Chapter 190
“Bon
jour, and welcome to Paris, France.
Local time is 5:16 a.m.
Temperature outside is eighteen degrees Celsius, sixty-four degrees
Fahrenheit. Enjoy your stay in Paris or
wherever your final destination may be.
If you are returning home, bienvenue à la maison, and thank you
for flying Delta.”
The
intercom crackled as the pilot’s muffled voice abruptly cut off. With a shiver, Claire clutched the handle of
her bag tightly. Her legs were screaming
to move and stretch, but they were not nearly as restless as her insides. I can’t believe I’m here, she thought,
as the seatbelt lights overhead went off with a ding, and people all around her
started to rise. I can’t believe I’m
doing this.
The thought
had been in her mind the entire time, from the red-eye to New York until now,
the end of a seven-hour transatlantic flight.
She had thought to bring a book along, one of the few possessions she’d
thrown into her carry-on, the only luggage she’d brought, but had found it
impossible to concentrate enough to read it.
She’d gotten through the first three pages or so, re-reading every
paragraph, some multiple times, after she realized she hadn’t comprehended a
word of it, and given up halfway through the flight to Paris. The rest of the time she’d spent listening to
her mp3 player, her mind wandering so that she eventually tuned out the music,
and fidgeting in her seat.
Most
everyone else on the plane, including the French businessman sitting next to
her, had slept during the overnight flight, but not Claire. Not only had it been impossible to trick
herself into believing it was the early a.m. when, really, it was just now
after eleven p.m. in Florida, but how could she sleep in the midst of a trip
that was so impulsive and irresponsible and incredible?
Even now,
as people began to file up the aisles, anxious to get off the plane, she
couldn’t believe she had actually gotten on, that in the course of a few hours
in the middle of the night before, she had nearly maxed out her credit card
booking herself a one-way ticket on a jet to New York and a connecting flight
to Paris, packed a single bag with just a few articles of clothing and the
necessities, called a taxi to take her to the airport, and actually boarded the
plane. She’d been traveling ever since
and felt like she had missed a whole day of her life in the process – it had
still been Friday night when she’d come up with this hair-brained idea, and now
it was Sunday morning in Paris, even if it felt like it should still be
Saturday night.
She should
have been exhausted, and she supposed she was, deep down, but the adrenaline
pumping through her body kept it camouflaged for now. She felt wide awake and clear-headed, and
that was how she had been the whole time.
Even last night – Friday night, rather – when her mind had been racing
the way it was now, it had also still been amazingly rational. She’d taken the time not just to pack a bag,
but to pump as much breast milk as she could get out to store for the twins,
which her parents could supplement with formula when it ran out.
The hardest
part had been leaving them – in the middle of the night, nonetheless. It made her feel like a terrible mother, like
she was abandoning them, though she knew it wasn’t true. She wasn’t sure how long she’d be gone – it
all depended on what happened when actually got there – but surely not more
than a few days, and then she would be back, and hopefully it would mean the
start of a new life for her and her girls, the life they would have had all
along, if only she had not been so stupid as to leave Nick in the first place.
They could have been his, the thought occurred to her, as,
unbeknownst to her, it had occurred to him two months ago. Maybe one day they would be. They would always be Jamie’s daughters, of
course, the two miracles created from his love for her, but if the future
played out the way she now knew she wanted it to, they would become Nick’s as
well. Young as they were, Caitlin and
Delaine would never remember that she had left them in the night to fly to
France in a wild attempt to rekindle her romance with the man who had witnessed
their births. But one day, when they
were old enough to understand, she would tell them. Maybe they would be awed to hear that their
mother had ever been so reckless and ballsy in her youth, and then she and Nick
would look at each other and laugh. Oh, the
stories they would have to tell, Nick even more so than her.
The fantasy
carried her away for a few moments, while the other passengers streamed out
around her, until a throaty voice rumbled, “Après vous, madame.” Jarred out of her thoughts, Claire jumped in
her seat and looked up to find an older man standing in the aisle behind her
row, gesturing for her to go ahead of him.
Nodding to
him, she replied, “Merci,” and quickly gathered her things, sliding out
into the aisle in front of the chivalrous Frenchmen. She retrieved her small carry-on from the
overhead compartment, the last bag left in it, and slung it over her shoulder,
where it brushed against the empty seats as she made her way up the aisle. The American flight attendants wished her a
pleasant trip, as she left the plane and entered the Charles de Gaulle airport,
where a stern-faced French customs officer checked her passport and asked her,
in heavily-accented English, why she was visiting his country.
This did
not look like the type of person who would appreciate hearing a good love
story, so she replied simply and politely, “I’m visiting a friend,” and left it
at that. It wasn’t even a white lie –
besides Nick, she did have a friend who actually lived just outside
Paris, Jenn, who had been a bridesmaid at her wedding. Jenn had been telling her to come stay with
her in France for years, ever since she’d moved there, and now, Claire
thought with a laugh as she continued on to the baggage claim area, here I
am. Wouldn’t Jenn be surprised if
she showed up on her doorstep today?
Having no
checked baggage to pick up, Claire breezed on by the rotating carousels and
stopped at an ATM to take out some money in Euros before she followed the signs
to the airport exit. She found that she
didn’t need the little bit of French she remembered from high school, because
the symbols made it easy enough to find her way, even without looking for
English subtitles, and the driver of the taxi she climbed into outside the airport
spoke decent enough English that she didn’t have to try to give him directions
in French. That was lucky, because she
had no idea where she was going. All she
had was a scrap of paper onto which she’d copied the name of a hotel and a room
number.
“I need to
get to the Hôtel Des Mathurins, s'il vous plaît,” she told
the cab driver, reading directly from that piece of paper, and he nodded his
recognition.
It was thanks to Howie that she had
that information at all; once in New York, she had realized she would have no
idea where to go to find Nick once she got to Paris. Thankfully, she had her cell phone with her
and Howie’s number stored on it. He had
agreed to call Nick’s manager and find out, without it getting back to Nick,
where exactly he was staying, and the answers were now clutched in her shaking
hand.
The driver seemed to know where he was
going, and as his cab trundled into the city, Claire allowed herself to relax
and look out the window, taking in the sights of Paris. A part of her still couldn’t believe she was
really here, and at first, the skyline looked like that of any other major city
she’d been to. But then she caught her
first glimpse of the Eiffel Tower in the distance, and suddenly, it became
real. She was here, in Paris, France, on her way to the hotel where Nick
would be waiting.
Most likely, he would still be asleep,
tired from his show the night before. He
would probably be annoyed at her knocking and wonder who could possibly be
pestering him at six a.m. No doubt, he would
guess she was a fan. But she would be
persistent, call out to him if she had to, and when he finally got out of bed
and came to his door, there she would be, a gleaming smile on her face, waiting
for his reaction to play out. First, the
shock and surprise… then, the delight.
He would open his arms, and she would throw herself gladly into them,
then lock his lips a kiss that would practically knock him off his feet.
Once they’d had a chance to talk and
catch up, they would order breakfast and enjoy the pleasure of eating it in
each other’s company. Eventually, Claire
thought, she would demand he take her sightseeing, and they would spend a
whirlwind day together, traveling to the most notable landmarks Paris had to
offer. The Eiffel Tower would be
included on their agenda, of course, though maybe not at the top. If she had her way, they would visit it at
night, when it was all lit up. They
would go up to the top, look out on the gorgeous lights of the city below, and
then, just maybe…
She caught sight of the smile on her
reflection in the car window, as she let herself get carried away in a fantasy
where Nick knelt before her at the top of the Eiffel Tower, took her hand in
his, and proposed to her. It played out
in her head like a scene from a movie, and it seemed to rewind and re-play
several times before the cab lurched to a stop in front of a compact building
constructed of ivory-colored stone and tucked into the downtown landscape
around it. Hôtel Des Mathurins, a
circular plaque engraved in the front wall read, and she let her breath out in
a rattling whoosh.
She paid the driver and thanked him in
French as she climbed out of the cab, looking up at the hotel in front of
her. Clutching the shoulder strap of her
bag, she walked inside, nodding politely to the doorman who held the door for
her. Looking all around the exquisitely
decorated lobby, she bypassed the front desk and headed for the elevators.
The elevator came quickly, and she
stepped inside, finding that she was the only passenger this early in the
morning. As she rode up to the second
floor, she caught sight of her reflection in the mirrored wall panels, white
and scared. She looked haggard from her
hours of traveling; there were bags under her dull eyes, and her hair hung limply
around her face. She could have used a
shower and a chance to freshen up, but she had nowhere to stay and knew she
could not rest until she saw Nick. Her
appearance wouldn’t matter to him anyway.
He’d certainly seen her looking worse.
She stepped off the elevator and
padded slowly down the richly carpeted corridor, checking room numbers on both
sides. According to Howie, Nick was
staying in room 314, and her heart rate increased exponentially as she neared
it, watching the even numbers climb as she passed the doors on the right-hand
side. 306, 308… 310, 312… The next
door would be it.
And there it was.
Stopping in front of the door marked
314, Claire sucked in a deep breath, raised her shaking hand, and knocked.
She didn’t expect him to answer right
away, and indeed, it took several minutes.
She tried to be patient, but her racing heart made it hard, and after
fidgeting in the hall for nearly a minute, she knocked again. She pictured him waking up on the other side of
the door, wondering who could be outside it and whether or not that person was
worth him getting out of bed to answer it.
He would probably need to put his leg on, and that would take him an
extra minute or so. Understanding this,
she waited before knocking again.
It seemed an eternity that she spent
standing alone in the quiet hotel hallway, fully aware that only a door
separated her from the man she’d flown nearly five thousand miles to see. And then, the eternal wait ended. The door unlocked with a click and slowly
swung open. There stood Nick, wearing
only boxers and a wrinkled t-shirt he’d probably just pulled on, his hair
disheveled and sticking up, his face both sleepy and shocked.
“Claire?” His voice was a croak, deepened by
sleep. He blinked a few times, as if
trying to make sure he wasn’t still dreaming.
Uncontrolled, an impish smile spread
across her face. “Morning, Nick.”
His mouth fell open; he was stunned
and seemingly speechless. Beaming, she
could offer no explanation just yet, only make the first move toward him. He was stiff when she put her arms around
him, offering the hug she had been longing for, but then his arms enveloped her
in return. Still, there was something
awkward about the hug, something she couldn’t put her finger on, until he
released her. As she backed away, she
caught a glimpse into the hotel room over his shoulder. She saw the unmade bed… and the figure of a
woman sitting up in it, the sheets pulled up to cover herself.
Claire stumbled backwards.
Nick’s head jerked around to look
behind him, then back towards Claire, his face a mask of guilt. It was a guilt neither of them could rightly
justify; even so, it was met with a wounded and accusatory stare from Claire, whose
mind was racing to process the sight her eyes had taken in. There was a naked woman in Nick’s bed. She’d spent a whole day traveling, only to
find him with another woman.
Suddenly, she felt like a fool.
“Claire…”
“I don’t know what I’m doing here,”
she interrupted, before he could ask.
Her voice was quivery; in fact, her whole body had started to
shake. Her exhaustion, once disguised by
her excitement and anticipation for this moment, returned, and instead of
feeling exhilarated, she felt on the verge of tears, like a cranky child who
has been hurt and embarrassed. “What am I doing here? This was stupid…”
“No!
No, Claire… no, I’m just… shocked!
That you’re here! When did you
plan this??”
Claire’s irritation flared; in truth,
she was more disgusted with herself for being so careless, but in the heat of
the moment, it was directed at him.
“That’s just it; I didn’t plan
it all,” she spat. “I didn’t think. I just came.
And I shouldn’t have. I’m
interfering…” She trailed off,
gesturing vaguely over his shoulder, where the woman was still sitting there,
just staring, the bedcovers drawn to her chest.
Nick shook his head, his adam’s apple
bobbing as he swallowed quickly. “No,
no, you’re not. That… that’s nothing,”
he said, lowering his voice, moving his head towards the interior of the room.
“That? That
is a woman, Nick. She’s a someone; you could at least acknowledge
her as a person. A person you obviously
slept with.” It was hard to keep the
resentment out of her voice; she didn’t want to sound so bitter and spiteful,
but she couldn’t help herself. Such a
monumental disappointment, coupled with such humiliation, will do that to a
person. Not that she was able to think
clearly enough to rationalize that at the time.
She could only think of the woman, the woman who was clearly not
‘nothing,’ who had shared Nick’s bed while Claire was flying over the Atlantic
to be with him.
A mistake. A foolish, irresponsible, expensive
mistake. She’d be paying for it in
credit card bills for months, and in her own shame for even longer. She couldn’t even look Nick in the eye now,
not only because she was mortified, but because she knew those eyes would still
make her weak in the knees, and she couldn’t afford to be weak anymore. She’d been weak in coming here like she had;
now she needed the strength to pick herself up and walk away.
Nick’s face had reddened; he looked
embarrassed too. “Well, jeez, if I’d
known you were just gonna show up outside my hotel room in France, I wouldn’t have,” he hissed. “Just hang on a minute; I can get rid of her,
and then-”
“No.
Stop. Don’t say that… just ‘get
rid of her’ – that’s awful, Nick. She
obviously means something to you, to be sleeping in your bed, so don’t talk
about her like she’s something you take out with the trash in the
morning.” Claire was taunting him now,
keeping her voice low, but taunting him just the same. She knew full well the girl, whoever she was,
meant nothing to Nick. She was a
groupie, some poor European fan he’d probably hooked up with after last night’s
show.
Claire wasn’t jealous, but she was
hurt. Of course he couldn’t have known
she was going to show up, but the fact that he was off banging groupies after
he’d told her he still loved her stung.
If he really loved her, how could he sleep with other women?
Nick studied her through narrowed
eyes; he looked confused. He licked his
lips and swallowed, his nerves playing out on his face. “What do you want me to do then?” he asked
carefully.
“Go back into your room and forget I
was ever here. Convince yourself it was
all a dream. If I’m lucky, I’ll be able
to do the same thing,” said Claire, and she turned away from him. Even as she started to walk, she had no idea
where she was going to go once she left the hotel, but in that moment, she
didn’t care. She just needed to get away
from here, get away from him, and clear her head. Then she would plan her next move.
Of course, Nick wasn’t going to let
her go without a fight. He grabbed her
arm and pulled, spinning her back around towards him. “Don’t you dare just walk away,” his voice
rose. “You fly all the way to Paris,
show up at my hotel, and you want to leave without even talking to me? Without any kind of explanation? What are you doing here?”
Claire shook her head; how could she
explain herself? The truth would just
make her sound like an idiot; there was no way she was going to tell him all
the thoughts that had gone through her head Friday night when, a few feet away,
there was a naked girl in his bed, a naked girl who had beaten her here. She still had some semblance of pride, more
than that girl anyway. No way was she
going to throw herself at his feet now.
“Well, I was just in the neighborhood
and thought I’d swing by…” she replied airily, laying on the sarcasm. “Jesus, Nick, what do you think? I came to see you. I didn’t realize you
wouldn’t be here alone. Guess I should
have known, huh?”
His face was still beet red, but now
she couldn’t tell if it was from shame or anger. “What do you want me to say? Was I supposed to know you were coming? Was I supposed to wait for you? The last time
I was home, you made it pretty fucking clear that you weren’t ready for a
relationship with me, and now you just show up and give me crap about sleeping
with another girl. How come? Are you jealous?”
Claire didn’t answer; what could she
say? That she was hurt?
“How dare you pull the jealousy card
over me and some groupie when I’m fucking single and you told me you don’t want to be with me?” Nick hissed, towering
over her in a way that was quite intimidating.
I do want to be with you, she
thought miserably, but before she could work up the nerve to say it, he reached
out and snatched up her left hand. He
looked at it for a moment, then let it drop.
“Yep… I thought so. Your heart’s still closed, is it? Then what do you care if I let mine stay
open? You’re acting like a damn
hypocrite,” he growled.
The Claddagh ring. Her heart sinking, Claire raised her hand and
looked at it for herself. Of course it
was still turned the way it had been when she’d worn it for Jamie. She was so used to wearing it, she hadn’t
even noticed it, hadn’t thought to turn it around. She wanted to just yank it off and throw it
at him, but if she did that, she might as well throw herself to the carpet and
grovel at his bare feet. Well, she
wasn’t going to do it. Still, she had
some pride. Maybe she was a hypocrite,
expecting him to wait for her, but he was acting like an asshole.
“You invited me to your fucking
wedding, and I went, and you didn’t see me pitch a fit, did you?” Nick went
on. “Never mind the fact that my heart
was fucking breaking the entire time.
But you made it clear that you didn’t want to be with me, then and a
month ago, so I moved on. Why should I
sit around and waste my life moping over a woman who isn’t ready to be with me
when there are plenty of ‘em out there who are?”
I am ready, thought Claire
desperately, but when she opened her mouth, what came out instead was, “And why
would I want to be with a man who wastes his life fucking groupies who mean
nothing to him?”
Just as she said it, a door behind her
opened. She turned to look over her
shoulder, as a young businessman in a suit walked out of his room, his
briefcase in hand. He slowed his brisk
stride a little to look at them, the disheveled, angry woman with her traveling
bag still hanging off one trembling shoulder, and the scowling man leaning
against the door frame in his boxers, his mismatched legs exposed.
Annoyed and embarrassed, Claire looked
away, her eyes returning to Nick. They
glared at each other in silence while the businessman’s footsteps faded down
the hall. Even when he was gone, Nick
didn’t have an answer for her, nor did she have one for him. Their unanswerable questions had led them to
a draw, and all they could do was stare each other down, each waiting for the
other to say something, until Claire finally did.
“I’m an idiot. I never should have come here, and I’m sorry
that I did. I’m sorry for spoiling what
I’m sure would have been a relaxing morning for you.” And then she turned again, and this time,
she really did start to walk away.
Nick followed her, of course,
shouting, “Oh, come on, Claire, don’t be such a drama queen! Come back here, and let’s talk.” He reached out to grab her arm again, but
this time, she lunged forward, out of the way, and he stumbled, catching the
toe of his prosthetic foot on the carpet and nearly falling.
She couldn’t say she was sorry. In her impulsiveness, all she could think was
that she needed to get away from him, and so she did. Taking advantage of his disability, she
walked faster down the hall, and when she heard him coming up behind her, she
jogged, bypassing the elevator and running down the stairs. She could hear him cursing after her, calling
out her name, and it hurt, but she didn’t stop.
She was hurt too, damn it.
With tears in her eyes, she pushed
through the lobby doors and out onto the Parisian sidewalk. She didn’t stop twice to think about where
she was going next, just turned in a random direction and kept jogging. She ducked into the nearest café and slumped
tiredly into a seat in the far back corner, where she could see out the window
if she turned around. And she did,
often, as she absently sipped her way through two lattes, both dreading and
hoping to see a familiar tall, blonde figure on the street outside.
But Nick never found her.
***