One Summer in Paris

“Better.” Grace curled her legs under her on the sofa and settled in. It was good to have something positive to chat about at last. Over the past few months it felt as if all she’d done was cry and complain. “I’m staying in an apartment and living like a Parisian. Are you impressed?” It was a superfluous question. Her grandmother would be thrilled that Grace had found the energy to be proactive.

“An apartment? Grace!” Mimi’s face brightened. “What happened to the hotel?”

“I found a French lover and the hotel complained about the noise. They weren’t wild about us swinging from the chandelier, either. Apparently it was antique.”

Mimi’s laugh was higher than usual. Her eyes flitted beyond the screen.

Grace froze in mortification. Was John still standing there? If he was, then she’d never be able to face anyone at Rushing River Senior Living again. She’d have to give her French classes with a bag over her head. “Mimi? Are you on your own?”

“Yes. I am a little distracted, that’s all. Your call was a surprise.”

Her grandmother loved surprises.

“I wanted to talk to you.”

“Tell me about the apartment. Does this mean you’re thinking of staying longer in Paris?”

The Mimi Grace knew would have asked about the French lover.

Or maybe her grandmother knew she was joking.

“I can’t stay longer because of Sophie.” But once Sophie left home, she could do anything. A few months ago that thought would have terrified her, but now? She explored her feelings gingerly, like someone staggering to their feet after a bad fall, and realized that the breathless panic that had gripped her since that awful Valentine’s Day dinner had left her. She no longer felt scared. Sad, yes, but fearful of the future? No. Maybe it was the wine. Or maybe it was simply that she’d removed herself from her old life. This new life she was living had never included David. Here, the loss was more of an ache than a stab. She could feel her strength returning. “It’s a short-term rental. I’ll email you the address. I think you’ll approve. I’m living above your bookshop.” Why wasn’t her grandmother looking at her? “Mimi?”

“Yes?” Mimi’s eyes slid back to the screen. “Tell me about it.”

Grace tried to read her grandmother’s expression, but the signal wasn’t brilliant and the image was a little blurred. “Is something wrong?”

“What could be wrong? I live in paradise. Now tell me about the bookstore. Is the door still blue? Does it still have a bell that clangs like a ship about to sink?”

“It does. I don’t think it has changed in the last hundred years. We’re probably wading through the same dust you did. It’s owned by a woman called Elodie. She mentioned her grandmother, Paulette. Did you ever meet Paulette?”

“I’m not sure—” Mimi looked vague. “Maybe. Or maybe not. The past is hazy.”

Grace knew for a fact that her grandmother’s memory was perfect. If the past was hazy, then it was because there were things she didn’t want to share.

It was frustrating. She really wanted to know more about Mimi’s link to the bookstore.

“I love that it has so many different rooms. It feels almost like a maze. What did you love most about it?”

“The atmosphere.”

At least her grandmother wasn’t pretending it was the books.

Grace still struggled to imagine her free-spirited, wild grandmother spending time in the bookstore. It would be like trapping a bird in a cage.

“I’ve made a new friend. Her name is Audrey, and she’s Sophie’s age. You’d love her. She reminds me a little of you. She works in the bookstore.”

“That’s good. I do love to be around young people, although these days everyone is a young person to me.”

Grace took a deep breath. “I did something this evening.” If anyone could give her advice, it was her grandmother. “Something that isn’t like me. I tracked down Philippe. He’s a concert pianist. He performs all over the world. I’m thinking of sending him a friend request. What do you think?”

“I think it sounds like an excellent plan.”

“It’s not a plan exactly. These days I don’t have much of a plan. I wake up and see what I feel like doing, but I did wonder—” She bit her lip. “You do remember me mentioning Philippe?”

Mimi beamed at her. “Of course! He was your first love. Handsome, charming, smart—and an amazing lover.”

Grace almost fell off her chair. “Er—”