Stevie sat down and had lunch with her in the kitchen, as they so often did. Carole was halfway through a turkey sandwich when she started to cry.

“What's wrong?” Stevie asked gently, but she knew. It was an emotional day for Carole, and even for her.

“I can't believe I'm here. I never thought I'd come back again.” She could finally admit to the terrible fear she'd experienced. She didn't have to be brave anymore. And even once she'd survived the bomb, the last terrorist had come to kill her. It was more than any one human being should have had to live through.

“You're okay,” Stevie reminded her, and gave her a hug, and then handed her a tissue to blow her nose.

“I'm sorry. I don't think I realized how rattled I was. And even Matthieu … that was so emotional for me.”

“You're entitled,” Stevie reminded her. “You can stand here and scream if you want. You've earned it.”

The nurse cleared away their lunch dishes, and Carole and Stevie sat at the kitchen table for a while. And then Stevie made her a cup of vanilla tea and handed it to her.

“You should go home,” Carole reminded her. “Alan must be anxious to see you.”

“He's picking me up in half an hour. I'll call and let you know what happens.” Stevie looked nervous and excited.

“Just enjoy him. You can tell me tomorrow.” Carole felt guilty for how much of her time and life she had taken. Stevie had always given her way beyond the call of what was normal, or could be considered “duty.” She gave herself body and soul to her employer and her job, beyond what any human being would.

Stevie left half an hour later, when Alan honked twice outside, and as she raced out the door, Carole wished her luck. The nurse helped her unpack, and then she went to sit in her office and stared out the window. The computer was waiting for her, but she was too tired to touch it. By then it was three o'clock, which was midnight in Paris. She was wiped out.

She walked out into her garden that afternoon, and called both her children. Chloe was arriving the next day, and she said she could hardly wait to see her mom. Carole wanted to rest up for her that night, but she wanted to get on L.A. time, so she didn't go to bed until nearly ten o'clock. It was morning in Paris by then. Carole was asleep the minute her head hit the pillow, and stunned that Stevie was already there when she got up the next day at ten-thirty. She woke up when Stevie peeked into her room with a big smile.

“Are you awake?”

“What time is it? I must have slept twelve or thirteen hours.” Carole lay in bed, stretched, and yawned.

“You needed it,” Stevie said as she pulled back the curtains. Carole saw instantly that there was a small diamond on her left hand.

“So?” she said, sitting up with a sleepy smile. She had a headache, and an appointment with both the neurologist and a neuropsychologist that morning. They worked as a team with patients who'd suffered brain injuries. She figured the headache was probably normal after the time change and the flight. She wasn't worried.

“Are you still free on New Year's Eve?” Stevie asked, nearly crowing with excitement, and Carole beamed.

“Are you going to do it?”

“Yes,” Stevie said, looking faintly panicked, and held out the ring for inspection. It was a small but exquisite antique diamond ring that suited her hand. Stevie was thrilled, and Carole was happy for her. She deserved all the joy life gave her, for the love and comfort she gave others, particularly her boss. “We're flying to Las Vegas on the morning of New Year's Eve. Alan booked rooms at the Bellagio for us, and you too.”

“I'll be there. With bells on. Oh my God, we have to go shopping. You need a dress.” Carole started to come alive as she said it. She was excited for her friend.

“We can go with Chloe. You should rest today. You had a long day yesterday.”

Carole got out of bed slowly, and felt better when she had a cup of tea and some toast. Stevie went to the doctor with her, and they talked about the wedding on the way. The neurologist had said she was fine, and told her to take it easy. He was stunned as he glanced through her records, and read the doctor's report from Paris. She had done a final summary in English for him.

“You're one lucky woman,” he told her. He predicted that she would have memory lapses for six months to a year, which was what they had told her in Paris too. She wasn't crazy about the doctor, she liked the one in Paris better. But she didn't have to see him again for another month, just to check in. They were going to do another CT scan then, just to keep an eye on her. And physical therapists were going to continue to work with her.

The doctor who impressed both Carole and Stevie was the neuropsychologist Carole saw in the same office immediately after the neurologist, who had been methodical, precise, and very dry. The neuropsychologist was a woman, who bounced into the examining room to see Carole like a ray of sunshine. She was tiny, elfin, with huge blue eyes, freckles, and bright red hair. She looked like a pixie, and was very sharp.

She smiled at Carole as soon as she walked in, and introduced herself as Dr. Oona O'Rourke, and was as Irish as a leprechaun, with a brogue. It made Carole smile just looking at her, as the doctor hopped up on the table like a sprite in her white coat, and smiled at the two women sitting across from her in chairs. Stevie had been in the examining room with Carole for moral support and to help fill in details she might have forgotten or didn't know.

“So, I hear you did some flying around a tunnel in Paris. Pretty impressive. I read about it. How was it?”

“Not as much fun as it was cracked up to be,” Carole commented. “It wasn't what I had planned for my trip to Paris.” Dr. O'Rourke glanced at her chart then and commented on the memory loss, and wanted to know how it was going.

“Much better,” Carole said openly. “It was pretty weird in the beginning. I had no idea who I was, or who anyone else was. My memory was completely gone.”

“And now?” The bright blue eyes saw all, and her smile was warm. She was an added feature they hadn't had in Paris, but Carole's new L.A. neurologist thought the psychological factor was important, and at least three or four meetings with her were required, although Carole was doing well.

“My memory is much better. I still have some holes, but they're nothing compared to when I first woke up.”

“Have you had any anxiety attacks? Trouble sleeping? Head aches? Strange behavior? Depression?” Carole answered no to all of the above, with the exception of the mild headache she'd had that day when she woke up. Dr. O'Rourke agreed with Carole that she was doing extremely well. “It sounds like you were very lucky, if you can call it that. That kind of brain injury can be very hard to predict. The mind is a strange and wondrous thing. And sometimes I think what we do is more art than science. Are you planning to go back to work?”

“Not for a while. I'm working on a book, and I thought I'd start looking at scripts in the spring.”

“I wouldn't rush it. You may be tired for a while. Don't push. Your body will tell you what it's ready to do, and it may bite back if you push too hard. You could get some memory lapses again if you overdo it.” The prospect of that impressed Carole, and Stevie gave her a warning look. “Anything else you're concerned about?” she asked, and waited for Carole's response.

“Not really. Sometimes it scares me how close I came to dying. I still have nightmares about it.”

“That's reasonable.” Carole told her about the attack in the hospital then, by the remaining suicide bomber who had come back to kill her. “Sounds like you've really been through it, Carole. I think you should take it easy for a while. Give yourself a chance to heal from the emotional shock as well as the physical trauma. You've been through an awful lot. Are you married?”

“No, I'm widowed. My children and ex-husband are coming out for Christmas.” She looked happy as she said it, and the doctor smiled.

“Anyone else?”

Carole smiled. “I rekindled an old flame in Paris. He's coming out right after the holidays.”

“Good. Have some fun, you've earned it.”

They sat and talked for a while, and she suggested some exercises to sharpen Carole's memory, which sounded interesting and fun. The doctor was bright and lively and full of life. And Stevie and Carole commented on it when they left the office.

“She's cute,” Stevie commented.

“And smart,” Carole added. “I like her.” She felt as though she could ask or tell her anything if something unusual came up. She had even inquired about having sex with Matthieu, and Dr. O'Rourke had said it was fine and then warned her to use condoms, which made Carole blush. It had been a long time since she'd had to worry about that. Dr. O'Rourke commented with her impish grin that she didn't need to get an STD on top of everything else she'd been through. Carole agreed and laughed, feeling almost girlish again.

She felt relieved as she left the office that she had a doctor she could talk to, in case she felt the effects of the accident differently now that she was home. But so far she was doing well and felt fine. She was looking forward to the holidays with her family and to Stevie's wedding, both of which sounded like fun.

Carole insisted on stopping at Barney's for Stevie's dress on the way back from the doctor's office. Stevie tried on three dresses and fell in love with the first one. Carole bought it for her as a wedding present, and they found white satin Manolos on the main floor. The dress was long and showed off Stevie's statuesque figure. She was getting married in white. They had found a dark green dress for Carole. It was short, strapless, and the color of emeralds. She said she felt like the mother of the bride.