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John sat in the former boutique space with the exposed ancient stone wall washed with light. How he was going to pay rent, even here, he didn’t know.
He took his mind off his financial worries and put it on Em. He pictured her, so pixie-like, doing ballet in a little pink tutu. That had been in New York City, where he and Cassandra had enrolled her in ballet lessons and private school.
When he’d decided to move to Paris, she’d been heartbroken about moving so far from her friends. Now she was in a top-rated international school with diplomats’ daughters from all over the world. What a great experience for her. He just had to find a way to keep her there, to not break her heart again.
But his purpose right now was a little different. He wanted to convince her to come live with him. His eyes glanced over the stone wall. Just like it, his life had been bumpy lately. Maybe love would smooth out the rough places, for her and for him.
He grabbed a piece of copier paper from the machine next to Anjali’s desk. With his Mont Blanc pen, he wrote down bits and pieces from Anjali’s, Philippe’s and Carol’s poems that had resonated with him. He found himself saying a quick prayer for love and truth to prevail as he shaped this material.
Then he tapped the space key on his keyboard, his monitor lit up, and he began to write.
