The Promise of Provence (Love in Provence Book 1) (37 page)

47

Katherine texted Bernadette from Budapest and was happy to find her waiting when the early evening flight arrived.

In her typically inquisitive manner, the flamboyant chauffeur peppered Katherine with questions about her trip, interrupting with some highly unflattering remarks about the problem of immigrants from Eastern Europe. “. . . in my ’umble opinion,” she said.

“This EU is for
les oiseaux
,” she said. “It has caused nothing but
mal de vie
for la France!”

Katherine remarked how friendly and helpful she had found the people she encountered on her short trip.

“That’s because the nice ones are staying there! But I did know a very handsome man from Poland once.” She went on to relate an amusing story about a brief interlude she had shared with this fellow.

By the time they arrived at the house, Bernadette had caused Katherine to laugh out loud several times. She was appreciative of having her heavy mood lifted as she walked into the cozy familiarity this home away from home offered.

Opening the doors and shutters on each floor, she breathed in the soothing salt air before pouring a
pastis
and wandering out to the roof terrace.

Scraping a chair lightly on the tiles as she pulled it over, she sat down and placed her feet on the wrought-iron railing of the deck. Heaving an enormous sigh, she leaned back, taking in the star-filled evening sky.

Her thoughts returned to the previous forty-eight hours and all she had seen and felt, knowing it would take a very long time to process it all, if indeed she ever could. She wondered how her mother would have reacted to the trip after all the years of protecting her daughter from the horrendous details.

At least she would finally have known their
palachinta
plan worked.

Tears came again. She longed to go home and press her hands and face to her mother’s carpet as she had watched Elisabeth do so often. Now she understood.

There will be time for that.

She heard her mother’s voice
. Every day is a gift
.

Drifting off to sleep a short time later, Katherine resolved to live more by her mother’s words. She wondered if she had been closing doors that she shouldn’t, and she questioned if she knew how to open them.

Wakening later than usual the next morning, Katherine felt an overwhelming urge to stay in bed. Coincidentally, it was raining—in fact, it was teeming: thunder, lightning, the whole package. Nick had once described the rainstorms along the coast as brilliantly spectacular, and this one certainly packed a powerful punch.

Realizing she had left all the windows open, she dashed through the house, closing the shutters.

There was very little water on the floors thanks to the thick walls and sloped ledges of the window openings.

Clever builders, those ancient craftsmen
.

Boiling a cup of hot water and adding lemon, she went up to the guest room and climbed into that bed. From there she could look out through the French doors and watch the normally calm sea roil in the storm.

Ghosts from her visit to her mother’s town continued to haunt her. Her heart felt heavy and sad as she struggled to work through the pain that had accompanied her return. Running through the classic questions of how and why, she knew there were no answers.

She heard her mother’s voice saying, “What doesn’t kill us makes us stronger” and knew better than ever what she had meant. She sent e-mails to Andrea and Molly, telling Andrea she would be there to Skype at 6:00 p.m. Antibes time. A talk with her might help. Within the hour, the rain had stopped and the sun was already drying the streets. Kat knew there was one sure way to bring herself into balance as she put on her cycling clothes.

The small front courtyard had turned out to be the perfect spot to store her bike. Once out the front gate, she had to ride the wrong direction and turn back down the market street to get on her route. Stalls were being dismantled and several vendors were already closed, including Philippe.

“Katherine! Katherine!”

Braking, she turned to see Philippe waving to her from the front of his storage space.

“You are back so soon!”

“I couldn’t take it, Philippe. I had to leave.”

Philippe moved closer, as if to hug her. Feeling inexplicably shy, Katherine quickly positioned herself to ride off. “I know a ride will clear my head.”

“I’m so sorry for your sadness,” he said, his dark eyes piercing hers. “
C’est difficile
. . . but a ride helps everything. You are right about that. What route?”

She described her plan.

“Faites attention,”
he said. “The road may still be slick in places. Take your phone. I can go with you if you want to wait while I finish here.”

“Thank you for being so thoughtful, but I really need to be by myself,” she replied, touched by his offer.

“
D’accord
. Please call me to say you are home safely.”

She rode along the Bord de Mer toward Nice, then cut up through Cagnes into the hills, a route familiar to her from the Tuesday-night rides. It was a straightforward and moderately challenging route, and she had no qualms going on her own.

Thoughts of her parents’ painful past fought against the rhythm of pedaling as she pushed herself harder, muscles straining. Tears streamed down her cheeks. Sobbing loudly at times, she was helpless against the emotions demanding to be released.

Gaining speed as she flew downhill, the switchbacks keeping her barely under control, a long gut-wrenching cry escaped from deep inside her heart.

After careening dangerously on the next corner, she began gradually braking and at length pulled onto the almost nonexistent shoulder. She leaned her bike against the rock wall and climbed up to a large boulder, where she sat with her arms wrapped around her legs and her forehead resting on her knees, her chest heaving.

Weeping, she thought not just about her parents, but also about James and the end of their marriage and everything that had occurred in the past year to lead her to where she was now: sitting on a boulder in the South of France looking down over hillsides and rooftops cascading to the endless blue sea, still alluring under an overcast sky.

Finally her tears abated.

The torment that had filled her began to dissipate as her thoughts cleared. The lessons learned from her parents, the integrity they demonstrated throughout their lives—in spite of the early suffering—had shaped her values and her spirit. This would be part of her forever. The shocking end of her marriage and the painful realization it had never been what it might have been, had opened her to seeing new possibilities in life . . . little by little, in ways she could never have imagined. Ways that brought her here.

She knew she had to let go of the past and give herself permission to move forward.

Always the obedient daughter or the accommodating wife or the dutiful employee
. Now she was in charge of taking chances and deciding her next step.

She had felt the promise of this during her exchange in Sainte-Mathilde, and it was reinforced during her visit with François in Paris. Now she sensed a release.

“Finally I can just be me,” she said out loud as she climbed back on her bike.

She slowed her speed and focused on the ride. Gradually a semblance of peace overcame her as she gave in to the cadence and flow of her body and bike.

Skyping with Andrea later, as planned, they shed tears together while Katherine described the visit to the Ukraine and the ghosts that would not stop haunting her.

“The emotions were powerful. I felt like I was being sucked into a dizzying vortex of images and sounds from those horrific years. I had no control.”

Andrew had also spoken about their visit with his mom, so she was well aware of the difficulties Kat had experienced, and offered what comfort she could.

“Kat, you did what you thought was right, and I think in time you will be glad you went. You won’t have to wonder about it anymore.”

Then Katherine told her about the bike ride. “I believe this ride was a turning point, Andie.”

Next she surprised herself as she added, almost with a small laugh, “It was so powerful I’m betting Lucy has received a karmic message about it.”

“You have no idea how good it is to hear you say that and to feel the change in your voice!”

They chatted about other family news until Katherine was interrupted by knocking. “Hang on a sec, Andie. Let me just get the door.”

Nick stood outside the open door with another bouquet of flowers. Holding up his hand, he quickly said, “These are not a testament of love, but a bouquet of sympathy. I ran into Philippe, and he told me you had a difficult time. Please let me take you to dinner.”

Katherine smiled and graciously accepted the flowers. “I’m just Skyping with my cousin, so let me finish that. Come on in and pour yourself a
pastis
or whatever you want,” she said, pointing to the bar.

Signing off from Skype, Kat promised she would call her back the next afternoon. Before going back downstairs, she remembered Philippe had asked her to call him. She quickly did so.

“I’m back and I’m fine. It was a good ride, but you were right—there were some slick spots—so thanks for warning me to pay attention.”

“
Très bien
. I’m glad the ride helped you feel better. Would you like to have dinner with me?”

“Thank you, but I can’t,” she replied awkwardly.

After a light salad at one of the nearby cafés, Nick suggested they stroll to the port.

Katherine was aware of a nagging guilt at turning down Philippe’s offer. She hoped they would not run into him and wondered why it bothered her so much.

At the end of the ramparts, they stepped inside the white stainless steel sculpture that faced the sea and dominated the harbor of Port Vauban. Lit from the bottom in the unfolding darkness, there was a sense of a shimmering diaphanous embrace.

“The artist crafted his vision well,” Nick observed.

“I’ve been mesmerized by this from my terrace,” Katherine said, sighing. “It’s as if he’s a guardian, almost like a mirage from a distance.”

“This part of the ramparts is Bastion Saint-Jaume. Originally constructed in the 1700s, it was blown up by the Germans when they retreated in 1944 and rebuilt according to the original plans,” Nick said, ever the historian.

“This sculpture is so unique, almost magical.” Katherine studied the outline of a person squatting, arms around knees, constructed entirely of letters joined together.

“
Le Grand Nomade
, but tourists refer to it as the ‘Man of Letters’—for obvious reasons,” Nick continued. “Oddly, the Spanish sculptor’s name is Jaume Plensa.”

Katherine smiled at the coincidence.

Nick’s voice softened, reflecting the intimacy he craved.

“I love looking out at this from my boat and seeing how so many people are drawn to come near the sculpture. Plensa left the front of this piece open so people can stand or sit inside and be surrounded by letters, words, thoughts. And of course you can see through it to the stunning scenery that makes it even more powerful. It’s so much more than simply metal.”

They sat for some time in the warm evening air, talking intermittently, with Katherine sharing some details of her trip with Andrew. Nick listened with empathy, putting his arm gently around her shoulder.

“The war was such a different experience for us in Australia. Terrifyingly threatening, but we didn’t live it in the same manner they did here. I’ve heard some inspiring stories and many tragic ones since I’ve been staying in this part of the world.”

Walking home later, Nick took Katherine’s arm and slipped it through his, giving her an affectionate smile. Patting her hand as he felt a slight resistance, he said, “It’s okay, Kat, it’s okay.”

Looking straight ahead, she smiled shyly and nodded, a silent admission that she felt a warm response to his touch.

As they neared her house, she took the ancient key from her purse. Nick laughed. “I can’t believe you keep using that key!”