Up the Seine Without a Paddle Page 8

  I turned a corner. Declan stood up the street in front of a large statue. Unbelievable. After getting lost in a huge cemetery, I still couldn’t avoid him. I approached the carved sculpture that resembled a winged goddess soaring through the air, surrounded by a plate-glass barrier.

  “What is it?” I asked.

  Declan turned to me. “Oscar Wilde’s grave.”

  “But what is it?”

  “A flying nude angel.”

  “The plate glass kind of ruins the look.”

  “Women were kissing the sculpture, and the family feared the lipstick marks were degrading the stone.”

  What would possess someone to kiss a grave?

  “I’ve seen The Importance of Being Earnest with Colin Firth a bunch of times,” I said. “Love that movie.”

  It was about two men pretending to be someone else to avoid social obligations. One character was Jack in the country and Ernest in the city. Kind of like me. Declan was the only person who really knew both my personalities. That I put on a confident front while hiding insecurities from people. However, I was a bit more confident, thanks to Declan. I could be myself with him.

  Hmmm…

  I couldn’t remember the last time that had been true.

  I quoted my favorite line by Jack. “‘When one is in town one amuses oneself. When one is in the country one amuses other people. It is excessively boring.’”

  Ashley and I used to carry on conversations solely using movie quotes, especially ones from John Hughes’s movies.

  Declan laughed. Staring at the grave, his smile faded. His eyes dimmed, filling with a sense of longing. Deep in thought for what seemed like forever, he finally said, “Oscar Wilde was Shauna’s favorite writer.” He inhaled a ragged breath and eased it out. “I haven’t been in a cemetery since her death.”

  A lump of emotion swelled in my throat, and I struggled to swallow it. “Was Shauna your girlfriend?”

  “My wife.”

  Declan had been married?

  “She died a month after our wedding. I never got to say good-bye. Never got to say a lot of things.”

  How tragic. Losing the person you loved right after you made the commitment to spend the rest of your lives together.

  Declan had made a commitment to spend his life with one woman?

  “I’m so sorry.” I placed a hand on his arm, comforting him like I wished I had in County Wicklow when he’d mentioned losing a loved one, claiming he’d been referring to his grandma.

  Declan’s gaze narrowed on my hand resting on his arm. He looked torn. I willed him not to draw his arm away. He didn’t.

  Shauna’s death was undoubtedly why Declan hadn’t been home since spring. Too many memories. But Shauna must have died before this past spring if he’d slept with Gretchen last year in Paris. He was way too distraught to have cheated on Shauna.

  Or was his grief intensified by guilt?

  Refusing to believe that, but needing to know, I asked, “How long ago…”

  “Three years.”

  The same time Declan had started this job. To escape his life and home. It sounded like she’d died unexpectedly. I didn’t want to ask.

  He continued staring at the grave, and the cemetery grew even quieter. He raised his arm to fidget with the braided brown leather band around his wrist—its silver interloping Celtic-knot design symbolizing everlasting love. My hand slipped away. He glanced up. “Sorry. I’ve never discussed her with coworkers…or…”

  Or who? Was I more than a coworker, still a friend anyway?

  “I won’t say anything.”

  He was confiding in me about Shauna when he hadn’t confided in Gretchen and others. Did that mean he trusted me? When I felt I couldn’t completely trust him? I couldn’t read more into this than there was. I’d merely been in the right place at the right time. If it had been Gretchen here instead of me, he’d have confided in her. Just because it was me didn’t mean anything.

  Did it?

  “I…” He closed his mouth and glanced away, his eyes glassing over. “Jaysus,” he whispered. “I can’t do this.”

  “I’m sure it’s hard being here. Let’s wait outside.”

  He shook his head. “I can’t do this at all. I didn’t know this meeting was going to be a bunch of bloody undertakers. My last program with Heather was for a biscuit company. I can’t be surrounded by death.”

  My eyes misted over, and I fought back tears. “You have to do what’s right for you.”

  I meant it, despite the panic racing through me at the thought of working this meeting without Declan when Heather believed I could handle the job.

  He nodded faintly, turning and walking down the path. I took a few steps, then stopped, respecting his need to be alone.

  I watched him walk away. More so than the fear of working this meeting without Declan and failing, was the fear of him walking out of the cemetery and out of my life forever.

  Even though I knew it would be for the best.

  Chapter Nine

  Three hours later, we arrived back at the Hôtel Sophie, without Declan. I was kicking myself for letting him go off on his own. Was he sitting at a bar, slamming shots of whiskey? In his room packing? At the airport, boarding his plane? His plane for where?

  Heather greeted the group in the lobby. Her pale-orange-and-lime-green patterned scarf nicely accessorized her hideous orange T-shirt. Too bad I couldn’t drop money on a scarf that complemented my skin tone and distracted from the mass of bright orange.

  Standing next to Heather was our hotel contact Louise—late twenties, short blond hair, stylishly dressed in a tan suit and heels, sans pantyhose. I hadn’t seen Louise since checking out of the hotel. I owed her a thank you for removing the two-hundred-euro hold from my credit card so quickly. Yet I didn’t want it to lead to a discussion of my minibar screwup, which Antoine had likely complained about and still hadn’t yet removed from my card.

  Hopefully, Louise didn’t mention it in front of Heather.

  And hopefully, Al didn’t mention my meltdown.

  He headed over to Heather, and they chatted. I remained by the door, pretending to check e-mails, occasionally sliding a discreet glance their way. Heather merely nodded, listening. What was he saying? She smiled, and he walked off. Her smiling was a good sign. Right?

  I took a deep breath and joined Heather and Louise.

  “Where’s Declan?” Heather gestured next to me, as if Declan was always by my side. He usually was.

  He hadn’t come back to the hotel and quit?

  “Um, he had to take care of something. He’ll be here soon.”

  It was my turn to cover his ass.

  He wouldn’t have left Paris without telling Heather, as this industry was based on reputation and recommendations. However, his job was probably the last thing he cared about right now.

  “How’d the tour go?” she asked. She didn’t appear to be waiting for me to fess up about my Monsieur Morbid nickname.

  “Everybody loved it.” Except Declan and me.

  I was proud that I’d managed the last half without him. Although I hadn’t led the scavenger hunt or driven the bus back to the hotel, I’d been bombarded with attendees’ questions, which amazingly I’d been able to answer.

  “I was just discussing our group’s room drop for tonight with Louise.”

  “Do you have a DND notice you would like us to leave?” Louise asked.

  “I’m going to have Caity organize the drop. She’ll type up a DND notice and give it to the bellstand.”

  Once I figured out what the hell a DND notice was.

  The only thing I knew about a room drop was that you needed to cross the staff names off the rooming list so they didn’t mistakenly receive a basket and devour the contents, thinking it was theirs. Like I’d done in Dublin. If I couldn’t even organize a simple room drop, Heather would know I was a fraud. At the back of my mind, Declan’s voice gave me a pep talk. You’ll be grand. Google bloody DND. No problem a’
tall. Just because Declan was no longer around, I couldn’t lose my self-confidence.

  Louise excused herself, and Heather turned to me. “When you were a planner, did you ever have to bid on business?”

  Her hopeful expression begged me to share all my impressive proposals that had landed me scads of new clients. That idea was too far-fetched to even include on my résumé. If I said Declan was mistaken and I’d never actually planned events, would I lose credibility? Yet I couldn’t get myself in any deeper than I already was.

  “I wasn’t a planner. Declan must have been thinking of my sister, Rachel.”

  “Oh.” She nodded faintly. “Too bad. I need to make this a killer bid. I have to go over some billing with Louise. I’ll see you guys back in the office.” Heather walked off, and I heaved a relieved sigh, having successfully dodged a bullet. This time.

  Billing reminded me that I needed to call my bank.

  I stepped outside for better cell reception, hoping it would be worth the insane cost. It turned out the bank had placed a hold on my account because I hadn’t advised them I’d be traveling abroad. The customer-service agent noted my trip in my account. My account with a balance of $395.12!

  Yay! Croissants for everyone!

  Speaking of croissants, I reached into my purse and pulled out the bag containing the flaky pastries Madame Laurent had packed for me. I needed to skip lunch and figure out the room drop. And it would be one less meal to expense.

  At least I had enough money to pay back Declan and eat for the week, unless I was also feeding Henry.

  And unless I didn’t see Declan again.

  The fact that I owed him money was a valid reason for future contact. Even though I was supposed to be keeping my distance…

  Marcel directed me to the hotel’s ATM, down the hall toward a lounge. Holding my breath, I slid the card in the slot. The machine requested my desired withdrawal amount. I did a mental happy dance, requesting three hundred euros, nearly cleaning out my account.

  My phone dinged. I perked up, hoping it was Declan. It was Rachel.

  How was Versailles?

  Considering she disapproved of personal texting and phone calls while I was working her meetings, she sure was texting me a lot.

  Was at the Catacombs and Pere Lachaise today.

  Eewww. Never been to either.

  Wow. I’d been somewhere in Paris Rachel hadn’t, besides La Grande Illusion? That made my day of death a bit more bearable.

  I headed back to Le Dungeon, Googling DND on my phone. I scrolled through posts on the video game Dungeons & Dragons, several businesses with the acronym, a Do Not Disturb feature on a cell phone… That was it. A Do Not Disturb sign hung on the inside of a hotel’s guest room door. I’d never used mine, wanting housekeeping to replenish my toiletries daily, for Martha’s shelter.

  Figuring that out on my own put a little bounce in my step, until I arrived at the office to find several hundred wineglasses lined up on a table waiting for me to have them safely delivered to guest rooms. My self-confidence faded. Where did I begin? I now knew what DND stood for but had no clue what to include in a notice. I massaged my forehead as if to stimulate ideas while also preventing a migraine. Monet’s Water Lilies, colorfully hand painted on two glasses, transported me to the artist’s home in Giverny, where lily pads floated lazily in a pond…

  “Those are brilliant, aren’t they now?” Declan said.

  Startled, I spun toward him.

  He wore a cheery smile, as if life was good. Yet his eyes didn’t have their usual sparkle. No way was I pretending like nothing had happened, like we’d done over our near kiss and his kiss with Fanette.

  My gaze narrowed in concern. “How are you?”

  He shrugged off my question. “Grand.”

  “I didn’t mention you left the cemetery.”

  “Ah, thanks a mil.” He glanced over at the wineglasses.

  Before he could divert the topic to our project, I said, “We really need to talk. Outside.” The words sounded more like a command than a request.

  Declan looked a bit surprised by my serious tone. He nodded hesitantly, undoubtedly realizing I wasn’t going to let this go. As we headed toward the lobby, I paid Declan back his hundred euros. It felt great to have one more debt paid off.

  It was hotel check-in time, so the bellmen and valet were scurrying around the drive, unloading luggage and parking cars. Declan held the door for me, and we exited the hotel into sunshine. I inhaled the fresh air, hoping to rid my lungs of any lingering residue of death. We stepped down the sidewalk away from the orderly chaos.

  Declan focused on a white Ferrari pulling into the tight drive. “I got you on this meeting—it wouldn’t be fair to leave ya. It wouldn’t be fair to Heather either if she lost the account because she was understaffed, especially when you spend all your time minding the lad. Her company is one of my biggest clients.”

  Lovely. More pressure for me to not screw up.

  “The rest of the meeting won’t be so bad. I knew today would be difficult. Just didn’t think being in some random cemetery would hit me so hard.”

  Suddenly, I recalled that Declan had remained outside the cemetery at Glendalough, a famous monastic site in Ireland. I hadn’t thought anything of it at the time.

  He peered away from the Ferrari and over at me. “It would have been a lot harder if you hadn’t been there.”

  I was blown away that he was admitting I’d helped him through a painful moment. That he’d needed me. I paused, formulating a response. “I’m glad you told me. It’s good to talk about it.”

  Was I a total hypocrite or what? I’d never confided in him about Andy. Not even the two times I’d gone psycho on him because his comments had triggered memories of the bastard.

  “But I’d appreciate you not bringing her up again. It’s too tough.”

  I nodded faintly. “I can’t even imagine. But talking about her might make you feel better.”

  He shook his head, his gaze sharpening. “It won’t. I respected your wish not to talk about what happened that night in Dublin with the pepper spray. I never brought it up again.”

  You just did.

  He knew I’d freaked out on him with the pepper spray, afraid he might have been my ex, but he had no clue how bad our relationship had been. Here was my opportunity to open up about Andy so I didn’t have to honor Declan’s request to not talk about Shauna. My confiding in him might get him to discuss her. And then I wouldn’t be lying to Martha, claiming I was opening up to people. One failed group therapy session and I felt qualified to help Declan? What if I said the wrong thing and made him feel worse? I could be supportive by merely listening, like I had at the session, and not offer advice.

  I might not trust Declan completely when it came to being faithful, but I could trust him to keep my secret about Andy. But could I trust him to understand?

  “I won’t mention her. I promise.”

  That didn’t mean I wouldn’t try to get Declan to mention Shauna again. He was in pain, keeping his feelings bottled up while wearing a happy-go-lucky facade. He had to be suffering post-traumatic stress disorder way worse than mine. He needed a friend right now. Since he rarely went home, and had once mentioned growing apart from Zoe, he likely wasn’t sharing his feelings about Shauna’s death with his family. He had reached out to me at the cemetery. I couldn’t turn my back on him after all he’d done for me.

  Yet I couldn’t allow myself to become any closer to him. I had to keep an emotional distance. Self-preservation. Being a counselor, Martha surely maintained an emotional detachment from clients to remain unbiased, enabling her to better help them.

  Maybe my destiny wasn’t to be one woman’s Martha but rather one man’s Martha. Declan’s.

  Chapter Ten

  We returned to the office, where Heather provided background on the room-drop gifts before meeting Louise again. Attendees had selected their favorite French painter on their registration forms. A local artist had h
and painted the glasses. Tonight each guest received two red glasses, tomorrow night two white, all with different paintings. Declan inspected two wineglasses before packing them in a gift box for delivery. He placed a sticker on the box with the attendee’s name, room number, and the artist.

  “What should go on a DND notice?” I asked.

  “That a delivery was attempted. We honored the DND on the door. Please collect your gift in our office tomorrow. I’ll shoot you an example of one.”

  Declan e-mailed me a notice, and I customized it with the group’s logo, the date, and our office location. I added the sample notice to the extensive meeting planning notes I’d typed up after Dublin. I printed copies.

  While we placed stickers on the boxes and separated tomorrow’s delivery on a different table, Declan shared several funny, yet panic-inducing, room-drop horror stories. I laughed even though it bothered me that he could act all witty when he was hurting so much on the inside. No opportunity arose for me to nonchalantly encourage him to discuss Shauna.

  We cushioned large boxes with bubble wrap, then stacked the individual gift-boxed glasses in them. I could now include Arranged room deliveries on my résumé. For every legit responsibility I added, I’d delete an embellished one.

  Heather walked in. “Wow, you guys are quick.” She glanced over her shoulder to ensure we were alone. Never a good sign. “I have to tell you—Brooke was kind of upset this morning that you gave Henry that flyer for the Halloween party tonight. He won’t shut up about it, and they’d planned to do a family dinner.”

  “I didn’t give it to him. The concierge did,” I said. “And she promised Henry last night she’d take him.” Not that she hadn’t been too hammered to recall her promise or just plain didn’t care.

  Heather let out a frustrated groan, rolling her eyes. “Yeah, I figured that wasn’t the whole story.” She nodded, staring at the room drop.