dear. There are hundreds of antique shops in Paris. You could be looking for years. I could only wish you bon chance in your search.”

“Thank you,” I whispered, near tears. I walked out of the shop heartbroken. I turned to my friend. “There goes Nicolas’ idea about coincidences and meanings. There are no more threads to follow. What am I going to do now?”

“You’ll spend some time seeing Paris with me, and then you go home Friday, right? You have to go be a doctor again. You’re a very good doctor.” Pauline’s hand on mine was very gentle. “Children need you. Families need you. You can’t be running away from Fate.”

“Pauline, I’m on probation with my residency. They are going to kick me out. I’ll never be a doctor.”

“Those are stupid words. You will fix it when you get back home. You will do what needs to be done. I put my life together and so can you.”

“I’m not as strong as you.”

“You are stronger than me. I’ve seen you be stronger. You’re just sad right now. I know what could cheer you up! I remember how much you love your books. I’ll take you to one of Nicolas’ bookstores—they have great old books, many in English. You’re going to love it!”

Shopping for books sounded just as good as anything else at this point, so I let Pauline push me into a taxi.