“Brad would never have gone on a trip like this if I died,” Maggie said. “He’d have hated it.”
“No, but he might have gone to Hawaii, or Wyoming or Montana, or Mexico for a vacation.”
“He might have,” Maggie conceded.
“You have to give yourself permission to go on living. This is a terrific way to do it. And maybe you’ll meet the man of your dreams,” she teased her.
“Brad was the man of my dreams,” she said sadly.
“I know he was,” Helen said, instantly respectful. “But you can’t bury yourself with him. That’s not good for you or Aden. Your doing something like this trip gives him permission to still have fun too.”
Maggie smiled. “I think Aden Mackenzie needs a little less permission to have fun,” she said ruefully, and they both laughed.
For the next three weeks, Maggie read up on the cities she was going to, and still couldn’t believe she was doing it. She told Aden, and he was shocked but supportive.
“That’s fantastic, Mom. I want to go to Europe with you one day. Some of the guys from home are talking about going next summer. I want to go with them. Maybe we can meet up.” Suddenly she was becoming a world traveler, and Aden even wanted to join her on a future trip. Maybe she’d go to Venice next summer, and Spain, or Scandinavia. The whole world seemed to be opening up in front of her. And she was seeing it all in the safest, most comfortable way. Brad had made that possible with the money he’d left her. She didn’t like to think about the settlement money and the reason for it. She considered it untouchable and wanted to leave it to Aden one day, and she certainly didn’t need it. She had more than enough from their savings, his insurance, and what Phil Abrams was paying her regularly.
She packed for Europe before she left for parents’ weekend in Boston. The flight was a little easier this time, since she had already flown twice, and had never been a nervous flyer before. It was good practice before the flights she’d be taking in Europe, which had concerned her. She had a wonderful time with Aden and his new friends. She and Aden took several of them out to dinner, and then she flew home to Lake Forest, spent two nights at home, and left for San Francisco. She had bought some new clothes for the trip, nothing fancy, just some comfortable sports clothes to travel in, some pretty sweaters, and new jeans. Everything had been set up. Her reservations had been confirmed.
She drank a glass of champagne to steady her nerves on the flight to San Francisco. She had called Helen the night before she left, promised to text her along the way, and thanked her for giving her the courage to do it. Encouraging her to go was the best gift anyone had given her since Brad died.
As the plane touched down in San Francisco on a glorious fall day, Maggie was smiling. She got off with a bright red tote bag she’d just bought, and headed for the first stop on her big adventure. She knew as she headed toward the city in the car she had rented at the airport, that her life was about to change forever. In a good way this time. She was ready for it, and she suddenly felt that Brad would have been proud of her, it was almost as though she had his blessing and permission to do it. Helen was right.
Chapter 5
Maggie followed the directions from the GPS in her rented car on her way into the city from the airport. It seemed like an easy city to navigate. She got to the elegant Fairmont hotel on the top of Nob Hill half an hour after she left the airport. The hotel was huge, with several restaurants, many shops, gigantic chandeliers, and a grand lobby. It was a throwback to another era and Maggie loved it. Across the street was the famous Pacific-Union Club, which had been one of the most magnificent old family homes in San Francisco. Across Huntington Park was the splendor of Grace Cathedral. And all around them in the distance was the San Francisco Bay, dotted with sailboats.
Maggie had reserved a junior suite with a sitting area, and beyond her windows she could see both the Golden Gate Bridge and the new Bay Bridge, with Alcatraz in the vista between them. She stood and stared at it all for a moment, after the porter set her bags down. She stayed in the room just long enough to put on jeans and running shoes, freshen up, have a cup of tea, and then set out on foot to discover the city. So far, it was everything she had thought it would be: picturesque, architecturally lovely, and geographically beautiful. It had a charming feel to it and was a small city.
She walked down Nob Hill to Chinatown, wandered past all the colorful shops, and then turned south toward Union Square, where all the big fancy stores were. Then, for the fun of it, she took a cable car up the hill, back to the hotel. She called Helen from the cable car.
“Okay, I’m here,” she said, and Helen could hear the clanking of the bell and the traffic around them. “I’m doing it.” Maggie loved it, and she didn’t even mind exploring alone so far.
“I’m proud of you,” Helen told her before they hung up. Maggie got her car out and drove around the city after that. To Coit Tower on the top of Telegraph Hill, North Beach, the old Italian section, Ghirardelli Square, and Fisherman’s Wharf, where all the tourist shops were. Then she drove to Pacific Heights to admire all the elegant houses in the best residential part of town, on the strip of Upper Broadway called “The Gold Coast.” She parked her car in the Marina after that, and walked through the Presidio, the old military base, as far as the Golden Gate Bridge, which looked majestic glinting in the sunlight. It was a beautiful warm day, so she went back to get her car and then drove across the bridge, and up on top of the Marin Headlands for a spectacular view of the city. She texted Helen pictures of it and the Golden Gate, and once in Marin, she drove along a winding road to a beach she had read about, which was a three-mile expanse of white sand with hardly any people on it. Just a few dogs and their owners, walking at the edge of the surf. Maggie sat down on the sand to admire the view. She put sand dollars and shells she had picked up in a small pouch in her purse. As she sat there, she thought of Brad and how he would have loved it. But she loved it too, and she realized that she didn’t feel lonely sitting there. It empowered her and made her come alive. For once, she didn’t feel guilty about it, just grateful to be there. It was the first time she had felt that way since Brad died. A big dog came bounding up to her at one point, a friendly chocolate Lab. He sat next to her, as though to keep her company, and then he loped off.
She stayed on the beach until almost sunset, then drove back along the winding road she had arrived on. She got to the hotel at seven o’clock. She had thought about going out to dinner, but she had done so much that day, and walked so far, that she decided to stay in and order room service instead. When she took her jeans off, she smiled. She had brought a little mountain of sand home in her running shoes. She carefully put the shells she’d collected in a pocket of her suitcase. They were the first souvenir of her trip.
She had a hamburger and watched one of her favorite movies on TV and went to bed early. She spent the next day exploring the Napa Valley. The vineyards looked like photographs she’d seen of Italy and France. There were beautiful wineries, and lovely homes, and some Victorian houses near the vineyards. There were lots of people on bicycles, but fewer tourists at that time of year, and the weather was warm, noticeably hotter than in the city. It was every bit as pretty as she had hoped it would be. When she went back to the city that night, she stopped at a Japanese restaurant she’d read about and had sushi. She felt as though she was having the full San Francisco experience, and wished that Aden was with her. She called him at school and told him all about it.
“You sound great, Mom,” he said to her, and she felt great, totally alive. “What’s next?”
“I’m driving down to Carmel and Big Sur tomorrow.” She wanted to see the sea lions, the famous aquarium in Monterey, and the rugged coastline of Big Sur. She was staying at a place called the Post Ranch for a night, and then returning to San Francisco to see whatever she had missed.
Aden was already busy practicing with the hockey team a
nd said he loved it. They both sounded happy when they hung up, each of them enjoying new adventures.
After she called him, a couple leaned over from the next table, smiling at her.
“A freshman son?” the woman asked her, and Maggie nodded. “It nearly killed me when our son left. He’s a junior now, and we take trips we never took before. We love it.” They said they were from Dallas and they chatted for half an hour before Maggie paid and left to go back to the hotel. It made her feel less solitary just talking to them.
By the end of the week, Maggie had seen everything she wanted to see. She had chatted with people in several places, from all over the United States. She felt brave and independent after her first stop. The timing was perfect. She had been there for five days. On the sixth, she caught her flight to Rome in the afternoon, for the next leg of the trip.
On the plane, she sat next to an Italian professor, who told her fascinating stories about the city she was about to discover for the first time. It distracted her from any nervousness she had about the flight. He was somewhere in his seventies and very charming. He said he had a daughter about her age, but she had the distinct impression that he was flirting with her, which seemed flattering and funny and very Italian.
She slept for half of the trip, after a delicious meal in business class, and arrived refreshed in Rome. The professor wished her a good trip. He said his wife was picking him up. He had failed to mention her before.
The hotel had sent a car and driver to pick her up, and the driver explained all the historical sights to her as they drove into the city. She couldn’t wait to get started. It was four in the morning in Lake Forest, or she would have called Helen to tell her about it. She texted her instead, along with a photograph of the Colosseum and the entrance to the hotel. There were liveried porters and doormen. One of the managers from the front desk showed her to her small elegant room, with a balcony and a view of Rome that was breathtaking. She stood staring at it for a minute after he left, and felt as though she had been born again. It was one of the most exciting moments of her life. She was seeing history and modern-day beauty combined, with St. Peter’s and the Vatican in the distance, the Spanish Steps beneath her, and young people sitting around the fountain below, some of them kissing. She wanted to toss a coin in the fountain later for good luck, and was told she had to throw a coin in the Fontana di Trevi while she was there, to assure that she’d come back to Rome.
Her driver was waiting for her when she emerged from the hotel an hour later wearing a wide black cotton peasant skirt with sandals, with her dark hair loose on her shoulders.
“You look Italian,” the driver, Luigi, said, smiling at her.
“Irish,” she corrected him. She got into the Mercedes the hotel had provided, and he drove her to famous churches she had read about and seen in photographs, and tiny churches tucked into little squares and backstreets. They stopped so she could eat a gelato. She wanted to drink Rome in and see everything. Being there was magical. She would have loved to share it with someone, but she wasn’t lonely, and for now texting Helen was enough. Everywhere she went, people were friendly and chatted with her, or said hello. She talked to a Canadian couple, a very lively older Swedish woman, and a very attractive Italian man tried to pick her up at a café. She didn’t let him pursue it, but she liked knowing that she could have. The men in Rome looked at her in a way that no man had in years. It made her feel young again, and attractive, and put a spring in her step when she noticed it.
She walked for hours every day and used the car when she needed it. The driver took her to small, out-of-the-way trattorias and restaurants with outdoor seating, where she ate delicious meals and enjoyed watching the people at nearby tables. There was so much to see and do, she didn’t even mind being alone. At night, which was afternoon in Chicago, she called Helen and told her all about it.
“I think Rome is my favorite city in the world,” Maggie told her breathlessly. “If I were younger, I would want to live here.” But it was too late for that. She had a life and a son, except that her life as she knew it had ended nine months before, and her son was going to be living in Boston for four years. Still, she couldn’t imagine just moving to Europe. But visiting was even more exciting than she had hoped.
“You haven’t even seen Paris yet. You’ll never want to come back after that, although Italian men are much bolder.” Maggie couldn’t imagine a city she’d love more than Rome. The music, the street life, the food, the people, even the other tourists she met were interesting and fun to talk to. The city was just chaotic enough to be charming without being overwhelming. Even when she got lost when she went out on walks, she always managed to find her way to the Piazza di Spagna, and the hotel above it. She felt totally at home, and much better at fending for herself in a foreign city than she ever thought she would be. It was an amazing confidence booster. She would never have experienced it in the same way if Brad had been with her. Being on her own forced her to reach out, connect with her surroundings and other people, and she blossomed.
“Why have I never been here before?” she said to Helen one night from her balcony, admiring the night sky of Rome. The world seemed so much bigger from here than in the life she had been living for decades with Brad in Lake Forest. He had kept their life small and safe and controlled, she had never realized before how much more exciting life was in a broader world, and how much she would love it.
“You’ve never been there because your husband was American, and he didn’t like to travel, except to accountants’ conventions. Maybe you’ll find a European next time,” Helen said gently. She had always found Brad very dull, but would never have said that to Maggie.
“There won’t be a next time,” Maggie said, sounding certain of it. “I’ve had my life with Brad. I can’t imagine life with someone else. But I have to admit, I wouldn’t mind living here for a few months or a year.” She hadn’t changed her lifestyle at all since the fortune that had befallen her when Brad died. She felt too guilty to spend it, but for the first time she realized the opportunities she had now that she’d never had before, and this was one of them. She loved the idea of traveling more.
“If you can afford to do that, you should,” Helen encouraged her. “If something happened to Jeff, and the kids were grown up, I think I’d live in Paris for a year. That’s my favorite city.” Maggie couldn’t imagine any place that she’d love more than Rome. She was sorry she and Brad had never gone there in his lifetime. Even an inveterate non-traveler would fall in love with it. She thought it was the most romantic city on earth, and she didn’t even mind being there alone.
She was genuinely sad when she left Rome the next day to fly to Paris. Her driver, Luigi, hugged her, and told her to come back again. He had seen to it that on one of their drives she had thrown a coin into the Fontana di Trevi, which he assured her was guaranteed to bring her back to Rome.
* * *
—
The flight to Paris took less than two hours. Things seemed to be moving more quickly in the Paris airport, and didn’t have the leisurely feeling of Rome, although the airport in Rome had been chaotic. Paris seemed more organized and a little less welcoming.
The hotel had arranged a car and driver for her there too. The driver’s name was Florent, and he sped her toward the city on the highway, which looked no different than an American highway, until they reached the city. As soon as they got there, it took her breath away. The sight of the Champs-Élysées stretching toward the grandeur of the Arc de Triomphe, with a huge French flag fluttering under the arch, the wide tree-lined street, and the splendor of the Place de la Concorde with its fountains and sculptures. She had seen countless movies filmed there, but nothing brought it home like being there. She could see the beautiful bridges, Napoleon’s tomb in the Invalides with its gold dome on the other side, on the Left Bank. After crossing the gilded Alexander III Bridge back to the Right Bank, they en
tered the Place Vendôme with its Napoleonic battle monument in the center, elegant jewelry shops all around the square, and the grandeur of the Hôtel Ritz, with a fleet of doormen and a wide red carpet leading up the front steps as though to welcome her. She had chosen the most elegant possible way to see Paris and get to know the city. Paris had an entirely different flavor from Rome, which was a venerable ancient city, filled with beautiful old monuments, and young people who looked happy and sexy. There was a spirit of romance there, which was contagious. Paris was sheer beauty at its most dazzling. Everywhere Maggie looked there was something beautiful to see. It was a whole different experience, and she could see instantly why Helen loved it. Who wouldn’t?
Her room at the Ritz was bigger and even more elegant than her room had been at the Hassler, since the Ritz had been recently renovated. It was filled with antiques and beautiful fabrics. It was done in blue silk, while at the Hassler it was yellow satin. She realized that after this experience it was going to be hard to go home and live a normal, ordinary life in a small house in a suburb of Chicago. Here she was surrounded by beauty and history and exquisite monuments and buildings everywhere.
She went to the Louvre that afternoon, and strolled through the Tuileries Garden. The driver took her past all the fancy shops on the Faubourg Saint-Honoré, like the Via Condotti in Rome. She hadn’t done much shopping so far. She was too excited by the city itself to do so. There was nothing she wanted or needed except to be here and soak up the elegance and atmosphere, which were the essence of the city.
She loved walking along the Seine, the river that ran through Paris, and she stopped sometimes on one of the bridges, just looking into the water and thinking about Brad, and her mother, and how difficult her life must have been after losing her husband. She hadn’t had the luxury of a trip to Europe in opulent circumstances to help her recover. She had had to move from city to city and job to job to support her family. It had taken her five years to meet Harry, who gave her some degree of security, but until then everything had been a struggle, and even sometimes after that. She didn’t want to burden Harry with another man’s children, so she had done her best to support Maggie and Tommy herself with the jobs she had. She wondered if her mother would have been happier if she’d gone back to nursing, but she had never wanted to go back to school, so she took whatever meaningless jobs she could get that she never really liked. Her life had been far from easy and rarely satisfying on any level. Maggie’s father had left them unprepared and ill equipped to survive life without him. And her mother had never been happy again, even with Harry.
Nine Lives Page 7
