07-02-11, 10:34 AM
| #51 |
| |  Chapter 21 When Brigitte woke up in the morning, her heart pounded when she saw she had an e-mail from Marc. She felt like a kid, when a boy slipped her a note in class. She felt excited, and guilty, and scared, and she wasn’t sure why. She hadn’t felt like that in Paris. But this was different. It seemed strange writing to him from here, and a bigger commitment, or a bigger statement. But she had written to him, so she had to deal with the consequences now. She opened his e-mail, and took a breath, and then sighed with relief when she read his. It was fine. Friendly and nice. Dear Brigitte, What a nice surprise to hear from you. How is Boston? Paris seems very quiet without you. I’ve had very little to do. My students have spring fever and keep cutting class. And I want to too! The book is going well, my editor has been very helpful, and Ihope to turn it in soon. My publisher seems to have calmed down a little and is not threatening my life. I miss Wachiwi, and you. I’m glad your mother liked the material you found. I still hope you will write the book about Wachiwi, sooner rather than later. I hope that all is well with you. Stay in touch. And he signed it “Je t’embrasse,” which she knew was French for “I kiss you” (as in on both cheeks, not on the mouth). It was a harmless greeting, and he had signed it Marc, and then added a P.S. “Each time I see the Eiffel Tower now, I think of you. I feel now as though it belongs to you, especially when it sparkles because you like that so much. Good thoughts to you from Paris. Come back soon.” It seemed like a totally benign, friendly, warm e-mail, and she thought the “Good thoughts to you from Paris” was sweet. He had hit just the right tone. It wasn’t scary, overly personal, or uncomfortable, it was just warm and nice and open enough, like him. She was glad she’d written to him. Her mother had had a good idea. She had nothing to do after that. And the next few weeks seemed like the most boring and unproductive of her life. She finally called a few friends and went out to dinner with them. They didn’t make a big deal about Ted, and just said they were sorry they had broken up, but she felt like the odd man out now. They were all couples. The only unattached person she knew was Amy, and she was busy with her kids. One or the other of them had had a cold for the past two weeks so she couldn’t get out, and Brigitte didn’t want to catch whatever they had. Kids that age were always sick. It was spring, and Boston was in full bloom. She spent Memorial Day in Martha’s Vineyard, which was fun, and then she came back to Boston, and her life stalled again. It was hard keeping busy without a job, and she had shelved her book for now. She heard from Marc a few times, and she kept her e-mails to him light. She didn’t tell him that she was freaked out about not having a job and her life felt like a wasteland right now. And finally, when she got back from the Vineyard, she took her notes out one night about Wachiwi, and read them, and fell in love with her all over again. More so than ever, with a little distance now. It was an amazing story, and she could see why her mother and Marc thought she should write a book about it. She thought about it for days after she read it, and just to see what would happen, she tried to write a first chapter, starting with Wachiwi in her own village. She read up on the Sioux on the Internet, so she could describe them properly, and what she wrote about the young Sioux girl seemed to write itself. It was effortless, and when she finished after three long days of working on it, it seemed beautiful and mystical. It was a story she wanted to tell, and suddenly she wasn’t afraid of it anymore. It was beckoning her, and she threw herself into it wholeheartedly. The days flew after that. She had never enjoyed writing anything so much in her life. She thought about sending an e-mail to tell Marc she had started it, but she didn’t want to jinx it. She decided to wait for a while, until she had written a few more chapters. It was still very rough, but she really liked what she had. She had been writing for ten days, and she was hard at it late one night, when her computer told her she had an e-mail, but she didn’t want to interrupt what she was doing, so she kept going for several hours. It was like flying, and she didn’t want to stop. She was shocked to realize it was almost five in the morning when she sat back with a satisfied look. She saved what she had written. And then she remembered the e-mail she had heard come in. She went to her e-mail and saw it was from the AUP in Paris. She opened it, and discovered it was from the man she had interviewed with. She wasn’t particularly interested in it, but she read it, and then stared at it and read it again. They were offering her a job, part time, at a decent salary, that she could live on, three days a week. And they told her that they had studio apartments available for students and faculty, for a nominal fee. The job had opened up because the number-two person in the admissions office had announced that she was pregnant and wanted to take maternity leave for a year. He said she was forty-two, it was her first pregnancy, she was having twins, and they had just put her on bed rest, very early in the pregnancy. So they could offer Brigitte the position for a year. And he made a point of telling her that the head of the admissions office was retiring in a year, so there might be other possibilities for her at AUP, if the current job they were offering her didn’t turn out to be permanent, which he thought was a possibility too. In any case, they could promise her a year. And it was also clear to her that if she wanted the job, this time she’d have to take more responsibility and step up to the plate. It was a small school and they needed everyone to pitch in and be flexible, and she was willing to do that. She had learned her lesson. By taking so little responsibility at BU, she had been the first to become obsolete. She wanted this to be different, if she took it. But did she want a job in Paris? She wasn’t sure. They were offering her everything she needed—a job, decent pay, a part-time schedule that would allow her to write the book about Wachiwi if she wanted to, and an apartment for little money if she wanted that. It was all right there, if she took it. She didn’t know what to do. She stared at the e-mail and then walked around her apartment. She never went to bed that night, and she saw the sun come up from her living-room window. She wanted to ask someone’s advice, like Amy or her mother, but she was afraid they’d tell her to take it. And what did they know? It was easy for them to say. What if it was a terrible mistake? If she hated it? If she was lonely? If she got sick in Paris? If she missed a great job in Boston because she was in Paris? She had a thousand worst-case scenarios ready. But she also knew that no one was offering her a job in Boston, or hadn’t yet. Her CV hadn’t shaken the world, and no one had responded. And what if they didn’t, and she had no job here either? What if … what if … what if … She had worn herself out totally by ten o’clock that morning, worrying about it. And they had asked her to respond soon because they had to fill the position. They said that the woman taking maternity leave was leaving immediately, and they wanted Brigitte to be there in two weeks. Two weeks to wrap up her life in Boston. What life? she asked herself. She had no life. She had an apartment she had never really liked, she wasn’t dating anyone, and she had been out of work for four months. She had started a book, maybe, which she could write anywhere, and maybe better in Paris. But what about Amy? Her mother? She was crying by noon, and by late afternoon she was panicked. The phone rang at six o’clock, and she was terrified it was her mother. She didn’t want her to hear how upset she was or have to tell her why. She felt like a four-year-old, and she wanted to hide in the closet. The phone went on ringing. She went to check caller ID and didn’t recognize the number, so she answered, and she was even more stunned when she did. It was Ted. She hadn’t heard from him since he left. She was shocked to hear him on the phone, and couldn’t imagine what he wanted. Maybe he was sorry he’d left her. Then maybe she wouldn’t have to go to Paris. It was just too scary. “Hi,” she said, trying to sound casual, and feeling stupid as she did it. They knew each other too well to play games or at least they used to. “How are you, Brig?” He sounded happy and in good spirits. She had no idea what time it was for him, or exactly where he was. “I’m fine. Is something wrong?” Maybe he was in a hospital and needed her. Or had too much to drink, and drunk-dialed. Anything was possible after four months of silence. “No, everything’s great here. I was wondering how you are. I’m sorry things got so botched up when I left. It was hard.” “Yeah, it was. I’m okay,” she said, but her voice sounded small. He didn’t seem to notice. “I went to Paris and did some research for my mother.” She realized that he’d never known she got laid off. She hadn’t wanted him to know. “Did you take some time off?” he sounded puzzled. “Uh … actually … I took a break from work. I’m writing.” She had been writing for ten days, but she didn’t say that. At least she was doing something. He was running a dig for a major university, and she didn’t want to sound pathetic. “That’s great.” He didn’t ask her what she was writing. “How’s the dig?” “Fantastic. We’re pulling out stuff every day. It was a little slow in the beginning, but it’s been really good for the last month. So what else are you up to?” “Not much.” She hated sounding like such a loser, and then before she could stop herself, she wasn’t sure if she said it to impress him, or to ask his advice, she blurted out, “I just got offered a job in Paris. Ted, I don’t know what to do.” She was crying again, but he couldn’t hear it. “I just found out last night.” “What kind of job?” “Admissions office at American University of Paris. Part time, with an apartment.” “Are you kidding? That’s right up your alley. Take it.” She was afraid he would say that. “Why? What if I hate it?” “How bad can it be in Paris? We don’t even have indoor plumbing here.” She was suddenly glad she wasn’t with him. “If you hate it,” he added, “you can quit and come home. You need a change, Brig. I think we both kind of outgrew Boston, and didn’t want to face it.” “And each other,” she said honestly. “Yeah, and that too. It’s hard to make changes. Things get so comfortable and you don’t want to move. Maybe it would do you good to be a little uncomfortable for a while, and do something different. You can learn French.” “It’s an American school,” she reminded him. “In a French city. I don’t know, Brig. It’s up to you, but it sounds like an answer to a prayer to me. You’ve done Boston, you’re good at what you do. And if they’re offering you part time, it’ll give you time to write the book you’re working on. What the hell, give it a shot. Sometimes I think ‘what the hell’ is the right answer. You’ve got nothing to lose. Nothing is irreversible except dying. And moving to Paris for a while sure won’t kill you. You might love it.” She had been so busy thinking about everything that could go wrong that she hadn’t thought of that. But he was right. What if she loved it? It was the one scenario she hadn’t considered. “I know you get scared, Brig,” he went on. “We all do. I was scared shitless when I came here, but I wouldn’t have missed it for anything. I know what happened with your father really shook you. But sometimes you’ve got to take a chance. You’re too young not to, and you’ll probably regret it forever if you don’t take it. That’s what I was afraid would happen here. If I had passed up this dig for us, I’d have resented it forever. I didn’t want that to happen.” She understood, but it had hurt anyway. “You could have taken me.” She had never said that to him before he left, and it felt good to get it out now. “No, I couldn’t. You’d hate it here. Believe me, it’s not Paris. It’s hot and dusty and dirty. I love it, but the living conditions are squalid. I knew that from the digs I’d visited. You would have been out of here in ten minutes,” he said, and she smiled thinking about it. “Yeah, you’re probably right. It sounds awful.” “But it’s what I love to do. Now you’ve got to do what you love to do. Write the book, go to Paris, change careers, find a guy you’re crazy about, who’s not going to run off to Egypt after six years. I miss you, Brig, but I’m happy. I hope this winds up being right for both of us in the end. That’s why I called you. I’ve been worrying about you, and feeling guilty. I know it was a shit thing to do, dumping everything after six years. But I had to do this. I want you to find what you have to do. Maybe it’s Paris. I hope it is.” “Maybe so,” she said pensively. It was good to hear him, but he didn’t sound like hers anymore. And probably never was. He was someone she had known, but they had never really been connected. She knew that now. And maybe they never would have been right for each other. Maybe she would never find the right guy. But Ted made sense. She couldn’t just sit there forever in Boston, waiting for life to happen. She had to grab it by the horns, no matter how scary it was or what the risks were. And how risky could Paris be? He was right about that too. What if she loved it? And if she didn’t, she’d come home. She was suddenly glad he had called her. He had given her courage when she needed it. His call had turned out to be a gift. “Let me know what you decide. E-mail me sometime.” “I will,” she said softly. “Thanks for calling, Ted. You really helped me.” “No, I didn’t,” he said honestly. “You know what you want to do. Just do it. Take a chance, Brig. It won’t be as scary as you think. It never is.” She thanked him again, and they hung up a minute later, and she sat staring at the phone, thinking about it. It felt strange having heard from him, but good in a way too. It was closure of some kind. They had needed that, and never had it until he called. He had been too chicken to do it before. But at least he had now. She still wanted to think about the AUP offer. She didn’t want to make any hasty decisions. She needed a couple of days. She wondered if maybe she should talk to her mother, or Amy. She went back to her computer and read the e-mail again. It was simple and clear, and a nice clean offer, in a city that she loved. And she had one friend there, Marc. He was more than a friend, she knew, but she hadn’t wanted to take a chance on that either. And then, before she could change her mind, she hit the reply button. She thanked them for their very kind offer. She said that she knew it was an excellent school, and she had very much enjoyed her interview with them. She realized then that the letter she was writing was setting it up for her to decline. She sucked in her breath then, and wrote the next line. She almost wanted to scream while she did it. “I accept your offer. I would like to have one of the apartments you mentioned. Thank you very much. See you in two weeks.” And she signed it and hit the send button. She thought she was going to faint when she did it. But she had done it! And if she hated it, she could quit and come home. A whole new life had just begun. |
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07-02-11, 10:35 AM
| #52 |
| | Chapter 22 Brigitte thought about e-mailing Marc after she sent the one to AUP, but she decided not to. It seemed like too much pressure on both of them, and too much anticipation about what would happen, or might not. She was nervous enough about the job, without worrying how he felt about her for the next two weeks. So she said nothing. He wrote her an e-mail a few days later, and she acted as though everything were normal in Boston. She said she was doing some writing, the weather was beautiful, and asked about his book. Their e-mail exchange was casual and friendly, which was all she wanted right now, until she got there at least. It took her two days to get up the guts to tell her mother, and another day to tell Amy after that. Her mother was startled but not entirely surprised. She wanted to know if it had anything to do with the writer who had helped her at the archives, and Brigitte said it didn’t, which wasn’t entirely true, but she didn’t want to admit that to her just yet, or even to herself. And whatever the reason, her mother thought it was a great idea. She said she hated to have her so far away, but she thought it would be a wonderful change for Brigitte and just what she needed. Her mother was aware too that her life had been in a stall for a while. Paris was going to be a wonderful change for her. Her mother promised to come over and visit her in the fall, and after reading all of the material Brigitte had gathered for her, she wanted to visit the château now too. For some reason, it was harder for her to tell Amy. She felt guilty for leaving Boston, as though she were abandoning her, leaving her alone to cope with her two kids. But it was a choice Amy had made when she decided to have them, and she never complained. “You’re doing what?” Amy said, staring at her, when Brigitte told her, sitting in her kitchen. She had mumbled it, and had asked Amy if she could come over for a few minutes. Amy could see that something was up the minute she walked in. Brigitte looked uncomfortable and nervous, and she had a sudden feeling that she was going to follow Ted to Egypt, and she hoped she wouldn’t. She was totally unprepared for the announcement about Paris, and was blindsided by it. “I’m taking a job at AUP and moving to Paris,” Brigitte repeated, looking miserable. It had been harder to tell her than she feared, but she had to. She was leaving in ten days. “Holy shit, girl!” Amy exploded, beaming at her. “That’s fantastic! How did that happen, or when? You never told me you applied there.” “I didn’t … well, I did … but I didn’t mean it. Marc set it up with a friend of his when I was there. I just went to humor him. They e-mailed me three days ago. I was too scared to tell you. I thought you’d be upset.” She smiled at her jubilant friend in relief. Amy was the most generous person she knew, and always happy for other people’s victories and successes, instead of rejoicing in their defeats as so many others did. It was easy to see that she was thrilled for her friend. “Of course I’m upset. I’m going to miss you. But there’s nothing for you here. You’ve done it. It was right for a while, but Ted’s gone, your job disappeared, you might as well get your ass out of Dodge and try something new. And Paris is about as good as it gets. What does that guy think? Marc, whatever his name is?” “I didn’t tell him. And I sent the man who hired me an e-mail asking him not to tell him either. That’s too much pressure for me right now. I can’t deal with his expectations and a new job too.” Amy looked surprised. She thought he had more to do with it than he apparently did. Brigitte looked nervous about him too, not just the job. “Are you going to tell him when you get there?” It would have seemed strange to Amy if not, except that she knew her well, that she hated change and had an aversion to risk. And right now Brigitte was dealing with both. She was scared shitless. But she was doing it anyway. For once she wasn’t taking the easy way, she was facing things head on, and throwing caution to the winds. The writing she’d been doing about Wachiwi was helping her. It was a constant reminder of how brave some people were, and how well things turned out sometimes. Wachiwi’s story had had a happy ending. Brigitte was beginning to think that hers could too. And she couldn’t hide in her rabbit hole forever, afraid to take chances. “Yes, I’m going to tell Marc when I get there,” she answered Amy’s question. “Just not yet.” And then she admitted, “I’m too scared. What am I going to do if I get a good offer from a school here before I go?” She’d been worrying about that for days. It would create a real dilemma for her if that happened. “Turn it down, silly. Paris or Boston? Now there’s an easy decision.” For Amy maybe, not for Brigitte. She would never have had the courage to make the choices Amy had, and she wouldn’t have wanted to. She wanted children, but not the way Amy had done it, at a sperm bank. It seemed too uncertain to her, and children seemed like too much responsibility to her to take on alone. If she never married or found the right man, she was prepared not to have children. She and Amy were just very different people, with different needs. The two women talked for a while, and Amy was startled to realize she was leaving in ten days. It was so soon, and Brigitte had a mountain of things to do before she left. She had decided to get rid of a lot of her things, and put the rest in storage. The studio apartment they were offering her in Paris was furnished, and she didn’t want to take too much with her. She asked Amy if there was anything she wanted, and she said she’d come and look that week before they got taken away. “So when are you going to tell this guy?” she asked, curious about Brigitte’s relationship with Marc. She kept saying they were just friends, but Amy didn’t believe her. There was a light in her eyes every time she mentioned him, and she insisted on their “just friendship” much too often. “I’ll tell him when I’m in Paris. Maybe after I get settled.” “Don’t wait too long,” Amy warned. “If he’s a good one, someone else will grab him.” “If that happens, then he’s not meant for me,” Brigitte said coolly. She was thinking of Wachiwi, who had fallen in love with Jean and left for France with him, and ended up marrying his brother. You could never predict what would happen. There was an element of destiny in everything that one could never account for. And it applied to her relationship with Marc too. Whatever it turned out to be would be the right thing in the end. She was convinced of that now. And she wasn’t going to rush it. She told Amy then that Ted had called her, and she looked surprised again. “What did he want?” “Some kind of closure, I think. It was okay. It was weird hearing from him at first. He called right after I got the e-mail from AUP, and I was hysterical. He actually helped me. He thought I should do it.” “Of course he did. Because if you go off to Paris and have a new life, then he doesn’t have to feel so guilty for dumping you here in a hot New York minute, and on Valentine’s night yet.” Amy had never approved of how brutally he had left her. She had lost all respect for him when he did, and she felt very sorry for Brigitte. “Maybe it was for the best in the end. I could have wasted another five or six years. It was never right,” she admitted to her friend. “I just didn’t want to see it.” “He could have been nicer about it,” Amy said sternly. “Yes he could,” Brigitte conceded. “I’m not even mad at him anymore. It was strange talking to him though, it felt so disconnected. It was like talking to a stranger. Maybe we always were.” Amy nodded and didn’t comment. She had never thought much of the relationship or him. He seemed so totally without passion, except about his work. She hoped the new man in Paris was better, if Brigitte decided to get involved with him. She wondered if she would, but it was beginning to seem likely. And she could no longer use the geographic excuse to avoid it. Maybe that was why she was being cautious about telling him. She wanted to give herself options, or at least that was what Amy thought. All Amy wanted for Brigitte was for her to find a good man. She hoped this one was. Brigitte spent the rest of the week putting the things she wanted to keep in boxes, and stacking the rest to give away. She got rid of books, mementoes that no longer meant anything to her, sports equipment Ted had left and never reclaimed. She was amazed at much of the stuff she had collected. And she made a small pile of things she wanted to send to Paris for her apartment there, photographs of her mother, some reference books and research papers, and a few sentimental things she knew she’d miss too much if she put them in storage. There were photographs of her with her parents when she was small, a nice one of Amy with her kids. And she put away all the photos of her with Ted. She didn’t need them anymore, and had meant to put them away months before. This was a good time for her to sort through everything and get rid of what she didn’t need, and all the things that had become obsolete in her life. She put all her mementoes with Ted in a box and sent them to storage. She couldn’t bring herself to throw them away. And then finally, it was over. The apartment was empty, her bags were packed, the furniture had been stored. Amy had taken a few things, and she’d given her the couch she bought with Ted. She didn’t need it anymore, and if she came back, she wanted to start fresh. But for now her fresh start was in Paris. Her last evening with Amy was one of laughter and tears. They reminisced about silly things they’d done together, jokes they’d played on each other and friends. Brigitte remembered the births of both her babies and had been there, and now she was going three thousand miles away, but she was feeling calmer about it than she had at first. “I know it sounds stupid,” she said to Amy as they sat in her kitchen, “but I feel like I’ve finally grown up. I guess I’ve been coasting for a long time and didn’t know it. I think this is the first time I’ve made a big decision, and didn’t just back into it, or slide into home base.” “I think you hit a home run on this one,” Amy praised her. She totally approved of her decision to go to Paris. And even if it wasn’t the right job in the end, it was a great idea to try it, and it might open a door to something else. She had said as much to Brigitte. “I hope it works out with Marc too.” “I’m not expecting anything except friendship,” Brigitte said simply, and she almost meant it. Not totally. “That’s what you’re expecting. But what do you want, Brig? If you had a magic wand, what would you wish for? A life with this guy, or someone else?” It was an important question, and Brigitte thought about it before she answered. And when she did, she spoke softly. “I don’t know him well enough to be sure. But maybe a life with him. He’s a good person, and I really like him. We get along, and I think we respect each other and we have a lot in common. That’s a good beginning.” “Sounds like it to me,” Amy said, smiling at her friend. “Then I’ll keep my fingers crossed for you that it works out. I’m going to miss you like crazy though if you stay there.” “Boston’s not so far. I’ll come to visit. I’ll come to see my mom in New York anyway.” “And if I ever get these wild Indians of mine tamed, I’ll come to Europe.” But they both knew it wouldn’t be anytime soon. And Amy needed every penny she made to support them. No one helped her, which made her decision to have them even more courageous. “I’ll call you,” Brigitte promised when she left. And they had e-mail. They e-mailed each other frequently anyway, even right in Boston. Being three thousand miles away from Amy was going to leave a huge void in her life. She was used to having her right down the hall at work, or a few minutes away. They both shed a few tears as they hugged each other, and then Brigitte ran down the steps, waving, and walked home. She had sold her car the week before and had gotten a decent price for it. She had disbanded a whole life in ten days. Twelve years in Boston were over. None of the schools she had sent her résumé to made her a last-minute offer. So the decision to take the job in Paris had been a good one. Brigitte couldn’t help wondering if it was the only offer she would get at all. And she had texted Ted a few days before that she was going and thanked him for his input. He really had helped her. It had been just the push she needed to jump off the diving board into the water. And she was waiting to see now if her arrival would be a big splash or a small one. She had to see what happened when she got to AUP, and then saw Marc. The morning after she said goodbye to Amy, Brigitte rented a car and drove to New York. She didn’t want to take her two big suitcases on a commuter flight, and the drive down was pleasant. It was a beautiful June day and the sun was shining, and she found herself singing as she drove. She was feeling good about her decision. She spent three days with her mother. They went to the theater, and out to dinner. Her mother showed her how she had organized the information Brigitte had given her, and it fit in with the rest. Everything was in order, and they could track their family easily now to 1750. Her mother still wanted to pursue their ancestors before that, all the way to the time the château had been built in the twelfth century, but she was on the right track now and thought she could do the rest of it herself. “How’s your book coming?” she asked Brigitte over dinner. “I haven’t had time to work on it, I’ve been too busy packing. I’ll get back to it in Paris.” “This is very exciting,” Marguerite said, smiling at her proudly. “A new job, a new city, a new book, maybe a new man.” She hoped so for her sake. Either Marc or another, just so she was happy. But Brigitte looked very content these days. She had ever since she came back from France the last time. When her mother last saw her, she was still high from her trip and all that she had discovered. There had been some nasty slumps since then, which led to her decision to leave Boston. She had no regrets at all now, and only a few fears. Day by day it felt more right to her than ever. She was feeling confident about the job. The big question in her mind was Marc. They had exchanged several e-mails, all very friendly. School was almost out for the summer, and he was delighted. He said he was going to the mountains for a vacation in August, to visit some distant cousins. And he said he was going to be in Paris in July. He had asked what she was doing, and she said she didn’t have plans yet, which was true. She wanted to settle into her job, and get used to living in the city. She had told him she had a new job, but she didn’t say where. And he had forgotten to ask her which school, so she didn’t have to dodge the question. She didn’t lie, she just didn’t tell him. A sin of omission, not commission. And eventually she would thank him for the introduction to his friend at AUP, but not yet. She wanted to see him again first before she told him anything, and see how they both felt. There had been contradictions in their relationship before, the easy friendship that they had both enjoyed, and the kisses beneath the Eiffel Tower on her last night. She didn’t know which route they would take, or which one she wanted, the friend or the man. And she wasn’t just passing through town now. She would be living there full time, so a relationship between them would have to make sense, to both of them, and not just be an accident of chance. She didn’t want to make the same mistakes she had with Ted, of falling into something easy, and never asking the right questions, of him or herself. This time she wanted answers before she took any leaps. She didn’t want to be lazy or scared, she wanted to be wise, and have her eyes wide open, not just her heart. The night that she left New York, she and her mother had an early dinner. They talked until she left for the airport, and her mother hugged her tight before she left. “Take care of yourself, sweetheart. Have a wonderful time, and I hope you meet lots of good people there, and have a great time.” They promised to call each other, and Brigitte knew they would. They called each other often, and worried about each other. There were tears in Marguerite’s eyes when she kissed her. All she wanted was for her daughter to be happy. It was what Brigitte wanted for herself too, and she hoped she would be in Paris. As she went down in the elevator with her bags, it was exciting to know that in exactly nine hours she’d be there. She could hardly wait. |
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07-02-11, 10:36 AM
| #54 |
| | About the Author DANIELLE STEEL has been hailed as one of the world’s most popular authors, with over 590 million copies of her novels sold. Her many international best sellers include Family Ties, Big Girl, Southern Lights, Matters of the Heart, One Day at a Time, A Good Woman, Rogue, and other highly acclaimed novels. She is also the author of His Bright Light, the story of her son Nick Traina’s life and death. |
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