“Are you going to sell the house?”

“No. Just rent it.”

“You can always come back then. You're not doing anything that can't be reversed if you don't like it in California. Give it a chance, Paris. There's a whole world out there for you to discover. You can do anything you want, go anywhere you want. The door is wide open.”

“That's pretty scary.”

“And exciting. I'm very proud of you.” She told Anne then that she had decided not to tell her friends yet. She wanted to find a house first. She didn't want anyone trying to talk her out of it. The only ones she had told were Anne and her children, and all three were pleased with Paris's decision to move.

She left Anne half an hour later, and went home to pack, and Natalie called to apologize again about dinner.

“Don't worry about it,” Paris said breezily, “it was fine.”

“Do you want to have lunch this week?”

“I can't. I'm going out to see Wim in San Francisco.”

“Well, that'll be fun for you.” Natalie was relieved to hear that she was moving around at least. She knew how tough the last months had been, and she didn't see a solution for her, unless she found another husband. And with candidates like Ralph afoot, it was beginning to look less than likely. But there had to be someone. She and Virginia had made a solemn vow to find a man for her, whatever it took.

“I'll call you when I get back,” Paris promised, and then finished packing.

The next morning she was on the plane to San Francisco. She was flying first class, and there was an attractive businessman sitting beside her. He was wearing a suit, working on a computer, and looked about fifty. And after glancing at him, she read a book, ate lunch, and then watched the movie. They were only an hour out of San Francisco by the time it was over, and by then her seatmate had put away his computer. He glanced over at her with a smile as the flight attendant offered them cheese and fruit or milk and cookies. Paris took a piece of fruit, and he asked for a cup of coffee, and the flight attendant seemed to know him as she filled his cup.

“Do you go to San Francisco often?” Paris asked him benignly. He was a good-looking man.

“Two or three times a month. We work with a venture capital firm out there, on biotech investments in Silicon Valley.” It sounded fairly impressive, and he looked prosperous and solid. “What about you? Are you going out for business or pleasure?” he inquired.

“I'm going to visit my son in Berkeley. He goes to school there.” She had seen him glance at her left hand, and she was no longer wearing her wedding ring. She had worn it until the divorce came, and taking it off had nearly killed her. But there was no point wearing it anymore. Peter was married to someone else. But she still felt naked without it. She had never taken it off since the day they were married, she'd been both sentimental and superstitious about it. She noticed that her seatmate wasn't wearing a wedding band either. Perhaps a good sign.

“How long will you be staying?” he inquired with growing interest.

“I don't know. I'm going to look for a house or an apartment. I'm thinking of moving out.”

“From New York?” He looked intrigued. She was a very good-looking woman. And he guessed her to be around forty. She looked young to have a son in college.

“From Greenwich.”

“Divorced?” He seemed practiced at this.

“Yes,” she said cautiously. “How did you know?”

“There aren't a lot of single women in Greenwich, and if you're thinking of moving, it sounds like you're on your own.” She nodded, but didn't ask him any of the same questions. She wasn't sure she wanted to know, and she didn't want to look anxious. And when the pilot announced that it was their last chance to get up and move around, she left her seat and waited for the bathroom. She was standing right outside the galley, as the flight attendant looked at her. It was the one who had just served them, and she smiled at Paris and approached to speak in a subdued voice.

“It's none of my business, but you may want to know. He's married, and has a wife and four kids in Stamford. Two of the women on this flight have gone out with him and he doesn't share that information. He commutes out here. I saw him talking to you, and we girls have to stick together. Of course, maybe it doesn't bother you. But it's good to know anyway. He won't tell you himself that he's married, at least he never tells us. We found out from another regular on the flight, who knows his wife.”

“Thank you,” Paris said, looking stunned as the bathroom became vacant. “Thanks a lot,” and then went in to wash her hands and comb her hair, and as she did, she looked at herself in the mirror. It was a big bad world out there full of creeps and jerks and cheaters. The likelihood of finding a good one seemed about as great as finding a needle in the proverbial haystack. Nothing was impossible, but to Paris at least, it seemed extremely unlikely, and she didn't want a man anyway. The last thing she wanted was to get involved with anyone. She knew without a shadow of a doubt that she would never remarry. Peter had cured her. All she could do now, in her opinion, was get used to being alone.

She went back to her seat with freshly combed hair, neatly done in a braid down her back, and carefully applied lipstick, and her seatmate looked at her appreciatively. A moment later he handed her his business card, and she took it from him and held it in her hand.

“I'm staying at the Four Seasons. Call me if you have time for dinner. Where are you staying?” he asked pleasantly.

“With my son,” she lied. But after what she'd just heard, she wasn't planning to give him any information. She knew more than enough about him. “I think we'll be pretty busy,” she said casually as she put the card in her purse.

“Call me in New York when you go back,” he said, and as he did, they landed with a thump and taxied down the runway at SFO. “Do you need a ride into town?” he asked helpfully, and she smiled, thinking with empathy about his wife.

“No, thanks, I have friends waiting. But thanks for the offer,” she said blithely. And as he saw her climb into a cab alone twenty minutes later, he raised an eyebrow and caught her eye. She waved, as they took off for the city, and as soon as she got to the hotel, she threw away his card.





Chapter 12




For the next four days, Paris felt as though she saw every house in town. She saw four apartments, and decided in short order that an apartment wasn't what she wanted. After years in a fairly substantial house, with plenty of room to roam around, she wasn't ready for an apartment. In the end she narrowed it down to two houses she liked. One was a large stone house in Pacific Heights reminiscent of the house in Greenwich, and the other was a quaint Victorian with a mother-in-law apartment on Vallejo Street in Cow Hollow. It had the advantage of being close to the water, had a view of the bay, and the Golden Gate, and what she liked most about it was that Wim could use the mother-in-law apartment whenever he wanted, and still feel as though he had a certain amount of independence from her. He could even bring his friends there. It was perfect. The price was right, and the owners were willing to rent it. And she was an ideal tenant. She was solvent and a responsible adult. The whole place had been freshly painted and looked cheerful, clean, and bright.

There were beautiful hardwood floors, and the main part of the house had three bedrooms, one on the top floor with a spectacular view, and two just below it, which she could use for Meg, and whoever else came to visit, or they could just stand empty. There was a pleasant country kitchen, and the living room looked out on a small, well-manicured garden. Everything was on a smaller scale than she was used to, but she liked that about it. She was going to have to pick and choose among her furniture, and send the rest to storage. And the realtor told her that he could rent furniture for her until her own arrived. They settled it in one afternoon. She signed the lease, and the realtor dropped off the keys to her that night at the Ritz-Carlton. She had paid the first and last months' rent, and a sizable security deposit. All she had to do now was rent the Greenwich house, but even if that took a while, there was no reason for her to wait around in Greenwich. She could move anytime she chose.

She had dinner with Wim on the last night, and then drove him over to see it. She had rented a car, and was getting used to driving around the hills. And he fell in love with the mother-in-law apartment.

“Wow, Mom! Can I bring my friends to stay sometime?”

“Anytime you want, sweetheart. That's why I took it.” There were two small bedrooms in the downstairs unit, and he shared the garden with her. It was everything she had wanted. It had charm and privacy for her, and more than enough space, and would provide Wim a nest to come home to, although she didn't expect him to come often. He was having a ball in Berkeley. From everything he had told her, he had made a lot of friends, and was even enjoying his classes, and doing well.

“When are you moving in?” Wim looked excited, and Paris was pleased.

“As soon as I pack up Greenwich.”

“Are you going to sell the house?”

“No, just rent it.” For the first time in months, she had something to look forward to, and was excited about her life. Suddenly something good was happening, instead of disaster and trauma. It had taken her eight months to get here, but she had.

She drove him back to Berkeley that night, and the next morning she flew back to Greenwich. Her seatmate this time was a very old woman who said she was going to see her son, and slept from takeoff to touchdown. And Paris felt as though she'd been gone for months when she walked into the house in Greenwich. She had accomplished a lot in a short time.