“Go for a walk with me after this,” Albert urged. “Walking through Paris on a summer night is the most incredible thing.”
How could Estelle say no? Albert said he’d pick her up when the time came. They didn’t exchange numbers, perhaps because they were from another time, a time when that wasn’t necessary.
Feeling like a teenage girl, after the party ended a couple of hours later, Estelle walked with Sam back to their apartment, pretending she didn’t have plans. Why wasn’t she acting like a grown woman, going out with her male friend and telling her daughter about it? Did she think Sam would act strangely or tease her? Maybe. Or maybe she just didn’t want to have to account for herself.
She didn’t want to have to explain all the wild thoughts running through her mind.
After Sam retreated to her bedroom, Estelle fixed her makeup, then crept outside, careful to close the door as quietly as she could so as not to alert Sam. When she emerged, she found Albert already waiting for her. A single red rose dangled from his right hand. As she walked toward him, he raised it, smiling. “For the most beautiful woman I’ve seen in weeks,” he said.
Estelle took it. “You’re shameless,” she said.
Albert smiled. “Come on,” he said. “We don’t want to waste a moment.”
Together, they walked toward the Seine, where they strolled in the orange light of the streetlamps. Estelle imagined they were living in a different time, a time when Ernest Hemingway hung out at that very bookstore, thinking about the books he wantedto write next. She wondered if the conversations she and Albert were having were up to par with the writers’ conversations from back then. She guessed not, but it didn’t matter.
“How has it been in Europe for you?” she asked Albert, too frightened to look him in the eye. She had her rose in her hands, and she twirled it.
“What do you want to know about?” Albert asked. “Do you want the play-by-play of my business meetings?”
Estelle laughed. “I guess not, no.”
Albert paused at the edge of the river, then dropped down to let his legs hang over the side. From a leather backpack, he retrieved a bottle of champagne and two glasses. They’d already been walking for half an hour, and Estelle guessed they deserved a short rest.
“I’ll keep it brief,” he said. “I’ve sold my business, and I’m changing everything in my life.”
“What a whirlwind,” Estelle said. She wondered how much money he’d gotten in his business sale, but she didn’t want to be crude and ask. She guessed it was a great deal. He smelled of money, of expensive champagne and fine and decadent food.
But right now, he wanted to talk about her. “Did you ever want to be anything else besides a writer?”
Estelle shook her head. “Never.” She then added, “Well, I wanted to be a mother.”
Albert beamed. “Was it hard to balance motherhood with writing?”
“I felt that the two jobs counterbalanced each other,” Estelle recalled. “I had very strange hours, staying up nights with my babies and writing whenever I could. We sometimes hired help when I had a deadline or needed to get more work done. But mostly, I did it all myself. They were some of the happiest years of my life even though I was exhausted.”
“It’s strange, looking back. It’s always the most stressful years that stick out in my mind as the very best,” Albert said. “When my children were young, the childcare didn’t usually fall on me. I guess my relationships were more old-fashioned in that way. I think it’s good the way things have shifted, now.”
Estelle nodded. “My granddaughter’s husband is very active with the kids. It’s amazing to see.” She didn’t say that she couldn’t have imagined Roland changing so many diapers. His career had been too essential to him. He’d been a different kind of man.
“Time marches on,” Albert agreed.
Albert popped the champagne and poured their glasses. Estelle tried to visualize what they looked like from overhead. In her mind, they were much younger than they looked. It was as though they were in their twenties, with their entire lives out in front of them. Instead, they were in their seventies, trying to make the most out of the years they had left.
Estelle told herself not to obsess over what this was and what this meant. She told herself to engage with the moonlight, with Albert’s smile and laugh, with how gorgeous it all was. She told herself to hold on to this for as long as she could. If she’d learned anything in her seventy-three years, it was that time was fleeting. She wasn’t going to let it slip away.
Two hours later, after a gorgeous and soulful conversation, Albert walked Estelle back to the apartment she shared with her daughter. At the door, she half expected him to kiss her on the lips. Wasn’t that what lovers were meant to do in Paris? But instead, he hugged her close and whispered, “I’ll see you soon, Estelle Coleman.” With that, he turned and disappeared into the night, leaving Estelle with a swollen heart and a rare bit of hope. How wonderful.
13
Saturday morning, Rachelle woke up early to prep for what Diana called “one of the biggest days at the restaurant of the summer.” She went for a run, lifted weights in the living room while listening to a podcast about modern cuisine, then showered and changed into her chef whites. Throughout, Riccardo slept soundly, as he’d been out late with Arturo, singing karaoke and seeing old friends.
Right before Rachelle left to meet Diana at the restaurant, she checked her phone to find a voice message from Valeria, Riccardo’s mother. It was brief, less than thirty seconds, so she listened to it as she sped out the door.
“Good morning, darling! I wanted to let you know something incredible. Remember that wedding dress designer I told you about? Monticello? He didn’t have any slots open for months and months and months. I didn’t imagine we’d ever find a day to meet him. But just this morning, he called to tell me he has a surprise opening today! We must go. Meet me at 19 Rua Giovanni at three thirty this afternoon. Kisses. Ciao.”
Rachelle stopped short on the cobblestones outside her apartment, her heart thudding. Three thirty this afternoon wassmack-dab in the middle of the rowdiest time of Diana’s party, which meant that Rachelle would be needed in the kitchen. She was needed with her knife and her culinary know-how and her whip-smart attention to detail. She couldn’t be off in some boutique somewhere, trying on wedding gowns.
But how could she explain that to Valeria, who didn’t think she should be working at all?
