I’m clean, Moll, and have been for a couple of months. The relief and the pride are indescribable. But I’ve been here before and I expect it’s not going to last, which is why I’m not phoning you. I’ve let you down so many times, I won’t allow myself to do that to you again.
We could say I have been the poster child for all that was wrong with the 1970s and 1980s. Timothy Leary would have been proud of me. I listened to his message of “turn on, tune in, and drop out” and followed his instructions to the letter. Drugs and booze were my guiding lights. I took the low road and you took the high. Why I didn’t go along your route with you has always plagued me. You gave me every opportunity.
I’m not going to search for excuses. We’ve been through that so many times. I know I have an illness. No matter how everyone else tries—and we know the best have given it all they had—I don’t seem capable of being cured.
You are the love of my life, the light of my life. The definition of “sister” begins and ends with you. From the days when we were young, you hugged me and sang me out of my fear and confusion as vitriol and abuse swirled around us in our home, the very place where we should have felt safe and loved—and never did—and through the long and winding road of my addictions. You never let me down, always showed me love, never stopped trying to help, always gave me hope. Imagine where I would have been without you.
Always know how much I appreciate every single act of kindness, love, and support you have offered me. Always know I regret every hurt, always unintentional or beyond my control, I have inflicted upon you.
Don’t let my light go out in your heart. Even if I am gone from this earth, somewhere in the universe, the light you have forever given me will be burning brightly.
Katherine buried her face in her hands.
“Oh, Molly.”
“Shhh. It’s all right,” Molly reassured her with a hug as she cried too. “Until I found Shawn’s letter in his room, I felt raw and vicious with grief. I was so fucking angry. Knowing how he felt, how he had tried his very best in his own troubled way, really helped me.”
“Thank goodness Father DeCarlo was out there with you.”
“The depths of support he offered me . . .” Molly bit her lip as she collected herself again. “Taking care of all sorts of details, the cremation, disposing of Shawn’s few effects, and . . . just talking and listening . . .”
“Did he get the church work done he had to do out there?”
“Nope. We spent all day Saturday clearing up Shawn’s affairs. On Sunday we rented a car and drove up the Sea to Sky Highway to Whistler. He said it was just the drive to take my mind off everything, and he was right.”
“For sure! That drive is unbelievable, isn’t it? The cliffs, the sea, the light all combine to create such a surreal effect. We had a few biking vacations out there that I will never forget purely for the striking beauty that surrounded us.”
They talked about the panoramic views over Howe Sound that took a visitor’s breath away, before the drive turned into the richly forested route beyond Squamish.
“We had a peaceful day. Very peaceful. We stopped at a lookout over Howe Sound, took a little walk, and sat on a bench absorbing that splendor. The light was so calming.”
Katherine could hear the tone in Molly’s voice soften as she recalled the day. “Then we paused later at a few of those amazing waterfalls. Each time I felt something release inside me.”
Katherine nodded, remembering.
“At Whistler we took the gondola up to the Roundhouse and ate lunch out on the patio. My God, Katski, those views—mountaintops as far as the eye can see. You know, I have never experienced anything like that. We hiked one of the upper trails, and it was the best place for me to begin to come to terms with everything. I don’t know when I’ve been in such an . . .” Molly paused, searching for the right word. “Such an . . . ethereal environment, almost sacred, you know? I talked. He listened. He talked. I cried until I just kind of came out the other side.”
Molly was gaining composure as she spoke about the weekend and its outcome.
“He’s still out there for a day or two. Stayed to do what he had to do. That’s why I decided to take the red-eye flight home. I just wanted to leave as soon as we left the mountains.”
Katherine put her arms around Molly again. They sat like that for a minute.
“There are no words that can express my sorrow . . . none.”
“I know, Katski, I know. It’s a heavy thing, this thing called grief.”
“It will take time to learn how to manage it. That’s the main lesson I have gained from this past year. One step at a time,” Katherine told her.
Molly stood up and beckoned her to the kitchen. “Actually, I’m feeling kind of hungry. What did you put in the fridge when you got here?”
Kat had stopped and picked up leftover pasta in her fridge from the weekend. She warmed it up and they sat down to eat.
Molly wanted to talk about their trip to France, and a change of topic seemed like a good idea.
“Holy crap!” Molly said. “Less than two weeks before we go. The timing could not be better.”
37
Molly slowly stretched and flashed an elated grin at Katherine while she put her seat in the upright position as instructed by the flight attendant.
They were about to land in Nice. After boarding in Toronto the previous afternoon, they had changed planes in Montreal for the trans-Atlantic flight.
There had been a fair amount of turbulence for the first few hours as they skimmed a violent storm over eastern Canada, but both women had managed a few hours’ sleep before breakfast was served.
“I’m so goddamn pumped, Kat! The adrenaline is flowing!”
“When aren’t you pumped? You’re going to be buzzed the entire time you are here. I just know it! Although I guarantee the jet lag will hit us later today and we’ll crash for a while. Even you.”
Katherine had insisted Molly take the window seat for the thrill of seeing the dramatic landing at Nice Côte d’Azur Airport, at water’s edge, as the plane came in low over the azure waves of the Mediterranean. The Principality of Monaco and all the towns lining the coast along the way were brilliantly lit by the rising sun as the plane descended. Someone in the cockpit was providing an enthusiastic running commentary of the route.
Katherine still had vivid memories of that landing over thirty years before: the sea a brilliant shade of turquoise as it met the shore along the coast, the colorful buildings of the historic towns nestled against a backdrop of rolling hills with majestic snow-capped Alps behind.
“Pinch me!” Molly whispered. “You weren’t frickin’ kidding. Magnifique!”
“And still virtually no high-rises—except Monte Carlo, of course. Nowhere to go there but up.”
The descent into the airport was quick.
“I thought we were headed straight into the water for a minute,” Molly commented as they waited for their bags. “You might have noticed me go very quiet and a tad white-knuckled.”
Katherine laughed. “I had forgotten the runway is built right out into the sea. That was quite spectacular!”
In no time they were rolling their luggage into the arrivals area of the compact terminal. Searching the waiting crowd, they spotted a sign that read, “Madam Price.” Holding it was a tall, sturdily built woman with a mane of wild gray hair. She was wearing a low-cut chartreuse blouse, skin-tight jeans and the highest pink stilettos Katherine had ever seen.
Molly muttered “Holy shit” under her breath while Katherine waved and walked toward the sign.
Introducing herself as Bernadette, the woman explained she operated a taxi service used by the Browns. They had informed Kat, when they confirmed plans, that someone would pick her up. They just hadn’t shared the flashy details about her comportment.
The luggage was loaded into the trunk and passenger seat, and they were good to go at 7:00 a.m.
“But it’s really only one a.m. for us.
We’re going to feel a little discombobulated for a while, right?” Molly remarked.
The ride took all of twenty minutes along the Bord de Mer with its stunning scenery, busier with serious cyclists than cars at this early hour. With the sun still rising, the pebble beaches that ran all along the road were filling with early bathers. Long, slim fishing poles, their lines cast and anchored in the stones, were left to do their work. Nearby empty folding beach chairs kept vigilance while their owners clustered around food trucks, drinking coffee, smoking, and chatting with gusto.
Bernadette’s personality was as colorful as her appearance. She kept her passengers entertained with a bilingual running commentary on food, wine, and Frenchmen—“Zey are stupid, boring, ugly! Je préfere les Suédois . . . Swedish.” She looked back at them with raised eyebrows to make certain they got her point.
Indicating the railroad tracks that paralleled their route, Katherine said, “That’s why we won’t need a car. The train is so easy.”
The imposing stone, castle-like Fort Carré guarded their entrance into Antibes. “It’s only five hundred years old, one of our modern buildings,” advised Bernardette.
Stunning palm trees, a variety of flowering shrubs and bushes, and cacti intermingled to line the streets and border the parking lots next to the yacht-filled harbor. Planted beds of perennials in brilliant colors mixed with fountains welcomed them to the town.
Within minutes, the car passed through an arch in a long stone wall. “These are the remains of the stone walls that made Antibes a fortified village—also five hundred years old,” Bernadette informed them.
Before them, buildings of similar vintage and narrow streets were coming alive.
Katherine’s face lit up as memories spilled around her. She and Marc-André had taken the train here for a day. She thought so when she saw the photos the Browns sent, but now she was certain.
Molly’s eyes shone with excitement as she took in the shops and cafés. Turning a corner—“Look! An English bookstore!”—she pointed out as the car pulled onto a narrow street with a low stone wall. The Med was on one side and buildings on the other.
“Oui! Ze only one and I can met you ze lovely owner,” Bernadette offered as she squeezed the car around a tight corner. “I can’t park, mais regardez, your maison. We ’ave to go around back to do parking.”
The photos had not done the property justice. A blazing purple bougainvillea draped over a thick stone wall that spoke of ancient times. A heavy wooden door with a small grated window offered a glimpse into a tiny courtyard. The house, with its yellow-tinged stone and Provençal blue shutters, looked like a cover shot for a travel magazine. Molly and Katherine simply stared and exclaimed.
The car navigated a labyrinth of narrow alleys and pulled to a stop. Bernadette jumped out, and before Molly or Kat could exit the backseat, she had their luggage piled on a trolley and stood waiting. Once organized, she led the way up a sloping cobblestone lane lined with ancient townhouses, the trolley wheels clattering.
“Oh man, I’m glad the Browns warned me about wearing high heels for my arrival! These streets will take some getting used to!” Katherine remarked.
“Ha!” Bernadette laughed. “Not for French women. We wear stilettos everywhere—even to la plage.”
Molly was pausing before every heavy wooden door, proclaiming their beauty and charm. “Imagine the stories these doors might tell!”
Stopping in front of a faded blue door with several large ornate keyholes, Bernadette handed Katherine an enormous brass key.
“Voilà, ma chère! Ouvrez la porte!”
They all burst out laughing. “Truly?” Katherine asked.
Bernadette explained that this was the key to a two-hundred-year-old lock that still worked perfectly. However, it wasn’t necessarily one you could easily stick in your pocket. The Browns used it just for fun when newcomers arrived. There was another lock on the door that was more modern and could be used.
It took some effort to turn the key. The door opened slowly into a bright and welcoming space of typical Provençal colors. Katherine knew what to expect, from her visit to Provence, but Molly was bowled over.
“It’s so beautiful! I love it!”
Those words were repeated as Bernadette quickly and efficiently gave them a tour of the four stories and the roof terrace. Then she bade them farewell, leaving her card and instructions to call if they wanted a ride anywhere or help with anything. Katherine’s offer of payment was greeted with a haughty look and a wave of her hand.
Molly hollered down, “Get up here, Katski!”
Kat climbed the narrow stairs from the ground-floor kitchen and sitting area to the second-floor lounge and bathroom and up to the third-floor bedroom where Molly was standing on a small balcony.
“Will you look at this view! We have a beach right there—like two frickin’ minutes across the road! Wow, you struck gold with this place, my friend!”
Katherine’s grin grew wider as she joined Molly in a happy dance around the room.
“Let’s go out to one of those little cafés we passed and have our first French coffee! Can you believe the market is just on the next street—and all those restaurants? I mean, I knew we were near everything. I was told, but I didn’t picture it like this.”
Molly grabbed Kat in a bear hug. “Thank you! Thank you! Thank you for giving me this gift! We are right in the middle of everything—including the Middle Ages from the look of the neighborhood—and I feel like I’m in a dream! Abso-fuckin-lutely awesome!”
They were soon out the door with the enormous key, Molly having remarked, “It’s too cool not to use!” Following their winding lane, they turned left and right and found themselves out of the medieval maze on a more open tree-lined street with a few cars crawling along. Cafés lined the street, and the easily identifiable roof of the market could be seen half a block farther.
“How frickin’ convenient is this?”
Molly ordered an espresso. Katherine demonstrated she had learned well from her visit to Provence, ordering “Un café crème et deux croissants, s’il vous plaît.”
Raising her espresso in a toast, Molly said, “The adventure has begun! I’m so grateful.”
As they clinked their cups, Katherine replied, “I believe we are both feeling an attitude of gratitude!”
A stream of locals and tourists paraded by, many with their wicker baskets, obviously headed for the market. The Browns’ information had indicated the market was open every single day, so it was decided to go on Sunday after they had found some time to think about menus.
A plan was set for the day. Their primary goal was to stay awake until 9:00 p.m. and then crash.
Laughing, they admitted doubts about lasting that long.
Maison Beau Soleil, as the house was named, radiated charm and history. It had begun as a simple fisherman’s cottage, and hooks still hanging in the kitchen on which to dry fish bore testament to that.
Uneven tiled floors, thick stone walls, and heavy louvered shutters kept the interior cool. Fans on each floor ensured good air circulation, and the breeze off the Med knocked the temperature down a few notches. Whitewashed walls inside provided the perfect backdrop for the eye-catching upholstery, cushions, and artwork in classic Provençal patterns and colors. The entire effect left no doubt about which part of the world they were visiting.
Lugging their suitcases up the steep, narrow stairs took some teamwork. Molly claimed the bedroom on the third floor, leaving the master suite on the top floor for Katherine. The rooms were small, but storage was cleverly built in at every opportunity, and—most important—the beds were comfortable.
The two bathrooms were completely updated, and the entire place was spotless.
Off the master bedroom, two steps led up to a large window through which they climbed to the rooftop terrace.
To one side they looked across terra-cotta tiled rooftops to the busy harbor and Fort Carré and beyond, to what they would discover was Nice
across the Baie des Anges. Straight ahead was a crescent-shaped cove with a beach and the sparkling waters of the Med stretching away forever with luxurious yachts at anchor or cruising. To the right stretched more of the old town and a high peninsula lush with vegetation.
“That’s Cap d’Antibes,” Katherine said. “I read about it. We’ve got to walk up to the top to check out the view.”
“This view right here is frickin’ spectacular!” Molly exclaimed as Kat grinned.
There was a note on the window with a reminder to always put down the umbrella on the terrace and pile the cushions from the chairs in the bedroom, as strong winds could unexpectedly arise.
Unpacking did not take long, and they both felt energized after showers.
Locking the door with the ancient key again, they set out for a stroll of the town with a small map left for them on the kitchen counter, along with an instruction book about the property and some tourist information.
“There’s one thing missing in the house. Have you noticed anything yet, Kat?”
“Um, not particularly.”
“No television!”
“Oh, right. Actually the Browns asked if I cared about it and I said no. I thought it would be more interesting not to have one. Wi-Fi was important, though.”
“Wow,” said Molly. “I don’t think I could do that. I mean, I don’t have anything more than the basic cable my apartment offers, but how will you live without Ellen?”
“Well, I didn’t watch television once when I was in Provence and I didn’t miss it either. I listened to way more music and read like crazy. It was so good!”
“You know, that may not be such a bad idea. I might be able to do it, but only as long as I could catch the Ellen shows online!”
Katherine’s mouth was locked in a happy smile as she listened to Molly ooh and ahh her way through the old town. Her friend’s reactions were the same as those she had experienced in Provence.
“I predicted you would love it here! France just does that. It makes you fall in love . . . with everything.”
The Promise of Provence (Love in Provence Book 1) Page 28
