Henri LaCroix was an efficient-looking man with a tall, lean frame, slicked-back hair, and fine features. He wore a blue pin-striped suit with a crisp white shirt and a deep red tie. He looked more like a banker than a realtor.
“I’m supposed to have you into a place by the end of this week. It’s simply never going to happen now.” He held the car door open for her.
Olivia ignored the comment. She climbed into the sedan, pulled down the visor and took a quick peek under her sunglasses while Henri made his way around to the other side of the car. As she suspected, she looked like a puffer fish. She slid the dark glasses back into place just as Henri slipped in behind the wheel.
Over the next three days, they looked at a dozen apartments but none felt right. They were either too small, located in the wrong neighborhood, or too far from her office.
“Tomorrow is Saturday.” Henri pulled up in front of the hotel. “You must decide on a place tomorrow.”
Olivia reached for the door handle. “I appreciate everything you’re doing for me, Henri. But I won’t settle for some place that doesn’t feel right. See you tomorrow morning at ten.”
As she stepped out of the car, she heard him mutter in French, “Typical American. Never satisfied.”
She chose this exact moment to reveal the fact that she spoke fluent French. “Typical Frenchman. Can’t stand not being in control.” She swung the car door closed and sauntered into the hotel.
While her days were occupied with the search for an apartment, Olivia’s nights were filled with loneliness and grief. She’d never felt so alone, and every time she reached for the phone she was painfully reminded that she had nobody to call. She knew she couldn’t call Jonathan. It wouldn’t be fair to him. She was the one who’d walked out on him. But she wanted to call him. Wanted to talk about Bethie. And her mom. Finally, she wanted to talk about her mom. Tell him everything. Apologize for not having trusted him with her feelings and her secrets.
She wanted to call her dad, too. She couldn’t even count the number of times she’d picked up the phone to call him and then remembered he was gone. It had been his passing that sent her over the edge. Sent her here, to Paris. Alone.
In the end, she decided on the only friend she had. Tina Brooks. She dialed the number before realizing that it was only six o’clock in the morning. She was about to hang up when Tina answered. Olivia cried when she heard her voice.
“Liv? Oh my heavens, what’s the matter?” Tina asked.
“Nothing. Everything. I’ve been sick since I got here. Physically and mentally. It’s been two weeks and I still haven’t found a place yet. Tomorrow they’ll kick me out on the street and I’ll be homeless.”
“I’ll extend you for another week at the hotel, so don’t worry about that. But Liv, are you having second thoughts about this? Have you talked to Jonathan?”
Olivia sniffled into the phone. “No, and I’m not going to. I guess I’m just feeling sorry for myself. I’m having a pity party for one.”
“I’m sorry, Liv,” Tina said. “But hey, you’re in the greatest city in the world. Maybe you should go out and take in the sights. Keep your mind occupied until you start working.”
They talked for another thirty minutes before Tina had to get going. Before they hung up, Tina reminded Olivia that she had lunch with her new boss on Tuesday.
She placed the phone in the cradle and stared at the speckled ceiling. She’d never noticed that it sparkled before. She reached for the remote but decided she wasn’t in the mood for television. She wasn’t sleepy either, and she had all but cried herself out over the past several nights. She sat up, looked around the room and realized for the first time how cluttered it was. Clothes hung over the sofa and the chair, shoes littered the room, and two of the bureau drawers were open, a single sock hanging over the side of one. For the first time since she’d arrived, she smiled. It seemed that Paris had cured her of her OCD. Or had at least put it in remission.
Over the next week, Olivia spoke to Tina every night. She finally confided in her about Jonathan, and her mother, and even talked about Bethie. Tina had attended the service for Bethie, but they had never spoken of her since.
“Holy shit, Liv,” Tina said. “And you lost your father, too? It’s a wonder you haven’t been committed. I’d have taken up permanent residence at the funny farm by now. But as grand as Paris is, running away won’t solve your problems. You should be talking to Jonathan about all of this.”
Although coming here had brought her mother back to her, she knew her friend was right.
“Yeah, I’m finding that out,” Olivia said, “but I’m afraid to call him. I walked out on him, and I’m not sure if I’m ready to trust him again. Besides, I don’t know if he’d even want me back now.”
“Trust is a two-way street, Liv. You haven’t exactly been honest and forthcoming with him, either. Besides, from the looks of it, he’s hurting pretty bad,” Tina said.
Olivia sat upright in bed. “You saw him?”
“Yes, I ran into him the other day. He looks thin and tired and…lonely.”
Olivia squeezed her eyes shut. She refused to allow the tears that threatened behind her lids to fall. She’d cried enough in the past few weeks to make up for the last three years. Though her heart ached at Tina’s description of Jonathan, she was secretly glad to hear that he hadn’t moved on. That he was struggling, too.
“I guess we’re a pretty pathetic pair,” Olivia said.
“You two definitely deserve each other.”
For the first time since she’d arrived in Paris, Olivia heard herself laugh. It felt good.
“By the way, what did you think of your new boss?” Tina asked.
Andre Weller was as ambitious as he was good-looking, with long, dark locks and lengthy eyelashes that graced indigo blue eyes. He smiled with his eyes and talked with his hands, and Olivia sensed she would enjoy working with him.
“Andre’s great. I think we’ll get along famously.”
The following day marked three weeks since she’d arrived in Paris. She’d finally settled on an apartment—the first one she’d seen, much to Henri’s dismay—and would move in on Tuesday. That gave her two days to pack up her things.
As she sorted through the boxes that she’d shipped to herself in Paris, Olivia came upon Jonathan’s tattered old Yale sweatshirt. His favorite. She pulled it from the box and held it to her. She closed her eyes, pressed her face into the gray fabric, and imagined the smell of sweat and aftershave that clung to it after he’d played football on Sunday afternoons with his college friends.
She pulled the sweatshirt over her head and hugged herself; she remembered how he would come home dirty and sweaty and pull her into an embrace despite her halfhearted protests. Suddenly, it felt as though her heart had been strangled. Her shoulders crumpled and tears burned her eyes. But before they had a chance to fall, she raced to the phone and dialed the number before she lost her nerve.
Jonathan answered on the third ring.
“Liv,” he said, and then quickly added, “Is everything okay?”
Relief swept over her. She’d imagined him hanging up on her, but he hadn’t. He sounded genuinely concerned.
“Yes, everything’s fine. I just called to talk.”
A short paused greeted her on the other end of the line. Or maybe she’d just imagined it. Maybe it was just the long distance over the telephone line?
“Talk about what?” he asked.
“About Bethie. And my mom.”
The silence lengthened between them. Followed by a heavy sigh.
She hadn’t imagined it this time.
“I’ve been trying to talk to you for years about this stuff, Liv. You left me. You moved thousands of miles away and now you want to talk?”
Olivia pinched the bridge of her nose, trying to stay the tears that strained against her eyelids.
“Yes.”
“Are you ready to come home?” Jonathan asked, his voice thick with emotion.
“I don’t…I’m not…”
“That’s what I thought. I have to go, Liv. Have fun in Paris. Au revoir.”
The next sound Olivia heard was the dial tone. “Dammit!” she yelled as she hung up the phone.
Why didn’t I just say yes! I’m ready to come home.
Because I wanted him to ask me to come home.
And he did, didn’t he?
Her heart dropped to her knees as the realization struck her. He had asked.
Pick up the phone.
No. He won’t want me now.