“I'm flying out to San Francisco tomorrow. I've already booked a reservation. I called a realtor this morning. I'm going to see some houses and apartments. I called Wim and he sounds pretty busy, but he said he could see me for dinner. I don't know how long I'll be out there. It depends if I find something or not. But I'm going to try at least. I can't go to another one of those dinners.” That had done it. But Anne thought she was ready, she had thought so for months, but the impetus to do it had to come from Paris. And it had now. She was ready to move on.
“Well, it sounds like we've turned a corner, doesn't it?” Anne looked pleased with her patient, although she was going to miss her. They had worked well together, but this was the end result she wanted. Paris on her feet again, and up and running. It had taken her eight months to get there, but she was there now.
“Do you think I'm crazy?” Paris asked, looking worried.
“No. I think you're extremely sane. And I think you're doing the right thing. I hope you find something you like.”
“So do I,” Paris said, sounding sad again for a minute. “I hate to leave. I have so many memories here.”
“Are you going to sell the house?”
“No. Just rent it.”
“You can always come back then. You're not doing anything that can't be reversed if you don't like it in California. Give it a chance, Paris. There's a whole world out there for you to discover. You can do anything you want, go anywhere you want. The door is wide open.”
“That's pretty scary.”
“And exciting. I'm very proud of you.” She told Anne then that she had decided not to tell her friends yet. She wanted to find a house first. She didn't want anyone trying to talk her out of it. The only ones she had told were Anne and her children, and all three were pleased with Paris's decision to move.
She left Anne half an hour later, and went home to pack, and Natalie called to apologize again about dinner.
“Don't worry about it,” Paris said breezily, “it was fine.”
“Do you want to have lunch this week?”
“I can't. I'm going out to see Wim in San Francisco.”
“Well, that'll be fun for you.” Natalie was relieved to hear that she was moving around at least. She knew how tough the last months had been, and she didn't see a solution for her, unless she found another husband. And with candidates like Ralph afoot, it was beginning to look less than likely. But there had to be someone. She and Virginia had made a solemn vow to find a man for her, whatever it took.
“I'll call you when I get back,” Paris promised, and then finished packing.
The next morning she was on the plane to San Francisco. She was flying first class, and there was an attractive businessman sitting beside her. He was wearing a suit, working on a computer, and looked about fifty. And after glancing at him, she read a book, ate lunch, and then watched the movie. They were only an hour out of San Francisco by the time it was over, and by then her seatmate had put away his computer. He glanced over at her with a smile as the flight attendant offered them cheese and fruit or milk and cookies. Paris took a piece of fruit, and he asked for a cup of coffee, and the flight attendant seemed to know him as she filled his cup.
“Do you go to San Francisco often?” Paris asked him benignly. He was a good-looking man.
“Two or three times a month. We work with a venture capital firm out there, on biotech investments in Silicon Valley.” It sounded fairly impressive, and he looked prosperous and solid. “What about you? Are you going out for business or pleasure?” he inquired.
“I'm going to visit my son in Berkeley. He goes to school there.” She had seen him glance at her left hand, and she was no longer wearing her wedding ring. She had worn it until the divorce came, and taking it off had nearly killed her. But there was no point wearing it anymore. Peter was married to someone else. But she still felt naked without it. She had never taken it off since the day they were married, she'd been both sentimental and superstitious about it. She noticed that her seatmate wasn't wearing a wedding band either. Perhaps a good sign.
“How long will you be staying?” he inquired with growing interest.
“I don't know. I'm going to look for a house or an apartment. I'm thinking of moving out.”
“From New York?” He looked intrigued. She was a very good-looking woman. And he guessed her to be around forty. She looked young to have a son in college.
“From Greenwich.”
“Divorced?” He seemed practiced at this.
“Yes,” she said cautiously. “How did you know?”
