Chasing Paris Read online

  “Um, Miles,” Amy said, “why don’t you find out what movies are playing, and I’ll meet you back at my house in about half an hour. Maybe we can try that new Indian place and then see a movie around eight o’clock. What do you think?”

  “Perfect,” Miles said, rising from his seat. “Will, it was nice to meet you.”

  They shook hands again, and then Miles headed down the street in the direction he came from.

  Will leaned toward the table and grinned at Amy. “Did you really just tell your boyfriend to get lost?”

  Amy closed her eyes, sighing. “I didn’t know what else to say. He can’t know what we’re doing—he’d go nuts, and I don’t feel like being lectured.” When she opened her eyes, the golden glint of the sun had returned. “So when do you think is the soonest we could have Billy’s delivery guy pick up the letters and books?”

  TWELVE

  D

  ear Mr. Winthrow:

  Due to a recent change of events, I will now be able to retrieve the books willed to me by Ms. Hathaway. I will send someone to Ms. Hathaway’s residence next Wednesday at 4pm. Please take the actions necessary to ensure my property will be ready for me at that time.

  You may call 408-555-8792 to confirm the time with my delivery boy.

  Very truly yours,

  William Strath

  ***

  Will stood in front of the gated entrance to Lizzie’s massive house, eyeing it up and down. It sat atop a steep hill of impeccably kept grass and colorful perennials. Trees lined the driveway winding up toward the house, and the house, painted cream with tan trim, sprawled across the hill’s peak with endless windows and a multi-level roof that gave the impression of at least three stories. Will looked down the street, through thick trees and scattered houses, feeling like he was no longer in California. He knew neighborhoods with multi-million dollar homes appeared in nearly every city, but this was a far cry from the crowded rows of identical track homes where most Californians lived. This was expansive—excessive—wealth. He wondered if Amy knew Lizzie had this much money. The money spent sending each granddaughter back to school was nothing.

  The sound of a car door caught his attention, and he turned around. There he is, Will thought. Amy’s dad. He remembered the conversation they had the day before.

  Spenser Winthrow calling to confirm a pick up time tomorrow at four, Amy’s father had said. His voice was deep, his words were fast, and his tone was light.

  Hi Mr. Winthrow, Will said. Four o’clock it is. My name is Will. I’ll be the one meeting you at the house.

  Fantastic, Spenser said. I’ll see you then. You have a great evening.

  Will hung up and called Amy. He tried to convince her one last time to take a couple hours off work and join him on the expedition to Lizzie’s house, but his efforts failed.

  I can’t take a couple hours off, Will, she had said. Plus, what am I going to do there? I can’t sit in the car. My dad will see me when you’re loading the books. I can’t walk around the neighborhood. What if he drives by me? I’m not going to hide in the bushes.

  Will had been reluctant to let her off the hook, but now, upon seeing Amy’s dad trotting across the street toward him, he realized she was right. Too risky.

  “Are you Will?” Spenser asked once he was almost across the street.

  “Sure am. Mr. Winthrow?” Will extended his arm to shake Spenser’s hand. “Good to meet you.”

  Amy’s dad had a firm grip. He also had the same lopsided smile and green eyes as his daughter. “Good to meet you, too,” he said. “Call me Spenser, please.” He nodded to the hill and continued, “Unfortunately, I don’t have the gate opener, so we can’t pull our cars up to the front of the house.” He held up a key and then slid it into the lock on the wrought iron door standing next to the gate. “I just have this—we’ll have to hoof it up and down the hill. Thanks for coming out, by the way. We really appreciate your help.”

  “Oh, no problem at all.”

  “So, how long have you been working for Mr. Strath?” Spencer asked as they hiked up the hill.

  “Not long. It’s just a summer job.”

  “Oh yeah? You in college?”

  “Yep. UCLA. I just got back home for the summer.”

  “No kidding. Both my daughters went there. They loved it.”

  “It’s a great place.”

  “It sure is. I work at Santa Clara University, and I tried to convince my girls to go there, but they fell in love with Westwood the moment they saw it, and there was nothing I could do to change their minds.”

  Spenser unlocked the front door and swung it open.

  “Wow,” Will breathed, walking into the house. The enormity of the inside—with its high ceilings and two staircases—matched the outside’s grandeur. The tan walls and travertine floors, punctuated with sparse, modern furniture made Will feel like he had entered an interior designer’s dream home.

  “I know,” Spenser said, walking through the room toward the staircase on the right. “It’s really something, isn’t it?”

  Will followed Spenser. “It really is.” As they crossed the foyer and climbed the stairs, Will asked, “So, what do you do at Santa Clara?”

  “I’m a professor of Classics.”

  “Oh—” Will almost said, So that’s where Amy got her love of literature, but he clamped shut his mouth.

  “Are you a fan of Classical literature?”

  “I’m an English major, but I haven’t had much exposure to Classical lit. Most of my classes have focused on literature in the last millennium. But I did just finish a class on John Milton, and we spent some time talking about Ovid’s Metamorphoses since Milton drew from it so much.”

  Spenser nodded. “He sure did. I never cared much for Milton, but he sure did know his Classics.”

  And that is where Amy got her distaste from Milton, Will thought.

  He followed Spenser into a room filled with books. Floor-to-ceiling bookcases lined all four walls. He spotted a ladder on wheels leaning against the cases—just the kind that he had seen in old movies—and a desk in the middle of the room, solid and ornate. “Unbelievable,” he breathed.

  Spenser grinned. “Aside from the books that you’re taking, everything in here is going to my daughters.” He shook his head at the walls of books. “I don’t know what they’re going to do with all of it. This room is probably bigger than the little house they rent.” He looked down at the boxes of books that had been stacked by the door and planted his hands on his hips. “Now, as for the books going to Mr. Strath. The good news is that they’ve all been boxed up for you. The bad news is that there are a lot of them. If you read Elizabeth Hathaway’s will, it looks like about fifty books were left to Mr. Strath. But she had multiple editions of each title, and her will didn’t specify which ones went to him. We thought it would be best to send them all. So, fifty books turned into one hundred and fifty books, and that’s why we have this big stack of boxes now.” He picked up a box and turned toward the door. “Oh well, right?”

  “Right.” Will grabbed a box and followed Spenser.

  “You have the red truck in front?” Spenser called over his shoulder.

  “Yeah.” Will picked up his speed to keep up with Spenser’s pace. “So are your daughters going to come and take the rest of these books?”

  “I don’t know what we’re going to do with them. My youngest daughter majored in English like you, and she never sold a book back. Well, she sold her Biology and Algebra books back, but she held onto her literature books. Her house is already full of them. Maybe I’ll suggest donating them.”

  The two men arrived at the truck and lifted the boxes into its bed. They headed back up the hill toward the house.

  “I wish I could offer some of these books to you,” Spenser said, “but my wife is a stickler when it comes to rules. If Lizzie wanted books to go to Mr. Strath, they have to go to Mr. Strath. The books left to my girls have to go to them. I guess they’ll have to give them
away if that’s what they want to do. It’s not my choice.”

  They arrived at the top of the stairs and walked into the first door. Spenser stopped abruptly and held his finger up, remembering something. “Oh, and I almost forgot.” He continued walking across the room toward the desk. Will followed him. “Something else I need to do while we’re here today—Lizzie’s will mentioned letters that were supposed to go to Mr. Strath along with these books.” Spenser opened the top desk drawer and rummaged through it. “I haven’t been able to find them yet.”

  No letters? Will’s spirits dropped. The letters were the main reason he was there.

  Spenser closed the drawer and opened the next one down. He pulled out a stack of papers encircled by a blue ribbon and fanned through the first couple pages. “No, not any letters here.” He took a moment to look at the top sheet, holding it out at arm’s length. “This doesn’t even look like it’s Lizzie’s.” He put the stack back. “It’s not a letter, though, so it’s not my business.”

  Will thought fast. As he watched Spenser close the second desk drawer and open the third, he asked, “Professor Winthrow, is there a bathroom in here?”

  Spenser closed the third drawer and muttered to himself, “No letters in this desk. Guess I’ll have to keep looking.” Then he turned his attention to Will. “I’m sure there is. There’s probably twelve, but I couldn’t tell you where. Go ahead and look around. I’ll grab another box and take it out to the truck.”

  “Thanks. I’ll be right back.” Will walked out of the library and down the hallway. He listened for the sound of the front door opening and closing. When the doorknob clicked shut, he walked back to the library and headed straight for the desk. He opened each drawer, not sure what he was looking for but knowing there had to be something worth grabbing for Amy. If he wasn’t going to bring back letters, he needed to bring back something else. The stack of papers in the second drawer caught his eye. Across the top sheet, he saw the title: Eva’s Words. He remembered what Spenser had said. This doesn’t even look like it’s Lizzie’s. Eva’s Words. Eva. He was pretty sure that was Lizzie’s sister. The name seemed so familiar. He grabbed the stack and strode across the room to the boxes where he hid it under some books. Then he heaved the box to his shoulder and walked toward the stairs.

  “Find a bathroom?” Spenser asked as they passed on the staircase.

  Will nodded. “Yep. Almost got lost on the way back.”

  Spenser chuckled. “I can’t imagine how it would feel to live in a place like this.”

  The two continued to load boxes, and when the final one landed in Will’s truck, both were winded and sweating—and happy to be done.

  “Thanks for your help,” Spenser said, extending his hand toward Will. “I know it’s a bit of a drive out from Monterey, and I appreciate you coming to get these books. It makes things a lot easier on me.”

  “No problem. Oh, and if you ever find those letters, you can give me a call. I’d be happy to pick them up.”

  “That would be great.” Spenser pointed toward the house. “I’m going back right now to see if I can find them. In a place that big, it could take awhile.”

  Will climbed into his truck and watched Spenser walk up the driveway to Lizzie’s house. He pulled out his cell phone, and by the time he had his key in the ignition, he had pulled up Amy’s number and was listening to the phone ring.

  “I’ve got presents for you,” he said when she answered. “Where do you want to meet me?”

  THIRTEEN

  W

  ill glanced at his watch. Six forty-five. At seven o’clock, he and Amy planned to meet at the coffee shop where they first met. With fifteen minutes to spare, he walked along the street, taking in the sights and sounds of North Santa Cruz Avenue. He used to hang out there sometimes during high school on Saturday nights, but he never paid much attention to anything beyond the girls cruising the strip. Now, years later—and well before sundown—he saw that there was much more to the community. A movie theater stood in the middle of the block showing two movies he had never heard of, benches popped up sporadically in front of different mom-and-pop shops, and passersby smiled and nodded at each other as they strolled by. The surrounding foothills of the Santa Cruz Mountains were almost close enough to touch, deep green and fragrant with wildflowers, reminding Will that he wasn’t in Los Angeles any longer.

  A bookshop stood on the corner of one block, tall and brown with windows lit to a gleaming gold. Will went in and weaved through the compact wooden bookcases, looking less at the books than at the people and store layout. Patrons sat in deep armchairs lining the walls, drinking coffee and perusing the merchandise. Portraits of great writers—Shakespeare, Chaucer, Steinbeck, Hemingway—hung above the armchairs, reminding Will of the long list of English classes he had taken over the last couple years.

  He looked at the time on his cell phone. Only five minutes until he was supposed to meet Amy. He ran his fingers across a row of books on Astronomy, thinking about the way stars hid behind a blanket of smog in Los Angeles. He pulled out a book on backyard stargazing. Unlike in Los Angeles, here, at home, he could find Venus in the sky, wishing him a good night. And on a really, really good night, he could find Jupiter wishing him a good morning. He flipped through the book, thinking about how there was so much more than just Venus and Jupiter.

  He took the book to the front counter, paid for it, and headed toward the coffee shop.

  ***

  I have a ball of nerves in my stomach, and with every passing second it seems to grow. I haven’t been so nervous and excited since—

  “Whatcha doing?” Will asked, tapping Amy’s shoulder from behind.

  She turned her head toward him and closed her notebook. “Hey Will, how’re you doing?”

  He nodded at the notebook. “What do you have there?”

  “Nothing. Just, you know, nothing.” She slid the notebook into the messenger bag resting against the table leg and ignored Will’s questioning look. “So,” she smiled, “how’d it go?”

  He sat down in the chair nearest to Amy’s. “I have good news and bad news for you. And then some more good news.”

  She turned toward him. She dropped her elbow on the table and propped up her cheek with her fist. Her eyes shone with curiosity.

  “The first bit of good news: I have a ton of books in the back of my truck. Getting those books went pretty smoothly. Your dad didn’t suspect anything.”

  Amy nodded. “Good.”

  “The bad news: your dad hasn’t found the letters yet. He hasn’t given up looking for them, but as of right now, he doesn’t know where they are.”

  Amy squeezed her eyes closed and groaned.

  “But the last bit of good news is the really good news.” He held up the stack of papers tied with a blue ribbon. “I have this.”

  Amy’s eyes flew open and grew wide. She motioned for him to put the papers on the table. “What is it?”

  Will laid the papers down in front of her. “I’m not entirely sure.”

  Amy ran her fingers across the words written in script across the first page. Such a simple title. Eva’s Words. She untied the blue ribbon. The paper—yellowing with softened corners and faded ink—felt surprisingly heavy in her hands. Toward the bottom, she ran her fingers over the only other words on the page: Paris, 1955.

  “Where did you find this?” Amy asked.

  “Your dad found it in Lizzie’s desk. He was looking for the letters that are supposed to go to Billy, and he ran across it. When he wasn’t looking, I nabbed it. Your dad’s a really nice guy, by the way.”

  “Uh huh,” she muttered. “Eva’s Words. That means Nana wrote this, right? And Lizzie had it.” She looked at Will. “Did you read it already?”

  “I thumbed through it, but I didn’t read it. I wanted you to see it first. It’s about your grandmother after all. But,” he paused, trying not to grin too much, “I’m pretty curious now.”

  After a moment Amy said, “Thank you so
much. This is amazing.”

  “Don’t get too excited just yet. We don’t know what it says.” He nodded toward the stack of papers. “You start reading—and then pass me each page as you finish.”

  Amy turned over the cover page. “Paris, 1955,” she said under her breath. She picked up the first piece of paper covered in Eva’s longhand.

  Will watched her eyes move across the page. Shade crept across the patio as the sun began its descent into the foothills, but none of it touched Amy. Surrounded by sunlight, reading her grandmother’s story, she looked so much like what Will imagined she would. Watching her, thinking about all those notes she had written in her Renaissance poetry book, Will realized it all made sense. She made sense.

  FOURTEEN

  P

  aris, July 1955

  A chill hung in the morning air. Billy cupped his hands around his mouth and blew warm breath against his fingers. Then he rubbed his hands together, working some of the stiffness from them. He looked up from his easel. There she was, walking toward him with a cup of coffee. With the breeze lifting her nearly-black hair away from her face and swirling her skirt about her legs, she reminded him of someone. Those green eyes and wind burned cheeks—they were so familiar. Perhaps a fairy in A Midsummer Night’s Dream. He wished the coffee she carried was for him, but she walked past him, dark hair fluttering against her arms and white skin glowing in the sun, right to the artist set up on his left.

  Billy’s French was poor, but he could understand what she and his artist neighbor were talking about. He had to concentrate on their words, and unconsciously, he found himself staring at them instead of paying attention to his work.

  She looked at Billy and raised an eyebrow.

  “This,” he said in broken French and holding up a nub of charcoal, “is about to become your image.”