Then Uncle Alain picked up an envelope that was on the coffee table and held it up. “She left this for you, Emmie.”
“What is it?”
I took it from him, looked at them, then opened it and read the letter.
Dear M,
By the time you read this, I will have left France. I am not running away from you. It’s actually because of you that I’m doing what I’m doing.
Having had you with me, even for this short time, has woken me up. Perhaps it’s ironic, but you were able to do what Papa wasn’t, and that was to get me to take a long and serious look at myself.
I have never enjoyed my family or seen why so much of the world is beautiful as much as I have with you and because of you. In a real way, you have given me reason to hope and, probably more important, care about myself.
I am returning to New York to settle my account with Mrs. Brittany. You once asked me if there was someone with whom I could see myself spending my life. There is, but until now, he wasn’t free. I received a message from him while we were in Paris, and he told me he was free and wanted me to be with him.
I realized after the bad incident we experienced at the hotel and by Mrs. Brittany’s actions that you are simply not safe with me right now. On the other hand, I didn’t want to send you to live with Uncle Orman and Aunt Lucy. I brought you to Paris because I wanted you to get to know Uncle Alain and Maurice, who both want very much for you to stay with them. At least, until you’re old enough to strike out on your own.
While we were away, I did have most of what was required done. Uncle Alain will have you enrolled in the right school for you, and maybe one day, you’ll attend the Sorbonne or another school in the Latin Quarter. I could see how much you love Paris, so I feel confident that you will enjoy being there.
Please forgive me for doing it this way. I was afraid you would argue about it, but if you made me change my mind, you would be taking away my new chance, too, and I know you would be sorry forever.
I’ll see you again someday, I promise, but for now, think of Mama and Papa and how happy they would be that you’re not in my world as it is right now.
Love,
Roxy
I lowered the letter and looked at Uncle Alain and Maurice. “You two knew about this all along?”
“Oui,” Uncle Alain said. “She wanted it that way.”
“This was the plan from the start?”
He nodded. “It was her intention to bring you here. You would make Maurice and me very happy if you would do what she asks and stay with us. For me, it will be like having my sister back, even if only until you are old enough to do whatever you want and go wherever you want.”
“But . . . what will happen to her?”
“I think she’ll be fine now,” Uncle Alain said. “I’m doing what I can, too.”
I shook my head. “I should have been told.”
“Would you have let her go?” Maurice asked.
I looked at him. Tears were building behind my lids. I took a deep breath. “No,” I said.
He nodded.
How I needed my mother now, I thought. I bit down on my lower lip, and then I turned and walked out of the apartment. There was something about Paris that reminded me of New York. Neither city seemed willing to go to sleep. People were still walking the streets. I could hear music and laughter, and the wonderful lights twinkled like stubborn stars.
I walked and walked, pausing finally when I heard someone singing to an accordion. It seemed to be coming from just below the street on the riverbank. I made my way down to it and saw him on a bench.
He was singing “La Vie en Rose,” Mama’s favorite. It was as if the city had hired him to entertain. Or maybe he was simply someone who had found his true love and couldn’t lock up his joy and go to sleep.
“C’est beau,” a man walking with a woman said. They paused, too, to listen.
“It’s not just beautiful, it’s true,” I told him, but I said it in French: “Ce n’est pas seulement beau. C’est vrai.”
They turned to me and smiled. They walked on, but they paused after they had passed our singer and kissed.