“And Matthieu stayed after they left. He was here when I talked to the police,” Carole added, looking pensive, as Stevie looked at her with narrowed eyes.

“Should I be worried?”

“I don't think so. That was all such a long time ago. I was a kid, younger than you are now. We agreed to be friends, or try to be. I think he means well. He looks like an unhappy man.” He had the same intensity she remembered even in their days of passion, but there was a depth of sadness in his eyes that hadn't been there before, except after his daughter died. “I'll be going home soon anyway. It's kind of nice to put old ghosts to rest, and make friends with them. It takes away their power.”

“I'm not sure anything could take away that guy's power,” Stevie said sensibly. “He comes in here like a tidal wave, and everybody jumps about ten feet when they see him.”

“He was a very important man, and still is. He called the Minister of the Interior about me. That's how we got the guards at the door.”

“I don't mind that. I just don't want him upsetting you,” Stevie said protectively. She didn't want anything hurting Carole, ever again if possible. She'd been through far too much. Her recovery was hard enough. She didn't need to deal with emotional issues too, particularly Matthieu's. He'd had his chance, and blown it, as far as Stevie was concerned.

“He doesn't upset me. The things I remember about him do sometimes, but he's been very nice. He asked my permission to visit me again.” That had impressed her. He hadn't just assumed it, he had asked.

“And did you give it to him?” Stevie asked with interest. She still didn't trust the guy. He had scary eyes. But not to Carole. She knew him better than that, or had once upon a time.

“Yes. I think we can be friends now. It's worth a try. He's a very interesting man.”

“So was Hitler … and Stalin… I don't know why, but I get the feeling this guy would stop at nothing to get what he wants.”

“That's how it was before. It's different now. We're different. He's old. It's over.” Carole sounded sure of it, Stevie wasn't.

“Don't bet on that. Old loves die hard.” Theirs certainly had. She had thought about him for years, and loved him for a long time. It had kept her from loving anyone till Sean. But Carole said nothing and only nodded.

Stevie made herself comfortable on the cot they brought in, and later in the evening put on pajamas, and said they were having a slumber party. Carole felt guilty for having her assistant stay with her instead of at the Ritz. But after the boy-with-the-knife incident, Stevie no longer felt comfortable being far from Carole. She had also promised Jason she'd stay close. He had called a dozen times, shaken by the attack. Carole's children had called her too. They had guards with machine guns outside the room now, and Stevie to protect her inside. It touched Carole that Stevie cared that much about her. And they giggled and chatted like two kids late into the night, while the nurse stood outside and talked to the guards.

“This is fun,” Carole said at one point, laughing. “Thank you for staying with me.”

“I was lonely at the hotel too,” Stevie admitted. “I'm really starting to miss Alan.” She had been gone for weeks, even over Thanksgiving. “He's been calling a lot. He's actually beginning to sound like a grown-up, which is pretty goddamn good news since he turned forty last month. He's definitely a late bloomer.” Neither of them had ever been married, and lately he'd been talking about it, and long-term plans for their future. “He invited me to Christmas dinner at his parents'. Up till now, we always spent the holidays separately. Spending them together seemed like too much of a commitment, to both of us. I guess that's progress, but toward what? I like what we've got.” His talking long term made her nervous.

“What would you do if you got married?” Carole asked cautiously, from her bed, with a night-light on nearby. The room was almost dark, which lent itself to confidences and questions they might not have dared ask each other otherwise, although they were always fairly candid with each other. But some topics were taboo, even between them. This was a question Carole had never asked her before, and hesitated even now.

“Kill myself,” Stevie said simply, and then laughed. “About what? I don't know … nothing… I hate change. Our apartment is comfortable. He hates my furniture, I don't care. Maybe I'd repaint the living room, and get another dog.” Stevie couldn't see why anything would change, but it might. Marriage would give Alan a far greater claim on her life, which was why she didn't want to marry him. She liked her life just the way it was.

“I mean about your job.”

“My job? What does marriage have to do with that, unless I marry you? I guess then I'd move in.” They both laughed at that.

“You work a lot of hours, you travel with me. We're gone a lot. And anytime I get blown up in a tunnel, you could get stuck in Paris for a hell of a long time,” Carole explained with a smile.

“Oh that. Shit, I don't know. I never thought about it. I think I'd give up Alan before I'd give up my job. In fact, I know it. If my work with you is an issue to him, he can take a long hike, into oblivion. I'm not giving up this job. Ever. You'd have to kill me first.” It was comforting for Carole to hear it, although sometimes things changed unexpectedly. She worried about that. And she wanted Stevie to have a good life, not just a job.

“How does Alan feel about it? Does he ever complain?”

“Not really. He whines sometimes, if I'm gone a long time, and says he misses me. I figure it's good for him, unless he finds another roommate. But he's very much steady-eddy, and he's pretty busy himself. He actually travels more than I do, although he doesn't go as far.” Most of his trips were in California, while hers with Carole were abroad. “As far as I know, he's never cheated on me. I think he used to be fairly wild when he was younger. I'm the first woman he's ever lived with. It's worked out pretty decently so far. Which is another thing, why fix what ain't broke?”

“Has he asked you to marry him, Stevie?”

“No, thank God. I just worry that he will. He never used to talk about marriage at all. Now the subject does come up. A lot lately. He says he thinks we should get married. But he's never proposed. I'd be upset if he did. I guess he's thinking that it must be some kind of midlife crisis, which is depressing too. I hate to think we're that old.”

“You're not. It's nice that he's feeling responsible about you. I'd be more upset if he weren't. Are you going to his parents' for Christmas?” Carole was curious, and Stevie groaned from her cot across the room.

“I guess. His mother is a real pain in the ass. She thinks I'm too tall and too old for him. Nice. But his father is cute. And I like both of his sisters. They're smart, like him.” It all sounded healthy to Carole, and reminded her to call Chloe the next day. She wanted to invite her to come to California a few days before the others, so they'd have some time alone. She thought it would be good for both of them.

She lay in the dark for a few minutes, thinking about what Matthieu had said about her, and how difficult and needy Chloe had been even as a little girl. It absolved Carole a little, and relieved her, but she still wanted to try to make up to her for what Chloe felt she had missed. Neither of them had anything to lose, and both had everything to win.

She was nearly asleep when Stevie spoke to her again. It was another of those easier-in-the-dark questions. They couldn't see each other from their beds. It was like confession. The question took Carole by surprise.

“Are you still in love with Matthieu?” Stevie had been wondering for days, and was worried about it. Carole took a long time to answer, pondering it, and then said what was closest to the truth.

“I don't know.”

“Do you think you'd ever move back here?” Stevie was worried about her job, just as Carole worried about losing her. This time Carole answered quickly, with no hesitation in her voice.

“No. Not for a man anyway. I like my life in L.A.” Even with Anthony and Chloe gone, she liked the house, the city, her friends, and the weather. Gray Paris winters no longer appealed to her, no matter how beautiful the city was. She had been there, done that, years before. She had no desire to move. “I'm not going anywhere,” she reassured her assistant.

They both fell asleep shortly after, comfortable that nothing in their lives was going to change. The future was sure, as much as it ever was.

When Carole awoke the next morning, Stevie was already awake, up, dressed, and her bed had been made. A nurse was walking into the room with Carole's breakfast tray, and the neurologist was close on her heels.

The doctor came to stand beside Carole's bed, with a warm smile. She was their star patient and had made a recovery thus far that exceeded all their expectations. She said as much to Carole, while Stevie stood nearby, like a proud mother hen. They had much to be thankful for.

“There are still so many things I can't remember. My phone number, my address. What my house looks like from the outside. I know what my bedroom looks like, and the garden, and even my office. I can't visualize the rest of my house. I can't remember my house-keeper's face or name. I don't remember my children growing up… I can hear my father's voice, but I can't see him in my mind … I don't know who my friends are. I hardly remember anything about either of my marriages, particularly my last one.” It was an endless litany as her doctor smiled.

“The last item you mentioned could be a blessing. I remember far too much about both my marriages! Ah, to forget them both!” the doctor said as all three women laughed, and then grew serious again. “You must be patient, Carole. It will take months, maybe a year, even two. Some things may never come back, small things probably. You can do things to push yourself, photographs, letters, rely on friends to tell you things. Your children will fill you in. Your brain had a tremendous shock, now it's doing its job again. Give it some time to recover. It's like when a film breaks at a movie. It takes a little time to thread it back on the reel again and get it running smoothly. It jumps and skips for a while, the picture is blurry, the sound is too fast or too slow, and then the film rolls on again. You must be patient during this process. Stamping your feet or throwing popcorn at the screen won't make it go any faster. And the more impatient you get, the harder it will be for you.”