Grace Page 6

  “Petite chienne! Come back!” I called.

  But she was clearly after the cat, who darted around the corner building.

  I decided to follow, just for a while. The little dog was probably hungry, and I could help fix that.

  I looked both ways, crossed toward the pharmacy, and then hurried on around the corner. The cat wasn’t very far ahead of the dog, and I wondered if this was a game they’d played before. The street opened up beyond shops and outdoor cafés onto a familiar square—the one near towering St. Sulpice church.

  I’d seen the square from the taxi on my first day here. In the center of the square, water flowed down the sides of a fountain, past the fierce faces of lions carved into the stone. Above them sat the sculptures of four solemn bishops, gazing east, west, north, and south.

  I knew exactly where I was right now, and I promised myself I’d head straight back. If I could just get the little dog to trust me and lure her back to the bakery…

  The cat darted up into the branches of a tree. The dog yipped for a few moments and then turned to lap water that overflowed from the fountain onto the cobblestones.

  “Here, pup,” I said, walking slowly closer and closer.

  But the moment I reached for her, she darted from my grasp. Then she stopped a few yards off and wagged her tail, as if challenging me to a new game. I chased her. We went around and around the fountain, and I finally stopped to catch my breath in the shade.

  “Me-owwww.” The cat inched its way down the tree trunk and then leaped to the ground. It bolted, and the little dog ran after it.

  I realized this game could go on forever. And I remembered my promise to Colette: just a short time outside. Uh-oh. I’d been away a little longer than I’d planned. I’d better hurry back!

  I started off toward one of the streets. But which rue was it? I turned in a full circle, studying the square. The narrow streets, surrounding shops, and restaurants all looked familiar. I couldn’t get my bearings. I felt turned around, thrown off. I wasn’t sure where to head, which street to take back.

  Was I lost? I hated to admit it. And I didn’t want to cause any more trouble for anyone today. My throat tightened and my head buzzed.

  Start walking, I told myself, and see where a street takes you.

  No! I could almost hear Dad’s words in my head: Stay put. Wait for someone to find you.

  On one street, a man in a bright green uniform pushed a broom. On the sidewalk of another, an elderly woman walked a tiny white dog.

  I decided on the woman. I ran to her, slowing down so as not to frighten her. “Madame, parlez-vous anglais?”

  She glanced at me and shook her head, but then pointed to a shop window with children’s clothing. Maybe somebody there…

  I stepped in the doorway. Clothes were displayed around the shop as if each item was a piece of art. A woman greeted me from behind a small counter. “Bonjour, Mademoiselle!”

  “Bonjour, Madame! Do you know where the bakery is?”

  “Ah, oui.” She pointed down the street.

  I smiled. “Merci!”

  But when I arrived at the storefront, it wasn’t Uncle Bernard’s pâtisserie. The sign said Boulangerie, and the display window was filled with baguettes and buns. My heart sank. I had forgotten that there were two types of bakeries in Paris—pâtisseries that made pastries, and boulangeries that made mostly breads.

  I turned around and walked purposely back toward the square and the fierce lions. I circled the fountain under the stern glare of the stone men seated at its top.

  I stopped in one place.

  If I hadn’t rushed out of the pâtisserie without my backpack, I’d have had a travel book or a map on me now. And maybe, maybe I could have figured out the way back from here. But I was empty-handed.

  At home I knew every street and shortcut, every shop on First Street and many of the owners, too.

  But here… No matter how I slowly spun around, hoping to see a familiar landmark, no matter how many times I walked around the fountain, I kept coming back to one dizzying conclusion.

  I was lost.

  he sight of two bicyclists coming toward me had never looked better. Colette and Sylvie biked side by side, taking turns calling out my name. “Grace!”

  “Hello! Over here!” Tears of relief fell down my cheeks.

  The girls circled to the other side of the fountain, and for a second, panic welled up in me. What if they didn’t hear me? What if they’d turned down one of the streets away from me?

  But in seconds, they appeared around the edge of the fountain and spotted me. Relief spread across their faces as they rolled to a stop. I expected a scolding from Colette and could barely look her in the eye.

  “I’m sorry,” I said—and broke promptly into sobs. “I followed the little dog here—petite chienne—and would have come right back, but I… I…” Tears streamed down my face.

  Colette jumped off her bike. “Poor Grace,” she said, handing me a tissue from her shoulder bag.

  I blew my nose.

  Sylvie hugged me, as if she understood how terrible it had felt to be lost—and how relieved I felt to be found.

  And then they walked their bikes alongside me down the right street toward home.

  Returning to the bakery with their help was easy. Of course I should have noticed the bronze drinking fountain with the sculpted women, and the orange awning of another café. But even those landmarks began to blur through my tears.

  Back at the apartment, Mom gave me a one-on-one talk all about how I couldn’t get lost again. I was in another country, she reminded me. And I owed an apology to my aunt and uncle for the unnecessary worry I’d put them through, not to mention her own worries.

  “I’m sorry,” I told Mom.

  “Je regrette,” I said to Uncle Bernard and Aunt Sophie.

  All of my apologies were met with hugs. Even Sylvie was acting extra nice.

  After dinner, I went to bed early, utterly exhausted. Sylvie surprised me by bringing in a tray with two cups of tea and two chocolate truffles. She offered me a cup. “Grace, you like?”

  I nodded, and then sat up cross-legged and took the cup from the tray.

  She set the tray on her bedside table and turned to her bed with her cup of tea. But then she glanced back at me and pointed to the end of my mattress. “S’il te plaît?” she asked. “Please? I sit?”

  “Oui!” I said. And there, for a few sweet minutes, we had our own private tea party. We didn’t talk a lot, but for the first time, I felt as if I was finally having fun with my cousin—as if we were actually becoming friends.

  The next morning during Mom’s coffee time, I sat with her on the couch with my tablet and logged on to e-mail.

  Sylvie had already headed downstairs to help out in the pâtisserie. But I wasn’t quite ready to show my face there yet—if ever again. I needed to hear from my friends back home, and I was thrilled to see an e-mail waiting for me from Maddy:

  Hi Grace! Good news here. We’ve started a business! It’s called “Maddy and Ella’s Dog-Walking Service.” Our slogan is “We walk your dog so that you don’t have to!!!”

  What? My friends were supposed to wait for me!

  I couldn’t even read the rest of the message. I stared at the ceiling.

  Great.

  Just great.

  I huffed.

  “What’s bothering you?” Mom asked, looking over my shoulder.

  “Maddy and Ella started their own dog-walking business—without me. They said they were going to wait until I returned.”

  Mom brushed my hair back over my shoulder. “That hurts, huh?” she said gently.

  “Uh, yeah.”

  I turned back to the rest of Maddy’s e-mail. My friends already had five customers signed up for dog-walking. Maddy had printed out flyers to hand out to family and friends.

  I typed a quick reply:

  I thought we were going to do a business together.

  The answer came later that mor
ning, short and swift as a slap in the face:

  When you get back, we can add your name.

  I instantly hit the “log out” button.

  I felt terrible. Clearly my friends were going on with their lives and doing fine without me.

  I felt so left out!

  And I wasn’t doing just fine without them. I thought of the scene I’d made at the pâtisserie with the broom, and then of getting lost and needing Colette and Sylvie to come find me. At home, I was used to doing things pretty well, especially baking. Here I felt like a klutz and a fool! I wanted to go home. Now.

  But I still had several weeks to go here. After that, would Ella and Maddy still want to add me to their business? Would they even remember how to spell my name?

  Sylvie went downstairs to help in the pâtisserie that afternoon, but I did my best to avoid it. Instead, I helped change a few diapers. I helped with dishes. I even asked to rock Lily when she was fussy. “Mom, let me try,” I said. I sat back on the rocking chair, and Mom placed Lily gently in my arms.

  But the moment she did, beautiful, sweet Lily turned into red-faced, wailing Lily!

  She fussed and cried, and nothing I did or said helped. I talked soothingly. I sang to her. I offered her a bottle. But I didn’t have the magic touch and quickly handed her back to Mom. I couldn’t even help with a baby!

  That night, I couldn’t wait to video-chat with Dad. He’d help me. He always seems to know what to ask or say to help me get unstuck.

  When his face appeared on the screen, with the living room bookcase in the background, I felt relieved. “Hi, Dad!” I hadn’t even realized how much I’d been missing him.

  “Hi, Grace,” he said with a big smile. “Great to see you and hear your voice, sweetie. How are you?”

  I nearly cried when he asked that. But I held it together long enough to get my story out. “I made a mess at the bakery yesterday,” I explained, “and cost Uncle Bernard a lot of work. And then I got lost and made everyone worry. And then…my friends…started a business without me.” I suddenly started to cry—I couldn’t help it!

  “Oh, now, Grace,” Dad said. “It’s okay. I’m right here. You talk when you can.”

  I took a few deep breaths and tried to pull myself together. “I miss you, Dad. And Josh. And I have three more weeks here. And Sylvie is starting to act nice to me, but she’s at the bakery all day…and…and…”

  “I hear you’re going through a rough patch, Grace,” Dad said in his calm, reassuring way. “I’d give you a hug if I were there. But I’m not. So I’m going to pose a question instead for you to think about. You’re not happy, but you have several more weeks there. And so here’s the question: What are you going to do about it?”

  “Um…”

  “No need to answer. Just think about it. You’re full of ideas, Grace. You’ll find the answer you need.”

  I wished I felt as sure about that as Dad did. “Thanks,” I said to him, “but I don’t know.”

  “You will, sweetie. I know you will,” he said again. “Now, can I say hi to your mom real quick?”

  I nodded, but I didn’t call my mom over quite yet. “I love you, Dad,” I said, wishing I could give him a hug.

  “I love you, too, Grace,” he said in his warm voice.

  Later, as I tried to go to sleep, Dad’s words played over and over through my head. So? What are you going to do about it?

  I didn’t know.

  Sometime during the night, I woke to Napoléon padding slowly around me, as if he knew I needed a friend. He settled softly behind the crook of my legs, and warmed by his company, I fell back to sleep.

  In the morning, he was gone.

  The next afternoon, after helping Mom make a spinach quiche for dinner, I gazed out the apartment window. Below, a guitarist strummed on the street corner with a young woman beside him, swaying as she sang. Though I didn’t understand the French lyrics, their melodies drifted up to me, soft and touching. I sighed.

  I had a few weeks left in Paris, and I needed to try to make the most of it.

  When I saw the little black-and-white dog amble down the sidewalk, I sat up straight and said, “Mom, I want to sit outside for a bit.”

  “Do I need to remind you to stay close?” she said with one of those looks.

  I shook my head. “I know.”

  I grabbed a slice of baguette and a lonely chunk of cheese from the fridge and headed down the stairs.

  I sat quietly at one of the round tables outside the pâtisserie. I wouldn’t chase the dog. I wouldn’t try to catch her. I would just be there for her if she wanted to say hi. I didn’t even look for her. Instead, I soaked in the music as the man with the ponytail strummed, sometimes joining in song with the woman. They met each other’s eyes often with a smile.

  There it was right in front of me. The City of Love.

  And just then, someone nudged my leg. I glanced down into big, round black eyes. “Oh, it’s you,” I said casually, even though my heart was leaping. “Well, I’m just sitting here. You can hang out with me if you like.” I ate a little bread and cheese, and then looked at the little dog.

  She whined.

  “Oh? You want some?”

  She made a sound somewhere between a moan and a growl.

  “Are you talking to me?”

  Her tail wagged.

  I offered her a few treats, which she took gently from my hand. Then I glanced back at the musicians.

  The little dog talked again, a moaning whine this time. Sitting back on her haunches, she pushed her wet nose under my hand.

  “What? You want me to pet you?” I gave her another piece of bread and cheese. It disappeared instantly. I dangled my hand at my side. Again, she brushed under it. That’s when I started to pet her shoulders.

  She groaned.

  I scratched her neck and under her chin.

  She moaned.

  With all the scratching and petting, I’d managed to stir up a stinky smell. “You’re cute, but you really need a bath,” I said. “If you were my dog, I’d give you one right now with lots of shampoo!”

  She wagged her tail and licked my hand as if to say she wouldn’t mind.

  I sighed. “I wish I could take you in and give you a home. But I don’t live here. Still, even a stray should have a name. Let’s see…You’re little, like macarons. A little rough on the outside, but on the inside?”

  She cocked her head, as if listening intently to my every word.

  I laughed. “On the inside, you’re all sweetness, like those chocolate-covered round candies—bonbons au chocolat. I know! I’m going to call you ‘Bonbon.’”

  She wagged her tail again, and that was how I knew the name would stick.

  I couldn’t believe I was actually petting my new little friend. I’d waited for this for so long, and finally, my patience and persistence had paid off! I wished some of my good luck with Bonbon would rub off on everything else: that Sylvie and I would grow closer, that my friends back home wouldn’t forget about me, and that I could somehow find the courage to go back into the kitchen of the pâtisserie.

  I suddenly heard Dad’s voice in my mind. What are you going to do about it?

  I looked down into Bonbon’s sweet face, and then I knew just what I would do.

  I would try again.

  I would keep trying with Sylvie and in the pâtisserie, just as I had with Bonbon.

  I wouldn’t give up.

  Before dinner, I put out a bowl of water for Bonbon. Uncle Bernard said he didn’t think it was a good idea, but he didn’t forbid me.

  “We should call authorities, yes?” he said across the dinner table to Aunt Sophie.

  She held Lily in her arms and shook her head uncertainly. “I’m afraid the dog will be put to sleep,” she said. “Let’s hope someone takes her in.”

  Sylvie must have been following some of the conversation. She looked at her father with those big brown eyes of hers. “Papa? S’il te plaît?”

  “Non, Sylvie.�
�� He pointed toward Lily and then to Napoléon stretched out across the back of the sofa. I didn’t understand all he said in French to Sylvie, but I could tell from the drop in her shoulders that adding a dog to their family was out of the question.

  Sylvie looked at me sadly, but I did my best to force a smile onto my face. I didn’t know how to help Bonbon, but I was determined to keep trying.

  he next day, I did two things. First, I asked Mom if I could use my travel allowance to buy dog food for Bonbon at the pet supply store a few blocks away. I couldn’t give her a home, but I could give her food and water—and plenty of love.

  The second thing I did was march back downstairs to help out at the pâtisserie with Mom’s words sounding in my head: When you travel, there really are no mistakes—just learning opportunities. I wasn’t going to learn anything if I couldn’t allow myself to make a few mistakes along the way. So I decided that if I wanted to have more fun during the rest of my stay, I had to try again.

  That first morning back in the pâtisserie, I proved I was a very skilled dishwasher.

  I was a skilled floor sweeper, too, now that I knew to sweep the floor only when counters were clear of food. Some mistakes you make only once.

  Now that I had jumped in, Colette found more and more things for me to do. “Grace, can you do?” She demonstrated cracking one egg into a bowl with one hand.

  I shook my head.

  So she taught me how to crack an egg with one hand, without breaking the yolk. It took a little practice, but before long…voilà! She taught me how to properly use a whisk to make whipped cream. And she taught me how to carefully use a piping bag to fill éclairs.

  I learned to stay clear of the pathway between the ovens and the counters when trays of anything hot were coming out. But oh, the air was warm and sweet with yeasty baked goods and melted sugar and butter!

  The next morning when I woke up, Sylvie was gone. Was she already downstairs? I quickly got dressed, wondering what new techniques Colette might teach me today in the pâtisserie. As I dashed out of the bedroom, Mom called to me from the kitchen.