Capturing Paris (25 page)

“Look, maybe this problem you seem to be creating is not about me but about you. Yeah, maybe it's you, Annie. It seems like you're the one who's pulling away. You're the one who's no longer interested in me.”

“Of course I'm interested in you. I want you to be happy, and this job may be the right thing. I see that now. It's just that I've never had
time on my own, and a few months away from each other might be good for us.” As she spoke these words, Annie knew that that was exactly what she needed. She wanted to see what it would be like to live without Wesley. Some part of her wanted to take this risk. “Daphne said—”

“Daphne said … See? She's talked you into this. You've been dazzled by her and her appealing life.”

“It's not Daphne.” How wrong he was about her. If he only knew what Daphne really wanted. “I have not been dazzled by Daphne,” she insisted. “For heaven's sake, you've been spending more time with her lately than I have. You met her for lunch; she called you almost every day this week.”

“Now, wait a minute. I've been helping her arrange a shipment of quilts. I brought her the pictures and all the information from Madeleine.”

“Well, she was sure happy to see you again. Sophie thought she was flirting with you at Céleste and Georges's lunch.” She looked at him defiantly and pushed away her plate. She could no longer stand the sight of her food.

“You're being ridiculous,” he said. “I can't believe you're even thinking like that. It's like you've become a different person. He pressed his hands to his temples.

“I'm not a different person. Maybe you just need to try to understand me for a change. Maybe I'm not always the good little Annie, the person who always cooperates, goes along with what everyone else wants.” She could hardly breathe. “I need to find out what's right for me and not just follow along doing what I'm told.” This sounded more harsh than she intended. Her last bit of energy drained away.

Wesley stood and carried his plate to the sink. His longer hair now looked unkempt, and his shoulders sagged in disappointment. He looked physically wrung out, defeated. He turned to face her, leaning against the counter for support. “Annie, I will not tell you what to do. Please give me more credit than that. I will tell you that I love you and that I want you with me. I will also tell you one last time that I want us to be together, and for now that means coming to Washington. I would guess it means a good ten years there, if it works out as I hope.”

He spoke deliberately, evenly, as if each word had been carefully thought out.

“I appreciate what you're saying. I just need time. That's all. I'm sorry.” She could no longer stop the tears that trickled down her face. She wiped them away with the back of her hand.

“I'll give you time,” he said. “I'm going to finish getting ready for my trip. I have more files to pack up in the office, and I'm going to sleep in there tonight. We can start getting used to living apart.”

His words stung her but she didn't argue, didn't go after him, try to smooth things over. Annie drew herself to her feet and carried the rest of the dishes to the sink. She hoped she hadn't gone too far.

L'orage

Annie returned to her apartment chilled to the bone. A bilious black sky had
released a torrent of water that turned into an ice storm as the temperature dropped. Ice storms and snowstorms were almost unheard of in Paris. There had been two winters, at the end of the nineteenth century, when Paris was blanketed by snow. The Impressionists had painted scenes of the city and the surrounding countryside, capturing that astonishing winter light. It was rare for Paris to get more than a dusting of snow.

She pulled off her coat and wet shoes. She never should have worn her best Italian loafers in this storm. Just walking the six blocks from her subway stop had ruined them. This horrible weather was like a final affront after her argument with Wesley the night before.

Annie assumed Wesley's plane had taken off, though she had not heard from him. It was dreadful weather for flying. She had left him earlier that morning to go to her office at Liberal Arts Abroad. Mary was counting on her to prepare the schedules for the second semester, and she didn't want to disappoint her. Wesley had not spoken to her when he got up, and he had remained in Sophie's room, ostensibly to pack the last of his files. She decided it would be easier to be out when he left. Nothing had been solved by their argument. It was as if she had put her future up in the air like a question mark inside a balloon.

She needed to get back to her work on the poems. In a matter of weeks all the students would have returned and she would have few long stretches of time to write. Now she thought only of submerging herself in a hot bath. She went to the bedroom to undress, her teeth chattering the way they used to on the way home from an afternoon
of sledding in Vermont. Her snow pants would have been heavy and wet with melted snow, her woolen mittens riddled with small chunks of ice. Only now there was no Aunt Kate to fix her a big cup of cocoa. She was alone.

Annie lowered herself into the steaming tub. A steady stream cascaded against the window, high above the cracked white tiles. Hopefully a hot bath would make her feel better. “Nothing like a good soak in the tub,” Aunt Kate used to say, “to wash away your troubles and give you a clean start.”

Easing farther down into the water, she propped her head against a rolled washcloth and braced her feet against the far end. Her knees broke the surface of the water, her legs too long for the tub. When bathing in the generous bathtub at God House, she could fully extend her legs, allowing them to float freely in the deep water. She thought again of taking tea to Daphne in her bathroom at God House and the uneasy sensation of seeing her without her clothes.

Her own body was nothing like Daphne's. Wesley used to tell her she had fine bones, delicate for a person of her height. Lying here on her back, she saw her hip bones protrude. Her belly was pale and concave. She ran her hand across the flesh. It was soft and pliant and no longer as firm as it used to be, gone with the tautness of youth. She brought her hand up to her breasts and cradled one, pushing it up and out, the way it used to be before gravity started to take its toll.

Annie felt bruised and battered, as if the harsh words that she and Wesley had exchanged last night had been actual physical blows. It felt like the air had been sucked out of their relationship and their marriage was literally struggling for breath. The hot soak was not making her feel any better. Part of her wished that Wesley would return immediately and say that he understood, that he would take her in his arms, comfort her, repair the damage. She worried about him flying in this weather. She let go of her breast. It sank below the surface and floated uselessly.

Bending her knees more, she slid down below the surface of the water to soak her hair and face. She would pull herself together; she would go on. She sat up, poured a large helping of shampoo onto her
hand, and massaged her hair into a thick lather. The floral soapy scent rose and mingled with the steamy bathroom air.

The weekend alone in the empty apartment loomed before her. The storm had not let up. Annie decided to take a cup of tea into the living room and start working on the poems. The slate-colored sky had darkened further, and she turned on lights as she made her way to the kitchen. She would not want to be flying on a day like today. Poor Wesley. She was overcome with a sense of emptiness, as if she had spent every last emotion during their argument. It had been a relief, though, finally to speak about their feelings, to tell him the truth.

Once she was settled again in her chair, she opened one of her notebooks. This one was a teal spiral, with cream-colored pages. Annie loved paper and pens. The physical act of moving a pen across the blank page was part of the magic of poetry, the ink bringing her words into the world for the first time. She wrote and rewrote poems over and over on her pages, and only at the very end did she put down her pen and transcribe the finished work on the computer.

Sophie and Wesley indulged her interest in fine papers and pens. She had quite a collection of fountain pens and a few special favorites that she used frequently and kept filled with the ink she preferred, Waterman's South Sea Blue,
bleu des mers du sud
. Perhaps it was a silly affectation, but she saw no reason to give it up. Besides, it was part of her routine. A British poet who gave a reading at the American Church in Paris years ago had given her advice on the importance of routine. “Go to it every day. Be with it fully. Practice your craft even when you do not feel called to it.” Annie could still see that elderly lady poet with her deep-set eyes and beaklike nose. She'd worn a black dress and a purple shawl. She had stressed the importance of ritual, going to the same place, having the quiet, opening the notebook, uncapping the pen.

However, sitting now in her corner in the apartment sheltered from the storm, Annie felt blank. The paper, her pens, none of her rituals were working. Leafing through copies of the latest photographs left her uninspired. Unable to work, she pulled one of her art books down from the shelf and opened to Courbet's painting of the young girl
reading. She hadn't looked at that picture or the poem based on it since she'd started to work on the book project.

This time, seeing the bare shoulder of the young woman in a forest reminded her of her own bare shoulder that last morning at God House. She hadn't forgotten the strange moment of tenderness, and how surprising Daphne's touch had been. She had tried hard since that moment to imagine returning some kind of intimacy. The idea of actually kissing or caressing Daphne overwhelmed her. She admired Daphne's physical beauty, her sensuality; it heightened her own feelings and made her come more alive. And yet she knew that she was sexually attracted to men. There had always been Wesley, and she had not forgotten the spark she felt the first time she met Paul Valmont. Poor Paul. What a tragedy to lose a wife so young.

Heavy rain still beat on the windows. Annie tucked a shawl around her legs. Daphne also was alone in this storm. She had called Annie the day before yesterday, the day of Sophie's departure, urging her to come again to God House.

“I'm helping Sophie pack,” Annie explained. “I don't really have time to talk tonight.” Sophie had given her a dark look and shoved another sweater into her bag.

“You have time for everyone but me,” Daphne said, sounding peevish, “or so it seems.”

“Daphne, that's not fair.” She carried the phone into the hall.

“You're letting them consume you. You're being swallowed up.”

Them
, Annie thought; but it's my family. Daphne's tone implied some sort of prehistoric beast devouring her limb by limb. “Please try to understand. Sophie's leaving in the morning, Wesley the day after. They need me right now.”

“I might need you too,” Daphne said. Her voice grew softer, plaintive.

“We'll talk soon,” Annie said. Daphne seemed to be incapable of understanding the reality of family life.

“You think it's easy for me. You're like all the rest. ‘Daphne can manage. She's a good sort. She never minds.' ”

“Please don't say that.”

“Why shouldn't I? You've got what you want.” Daphne's words lashed out. “You've got a husband, a daughter, a dishy French editor up your sleeve.”

Annie pictured Daphne alone in the library at God House with a tumbler of whiskey in her hand. “No,” she said. “It's not like that.”

“I see it all clearly,” Daphne went on. “You're going to push off and leave me behind. And I was the person who made it happen. Or have you forgotten?”

In a hushed voice Annie tried to soothe her friend. She told Daphne not to worry. She was not leaving with Wesley, and she intended to stay in Paris as long as necessary to finish the book. “I would never waste this chance,” she promised. Gradually, Daphne became calmer and Annie assured her that she would return to God House soon.

Annie studied Courbet's softly curved woman. Why not go to God House now? Wesley was gone, truly gone, for months ahead, and she had the entire weekend free. Her writing was stalled. Daphne needed company and Annie knew that time spent cheering her up would take her mind off her own problems. They could eat good meals by the fire, take walks along the river, and she would have time to write. The white page of her blank notebook glared up at her. A few days at God House would be good for her too.

She reached for the phone. The line to God House was busy. During the next hour she packed a bag and dressed warmly, wearing boots and taking out a waterproof coat. She knew the train left on the hour late in the afternoons, and she hurried to make the earliest one possible. She tried several times to reach Daphne on the phone, but the line remained busy. She pictured the old house, the ivy dripping with rain. Perhaps one of the telephone wires had blown down.

“You will come? You promise?” Well, why not surprise her? She would simply catch the next train and appear unannounced. She smiled. Daphne had teased her repeatedly, telling her to loosen up, to live in the moment, to let life carry her where it would. Now she could.

On rue des Archives, Annie closed the door behind her. Despite the terrible storm and the driving rain, she felt her spirits lift.

________

The empty commuter train rattled along through the dark landscape. Annie had left Paris well after the crowded evening rush. It had been a struggle to get to the train station. The sleet had changed back to rain, and Paris was plagued with flooded streets, canceled Métro trains, and a taxi shortage. Glancing at her reflection in the train window, Annie drew her fingers through her hair, matted down from her hat, and removed her long paisley scarf. It was damp from the rain. She'd dressed for the weather, and the overheated train made her neck itch in her heavy cabled turtleneck sweater. She knew she'd be glad to be wearing it once she got off the train. She supposed it was cold enough for the rain to change to snow.