Maggie followed the directions from the GPS in her rented car on her way into the city from the airport. It seemed like an easy city to navigate. She got to the elegant Fairmont hotel on the top of Nob Hill half an hour after she left the airport. The hotel was huge, with several restaurants, many shops, gigantic chandeliers, and a grand lobby. It was a throwback to another era and Maggie loved it. Across the street was the famous Pacific-Union Club, which had been one of the most magnificent old family homes in San Francisco. Across Huntington Park was the splendor of Grace Cathedral. And all around them in the distance was the San Francisco Bay, dotted with sailboats.
Maggie had reserved a junior suite with a sitting area, and beyond her windows she could see both the Golden Gate Bridge and the new Bay Bridge, with Alcatraz in the vista between them. She stood and stared at it all for a moment, after the porter set her bags down. She stayed in the room just long enough to put on jeans and running shoes, freshen up, have a cup of tea, and then set out on foot to discover the city. So far, it was everything she had thought it would be: picturesque, architecturally lovely, and geographically beautiful. It had a charming feel to it and was a small city.
She walked down Nob Hill to Chinatown, wandered past all the colorful shops, and then turned south toward Union Square, where all the big fancy stores were. Then, for the fun of it, she took a cable car up the hill, back to the hotel. She called Helen from the cable car.
“Okay, I’m here,” she said, and Helen could hear the clanking of the bell and the traffic around them. “I’m doing it.” Maggie loved it, and she didn’t even mind exploring alone so far.
“I’m proud of you,” Helen told her before they hung up. Maggie got her car out and drove around the city after that. To Coit Tower on the top of Telegraph Hill, North Beach, the old Italian section, Ghirardelli Square, and Fisherman’s Wharf, where all the tourist shops were. Then she drove to Pacific Heights to admire all the elegant houses in the best residential part of town, on the strip of Upper Broadway called “The Gold Coast.” She parked her car in the Marina after that, and walked through the Presidio, the old military base, as far as the Golden Gate Bridge, which looked majestic glinting in the sunlight. It was a beautiful warm day, so she went back to get her car and then drove across the bridge, and up on top of the Marin Headlands for a spectacular view of the city. She texted Helen pictures of it and the Golden Gate, and once in Marin, she drove along a winding road to a beach she had read about, which was a three-mile expanse of white sand with hardly any people on it. Just a few dogs and their owners, walking at the edge of the surf. Maggie sat down on the sand to admire the view. She put sand dollars and shells she had picked up in a small pouch in her purse. As she sat there, she thought of Brad and how he would have loved it. But she loved it too, and she realized that she didn’t feel lonely sitting there. It empowered her and made her come alive. For once, she didn’t feel guilty about it, just grateful to be there. It was the first time she had felt that way since Brad died. A big dog came bounding up to her at one point, a friendly chocolate Lab. He sat next to her, as though to keep her company, and then he loped off.
She stayed on the beach until almost sunset, then drove back along the winding road she had arrived on. She got to the hotel at seven o’clock. She had thought about going out to dinner, but she had done so much that day, and walked so far, that she decided to stay in and order room service instead. When she took her jeans off, she smiled. She had brought a little mountain of sand home in her running shoes. She carefully put the shells she’d collected in a pocket of her suitcase. They were the first souvenir of her trip.
She had a hamburger and watched one of her favorite movies on TV and went to bed early. She spent the next day exploring the Napa Valley. The vineyards looked like photographs she’d seen of Italy and France. There were beautiful wineries, and lovely homes, and some Victorian houses near the vineyards. There were lots of people on bicycles, but fewer tourists at that time of year, and the weather was warm, noticeably hotter than in the city. It was every bit as pretty as she had hoped it would be. When she went back to the city that night, she stopped at a Japanese restaurant she’d read about and had sushi. She felt as though she was having the full San Francisco experience, and wished that Aden was with her. She called him at school and told him all about it.
“You sound great, Mom,” he said to her, and she felt great, totally alive. “What’s next?”
“I’m driving down to Carmel and Big Sur tomorrow.” She wanted to see the sea lions, the famous aquarium in Monterey, and the rugged coastline of Big Sur. She was staying at a place called the Post Ranch for a night, and then returning to San Francisco to see whatever she had missed.
Aden was already busy practicing with the hockey team and said he loved it. They both sounded happy when they hung up, each of them enjoying new adventures.
After she called him, a couple leaned over from the next table, smiling at her.
“A freshman son?” the woman asked her, and Maggie nodded. “It nearly killed me when our son left. He’s a junior now, and we take trips we never took before. We love it.” They said they were from Dallas and they chatted for half an hour before Maggie paid and left to go back to the hotel. It made her feel less solitary just talking to them.
By the end of the week, Maggie had seen everything she wanted to see. She had chatted with people in several places, from all over the United States. She felt brave and independent after her first stop. The timing was perfect. She had been there for five days. On the sixth, she caught her flight to Rome in the afternoon, for the next leg of the trip.
On the plane, she sat next to an Italian professor, who told her fascinating stories about the city she was about to discover for the first time. It distracted her from any nervousness she had about the flight. He was somewhere in his seventies and very charming. He said he had a daughter about her age, but she had the distinct impression that he was flirting with her, which seemed flattering and funny and very Italian.
She slept for half of the trip, after a delicious meal in business class, and arrived refreshed in Rome. The professor wished her a good trip. He said his wife was picking him up. He had failed to mention her before.
The hotel had sent a car and driver to pick her up, and the driver explained all the historical sights to her as they drove into the city. She couldn’t wait to get started. It was four in the morning in Lake Forest, or she would have called Helen to tell her about it. She texted her instead, along with a photograph of the Colosseum and the entrance to the hotel. There were liveried porters and doormen. One of the managers from the front desk showed her to her small elegant room, with a balcony and a view of Rome that was breathtaking. She stood staring at it for a minute after he left, and felt as though she had been born again. It was one of the most exciting moments of her life. She was seeing history and modern-day beauty combined, with St. Peter’s and the Vatican in the distance, the Spanish Steps beneath her, and young people sitting around the fountain below, some of them kissing. She wanted to toss a coin in the fountain later for good luck, and was told she had to throw a coin in the Fontana di Trevi while she was there, to assure that she’d come back to Rome.
Her driver was waiting for her when she emerged from the hotel an hour later wearing a wide black cotton peasant skirt with sandals, with her dark hair loose on her shoulders.
“You look Italian,” the driver, Luigi, said, smiling at her.
“Irish,” she corrected him. She got into the Mercedes the hotel had provided, and he drove her to famous churches she had read about and seen in photographs, and tiny churches tucked into little squares and backstreets. They stopped so she could eat a gelato. She wanted to drink Rome in and see everything. Being there was magical. She would have loved to share it with someone, but she wasn’t lonely, and for now texting Helen was enough. Everywhere she went, people were friendly and chatted with her, or said hello. She talked to a Canadian couple, a very lively older Swedish woman, and a very attractive Italian man tried to pick her up at a café. She didn’t let him pursue it, but she liked knowing that she could have. The men in Rome looked at her in a way that no man had in years. It made her feel young again, and attractive, and put a spring in her step when she noticed it.
She walked for hours every day and used the car when she needed it. The driver took her to small, out-of-the-way trattorias and restaurants with outdoor seating, where she ate delicious meals and enjoyed watching the people at nearby tables. There was so much to see and do, she didn’t even mind being alone. At night, which was afternoon in Chicago, she called Helen and told her all about it.
“I think Rome is my favorite city in the world,” Maggie told her breathlessly. “If I were younger, I would want to live here.” But it was too late for that. She had a life and a son, except that her life as she knew it had ended nine months before, and her son was going to be living in Boston for four years. Still, she couldn’t imagine just moving to Europe. But visiting was even more exciting than she had hoped.
“You haven’t even seen Paris yet. You’ll never want to come back after that, although Italian men are much bolder.” Maggie couldn’t imagine a city she’d love more than Rome. The music, the street life, the food, the people, even the other tourists she met were interesting and fun to talk to. The city was just chaotic enough to be charming without being overwhelming. Even when she got lost when she went out on walks, she always managed to find her way to the Piazza di Spagna, and the hotel above it. She felt totally at home, and much better at fending for herself in a foreign city than she ever thought she would be. It was an amazing confidence booster. She would never have experienced it in the same way if Brad had been with her. Being on her own forced her to reach out, connect with her surroundings and other people, and she blossomed.
“Why have I never been here before?” she said to Helen one night from her balcony, admiring the night sky of Rome. The world seemed so much bigger from here than in the life she had been living for decades with Brad in Lake Forest. He had kept their life small and safe and controlled, she had never realized before how much more exciting life was in a broader world, and how much she would love it.
“You’ve never been there because your husband was American, and he didn’t like to travel, except to accountants’ conventions. Maybe you’ll find a European next time,” Helen said gently. She had always found Brad very dull, but would never have said that to Maggie.
“There won’t be a next time,” Maggie said, sounding certain of it. “I’ve had my life with Brad. I can’t imagine life with someone else. But I have to admit, I wouldn’t mind living here for a few months or a year.” She hadn’t changed her lifestyle at all since the fortune that had befallen her when Brad died. She felt too guilty to spend it, but for the first time she realized the opportunities she had now that she’d never had before, and this was one of them. She loved the idea of traveling more.
“If you can afford to do that, you should,” Helen encouraged her. “If something happened to Jeff, and the kids were grown up, I think I’d live in Paris for a year. That’s my favorite city.” Maggie couldn’t imagine any place that she’d love more than Rome. She was sorry she and Brad had never gone there in his lifetime. Even an inveterate non-traveler would fall in love with it. She thought it was the most romantic city on earth, and she didn’t even mind being there alone.
She was genuinely sad when she left Rome the next day to fly to Paris. Her driver, Luigi, hugged her, and told her to come back again. He had seen to it that on one of their drives she had thrown a coin into the Fontana di Trevi, which he assured her was guaranteed to bring her back to Rome.
The flight to Paris took less than two hours. Things seemed to be moving more quickly in the Paris airport, and didn’t have the leisurely feeling of Rome, although the airport in Rome had been chaotic. Paris seemed more organized and a little less welcoming.
The hotel had arranged a car and driver for her there too. The driver’s name was Florent, and he sped her toward the city on the highway, which looked no different than an American highway, until they reached the city. As soon as they got there, it took her breath away. The sight of the Champs-Élysées stretching toward the grandeur of the Arc de Triomphe, with a huge French flag fluttering under the arch, the wide tree-lined street, and the splendor of the Place de la Concorde with its fountains and sculptures. She had seen countless movies filmed there, but nothing brought it home like being there. She could see the beautiful bridges, Napoleon’s tomb in the Invalides with its gold dome on the other side, on the Left Bank. After crossing the gilded Alexander III Bridge back to the Right Bank, they entered the Place Vendôme with its Napoleonic battle monument in the center, elegant jewelry shops all around the square, and the grandeur of the Hôtel Ritz, with a fleet of doormen and a wide red carpet leading up the front steps as though to welcome her. She had chosen the most elegant possible way to see Paris and get to know the city. Paris had an entirely different flavor from Rome, which was a venerable ancient city, filled with beautiful old monuments, and young people who looked happy and sexy. There was a spirit of romance there, which was contagious. Paris was sheer beauty at its most dazzling. Everywhere Maggie looked there was something beautiful to see. It was a whole different experience, and she could see instantly why Helen loved it. Who wouldn’t?
Her room at the Ritz was bigger and even more elegant than her room had been at the Hassler, since the Ritz had been recently renovated. It was filled with antiques and beautiful fabrics. It was done in blue silk, while at the Hassler it was yellow satin. She realized that after this experience it was going to be hard to go home and live a normal, ordinary life in a small house in a suburb of Chicago. Here she was surrounded by beauty and history and exquisite monuments and buildings everywhere.
She went to the Louvre that afternoon, and strolled through the Tuileries Garden. The driver took her past all the fancy shops on the Faubourg Saint-Honoré, like the Via Condotti in Rome. She hadn’t done much shopping so far. She was too excited by the city itself to do so. There was nothing she wanted or needed except to be here and soak up the elegance and atmosphere, which were the essence of the city.
She loved walking along the Seine, the river that ran through Paris, and she stopped sometimes on one of the bridges, just looking into the water and thinking about Brad, and her mother, and how difficult her life must have been after losing her husband. She hadn’t had the luxury of a trip to Europe in opulent circumstances to help her recover. She had had to move from city to city and job to job to support her family. It had taken her five years to meet Harry, who gave her some degree of security, but until then everything had been a struggle, and even sometimes after that. She didn’t want to burden Harry with another man’s children, so she had done her best to support Maggie and Tommy herself with the jobs she had. She wondered if her mother would have been happier if she’d gone back to nursing, but she had never wanted to go back to school, so she took whatever meaningless jobs she could get that she never really liked. Her life had been far from easy and rarely satisfying on any level. Maggie’s father had left them unprepared and ill equipped to survive life without him. And her mother had never been happy again, even with Harry.
Brad had been just the opposite from her father, and had protected Maggie and Aden from anything that might happen if he died. His insurance policy had cost him a fortune in his lifetime, sometimes even more than he could afford, Maggie realized. But it provided her with a lifestyle that she had never dreamed of, like this trip, which was possible for her now. Even after his death he had taken care of her handsomely, which was so typical of Brad. And Aden would have a solid foundation under him, and a great education, without their ever touching the money from the airline. Brad had already given them everything they needed. The airline money was just an unimaginable bonus, like winning the lottery, and she wanted that money to go to Aden one day for having lost his father so young.
Maggie felt incredibly blessed and lucky as she explored the Left and Right Banks, walked past every monument, went to museums, hunted for famous statues in tiny parks, and fell in love with the Rodin Museum. She took herself to tea at the Plaza Athénée and La Durée, had lunch at the famous Café de Flore and the Deux Magots, dug around in antique shops, and admired the spectacular flower arrangements by Jeff Latham in the lobby of the Hotel George V. She bought flowers from a street vendor and asked a maid at the Ritz to put them in a vase. It was another incredibly romantic city, and she wished she had seen it with Brad, but she was so happy there and so busy once again that she didn’t mind being alone, and reminded herself that this was now her life, having to experience everything on her own. She was slowly making her peace with it, adjusting to her solitude and new circumstances. She couldn’t imagine sharing her life again with someone else. It felt like her destiny now to be on her own. She chatted easily with people in museums and bistros, some of them Americans, others from all over Europe. Every day was an adventure and every encounter interesting.
She could easily see why Helen said she wanted to live there for a year. Maggie couldn’t imagine being lonely there. The underlying feeling was one of contentment and peace, and a rich abundance of beauty all around her. When she woke early in the morning and looked out over the Place Vendôme, the light was a soft luminous pearl-gray washing over the rooftops until the sun broke through the clouds a little later and bathed all in sunlight with blue skies. It stayed light very late at night, until ten o’clock. She could see why it was called the City of Light. And she loved watching the Eiffel Tower sparkling in the night sky on the hour.
She was picking up her key at the desk one afternoon, when she saw a brochure for a very grand-looking hotel in Monaco. It reminded her of her travel agent’s suggestion to visit the South of France if she had time. Monaco was a tiny principality, nestled along the French coastline. It was where Grace Kelly had married a storybook prince in the 1950s and become Princess Grace of Monaco. Maggie looked at the brochure for a minute and inquired about it at the desk.
“Is it complicated to get there?” She wasn’t sure where it was.
“Oh no, madame, it’s a short hour’s flight. It’s quite close. Directly south, on the Riviera.” He mentioned Saint-Tropez too, which was more of a beach town, and very fashionable. According to the concierge, Monte Carlo was a tiny city, with a port full of yachts and a very international group of visitors, great restaurants, and an elegant casino where people gambled and played blackjack and roulette. It sounded like fun to Maggie, and a little bit old-fashioned, which appealed to her. She was going to London, but the concierge said she could easily fly from Nice to London. He said the weather in the South was excellent at this time of year, and still very warm. She could lie by the pool at her hotel after she saw the sights. It would be a pleasant interlude between Paris and the hubbub of London. She was in no rush to get back to the States. She had adjusted to the more leisurely pace of Europe, where quality of life was all-important. She could feel her own rhythm slow as she explored first Rome and then Paris. Monte Carlo seemed like an excellent stop on the way to London. She had seen everything she wanted to in Paris, although she hated to leave, just as she had been sad to leave Rome. But she was sure she would come back again, and maybe see Venice next time, and other European cities, like Barcelona or Madrid. Her trip had been perfect so far, at just the right speed, but there was so much more to see that she hadn’t seen on this trip. She was feeling adventuresome, which was new for her. She had met several other widows, some of them traveling together. They were older than she was, but there was a kind of unspoken understanding between them, like a secret club.
On the spur of the moment, she asked the concierge to book her a room at the Hermitage in Monte Carlo for the weekend. She could leave for London on Monday, and was planning to spend a week there before she went home.
He called her in her room a few minutes later and told her it was all confirmed. She was on a ten o’clock flight the next morning, would fly into Nice, and be at the Hermitage by noon, which would give her a whole day to explore, go for walks, and lie by the pool, and even go to the casino at night. Even if she didn’t gamble, it sounded like a scene worth observing, as high rollers from all over the world came to play.
She packed her bags that night, went for a last walk around the Place Vendôme, and left the hotel at eight o’clock the next morning, to catch her ten a.m. flight.
This time a white Rolls picked her up at the airport in Nice, which felt mildly embarrassing, but it seemed like fun in the spirit of the moment. Her room at the Hermitage looked out over the sparkling water of the Mediterranean. She noticed that there were huge yachts in the port, and promised herself she’d go for a walk there later to check it out.
She had lunch by the pool, then walked around Monte Carlo for a while. Every luxury shop in the world was represented there, and then she walked down to the port and stood admiring the many large boats moored in the harbor. There was a whole section of the largest yachts, with uniformed crews washing down the boats, or the owners and their friends on deck having an elegant late lunch. She was fascinated by it, then she saw the largest sailboat among them. A sleek beauty, with a flag she didn’t recognize flying off the back of the boat. She was called Lady Luck, which made Maggie smile as she walked past her. The crew were diligently washing the boat, and the owner was nowhere in evidence. It looked like a wonderful life, sitting on the deck of those yachts. She walked back up the hill to the hotel after she left the port. It was a steep hill and a healthy walk.
She went swimming in the hotel pool late that afternoon, and took out her one slightly dressier dress to wear to the casino that night. They told her that it was usually pretty thinly populated until after midnight, and lively after that. So she ate dinner late at her hotel, and at twelve-thirty, she walked the short distance to the casino. As the concierge had told her, there were lots of people getting out of chauffeur-driven Rolls-Royces, tourists in evening clothes. She heard Russian, Arabic, Chinese, English, and French all around her, as well as a little German and some Italian. It looked like a tiny city mostly for the rich, and since it was a tax haven where residents didn’t pay taxes, it was a magnet for people with a great deal of money. She saw several Ferraris pull up too, and beautiful women in evening gowns getting out. When she walked into the casino, she saw that most of the tables were full. It looked like a busy night, it was Saturday, and everyone was out.
She stopped at the roulette table for a while, which was fun but never seemed as exciting to her as blackjack or poker. She and Brad had gone to Las Vegas for some of his conventions. Neither of them were big gamblers, but it had been a lot of fun just playing the slot machines and watching the people intent at the blackjack tables.
Monte Carlo was infinitely more elegant and far more glamorous. The way people were dressed, who was there. Their whole demeanor, and the international mix among the crowd. She felt underdressed in her simple black dress, with her hair down. She noticed that all the women surrounding the tables and strolling through the casino were covered in expensive jewels. All she had was her gold wedding band and a small gold watch Brad had given her. She didn’t feel as though she was competing with the women in the casino. They were all standing close to the men they had come with, who were gambling, and a few of the women were gambling too. Maggie felt like an invisible observer whom no one would notice, and was surprised to see several men staring at her. She was beautiful and didn’t know it, and didn’t really care. One of them invited her for a drink, and she politely declined. He had a heavy Spanish accent and was very handsome, but she was content to watch the gaming tables and didn’t want to get tangled up with any man. She wasn’t there for that. Just to have fun and see the life of the casino.
She noticed at one table they were playing blackjack with important-looking men in every seat. The stakes were high, and there was a huge amount of chips on the table. She wasn’t sure how much it added up to, but she guessed at several hundred thousand euros, an almost equal amount of dollars. None of the players were speaking, the atmosphere was intense, and a few minutes after she began to watch, a youngish-looking man with silver-gray hair and a broad grin won. The croupier pushed an astounding amount of chips toward him, which he put in neat piles in front of him, and then started the betting again, as the men he had beaten groaned. He was handsome and looked much younger than the gray hair suggested. He appeared about Maggie’s age, and had a youthful air. He looked vaguely familiar but she didn’t know him. She heard him speak and he sounded American. He won the next hand too, much to everyone’s dismay, but he lost a lot of money on the round after. It didn’t seem to bother him, he remained good humored, and put a stack of chips in again. He looked up to where Maggie was standing and smiled at her. He had noticed her for a while and suddenly he called across to her with a look of surprise.
“Maggie Kelly? Is that you?” She was startled to hear her maiden name and nodded as he laughed. Suddenly she realized who it was, as her eyes grew wide in disbelief. It was Paul Gilmore, her high school love who had gone off to race motorcycles and later cars. She hadn’t seen him in thirty years, he had disappeared into the mists of another life. She remembered how dangerous and wild her mother had thought him, and her dire predictions about him, and now here he was, winning and losing a fortune at the high-stakes table in Monte Carlo. She remembered how poor he was when they were in school and the shabby cottage he lived in with his mother. It was obvious he had done well. She remembered his saying he would be rich one day, and apparently he was. She vaguely recalled hearing that he was a famous Formula One driver, but his life was light-years from hers by then, and she was happily married to Brad. He wasn’t interested in car races and Paul Gilmore was off her radar, and now suddenly he was smiling at her as though he had never left.
He had the aura of a rich man, and had the same dazzling smile as when he flew past her on his skateboard at seventeen. He beckoned to her as he picked up a hand, and she made her way quietly around the table to stand behind him. Then the chair next to him became vacant, and he whispered to her to sit next to him and bring him luck. His eyes were full of mischief and he almost looked the same, except for the gray hair.
“You’ve been doing fine without me,” she whispered as she sat down, and made no comments as they played. Paul lost again, but not as much, and again didn’t seem bothered by it. He filled his pockets with the vast amount of chips he had left, and stood up to cash them in.
“Bonsoir, Monsieur Gilmore,” the croupier said. Paul left the table and Maggie followed him. He stopped immediately and gave her an enormous hug. She remembered easily how close they had been and how much she loved him.
“What are you doing here?” he asked her.
“I’m on vacation,” she said, slightly embarrassed. It was too much to explain, without sounding pathetic.
“Are you alone?”
She nodded, suddenly feeling seventeen again. She had turned eighteen while they were dating. He was slightly older than she was, forty-nine now, and she was forty-eight. He still had a handsome boyish face, and the silver hair made him look sophisticated, but it was still Paul, no matter how far life had taken him from their humble beginnings. No one would have guessed it to look at him now. He had the appearance of a man of substance, accustomed to the fast life. “Come and have a drink with me,” he said, visibly happy to see her. He cashed in his chips and put the money in his pocket, then led her to the bar. He couldn’t take his eyes off her, as though she were some kind of mirage.
“You haven’t changed a bit,” he said, still beaming at her, and she laughed.
“You must be blind. I wish that were true.”
“How long has it been?”
“Thirty years.”
“We have a lot of catching up to do.” He ordered champagne for both of them. “What are you doing here? Do you live in Europe?” he asked. She laughed at the thought and suddenly wished she did. He seemed so worldly and sophisticated, she felt like a hick next to him.
“No. I live in Lake Forest, Illinois. I’m just here on vacation.” She tried to make it sound ordinary, although it wasn’t for her, and she was acutely aware of how plain her dress was, and how simple she looked compared to the other women in the casino. When they had known each other, he had lived in that awful cottage, dirt poor, racing motorcycles, and she had had a stable home with Harry and her mother, who hadn’t approved of him. He appeared to have done well in thirty years. Everyone in the casino seemed to know him and smiled when they saw him.
“Why are you here alone? You’re married?” She was wearing her wedding ring. He knew nothing of her life since he’d last seen her. He had never gone home again, except for two days when his mother died, not long after he won his first big race. He had lost touch with everyone from his past.
She shook her head with a serious expression when he asked if she was married. “No, I’m not,” she said simply.
He pointed to the ring with a quizzical expression. “Divorced? Bad guy? I remember how much your mother hated me.”
Maggie grinned at the memory. “She thought you were wild and dangerous, and said you would break my heart.” But he hadn’t, they had parted on good terms when he left right after they graduated. She went to college, and he went to Southern California and Mexico to race. “No, I’m not divorced, and he was a great guy. We loved each other and we have a son. We were in a plane crash last December, and he died.”
“Oh God. I’m sorry, Maggie. Was he flying his own plane? I fly too. That hits close to home.” She smiled at the question, his life was obviously a lot more extravagant than theirs, and worlds apart.
“No, it was a commercial flight, from Chicago to New York. We wound up in the Hudson River in a snowstorm. Forty-nine people died and he was one of them.”
“What rotten luck.” He looked sympathetic and sad for her. She was still beautiful and too young to be a widow.
She nodded, there wasn’t much more to add, except that it had nearly killed her and this was the first trip she’d ever taken alone, which she didn’t want to say.
“What about you? Married? Kids?” she asked him.
“Twice and none,” he answered with a grin. “I’ve been divorced twice, no kids. My exes tell me that my lifestyle is not compatible with marriage. Formula One racing, I climbed Everest ten years ago, helicopter skiing. I still like the scary challenges, women don’t. Not in a husband anyway. And it never seemed right to me to have kids, given the things I like to do, so I never did. It wouldn’t be fair to them.”
“So you haven’t changed.” She smiled. He still liked all the high-risk, dangerous activities, her mother had been right. But she admired him for being responsible and not adding children to the mix. And his wives had bailed. “Where do you live?”
“All over the place. Paris, London, I have an apartment there. In Paris, I have a permanent suite at the Ritz. I have an apartment here too,” he said.
“I just stayed at the Ritz,” Maggie said.
“I spend time in Switzerland too. New York occasionally. My work goes with me, so I can live pretty much anywhere.” He seemed totally at ease and comfortable in his own skin. And he looked delighted to see her again. “How old is your son?” He wanted to know everything about her.
“He just started college in September, at Boston University.” He understood better now. She was trying to find her way, and totally alone. Her husband had died, her son was gone. He felt a pang of deep sorrow for her, but she was brave and honest as she gazed at him. She always had been, and she looked no different to him now. “This is my first trip alone, and first trip to Europe,” she confessed.
“What did your husband do?” He wondered what kind of man she’d married.
“He owned a family accounting firm.”
“Do you work too?” He could just imagine it, they had had a wholesome, clean-cut, simple suburban life, and the bottom had dropped out of her world when her husband died.
“I worked for my husband’s father before we got married, and I haven’t worked full-time since our son was born. I’m trying to figure all that out now, about what to do next.” She didn’t look depressed about it. She looked like a newborn in some ways, trying to learn everything at once. It was sweet and it touched him. She seemed very pure and unspoiled, unlike the women he knew and was used to now. He admired her all the more for coming to Europe alone, which must have been daunting for her. She didn’t seem like she was looking for a husband, in her austere, plain black dress. Its simplicity somehow highlighted her beauty. There was nothing to distract from her perfect figure, and flawlessly lovely face. He thought she was a hundred times more striking than all the painted dollies in the room, half of whom were expensive hookers, which he knew Maggie didn’t realize, though he did. He was used to seeing them and could spot them with ease.
“I have a boat here. Would you like to come sailing with me tomorrow?” he asked her simply, and she nodded.
“I’d love it.” He had been her high school sweetheart, and it was fun seeing him again. “I heard that you were a famous Formula One racer, but somehow I don’t think I really connected the dots. I was living our quiet life in Lake Forest and that seemed very unreal.” She understood it better now, seeing him in this setting and how people reacted to him. He was a very big deal. “Do you still race?”
“I do. Just not as often. I do the big races for my sponsors. And in case you’re wondering if I’m an arms dealer, or a drug dealer, I’m not. I did well with racing and other dangerous pursuits, and invested intelligently. The more dangerous the sport, the higher the pay. And it does pay off very nicely. Most of the time, I follow my investments now. I have a contract to race when I want to. I pick and choose the races around the world. I don’t have a home life anymore, but no one is complaining about the risks I take either. It’s a trade-off. Freedom is addictive after a while, just like danger is. I’m hooked on the adrenaline rush.” He said it with the same mischief in his eyes that she remembered from thirty years before. And he was honest about himself. He had been as a boy too. He’d never lied to her, and was clear about his priorities, even then.
“You always were hooked on that,” she reminded him. “That was what my mother objected to, since my father was a fly junkie and it killed him.”
“What happened to your brother?” he asked her. “He was such a cute kid. And a pain in the ass occasionally.”
“He was. He died in Iraq, at twenty-three. He was a Navy pilot. It killed my mother. It took a while, but she never recovered. I married Brad right after that. I know being married to an accountant doesn’t sound glamorous, but he was such a good man, and I wanted a safe life. I knew I’d have it with him. We were happy. And the irony is that he never took a single risk. We went to New York for a two-day trip, to an accounting convention, and the plane crashed. So I guess you never know how it’s going to turn out, even if you’re with the safest guy on the planet.” And some men, like Paul, got away with taking all the risks. So far anyway.
“That’s not fair.” He was surprised she was still standing after losing her father, her brother, and now her husband, but Maggie had always been like that. Brave and determined. He knew she’d be okay now, but it must have hurt like hell.
He walked her back to her hotel then, and told her he’d pick her up at ten the next morning to go sailing. She smiled when she looked up at him and thanked him. She was thinking of him at eighteen, and what a sweet kid he was. How he had befriended her when no one else did. “That’ll be fun.” It was so odd to have run into him here and she was happy she had.
“And no scary stuff, I promise. Just a nice, tame day sail.” He had never tried to frighten her, he saved all the high risks for himself.
“I’m looking forward to it.” She went to her room thinking about him. Once she talked to him, he didn’t seem to have changed much, no matter how sophisticated he looked. He was still so appealing and so profoundly nice, but her mother had been right too. He liked everything dangerous, and had sacrificed two marriages to do it. Romantically, he was a good man to stay away from. But she had no intention of getting involved with him, and he probably wouldn’t want to either. They were just old friends connecting for a minute. There was nothing dangerous about that. It was just a funny quirk of fate that they’d run into each other. An odd coincidence, with no risk involved. He was just a reminder of a sweet memory from the past.