One Summer in Paris

Grace felt as if she’d been dunked in ice.

She remembered Chrissie at six years old, playing with Sophie, her hair in a ponytail. Chrissie splashing in a paddling pool in the garden.

Chrissie, refusing chocolate cake because her mother wouldn’t want her to eat it.

And now Chrissie had pushed Sophie into taking drugs. And Sophie hadn’t said no.

Focus, focus.

Grace breathed through her anger. “First of all, tell me how you are. Are you all right? Did you suffer any ill effects?”

“I spat it out when she wasn’t looking.”

Relief flooded through her. “And Chrissie? How bad is she? What was the drug, do you know? Did—” she was almost afraid to ask the question “—anything else happen? Did anyone take advantage?” She thought about Audrey, alone at the party in the bathroom.

“No, n-nothing like that.” Sophie’s voice was jerky. “I called an ambulance and went with her to the hospital.”

“Good girl.” Forcing herself to stay calm, Grace closed her eyes. “Have you called Monica?” She sat on the edge of the bed, remembering how worried Monica had been. She’d been the one to reassure her. She’d said that she’d be around to help if anything went wrong, but she hadn’t really thought it would happen. How would her friend react to the news that her clean-eating daughter had been filling her body with chemicals? Grace felt a rush of anger that Chrissie had not only done that, but that she’d pressured Sophie into doing it, too.

“I called you first. I haven’t rung Monica yet. Mom, what if Chrissie dies? Monica will blame me for not trying to stop her—” Sophie carried on talking, but the rest of what she said was mostly incoherent.

Grace was shaking. She felt a little sick.

“You are not to blame.”

“Could you call Monica, Mom? I don’t know what to say.”

“Of course. Leave that with me, honey.” It felt good to be able to do something to help.

Behind her, she felt the bed move and heard Philippe leave the room.

She couldn’t help thinking that if David was here he’d be sitting on the bed right by her, giving her support. He’d be as worried as she was. He’d definitely have his arm around her.

She missed him so badly it was like a physical ache in her chest.

He’d wanted to talk to her. And what had she done?

She’d rebuffed him. Twice.

She hadn’t even listened to him. She hadn’t given him a chance. Wasn’t that what he’d done to her? And she’d criticized him.

“I need you to calm down and give me the details of the hospital. I’ll meet you there as soon as I can get a flight. I’ll text you details as soon as I have them. And I’ll call Monica now.”

“Okay. Thank you. And I’m sorry, Mom. I’m so, so sorry. I’ve been so messed-up since Dad left, and with the whole Sam thing—” her breathing juddered “—I didn’t want to lose my best friend, too. I know that’s not an excuse, I know I made a bad decision. Are you mad at me?”

Was she mad? Maybe she was a little. Mostly she was stunned. And scared.

I’ve been so messed-up since Dad left.

Was this her and David’s fault? Were they the ones who had indirectly caused this? Was their daughter now so emotionally needy that she’d do anything to keep a friend?

This wasn’t the right time to think about that. “I’m not mad, Sophie. I’m just glad you told me. We’ll find a way through this, I promise.”

“I tried calling Dad, too, but he didn’t answer.”

“He’s here, in Paris. He brought Mimi.”

There was a soft gasp on the end of the phone. “Are you guys back together? Oh, my God, that would be the best thing ever. Can you call him, Mom? Can you tell Daddy? Will he come with you?”