I stand there for so long, dumbstruck, that I don’t even notice the nurse, Karen, approach me.
“Miss McKenna-Smith?” she says.
I turn and look at her blankly.
“Are you okay, ma’am?” she asks.
I nod, slowly. “I think I’m going to Paris.”
“Well . . . that’s nice,” Karen says hesitantly. She obviously thinks I’ve lost it, and I don’t blame her. “Um, when?”
“As soon as I can,” I tell her. I smile. “I need to go.”
“Okay,” she says, still looking bewildered.
“I’m going to Paris,” I repeat to myself.
Chapter Ten
Cape Codder Cookies
INGREDIENTS
1 stick butter, softened
2 cups packed brown sugar
2 large eggs
1/2 tsp. vanilla extract
2 Tbsp. heavy cream
3 cups flour
2 tsp. baking soda
1/2 tsp. salt
1 cup dried cranberries
1 cup white chocolate chips
DIRECTIONS
1. Preheat oven to 375 degrees.
2. In a large bowl, cream together butter and brown sugar using electric mixer. Beat in eggs, vanilla, and cream.
3. Sift together flour, baking soda, and salt, and add to the butter mixture, approximately one cup at a time. Beat just until combined.
4. Add cranberries and chocolate chips. Stir to distribute evenly.
5. Drop heaping teaspoons onto a greased cookie sheet with room to spread. Bake 10–13 minutes. Cool for 5 minutes on baking sheet, then move to a wire rack.
MAKES APPROXIMATELY 50 COOKIES
Rose
The sunset that night was brighter than usual, and as Rose watched the eastern horizon, she thought about how the vivid illumination of the sky was one of God’s most marvelous tricks. She remembered, with a clarity that surprised her, sitting at the window of her family’s apartment on rue du Général Camou, watching the sun set in the west, over the Champ-de-Mars. It had always seemed to her that the view at sundown was the most beautiful blend of the magic of God and the magic of man; a beautiful light show surrounding a glittering, mysterious tower of steel. She used to imagine that she was a princess in a castle, and that this light show was being put on just for her. She was sure that hers was the best window in the city, perhaps the best view in all the world.
But that was back when she was still terribly proud of her country, proud to be Parisian. The Eiffel Tower seemed to be a symbol of everything that made her beloved city great.
Later, she would hate what it stood for. She marveled at how quickly love and pride could transform into something dark and inescapable.
Rose watched the Cape Cod sky flame orange and then fade to pink, and finally to the brilliant blue that made her feel at home, so far away here from the place where she’d begun her journey. Although the sunset itself looked different here than it did in Paris—a trick of the atmosphere, she supposed—the deep cerulean twilight was just the same as it had been all those years ago. It brought her comfort to know that while everything else in the world could change, the ending to God’s light show remained eternally the same.
Rose had the sense, as she sat at the window, that something important was happening. She was having trouble placing the feeling, though. It seemed that someone had told her something vital, but who? And when? She couldn’t recall having any visitors.
The doorbell rang, interrupting her wisps of thoughts, and with one last, reluctant look at the North Star above the crest of the horizon, she moved slowly to her front door. She wondered when this body had begun to fail her; she could remember moving on her feet, light as air, graceful as a breeze. It felt like just yesterday. But now, her body felt to her like a sack of bones that she had to drag, with effort, everywhere she went.
At the door, she found herself staring at the kind nurse, the one whose name she found impossible to remember. But she had a face that could be trusted, Rose knew.
“Hi, Rose,” the nurse said, in a gentle voice that reminded Rose that people here felt sorry for her. She didn’t want their pity. She didn’t deserve it. “Are you coming down to dinner? The other three ladies at your table miss you in the dining room.”
Rose knew this wasn’t true. She couldn’t, for the life of her, remember the names or even the faces of the three women she ate three meals a day with.
“No, I will stay here,” Rose told the nurse. “Thank you.”
“How about I bring you a tray in your room?” the nurse asked. “We’re having meat loaf tonight.”
“That would be fine,” Rose said.