Page 142 of Ten Years and Then…
This trip had to be better than Rome with her mother. She’d had maybe an hour of actual time with Mom in her four days there. Most of the trip had been spent waiting in the lobby of an Italian office building. The highlight—well, in the moment; she’d felt pretty crummy about it once she got home—was the two hours with a young man named Paolo she’d run into when she snuck away from Mom.
Of course this would be better. She was an accomplished, mature adult now. She’d be with her aunt, who would not abandon her for hours at a time to conduct business with handsy Italian men. And she did remember enough French words that she could probably read most of the signs and store price tags she’d encounter.
She’d make sure it was better.
Daniel, December 28, nine o’clock in the morning (Paris time)
Daniel had no one to blame but himself. He’d convinced Bianca to take the aisle seat, on the theory that she’d have to go to the bathroom more often than he did. The last night in the hospital after her appendectomy, she’d gotten up twelve times—he’d counted.
He should have factored in that the doctors were giving her liters and liters of fluids in her IV, so of course she had to pee every half hour. Here on the flight, she hadn’t gotten up once. The flight took off at eight-thirty, and she was asleep by a quarter to nine.
She’d taken a sleeping pill, and offered one to him. But, never having taken one before, he was nervous about how it might affect him. “I’ll fall asleep just fine on my own,” he’d said.
Famous last words.
He never did fall asleep. There were too many different noises and sudden movements from the plane. And his bladder demanding attention. And then there was Bianca’s snoring. How had he forgotten that she snored?
To be fair to himself, there was also the excitement of his first trip to Europe keeping him awake.
So what if he was totally fried by the time they landed? He could make it through the first day in Paris, and then after a nice heavy French meal with plenty of butter and cream sauces—and a bottle or two of wine—he’d sleep the sleep of the angels tonight and be back to normal for the rest of the trip.
Whatever might happen in the City of Light, he’d be ready for it.
Nora, two hours later
She’d slept through most of the flight, which was a mercy. If Nora hadn’t been fully alert, she would never have been able to navigate the trains from Charles de Gaulle airport into downtown Paris.
Getting to the terminal for the B line of the RER train had taxed her decade-old memories of French class to the limit. Once she’d gotten to Chaâtelet-les-Halles, her directional skills were severely challenged; she’d made three wrong turns before a friendly American exchange student took pity on her and got her pointed in the right direction.
The station was a maze, with tunnels leading to six different train lines, but she finally got to the correct platform for the short ride to Pont Neuf station.
The number 7 train headed to La Courneuve was crowded; she was shoved against a very stylish blonde woman, probably around her own age. She apologized in English. The woman smiled and replied, “No problem,” in an accent Nora couldn’t quite place. Thankfully, it was only one stop on the train, and even better, only one line went through Pont Neuf, so there was no rabbit warren of tunnels to try and navigate.
She emerged onto the streets of Paris maybe twenty feet from the bridge at Pont Neuf. There was a deep chill in the air, and the hard-to-describe smell that meant snow was coming soon. Hopefully it would hold off until she got to the hotel.
She hadn’t looked at a map and planned out the route from the Metro to the hotel ahead of time; this was a vacation, and leisurely walks were the order of the day. But she hadn’t reckoned with her luggage, or the crowds or the way the street signs were not where she expected them to be.
Daniel would have.
No, he’d have insisted on taking a taxi all the way from the airport so she wouldn’t have to lug her suitcase through labyrinthine subway tunnels and crowded streets.
He wasn’t here, though; wasn’t this whole trip about finally trying to get over him?
So it took her an hour for what the tourist guide she’d flipped through a couple of weeks ago billed as a ten minute walk. When she entered the beautiful lobby of L’Hôtel, with its red marble columns, she was ready to collapse; it was only the last residual drops of adrenaline that got her to the check-in desk.
Still, she did make it in one piece, and she’d already seen more beautiful architecture—and more beautifully-dressed people—than she normally encountered in a typical month back in Boston.
That counted as a good start to this trip, didn’t it?
Daniel, an hour later
“I’m impressed, Bee.” The lobby of Hôtel Le Six was somehow both modern-looking and cozy. “Looks like you picked a winner.”
“You can thank Bethany. If it was up to me I would’ve just picked one of the big chain hotels.” Bethany was a travel agent, and Daniel doubted she’d want his thanks. He’d met her once, three months ago, at Bianca’s house, in what had been a very awkward attempt at his cousin trying again to set him up with someone.
“I’ll write her a thank-you note when we get home.”
They went up to the check-in desk. A perfectly made-up woman in a crisp uniform greeted them. “Yes? May I help you?” To Daniel’s surprise, there was almost no trace of an accent.
