Ульяна Солнечная – Its Never Too Late - As Long As Youre Alive (страница 16)

Softer. Grayer. Like old photographs.

The hotel was small, tucked into a quiet side street. Kate had chosen it on Barbara’s advice.

“Small hotels are cozier,” Barbara had said. “And the staff are kinder.”

“Mrs. Morgan?” the clerk said with a smile. “Welcome. Your room is ready. Breakfast is from seven to ten. If you need anything, just ask.”

The room was tiny.

A bed, a wardrobe, a small table by the window, and a door to the bathroom.

But from the window she could see the rooftop of the neighboring building, with a chimney and a tiny garden on a balcony.

Kate sat down on the bed and suddenly realized she was exhausted.

Time difference, the long flight, emotions — it had all blended into one great wave of fatigue.

But she mustn’t sleep.

Barbara had warned her:

“Don’t lie down until evening, or your body clock will be ruined and your first few days will be a mess. Stay awake till night, then you’ll sleep like the dead.”

Kate splashed cold water on her face, changed clothes, grabbed her bag, and went outside.

She did not go to the tower.

She did not go to Notre-Dame.

She went instead to the little bakery on the corner, where the smell was so heavenly her knees nearly gave out.

“Bonjour, madame,” said the young woman behind the counter, dressed in a white apron.

“Bonjour,” Kate replied. “Je voudrais…”

She faltered.

That was as far as her French went.

She pointed at a croissant.

“S’il vous plaît.”

The girl smiled, wrapped the croissant in paper, and named the price. Kate handed over coins — she had made sure to buy a few euros at the bank so she wouldn’t get confused by bills.

She stepped back outside, holding a warm, still-crisp croissant in her hands.

She found an empty table at a nearby sidewalk café.

Sat down.

And took a bite.

Oh, Lord.

The warm, flaky, buttery pastry melted in her mouth. Crumbs fell onto the plate. Kate closed her eyes and simply chewed, feeling tears slide down her cheeks again.

She hadn’t cried this much in years.

And now — for the second time that day.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered to the croissant. “I just waited a very long time.”

The croissant said nothing.

But it was delicious.

She sat there in that little café, drinking coffee — bitter and strong, nothing like back home — eating her croissant, and watching people pass.

Parisians walked by — beautiful, ordinary, elegant, tired, carrying bags and dogs and children and their own lives.

Some were hurrying. Some were strolling.

Life was flowing.

And Kate was part of it.

She pulled out her phone, took a picture of her coffee cup, the croissant, a sliver of the street beyond. She sent it to Barbara with the caption:

I’m here. This is really Paris. And the croissant is divine.

A minute later, Barbara replied:

I knew it. Eat one for me. Garfield demands cheese, don’t forget.

Kate laughed out loud.

No one around her even looked up.

Apparently, in Paris, people laughed out loud all the time.

She finished her coffee, paid, and went walking.

Just walking.

No map. No plan.

Looking at buildings, shop windows, couples in love, old men carrying baguettes under their arms.

She reached the Seine.

Sat on a bench.

Watched the water, the bridges, the boats drifting by.

The sun was setting, washing everything in gold and pink.

“I’m here, Tom,” Kate said softly. “I made it. For both of us.”

Somewhere far away in Oklahoma, Tom lay beneath the earth under an old oak tree.

But Kate suddenly felt him clearly.

He was here.

In this light.

In this breeze off the river.

In this strange, impossible quiet inside her.

She took out her notebook.

On a blank page she wrote:

First day in Paris.

I ate a croissant. Drank coffee. Sat by the Seine.