The knock on the door startled her awake the following morning. Disoriented, Olivia flew out of bed and pulled on her bathrobe before realizing that she was still fully dressed from the day before.
The knocking grew louder. Olivia glanced at the clock on her way to the door. It was nearly noon. When had she become such a late sleeper? Before she’d moved to Paris, she hadn’t been able to sleep past five o’clock in the morning. Even on weekends. Maybe it was the time difference. Or maybe it was the fact that sleep seemed to evade her until the wee hours of the morning.
She glanced through the peep hole. A uniformed hotel employee stared back at her as though he could see her from the other side of the door.
She pulled open the door. “Yes?”
“Package for you,” the eager young man announced.
Olivia signed for the package and accepted the Federal Express envelope. Her breath drained from her lungs like a flat tire as she saw the return address. It was from Jonathan.
She sat down at the small desk, pulled the tab on the envelope and removed the contents. Papers for the sale of their house stared back at her.
Why didn’t he say anything about this last night?
But she knew. She hadn’t given him any encouragement. Any hope for their marriage. The house was on the market; they had agreed to list it before she left for Paris.
She thumbed through the pages, marked with tabs where she was supposed to sign or initial. If she signed them, there’d be no home to go back to. Is that what she wanted? She picked up the pen, stared at the first signature line, and placed the pen back on the desk. No, it wasn’t what she wanted.
But maybe it was for the best. Maybe there was too much water under the bridge to go back. Maybe love wasn’t enough.
Olivia picked up the pen and signed. She flipped each page and signed or initialed where indicated. When she finished, she put them in the return envelope, sealed it, and carried it downstairs before she changed her mind.
After dropping the envelope in the outgoing mail slot, Olivia left the hotel and wandered aimlessly through the streets. She pushed her way through throngs of tourists and down to the safety of the walkway along the river, wondering whether she’d done the right thing by signing the papers.
By signing them, she was giving up on her marriage. No doubt divorce papers would soon follow. She scanned the magnificent architecture across the river bank, from the Eiffel Tower to the Palais de Chaillot, trying to summon a sliver of excitement about her new life here in Paris. It didn’t work. Despite the fabulous apartment and the new job, she felt nothing but dread. And sadness. Nothing about it felt right.
She walked past a young couple, strolling arm in arm, and felt her heart catch. Visions of she and Jonathan, young and in love and strolling along this same path once upon a time, filled her head. When the man leaned down and kissed the woman, it felt as though someone had shot an arrow straight through her heart.
In that instant, she knew she’d done the wrong thing by signing the papers.
Olivia turned and ran as fast as her legs would carry her back to the hotel. She blew by the doorman and pushed in front of a guest at the front desk.
“The mail.” She gasped for air and pointed to the slot where she’d dropped the envelope only an hour before. “Has it gone out yet?”
The desk clerk ducked into the back and emerged almost immediately. “Sorry, you’re about ten minutes too late.”
Olivia’s mouth fell open and she stared blindly at the clerk. “Thank you,” she said absently, and turned toward the elevator.
What was she going to do now?
She pressed the elevator button three times and considered her options. But as she pushed the door to her room closed behind her and eyed the Yale sweatshirt lying on top of her open suitcase, she knew exactly what she was going to do.
The wake-up call jarred Olivia from her slumber. She sat up and rubbed the lack of sleep from her eyes, and then tossed back the covers and launched into action. After a quick shower and a light breakfast, she zipped her suitcases closed and dragged them to the door.
The bellman arrived a few minutes later and loaded them onto a cart. Another bellman arrived shortly after and piled the boxes she’d shipped to herself at the hotel onto a second cart. She was just about the close the door behind her when the phone rang. She hesitated, decided it was nothing important, and pulled the door closed.
As she walked toward the elevator, a fleeting thought niggled at her brain.
What if it was Jonathan calling?
She turned and hurried back down the hall to her room. The phone was still ringing. She slammed the key into the lock and flung the door open.
She lunged for the phone, and nearly shouted into the receiver. “Hello?”
“Hello, Mrs. Hunter?” an unfamiliar voice beckoned.
She dropped into the chair behind her. Her shoulders sagged with disappointment. “Yes, this is Mrs. Hunter.”
“This is Dr. Bernard calling. I’m sorry for the long delay in getting back to you, but you see I’ve been out of the office on holiday for the past week.”
Olivia focused her attention on a small beige envelope that stuck out from behind the bureau. She pushed up from her seat and pulled the phone cord toward it. “Uh huh.” She bent down and retrieved the envelope.
“I have the results of the blood sample I took the day I saw you.”
Olivia’s eyes shot up.
Oh God, I have a rare, incurable disease.
“Congratulations, Mrs. Hunter. You’re pregnant.”
The room twisted and spun like a funnel cloud; the phone clattered to the ground. Olivia grasped for something to hold onto but found nothing. She fell backward against the wall and slid to the floor, the envelope still clutched in her hand.
Pregnant!
But that was...impossible! She hadn’t even had sex in, what?
Eleven weeks and four days.
Eleven weeks and four days. But she’d had no symptoms. Unless you counted the nausea that had become her constant companion, even after she’d gotten over the flu. She’d simply chalked that up to loneliness and despair.
She felt her boobs. Shit. They were sore. How had she not noticed that?
Could it be true? Could she really be pregnant?
Olivia crawled on all fours to the telephone. “Hello? Are you still there?”
“Yes, I’m still here, Mrs. Hunter. Is everything okay?”
“Are you sure? I mean, are you really sure I’m pregnant?”
The man on the other end chuckled. “Yes, I’m sure. I’d be happy to recommend a good obstetrician here in Paris.”
Oh no, she wouldn’t be staying in Paris. She’d made that decision the day before. Had informed Andre Weller—her would-be boss—and Henri LaCroix, who used every imaginable expletive—all in French, of course—to voice his displeasure with her. But after she hung up the phone, a calm she hadn’t felt since she’d arrived washed over her. Coming here had been a mistake.
Or had it?
Coming here had given her the space she needed to see that the life she had, the one she had thrown away, had been the one she wanted all along. God, she’d been so stupid. Now all she had to do was hope that Jonathan felt the same way. That he still wanted her, too.
“Thank you, Doctor.” She slipped the phone back into its cradle.
The taxi pulled up to the terminal at Charles de Gaulle Airport just before noon. The two-hour drive passed in an instant, and when the driver opened the door for her, Olivia realized she was still holding the beige envelope in her hand. As she stepped out of the cab, she looked at it for the first time and her breath lodged in her throat.
The letter was addressed to her, scrawled in her mother’s beautiful cursive handwriting.
How had she not seen this before? And then she remembered launching the last journal she’d read against the wall. The letter must have fallen out then.
The taxi driver piled her suitcases on the curb and she pulled a wad of bills from her billfold, including a generous tip. Olivia placed the wallet and the letter in her handbag. She’d had enough surprises for one day. The letter would have to wait.