Honor Thyself Read Online Free PDF Page B

pink towels, and then put on warm clothes. At two-thirty she was walking across the lobby, with a handful of euros in her pocket. She left her key at the front desk. The heavy brass tag on it made it too cumbersome to carry, and she never took a handbag when she went out walking. They always seemed like too much trouble to her. She dug her hands into her pockets, pulled up her hood, put her head down, and slipped quietly through the revolving door, and as soon as she got outside, she put on dark glasses. The rain had turned to mist by then and felt gentle on her face, as she walked down the front steps of the Ritz, and out into the Place Vendôme. No one paid any attention to her, nor recognized her. She was just an anonymous woman in Paris, going out for a walk, as she headed to the Place de la Concorde on foot, and from there she wanted to head toward the Left Bank. It was a long walk, but she was ready for it. For the first time in years, she could do whatever she wanted to in Paris, go wherever she chose. She didn't have to listen to Sean complain about it, or entertain her children. She didn't have to please anyone but herself. She realized that coming here had been the perfect decision. She didn't even mind the light November rain, or the chill in the air. Her heavy coat kept her warm, and the rubber-soled shoes she'd worn kept her feet dry on the wet ground. She looked up at the sky then, took a deep breath, and smiled. There was no more spectacular city than Paris, no matter what the weather. She had always thought the sky there was the most beautiful in the world. It looked like a luminous gray pearl now, as she looked past the rooftops as she walked along.
    She walked past the Hotel Crillon and into the Place de la Concorde, with the fountains and statues, and traffic whizzing past them. She stood for a long time, soaking in the soul of the city again, and then set off on foot toward the Left Bank, with her hands dug into her pockets. She was happy she had left her handbag in her room. It would have been a nuisance to carry it with her. She felt freer this way. And all she needed with her was enough money to pay for a cab home, if she strayed too far from the hotel and was too tired to walk back.
    Carole loved to wander in Paris. She always had, even when the children were small. She had taken them all over the city, to all the monuments and museums, and to play in the Bois de Boulogne, the Tuileries, Bagatelle, and the Jardins du Luxembourg. She had cherished their years here, although Chloe remembered very little of it, and Anthony had been happy to go home. He missed baseball, hamburgers, and milkshakes, American television, and watching the Super Bowl. In the end, it had been hard to convince him that life was more exciting in Paris. It wasn't, for him, although both children had learned French, and so had she. Anthony still spoke a little, Chloe none at all, and Carole had been pleased to find on the plane that she could still manage fairly well. She rarely had a chance to speak it anymore. She had applied herself while they lived there, and became completely fluent. She no longer was, but she still spoke it very well, with the expected le and la mistakes that Americans made. It was hard for anyone who hadn't grown up in the language to speak it flawlessly. But when they lived there, she had come pretty close, and impressed all her French friends.
    She crossed to the Left Bank on the Pont Alexandre III, heading toward the Invalides, and then headed up the Quais, past all the antiques dealers she still remembered. She turned down the rue des Saint Pères, and wended her way toward the rue Jacob. She had come back here like a homing pigeon, and turned into the little alley where their house was. For the first eight months of her time in Paris, they lived in an apartment that the studio rented for them. It was small and cramped for her, both kids, an assistant, and a nanny, and eventually they had moved to a hotel