My Secret Guide to Paris (13 page)

W
hat could that possibly be for?” my mom asked, staring at the key in my hand.

“I think it’s to a locked box I found in the trunk,” I said. “I didn’t tell you about it because I wasn’t even sure it was meant for me. I mean, I hoped it was for me, but when the notes and map seemed to be about something else, I put the box out of my mind.”

“Maybe the last letter will tell us more,” my mom said. “Did you bring it with you?”

I shook my head. “No. I left it back at the hotel. I figured it was probably just a ‘hope you had fun in Paris’ kind of note.”

Mom looked at Celine. “Thank you. For everything.”

She smiled. “My pleasure. One thing about Sylvia, she never wanted to do something halfway. It was always go big or go home with her. In fashion and life, as this elaborate treasure hunt proves.”

Mom reached out and stroked my hair. “She really loved you, Nora.”

I knew she was right, and once again that happy/sad feeling washed over me.

We said good-bye to Celine and then made our way out of the beautiful building to catch a cab.

Mom and I didn’t say anything as we rode back to the hotel. I looked out at the city I’d come to love, all lit up and as pretty as ever, and wished I didn’t have to leave. The trip had been more special, more magical, than I’d ever imagined. And it was almost over.

When we got back to our room, we found a note from Justin.
Out to explore the city on our last night. Be back soon.

I kicked off my heels and immediately went to my messenger bag and pulled out the last envelope. I sat on the bed, opened it, and started reading.

THERE’S NO PLACE LIKE PARIS, PART 7

And so, here it is. Your last note, which concludes your twelfth-birthday treasure hunt around the city of Paris. I hope you enjoyed it, Nora, and that it is something you remember for years to come.

I will try to make this short, for I’m sure an almost-teenager like yourself doesn’t want a long, sappy letter from her grandmother.

Know these things, Nora:

First, I love you so very much. I can’t even tell you how much I look forward to the first weekend of every month. To me, it is even better than visiting Paris, the time I spend with you. Thank you for the gift of your time. It is the best gift anyone can give.

Next, remember that the mother-daughter relationship is a fragile one. Do everything you can to nurture it, and please, treasure it. I wish there were things I had done differently with your mom, but it is too late and does little good to focus on those regrets. All I can do now is try my best to mend things between us and move forward. May Paris be the first of many wonderful times we all spend together (hope springs eternal, as they say).

If your mom would be open to the idea, perhaps we could invite her along with us every once in a while, for our weekends together. It could be fun, yes? We can be together and remember the good times we’ve had, while making new memories at the same time.

And finally, the key that is now in your possession will open the locked box I gave you right before we left for Paris. Hopefully, you aren’t too upset with me that the clues really had nothing to do with the locked box, until now.

I hope you enjoy what is inside the box. I’m pretty sure you will. Open it with your mother, all right?

Until next time …

I looked at Mom. She was crying. I went over and gave her a hug.

“At least now there’s a reason to be excited about going home, right?” I said, trying to lighten the mood.

Mom smiled as she pulled away, stroking my cheek. “That’s absolutely right.”

“Can I use the bathroom and get ready for bed?” I asked her.

“Of course. Go right ahead.” She took the letter from my hand. “Is it okay if I read this again?”

“Sure.”

I picked up my suitcase and carried it into the bathroom with me and shut the door. As I searched around the pile of clothes for my pajamas, my hand bumped the button jar. I pulled it out and plopped down on the floor. As I twirled the jar around in my hands, like I’d done hundreds of times before, I once again admired all the buttons, in so many different shapes, sizes, and colors. Some were plain while others were intricately decorated. Every single one different, and yet each one special, too. Just like the people I’d met in Paris, because of the wonderful treasure hunt Grandma had created.

I remembered how scared I’d been at first to speak to Annabelle. What if I’d let my scaredy-cat ways stop me? What if I hadn’t gone any farther than that chocolate shop? I would have missed out on so much.

My fancy dress didn’t have any pockets, and so I hadn’t carried a button with me to the fashion show. It was the first time since Grandma gave me the jar that I hadn’t brought one along with me. For a moment, I’d considered putting one in my handbag, but I’d decided not to, because it seemed that maybe the buttons had come to mean something more than my dream of traveling to Paris.

My dream had come true, after all, and still, every day since I’d been there, I’d felt like I had to carry one with me. Like a little kid who insisted on carrying his security blanket everywhere he went.

But at the fashion show, I’d been okay without it. Even better than okay. And I’d realized something that night as we drove back to the hotel with the city of Paris lit up all around us. Grandma would always be with me. I didn’t need to carry a button to remind me of that. And with this trip, she’d given me more than a nice vacation. She’d given me the chance to start becoming the person I’d like to be.

I stood up and looked in the mirror. I smiled.

“Hey, Mom?” I called out as I cracked the door open.

“Yeah?”

“Can you please leave the bathroom light off tonight when we go to bed? I want to try and sleep without it.”

“You bet, honey.”

“I love you, Mom.”

“I love you, too.”

J
ustin, Mom, and I spent Saturday buying gifts for friends and family back home and shopping at one of the famous flea markets. Mom found another doll she fell in love with, so she bought it and arranged to have it shipped to our house. She asked me if I wanted anything else as a souvenir, but it seemed to me that nothing could top the notes and gifts from Grandma, or the beret Phoebe had given to me. And really, I’d found more treasures than I’d ever imagined. And the cool thing was, they didn’t take up any space in my suitcase. I carried them all in my heart.

Justin didn’t want anything except a boring old T-shirt with the French flag on it. Boys.

And then, it was time to pack and head home. As we drove away from our hotel in another fancy taxi, I thought back to all the things I’d seen and all the people I’d met. I had a feeling Grandma would have been happy about the way things turned out. Her wish had come true—Paris had brought all of us closer together.

*  *  *

While there’s no place like Paris, there is also no place like home. I’d missed my dad a lot. And Lindy. And my own comfortable bed and the peace and quiet of my bedroom. Mom had asked if I wanted to open the box right away when we got home. I suggested we wait until the following weekend and go somewhere special. I guess I wanted to make the treasure hunt last as long as I possibly could.

The days after we got home were long and busy. Jet lag is about as fun as staring at an empty bakery window.

But somehow, I made it to Saturday. When I woke up, I went to the old trunk and lifted the lid. I dug through the fabric and clothes until I felt the cold, hard surface. After I pulled it out, I sat on my bed with the rectangular box on my lap, just looking at it.

What could it possibly be?

In just a little while, the mystery would be solved. And the treasure hunt officially over. It made me sad, but hopefully the contents of the box would cheer me up a little bit.

Mom and I rode the subway into the city. We were headed to La Maison du Chocolat—the place where it’d all begun. It seemed so long ago now, the day I’d sat there with Grandma, dreaming about Paris and hoping my mom would allow me to go.

When we arrived, the delicious smell of chocolate greeted us. After we ordered, we sat down. I put the box on the table in front of us.

Mom looked around. “I haven’t been here in a while. It’s like a little bit of Paris at home, isn’t it? I’m reading a memoir about a woman’s year in Paris right now, and I really love it. Since we’ve come back from our trip, I’m now fascinated by other people’s stories of how their lives were changed by that amazing city. I find myself missing it. Paris, I mean. Isn’t that strange?”

“No. I miss it, too.”

“Has Phoebe sent you the photos she took yet?”

“No, I’ve only gotten the one postcard from her. It didn’t say much, except she missed me and they ended up staying in Paris longer than they had planned, so she’d get the photos to me soon. She met a French girl named Cherry shortly after we said good-bye, and I guess she helped her find an amazing antique. Isn’t that a weird name? Cherry?”

“I like it,” she said, smiling. “I wonder if she has red hair?”

“I don’t know. Anyway, can we buy Phoebe a New York City postcard today? I want to send her one. She really wants to visit someday.”

Mom nodded. “Of course. After we leave here, we’ll do that for you.” She motioned toward the box. “I can’t believe you haven’t opened it yet. Aren’t you excited to see what’s inside?”

Before I could answer, our hot chocolate order was ready. We got our mugs situated in front of us and then I took a deep breath.

“Okay,” I said. “Are you ready?”

Mom laughed. “I’ve been ready since Celine gave you the key.”

My hand didn’t move. I just stared at the box. Tears filled my eyes, though it was the last thing I wanted.

“Nora?” Mom asked, reaching over and squeezing my hand. “Are you all right?”

I blinked quickly, trying to keep the tears back. “Once I open it, there won’t be any more notes for me to read. No more treasure hunts to go on. No more boxes to open.” I looked at my mom. “I wish it didn’t have to end. I mean, I wish she hadn’t …”

My voice trailed off. I didn’t have to say it. She knew.

“I know you miss her,” she said softly as she rubbed my hand. “And that missing will probably never go away completely. People tell me it will get easier as time goes on, and I’m guessing they’re probably right. But you know what? We are so lucky to have lots of wonderful memories. We’ll always have those. Always.”

I nodded as I took another deep breath, put the key into the keyhole, and slowly turned it. When the lid popped open, all we saw was tissue paper. I reached in and carefully peeled back the crinkly white paper.

When I pulled the book out of the box, Mom and I both said, at the exact same time, “My favorite book!”

“Yours?” I asked. “This is my favorite book. Grandma used to read it to me all the time when I was younger.”

“Oh, Nora,” Mom said, her bottom lip trembling. “She used to read it to me, too. Isn’t it the most wonderful book in the world? And how appropriate, after our trip to Paris.”

We both stared at what was obviously a very old, very well-loved copy of
Madeline
, by Ludwig Bemelmans. Like the copy Grandma had read to me, the cover showed the teacher, Miss Clavel, with the twelve little girls who lived at an old boarding school in Paris, dressed in yellow coats and hats, all of them staring at the Eiffel Tower in front of them. Well, all of them except one little girl with straight red hair, who was turned around, looking right at us. That little girl was Madeline.

The book was well worn, with the edges of the dust jacket creased in some places and slightly ripped in others.

“May I see it, please?” Mom asked. I handed it to her, and she slowly opened the cover and turned ever-so-carefully to the first page.

“Wow,” she said softly. “This book was published in 1939.” She looked at me in amazement before she ran her finger down the page. “She bought us a first edition. I think this is worth a lot of money.”

I grabbed hold of the book. “But you can’t sell it. Please! It means too much.”

She shook her head. “No, of course not. I mean, not now. Maybe someday.”

I shook my head, frowning so she could see how serious I was.

Mom smiled. “Okay, maybe not.”

After I let go, she turned the page, and as she read something, tears filled her eyes. She passed the book to me and said, “Your grandma inscribed it for us. What a wonderful gift she’s given us.”

For Faye and Nora ~

When you crawled into my lap for a story, I felt like the luckiest woman in the world. Thank you for giving me wonderful memories I carry with me wherever I go, forever and ever.

The last line sounded so much like what Mom had just said to me, it was kind of eerie. The three of us were different from each other, and yet we were the same in some ways, too. Like the
macarons
we’d eaten on our first day in Paris—each one a different flavor and vibrant color, but all of them the same kind of cookie.

Family
, I thought to myself.
That is what family is
.

I looked around. The shop was busy, but no one seemed to be paying any attention to me and my mother and this book we were looking at.

“Will you read it to me?” I asked. “Right now? Is that weird?”

Mom scooted her chair closer. “Not weird at all.”

She carefully turned the pages, stopping to admire the two-page art spread where it said
Place de la Concorde
.

“I always thought Madeline was so brave,” I said as Mom came to the page with the first line of text. “She was the smallest girl, but she wasn’t afraid of lions or mice.”

“Yes,” Mom said. “I thought so, too.”

It really was true. My mother and I weren’t so different after all.

“Before you start reading,” I said, “I have an idea.”

“What’s that?”

“Maybe we can make this a monthly thing,” I said. “You know, the first weekend of every month, we do something special together?”

“There is nothing in the world I’d love more,” my mom said.

And when she started to read, I realized I felt the same way. Maybe the treasure hunt was over. But that didn’t mean we couldn’t create new, exciting adventures together.

“Hey, Mom,” I said as she turned another page.

“Hm?”

“Phoebe said we’re welcome to visit her anytime. I think when I go to school on Monday, I’ll visit Mrs. Miles in the library and see if there are any books about England. Do you know if people can go inside the palace where the queen lives? That would be so cool. Even if we can’t, doesn’t England have lots of castles? I wonder—”

Mom started laughing.

“What?” I asked.

“How about if we start with finding places here in New York that are a little bit like Britain? We could go for tea and crumpets. Or fish and chips. And we can look up British artists at the museum, too.”

“Jolly good,” I said in my best British accent. “But I’m still going to dream about going to London someday.”

Maybe I didn’t need to carry around a button in my pocket anymore, but my dreams were something else. I’d carry the dream of London around with me for as long as I had to, because someday it’d be my turn for another dream to come true.

And when it happened, I wanted to be ready!