“What I remember the most is feeling as if it was all beginning. Everything was ahead of me when I came here. And you get to a point in your life, Cord, when you wonder if there’s anything big left to happen to you.”
“Mom,” said Cord. “There’s plenty ahead for you.”
“What do you want?” asked Charlotte. “What do you really want, honey? Life doesn’t go on forever, you know.”
“I want to be happy,” said Cord. And here—here—was the moment he could tell his mother who he was. After all, she was baring her own heart. “Mom?” said Cord.
“I want to be happy, too,” said Charlotte.
Cord cleared his throat. “Mom?” he said again. But Charlotte hiked up the skirt of her dress, gathered breath, and started to run toward the château.
“Mom!” cried Cord.
The driver jumped out of the taxi, yelling at her to stop. Cord watched her, stunned. “Mom!” he cried. Charlotte did not turn around.
“She will be jailed!” said the taxi driver. “It is not for the public.Arête! Arête,madame!”
Cord took off, but Charlotte, kicking off her kitten heels, was fast. She ran until she reached the castle, then began banging on the door. “I’m here!” she yelled.“C’est moi!”
Finally, Cord caught up, breathing heavily. The driver was a few paces behind them. Cord pinned Charlotte’s arms to her sides. The door was solid, enormous, shut tight. After a while, Charlotte wriggled free and began running back toward the taxi. She had lost her mind.
“What do I care?” screamed Charlotte. She spun in a slow circle on the vast lawn, arms open wide, cragged peaks rising above her. Sunlight bathed Cord’s mother, making her glow. “He’s dead!” she cried. “And I’m alive!”
Cord couldn’t help but grin. Maybe she had been a famous painter’s lover. Anything was possible. Even telling Charlotte his truth. “Mom,” he said.
She turned to him.
“I’m gay,” said Cord. “Giovanni is my love. I love him.” Charlotte was still. She nodded—not shocked, but not pleased, either. “I love you, too,” said Cord. He moved toward his mother and encircled her gently in his arms.
“Ah,” said Charlotte, easing into his embrace, “lucky me.”
REGAN HAD STAYED UPuntil almost dawn, drinking tea and working on her scrapbook, laying out tiny watercolor paintings on the floor of the cabin, pasting tickets and menus and pages ripped from tour brochures. Sometime toward morning, she ordered a pot of coffee and a plate of croissants with butter and jam. As much as Regan yearned to visit France and sip an actual café au lait, she decided she would spend the day in her cabin with her art supplies. She had missed the way the hours slipped past as she transferred images from her brain to paper.
—
TAKING A BREAK TOstretch her legs, Regan opened the cabin closet to see that it was bare of Matt’s clothes.
Her plan had worked. But as she touched the empty hangers, she felt a wave of fear. What had she done? She imagined the girls’ faces when she told them and felt nauseous. Was she selfish for wanting a second chance? She was, surely she was.
—
HERMORNING MARVELOSONEWSLETTERfeatured a Slimming Ionithermie Super Detox Treatment “created by a French biochemist” and available in the spa. After the detox, proclaimed the leaflet, “You will return home looking refreshed and rejuvenated and 8 to 10 Years Younger!”
Eight years ago, Regan mused, she had been the mother of a one-year-old, happily ensconced in her suburban lair, her days filled with endless lists of easily accomplished tasks. Essentially, her job each morning was to feed her small family and make sure that the house looked the same at 5:00P.M.as it had at 6:30A.M., when Matt had left for work. Also blow jobs, which she’d read in a magazine would keep Matt faithful and fulfilled. Every few days, Regan dutifully yanked down his boxers in bed, performed fellatio, and swallowed. When he’d fallen asleep, she went to town with the Listerine. In the morning, she made coffee and eggs and evenpancakes,for the love of God. She’d thought she was happy.
But now, it was hard to look back at those days and see them as anything but pathetic. If Reganhadn’tbeen creating the perfect house and happy marriage, what had been the point of all that effortful action? In retrospect, she seemed a cog in an assembly line, sucking and swallowing and scrubbing and sautéing, doing her part to make…what? Younger Regan seemed so energetic, so dumb.
Regan pulled on her pale pink robe, feeling sympathy for her younger, tender self. She remembered her rehearsal dinner at Elizabeth on 37th, when Lee had cornered her in the ladies’ room, proclaiming that Matt was not the one for Regan, that she should call off the wedding. Now, Regan understood that her sister had been right.
Regan stared at herself in the bathroom mirror. Her hair was tangled, pulled into a topknot and secured with a number two pencil. Her fingertips were stained with color. Her skin was lined. She was going to be a single mother. She was going to need a job, a new place to live.
Regan opened her sliding doors. Standing on her balcony, the port of Marseilles before her, Regan felt as if she were inhabiting—just for a moment—the person she’d once dreamed she’d become.
LEE’S BLEEDING HAD BEGUNin the evening. After she had emailed the files to Francine, Lee had gone into her bathroom to change and noticed scarlet stains. She got back into bed, curled up on her side, and prayed fiercely, understanding too late that this baby was all she wanted, all she’d ever wanted.Please oh please don’t leave me,she told her baby.Please oh please. I’ll change.
Waves of pain and so much blood. Lee grew scared and called Regan, then Cord. When neither answered, she called the ship’s doctor, who came to her room and confirmed she had miscarried. He gave her pain pills and a sleeping pill, telling her it seemed the worst was over. She could check into the Medical Center, the doctor said, or simply rest in her cabin. Lee told him she would stay in her room, wanting to mourn in peace. When he had left, she changed her sheets and climbed into bed. She didn’t take any of the medicine, feeling somehow that she deserved this pain, that it was punishment for being selfish and afraid. When the cramping eased, she fell asleep.
Upon waking, Lee saw that she’d missed a call. She could scarcely believe it as she listened to the recording. It was Jason, his message brief and kinder than she would have expected from someone she’d swindled. She could imagine him rubbing his eyes as he spoke: “Lee, it’s me. I’m not going to call the cops, okay? I’m afraid and I’m worried. Who are these plane tickets for? Are you on the European cruise I guess I’m paying for? With three friends? I’m going to cancel the card, Lee. I’m not mad—you can find a way to pay me back. I’m worried, Lee, I really am. And I just…I just wanted you to know the card won’t work anymore.”
