Sophie can tell the woman knows something, and her pulse quickens. She has lived her life without telling lies as Papa had instilled in her the karmic canon that if she lies, a bigger lie will be told to her. But the rules she has lived by until now have failed her. While she struggles internally with wanting to be honest despite knowing that the world has deceived her, she knows she cannot leave this place without learning what this woman knows.
“I have never come to France before, and it is going to be a surprise to her to see me after so many years.” She inhales sharply, knowing her words will be most convincing if she sticks to something in the realm of the truth. “Please, it is very important that I see her. My papa—her brother—passed away, and I have come to tell her the news in person.”
The dew that forms in Sophie’s eyes is no lie. It forms every time she must utter aloud that Papa is dead. That phrase has not gotten easier to say, and Sophie wonders if there will be a time when it will be. She hopes not. She fears if it is ever easy, it will be because she has forgotten Papa and the love he lavished upon her, and she never wants to forget. Even if she is angry at him now, she cannot forget the lifetime of love and protection he bestowed upon her. Especially as she learns the truth about Nita. Papa was the one who stayed. And for that, she will always be grateful. Because she is learning that there was another path. The one Nita chose. The one that abandons Sophie.
Cecile softens, a knowing look sweeping over her face. Loss is a universal equalizer. The raw and personal nature of it resonates with everyone.
She stands and hands the photo back to Sophie. “Why didn’t you say she was your aunt? I knew her. The resemblance between you now and the way she looked then is striking. Strong family genes, indeed.”
Sophie’s heart beats faster upon learning that this woman knows Nita! The rational, analytic side of her knew this was a long shot, statistically improbable that she would find Nita in this massive city, and yet this woman knows her! Sophie reasons that no matter the odds against her, she just needs one break. She takes a step closer to Cecile.
“Do you know where she is?” The hope in her voice is unmistakable. Lightning has already struck once, and the odds of it striking twice are improbable. Improbable, but not impossible.
Cecile shakes her head, ruefully. “It’s been many years, and many husbands, since I last saw her. She stumbled in here, much like yourself, when I was a young girl working this desk. Now, here I am, an old lady still working this same job.” She shakes her head as if playing a slideshow of the moments in her life over the past twenty years.
“She stayed here? For how long? Why did she leave?” The questions swirl in her head, but she tries to keep the dialogue manageable, tries to keep Cecile engaged and talking.
Cecile gestures around the reception area. “Look at this place. It’s not the most chic hotel in the city. People only stay here when they are passing through. But Nita . . . she stayed longer than most.”
Sophie wants to know every detail this woman can remember, but before she can decide on the next question to ask, Cecile starts moving toward a room behind the front desk.
“Would you like a coffee?” she asks over her shoulder. “This trip down memory lane requires a coffee for me.”
Sophie doesn’t drink coffee but says yes. Anything to connect with this woman.
Cecile returns with two tiny mugs of espresso and moves to the purple velvet couch in the reception area, motioning for Sophie to follow her. The couch is old and dingy and has seen better days. A close examination reveals cigarette burn marks and dark stains from who knows what, but Sophie doesn’t care. She sits next to Cecile and takes a sip of the strong coffee, forcing herself not to wince at the acrid taste and hot temperature.
“What is your name?” Cecile asks.
Sophie places her tiny mug back on the saucer and responds.
Cecile polishes off her espresso like a pro before saying, “Your aunt was such an enigma. She walked through those doors in a sari and was such a sight in this city! She didn’t even have a pair of jeans to her name. After she started working here, we had to go shopping to get her some more suitable clothing.”
Sophie remembers the parrot-green sari Nita had been wearing the last day she saw her and wonders if it was the same one, but she does not ask. She has far more pressing issues than wardrobe.
“She worked here?” Sophie asks.
Cecile nods. “She came here to pursue her art. Painting, if I recall correctly. We get so many artists through this place that it’s hard to keep track. She had to start taking shifts at the desk here to keep up with her lodging. Poor thing didn’t speak much French when she arrived, and jobs were hard to come by. Lucky for her, the owners had a soft spot for foreigners trying to find their footing in Paris.” Cecile stares off into the distance like she’s trying to remember more. “Actually, Nita was great for my dating life because I got to take on less work here and chase after more boys.”
Sophie nods as if she understands even though she’s never been on a date in her life, let alone had a boyfriend. She can’t really count her fiancé, Kiran, whom she has met once and is likely no longer her fiancé if her fois have told his family that she’s disappeared.
“Come to think of it,” Cecile continues, “maybe it would have been better if I had worked more during those years! Might have saved me from landing with husband number one.”
“How long was she here?” Sophie asks, trying to refocus the conversation.
Cecile cocks her head, thinking back. “Let me think . . . maybe six months? A year at most. It’s hard to remember so far back.”
“Why did she leave?”
A smile creeps across Cecile’s face. “L’amour, bien s?r!”
Sophie stares at her.
“She fell in love,” Cecile says in a wistful voice.
Sophie bolts backward as if she’s been slapped. “She what?!”
Cecile laughs. “Don’t be surprised, young girl. This is the city of l’amour. Love will happen to you when you aren’t looking as well.”
Sophie cannot tell this woman her shock is because Nita was married and had no business dating someone new, let alone falling in love with some stranger who was not her husband. She feels anger swelling up inside her as she considers the disloyalty to Papa. He was such a kind, generous man. He never even considered taking on another wife, even though he had a daughter to raise by himself and could have used a woman’s help. His sisters had begged him to move on, but he would not entertain the thought. Sophie now realizes it was likely because he knew Nita was alive and he was not truly widowed. Papa had remained faithful to his wife for the rest of his life. If only he had known that Nita did not share that same loyalty toward him.
“It’s been such a long time, so it’s surprising to hear what her life outside of India was,” Sophie says, trying not to grit her teeth. “Please continue.”
“I don’t know what else there is to say. She left to be with her new beau. She took on shifts here and there for a while but then stopped working here entirely. I don’t think I saw her again after that.” She holds up a finger and pauses. “No, I think I saw her a few times around Paris. Paris is such a small city. There was a bistro around the corner that she used to go to with her artist friends, and I saw her there a couple times, her beau’s arm around her and a cigarette dangling from her lips like there was no place in the world she would rather be.”