by Donna Hill
"I'll get that, Ms. Travanti," her assistant, Nicole, offered. "Are you all right? You are so not yourself today." She reached for a broom behind the storage cabinet.
Emma rubbed her brow, wishing the simple act would rub away the tangle of thoughts running through her head. "A little tired. I think I'll go home. You and George will be fine. Philippe knows what the menu is for today." She took off her apron and hung it on the hook.
Nicole looked at her curiously. Emma never left the store early once she came in. It was her heart and soul. Every minute detail, from the decor to the daily menu, was her doing. Most business owners were mere figureheads, running their operations from a distant office. Not Emma Travanti. She prided herself on being a hands-on owner and it showed in the loyal customers--whom she knew by name--and a business that stayed in the black. And it wasn't as if she needed the work. Quite the contrary. Her husband ran one of the most successful wineries in the valley. She did this because she loved it, and it showed.
Emma reached for her coat then turned to Nicole. "I may be out for a few days." She swallowed. "If anyone should come looking for me...I'm out of town."
"Of...course. Are you sure you're all right?"
She pressed Nicole's shoulder. "Yes, just please do as I ask."
Nicole nodded as she watched her employer leave. She looked around. This was her chance to prove to Emma that she could be trusted to run the bistro. And she would.
All along the route home she kept looking in her rearview mirror, expecting at any moment to see Parris on the road. What was she going to do? She couldn't run forever. God, what if Michael found out that Parris was here and had come looking for her? They had to get away until she could sort things out. Until she could find a way to tell her husband that their daughter had finally arrived.
For nearly thirty years she'd held that ugly secret from her husband. Lied to him about who she was and their child that she'd "lost during childbirth" while he was stationed abroad. But when her mother's letter arrived several weeks earlier she had no choice. She'd taken a chance telling him the truth...what she had done. She'd deprived him of his only child. And it was his unwavering love for her, his compassion as a man, that had allowed him to forgive her.
Yet there were nights when she lay next to him that she wondered how deep his forgiveness truly went. There were times when she would catch him looking at her as if he didn't know who she was before the light of familiarity would reach his eyes. It was those moments that played with her consciousness, when her guilt would outweigh reason. Michael had been her life for more than three decades. She may have given birth to Parris, but she did not know her or what bringing her into her life would mean. And she wasn't sure if she was willing to risk it, even now.
She put the key in the door to her villa and stepped inside. Her housekeeper, Vivian, came running to the front from the kitchen.
"Madame! Are you ill? You are never home at this hour."
"I'm fine, Vivian. I decided to take some time off. Is Michael here?"
"He went to the winery. He said he would return by dinnertime."
Emma nodded. "Thank you." She started for the stairs. "Vivian, I think I'll surprise my husband with a little trip. Would you be so kind as to get our luggage out from the spare room?"
"Of course. Right away."
Emma hurried upstairs. She needed to make some calls and quickly. If she could keep Michael out of town for a few days, a week at most, she was sure that Parris would get tired of her search and go back home. She sat on the side of the bed and opened her nightstand drawer. Taking out her address book she flipped through the pages for the number of the spa in Paris that she and Michael loved, the Evian Royal Resort in the mountains of France. Parris would never find them there. And perhaps she could get her husband to look at her with that old familiarity in his eyes.
Her gaze landed on the number. She reached for the phone and dialed before she changed her mind. After listening to the array of services and agreeing to almost everything, she booked them into the Evian Royal Resort for a week with all of the amenities. It would cost a small fortune, but her peace of mind would be worth it.
Satisfied, she hung up the phone just as Vivian appeared in her doorway with the luggage on a rolling cart.
"Where would you like these?"
"You can bring them inside. Put them in the corner for me, please."
"Will you be leaving soon?" Vivian asked as she took the bags off the cart and placed them in the corner. She glanced at Emma over her shoulder.
"Yes," she said, her answer muffled by the rows of sweaters, suits, slacks and blouses as she rifled through her closet and tossed random clothes on the bed.
"How long will you be gone?"
"At least a week. Maybe more." She turned to Vivian. "I will need you to keep an eye on the house." She bobbed her head, ticking off a mental list. "And check in at the bistro."
"Of course." Vivian watched while Emma went from the closet to the drawers and back again. She'd worked for the Travanti family for nearly ten years. Every day and every year had been a pleasure. Mme. Emma was always even-tempered and calm, full of laughter. She'd never seen her angry or out of sorts even when the ceiling leaked during a terrible storm and nearly destroyed one of the upper rooms where she kept her artwork. Or the time when the roast burned and there was a house full of guests to feed. She didn't become agitated or flustered when Monsieur Michael came down with double pneumonia. She was steady, strong and calm, demanding the best care from his doctors and seeing to his every need. But this Mme. Emma, Vivian didn't recognize. Short, agitated, nervous. She couldn't begin to imagine what could have so disturbed her.
"Should I prepare dinner, then?"
Emma snapped her head in Vivian's direction. She frowned for a moment. "Yes...yes, please. Michael will be hungry. Then we can leave."
"Yes, madame." Vivian left and closed the door quietly behind her.
Emma stared at the disaster that was now her bed, a reflection of what her life had suddenly become. Restlessly she ran her fingers through her hair, dislodging the knot at the nape of her neck. Her hair fell in a soft tumble across her shoulders. She closed her eyes and massaged the stiff muscles in the back of her neck. What was she doing? This wasn't the answer. She pulled out the chair from beneath her dressing table and slowly sat down. But she didn't have a better solution. At least not now. A few days away would help her to clear her head, decide what was best...for all of them.
Emma drew in a long, steadying breath and turned to view her reflection in the beveled mirror. Everything was going to be fine. It would work out. It always did.
Parris did a quick calculation in her head to figure out what time it was in the States. France was six hours ahead. It was almost seven o'clock. Granddad should be up and about. Hopefully she could catch him before he did his afternoon house calls. She stretched across the bed for the phone and connected with the international operator. After several rings the comforting voice of her granddad came on the line.
"Granddad, it's Parris!"
His deep chuckle warmed her like nothing else. "Of course, it's you. Who else calls me Granddad? How are you?"
"I'm fine. Still struggling with jet lag."
"What time is it over there?"
"Almost seven at night."
"Humph, humph, humph. Well, tell me how things are."
She sat up against the stack of pillows and told him about her arrival at Le Moulin, her visit to Emma's house and the bistro.
"Hmm. This woman that you met, she was at both places--the house and the whatchamacallit?"
"Bistro?"
"Yes, bistro."
"She was at both places," she said slowly, not giving voice to the innuendo that floated across the phone lines.
"What did she look like?"
"Look like?"
"Yes."
"Well...she was a bit shorter than me, very pretty, dark hair, green eyes."
David's chest tightened. "An
d she told you that Emma wasn't at home and then at the restaurant that she had no idea when she would be coming in?"
"Yes." Parris's pulse picked up speed. "Granddad, what are you getting at?"
He hadn't seen Emma in years, not since she was a teenager. But he remembered her beauty. Her porcelain skin, inky black hair and those stunning green eyes, the eyes she'd given to her own daughter. More importantly he remembered her rage and her anger at Cora. A hatred that was palpable, that lived and breathed in the house like a third tenant. Did she still harbor such resentment that she would look her own daughter in the eye and lie to her about who she was? Was Emma's heart that hardened, even after all of this time?
"Granddad?"
He snapped out of his musings. "Perhaps you've done all you've can. Maybe you should just come on home."
She leaned into the phone. "What are you not telling me?"
"Sometimes people go away because they don't want to be found, sweetheart."
"I promised Nana."
"I know your grandmother would understand. Let it be."
"Let it be?" Her voice pitched. "You're telling me to forget it after I've come this far? You were the one who insisted that I 'fill the hole' inside me. You!" Her breath pumped in short bursts.
"Maybe I was wrong. Maybe Cora was wrong, too."
"What really happened all those years ago?"
David felt the walls closing in around him with nowhere for him to go. "Your mother, well, maybe you should just let her be."
"You never refer to my mother as your daughter, too." She said the words in a whispered sense of sudden wonder. "Why, Granddad? You were married to Nana."
"I told your grandmother to leave things be," he said, his voice weighted down with the enormity of the lie they'd all engaged in for decades.
Parris held her breath. "Tell me. I need to know the truth. Ple--"
"I didn't father your mother."
A jolt of incredulity physically rocked her. "What...are you saying?" She gripped the phone.
"Your grandmother went off to Chicago. When she came back we got married. It was the happiest day in my life. And when we found out we had a baby coming, I was the proudest man in Rudell."
The veins in her temples filled and pounded. She didn't want to hear it. Didn't want to hear what a part of her heart had suspected for years. But if no one said it, if no one said the words, it would never be true.
"Until the baby came."
The pain in his voice cut through the phone lines, echoed like a shout across a canyon, deep and penetrating.
Her thoughts raced. It made awful sense now. The piece of the puzzle that had eluded her fell into place.
When she hung up from her grandfather she was no longer the same person. She'd been inexorably changed. The space inside her that needed to be filled with the essence of who she was, where she'd come from, had been flooded with a poison that now spewed from her in a torrent of tears and physical rage.
"Noooo!"
She tore through the room like an unleashed storm. Everything within her reach became a victim. She'd come to find her mother. Find out why she'd left her only to discover that the person whom she'd loved and idolized all of her life, the man who became the standard by which she judged all men, was not of her flesh and blood. And the woman who was her mother was the offspring of some unknown man. All along her Nana knew. She'd lied to Granddad. She'd lied to her. Who were these people who'd shaped her life? Her stomach heaved. She ran to the bathroom, sinking to her knees, and Marie's words haunted her. Be careful what you wish for.
The ringing phone stirred her from her huddled position on the center of the floor. Through bleary, swollen eyes she looked around at the destruction she'd wrought. Clothes were upended from her suitcase. The bed pillows joined the toiletries on the dresser that had been swept to the floor. The curtains that hung on the French doors were wrenched from their rods. She pushed up on her hands and knees, stood and made her way to the phone on wooden legs.
"Hello." Her voice sounded ragged to her ears.
"Parris. It's Nick. Your grandfather called me."
The instant she heard his voice the nightmare of the past hour came flooding back and she broke down again, rambling in fits and starts about what she'd learned.
Nick was barely able to piece it all together but what he was able to understand was that Parris was broken and he wasn't there to pick up the pieces.
Her sobs slowly simmered to soft whimpers. The sound tore at his heart. "Come home. Tomorrow. Get on a plane and come home or I'm coming to get you. One or the other. Your choice."
She sniffed. "I can't even...think straight." She wiped her eyes with the sleeve of her blouse.
"Don't think. Just do it. Pack your bags and go to the airport in the morning. I'll look up your flight information on the Internet and rebook you for tomorrow afternoon."
She looked around the room. Just the thought of having to fix the mess she'd made and pack her bags was too much to deal with.
"Listen to me, you're coming home. Tomorrow. We'll work it all out when you get here. I promise."
Her throat tightened. "All right."
"I'm going to call you back in an hour with the information for tomorrow."
"Okay."
"I love you. It's going to work out. Everything will be fine."
She couldn't imagine how that would be possible--ever.
The soothing steam from her bath began to work its magic. The lavender-scented oil calmed her to a point where the violent pounding in her head had been reduced to a dull hammerlike thump. She rested her head against the lip of the tub and closed her eyes.
Tomorrow she would be home or at least back to someplace familiar. And over time she would put all of this behind her. She would forget that her mother was not dead. She would push from her thoughts the realization that her grandmother harbored the secret of her real existence for years and took the truth with her to her grave. She would stop thinking about the fact that her grandfather wasn't her grandfather at all, but some nameless, faceless person. When she tucked all of those ugly things away in some deep corner of her mind, it wouldn't matter that even she was no longer who she'd believed herself to be. And if that were true, then how could she possibly risk being in the life of someone else when hers had only been an illusion, one that she may never see clearly?
The water cooled, the scent dissolved, and Parris, with great reluctance, pulled herself up from the comforting embrace and stepped out.
A soft tap on her door made her draw her belt tighter around her robe. She ran her hands through her damp hair, pulling it up and away from her face as she approached.
"Yes?"
"It's Marie. May I come in?"
Parris took a quick look around. It had taken her nearly an hour, but her room finally resembled the one she'd rented. Her clothing was packed. All that was left to do what settle her bill and go home.
She turned the knob and stepped back out of the threshold.
"I didn't know if you'd planned to go into town for dinner or if you'd like Marc to fix you something." Her eyes scanned the room as she spoke and settled on the suitcase. She focused on Parris. "Leaving?"
"Yes." Parris closed the door behind Marie. "In the morning. I was going to come down to tell you after my bath." She folded her arms.
"Oh. I see. Well," she said on a long breath, "I will be sure your bill is ready." She paused, angled her head to the side as she took in Parris's still slightly swollen eyes. "Did you find her?"
Parris turned away and walked to the center of the room then to the French doors. "No." She raised her chin a notch. "And it's just as well. This search has brought me nothing but..."
"More questions."
Parris turned around. Marie's brow arched with her question, her mouth soft with compassion.
Parris nodded. "Questions I may never know the answers to."
"Which may be just as well. Too often we hunt around and around, dig and dig only to
discover that it is a very dirty business. What is past, cherie, is done," she said with a wave of her arm. "Nothing can change what has already happened. Not even knowing." Her eyes widened with her conclusion.
Parris almost smiled. "I'm sure you're right. It simply doesn't feel that way right now."
"And it may never feel that way. But--" she shot her finger toward Parris "--you can either let it consume you or you can be like the phoenix and rise from the ashes!" she said, her voice flooded with bravado and theatrical passion.
Parris bit back a smirk. "I'm really going to miss you."
"And I you, cherie. But as they say in the dressing room of life, the show must go on. Oui?"
"Oui." For the first time in several hours she actually felt a little better. Yes, she would certainly miss Marie's optimistic enthusiasm and cavalier attitude about life.
Marc was tapping on Parris's door promptly at nine the following morning. Nick had rebooked her on a flight leaving at one that afternoon, but with the sudden surge in terror attacks around the globe, airports were on higher alert than usual and unprecedented delays due to security added to the time needed to board.
"I came to take your bags."
"I can manage."
"Ahh, but why should you?" He winked and Parris saw once again why Marie was so taken with him. Marc exuded that European sexiness that was as much a part of who he was as his name.
"You know what, you are absolutely right."
"But of course!"
Parris stepped aside to let him in. He took her two small bags and before she knew it she was sharing a hug and words of wisdom from Marie.
"Tomorrow is not promised," she whispered in Parris's ear before they separated at the door. "Enjoy your today." She pressed a piece of paper into her hand with her number. "Stay in touch."
"I will. I promise."
Marie kissed both of her cheeks and waved as she got into Amin's cab en route to the airport.
"I'm so happy that you kept my number. How was your stay?" Amin asked as he headed toward the highway.
"I didn't actually find what I'd come looking for." She watched the town slowly dissolve in the rear window and the open landscape of rolling hills and valleys take its place.
