Still, it was strange how these patterns repeated themselves.
They returned to their apartment to change for the evening. Estelle donned the same earrings she’d been wearing since the tour began, but she opted for an emerald-green dress that swept to her ankles and tied tightly around her waist. She felt sleek and beautiful. As they walked the six minutes to the bookstore, she and Sam remained quiet and speechless, as the summer day softened around them.
At the bookstore, Estelle was introduced to the current manager, a woman in her fifties, who explained that she hadn’t read any of Estelle’s books until this one. “And I found it to bequite wonderful!” she said, smiling. “I never imagined myself to be a romance novel reader. Maybe you’ve changed my mind!”
Estelle blushed. “I never wanted to change anyone’s mind about anything. But literature is literature, no matter what the genre.”
“I didn’t think like that before,” the manager said. “It’s funny that you never stop learning in life.”
Unlike in New York, Estelle’s agent couldn’t make it. But in time, the bookstore was full of Estelle’s fanbase, many of whom were in their forties, fifties, sixties, seventies, and eighties. Women, mostly. But there were a few men sprinkled in.
And then, as Estelle settled into her reading chair and opened her book to begin, Sam touched her shoulder, bent down, and whispered into her ear, “Isn’t that the guy from Manhattan?”
Estelle was careful not to make any sudden, crazy movements. Slowly, she drew her chin upward and allowed her eyes to skate along the crowd until she found him. There he was—Albert, wearing that same suit jacket and that same mischievous smile. He winked at her, sending a shiver down her spine. Had he arranged all of his business meetings so that he could come here today and hear her read? Estelle didn’t know what to make of it. But of course, she’d absolutely thought of him since their encounter at the hotel. She’d played it over and over again in her mind, wondering if they’d been flirting, if that was the kind of conversation you were meant to have on a date, and so on. She’d only just allowed herself to begin to forget it. And now, here he was again—daring her to think about it some more.
She offered him a small smile, then proceeded to read.
A half hour later,Estelle finished with her reading and opened the Q&A session. Most of the women who asked questions were French, who’d read translated versions of Estelle’s novels, but others were American, maybe women living abroad who missed American voices and stories. Estelle found it funny and beautiful that every woman across the world seemed to have a different way of approaching the books she’d written. It made reading a very intimate experience, she felt.
When the Q&A was finished, Estelle turned to hug Sam, who congratulated her on yet another brilliant reading.
“I can’t believe that guy came back,” Sam breathed again.
It was then that Estelle remembered that she’d never told Sam about her encounter with Albert at the hotel bar in Manhattan. She’d kept their little flirtation a secret, if only to have something for herself. And she hadn’t wanted Sam to obsess over it and ask what it all meant. “He’s a fan,” she said now, shrugging.
“I think you should go over and say hi,” Sam said, grinning.
Estelle swatted her daughter. “Come on. He’s nobody.” Did her daughter really want her to flirt with someone like that? Did her daughter really want her to move on from Roland?
No, Estelle knew. But maybe Sam wanted her to live again, if only a little bit. Maybe she wanted her to embrace the years she had left. It wasn’t like she was terribly old. Seventy-three was nothing.
She should have had more years with Roland left! Anxiety splintered her heart. Suddenly, it was too loud in the bookstore, too hot. Too many people were lined up to greet her, to take what they could from her.
“Mom?” Sam interrupted her swirling thoughts. “Are you okay?”
“Fine, honey.” Estelle reached for a glass of wine and steadied herself. She turned back to address the line of fans, all of whom wanted her autograph and a brief conversation. Some of them wanted to take her photograph. She had to seem normal, or better than normal. She had to seem worthy of the fame she had, somehow.
Albert waited for her throughout the book signing, just as she’d half hoped he would. When she walked over to him, she eyed him warily as her heart pounded in her neck. Was this a dream? She’d certainly had many strange dreams lately, all of which she’d attributed to traveling so much. Roland hadn’t appeared in any of them, which sort of bothered her. Where was he? Why couldn’t he grace her with his presence, at least for a little while, in the dream world?
There was no mistaking that Albert was very pleased to see her.
“Albert,” Estelle said, tilting her head.
“Estelle. Nice venue.” Albert raised his eyebrows. “Isn’t this where all the greats started?”
Estelle laughed. “I can’t count myself among them.”
“I think you should.” Albert looked suddenly very stern. “I read your new book when I got to Europe. It floored me, Estelle. But it made me realize that you’re not done yet. We need to know about this next stage of your life. More words are waiting back there behind those eyes.”
Estelle blushed. She didn’t know what to say, not to Albert, not to anyone here. She felt put on the spot. She was conscious of so many eyes on her. Were they talking about her and Albert? Were they wondering if she already had a new boyfriend?
She hated gossip. She didn’t want any part of it.
“I should get back to my party,” she said.
“You’re in your party,” Albert reminded her. “I’m a part of it.”
Estelle brushed her fingers through her hair and glanced back at Sam, who was in conversation with the bookstore manager. A few other readers hung behind Estelle’s shoulder, as though waiting to nab her.
