“Yes, thank you,” I said.
“My pleasure,” Amelia replied. “Sylvia was a dear friend, and she loved both of you very, very much. We talked often of family, and one of the things I learned from her is to never take any loved one for granted. Things—life—can change so quickly, yes?”
I looked at my mother. She had tears in her eyes. “Yes,” she said softly. “It is so true.”
“Au revoir,” Amelia said, waving at us. “Have fun!”
After she closed the door, my mom sat down in one of the chairs, the dress folded over in her lap.
I hung my dress back up in the wardrobe and then pulled the next note out of my bag. I opened it up and began reading out loud.
THERE’S NO PLACE LIKE PARIS, PART 5
By now you’ve met Amelia and have your gifts in hand. I hope you like them! I’m sorry they aren’t a bit more fancy, but time was of the essence, so I went for a simple yet elegant look. It’s my favorite, if I’m honest. I can’t wait to see you and your mother all dressed up. What beauties the two of you are.
I’m assuming you made it for the puppet show, which means it is late in the afternoon. Most likely, the next excursion will have to wait until tomorrow. But it will be worth the wait, I promise!
Have you heard of Place du Tertre on Montmartre? At one time, it was the home to many poor painters, including Utrillo and Picasso. When you visit the square, I’d like you to find my friend Frederic, who has a kiosk there. Please be advised, artists may approach you and try to get you to agree to a portrait, but these artists are not licensed and do not have the city’s approval. Frederic is extremely talented, and I know you are going to enjoy meeting him and seeing his fine work. He will paint a portrait of the two of you. This painting will be something you can keep forever—a lovely reminder of the time you spent in Paris, together.
As always, you will find directions and money enclosed for this latest excursion. Enjoy!
With love,
Grandma Sylvia
“Are you sure there’s not time to go today?” I asked Mom.
She checked her watch. “I’m sorry, honey, but I think it’s best if we wait until tomorrow.”
I sighed. That wasn’t the answer I wanted to hear. But I guess it did make sense. Painting a portrait wasn’t like drinking a mug of hot cocoa—it couldn’t be done in ten minutes.
“So when we go tomorrow,” I asked, “do you think we’re supposed to wear everything we’ve found so far? Like, dress up for the portrait?”
Mom narrowed her eyes. “Hm. That’s a good question. It seems like she would have told us to wear the items she sent along if she wanted us to do that.”
“So what’s it all for then?” I wondered out loud.
Mom chuckled. “Your guess is as good as mine. All right, while I call Justin and tell him we’ll see him in a little while, why don’t you start packing up our dresses and coats? We can use the shopping bags, like Amelia suggested.”
I went to the closet and pulled out my dress again. It was so pretty. Part of me wanted to peek at the next envelope, so I didn’t have to wonder all night about what it could mean. But that would be like cheating, and I didn’t want to be a cheater.
I told myself I’d waited twelve years to get to Paris, so compared to that, one night would be a piece of cake.
Hopefully.
Justin wasn’t the only one who met us at the carousel. When I saw Phoebe walking alongside Alice and my brother, I squealed as I hurried to see her.
After we hugged, she looked at the shopping bag in my hand with a huge grin on her face. “Want to show me what you’ve got there?”
“Everything Grandma sent is amazing, Phoebe. You aren’t going to believe it.”
One by one, I took everything out and showed her. I could tell by the look on her face that she loved it all as much as I did.
“I’m so happy for you,” Phoebe said as she glanced at my mother, who was off to the side, talking to Alice and Justin. She leaned in and whispered, “So it’s going all right? With you and your mother?”
I gently squeezed Phoebe’s arm. “It’s great. I think she’s having as much fun as I am with the notes and the gifts.”
“So where are you off to now?” she asked as she helped me put everything back into the bag.
“We don’t have any more plans for today. Tomorrow we’ll go to Montmartre and get our portrait painted by a friend of Grandma’s named Frederic.”
Just then, Mom walked over to us. “Phoebe,” I said, “this is my mom, Faye. Mom, this is my friend Phoebe.”
My mom smiled. “Nice to meet you.”
Justin and Alice stepped over and joined us as well. “I was wondering,” Alice said, “have the three of you been to the top of the Panthéon yet?”
Justin, Mom, and I shook our heads.
“Phoebe and I don’t have to get back quite yet, and Justin said you don’t have any more plans for the day. How about we all go to the top together? It’s incredible, and provides the best view of Paris.”
“What is the Panthéon?” I asked.
“It was originally built as a church,” Mom said, “but it now serves mostly as a burial place for some famous artists, writers, and scientists. There’s a crypt downstairs.”
“That sounds creepy,” I said, scrunching up my face.
“Yes, your mum is right,” Alice said. “Victor Hugo, the famous French poet and novelist, is buried there. But we don’t have to go down to the crypt. They have guided tours to the top. It’s over two hundred steps, which sounds like a lot, I know, but it isn’t a straight climb and not a fast-paced walk, either.”
“Let’s do it,” Justin said, clearly not ready to say good-bye to his new friend yet.
“But I’m afraid of heights,” Mom and I said at the exact same time.
Surprised, we looked at each other. “Are you really?” she asked. “I never knew that about you.”
I hadn’t known that about her, either. Just like I hadn’t known my mom and Grandma had counted out marshmallows for my mom’s hot chocolate when she was little. Or that she’d had a best friend named Diana. Or that she’d felt like a little girl all over again when her parents got divorced.
Everything was starting to make sense now. Grandma had insisted Mom do the treasure hunt with me so we’d get to know each other better. I bet she’d hoped it would bring all of us closer.
“You two aren’t seriously going to let a little fear stop you from an amazing view of Paris, are you?” Justin asked. “Come on. I promise I won’t let either of you fall. How’s that?”
Mom and I looked at each other. “Nora? What do you say?”
I didn’t respond right away. Phoebe put her arm around me. “I’ll hold your hand the entire time if you want me to.”
I smiled. “Okay. Let’s go.”
* * *
We made it to the Panthéon just in time for the last tour of the day. Our guide was a young woman named Brigette.
When we started moving, Phoebe leaned in and said, “I’m so excited you get to see this. You are in for a real treat.”
I tried to be excited, even though I was mostly nervous. Two hundred steps sounded really high. And scary.
Brigette led the way up the stairs, stopping often so people could take pictures. Alice had been right, it wasn’t a hard climb at all. And when we reached the base of the dome, the final stop before we headed back down, I held my breath as I took in the amazing view of the city. When our guide had told us it would be a 360-degree panoramic view, I wasn’t exactly sure what she meant. Now I understood. We could see the city all around us—nothing was in our way. White puffy clouds dotted the sky, and we almost seemed to be floating with them. In the distance, the Eiffel Tower stood tall and majestic.
“Isn’t it just about the most lovely thing you’ve ever seen?” Phoebe whispered, like we were in church. I could see why she felt that way. I had goose bumps all over me. I kept my eyes ahead, looking out at the view, never lookin
g down at the ground so I wouldn’t get afraid. It seemed to work.
“How about I take a photo of you with your family, and the view behind you?” Phoebe asked.
It was a great idea, so we got into position, arms around each other, and smiles as wide as the Seine River.
“What a wonderful day,” Mom said, squeezing my shoulder before removing her arm. “Thank you, Nora.”
“You’re welcome,” I said. And I really meant it.
And then, though it hadn’t seemed long at all, it was time to go. The trip down was different than the one going up, so we saw new things. When we reached the bottom, safe and sound, we thanked Brigette and then stood there, knowing it was time to say good-bye to our friends, but wishing it wasn’t.
“Thank you for encouraging us scaredy-cats to do that,” Mom told Alice and Phoebe. “It was spectacular.”
“You are welcome,” Alice said. “Our mum likes to tell us that magic usually happens outside of our comfort zone.”
Mom laughed. “I’ve never heard that before, but I like it.”
“Today has been such a magical day,” I said, thinking about all the things we’d seen and experienced.
“Unfortunately, we have to go,” Phoebe said. “I wish we didn’t, but we do. Our dad said he has plans for us tomorrow, so I’m afraid this will probably be the last time we see you. On Friday we head home.”
“I’ll step away so you can say your farewells,” Mom said. “It was wonderful spending time with you girls.”
Both Phoebe and Alice said good-bye to our mother, then Justin took Alice’s hand and led her to a bench, so they could have some privacy.
“I don’t even know how to begin to thank you,” I said. “Without you, the treasure hunt probably would have stopped at the chocolate shop.”
“I don’t believe that,” Phoebe said. “You’re stronger than you know. Anyway, I was happy to help.”
Standing there, looking at her, I suddenly realized I hadn’t done anything to help her. Why hadn’t I offered to look for antiques with her? I’d been so caught up with my own stuff, I’d forgotten she had problems of her own.
“Phoebe, I feel horrible. You did so much for me, and I didn’t do anything to help you.”
“You were my friend and travel companion,” she said. “That was more than enough. Besides, I found something this morning that looks promising. So please, don’t worry about us. We’ll be fine. Do you have a piece of paper, so we can exchange information?”
“Promise you’ll stay in touch?”
She smiled. “Yes. Of course! Don’t forget, I need to send you all of the photos I took. And you must write to me and tell me about the rest of the treasure hunt. I’m dying to know what happens next.”
“You’re not the only one,” I teased.
In my bag, I found a crumpled receipt and a pen. Phoebe proceeded to take the pen and paper and write down all of her information. Then she handed it to me and asked me to write down my name, address, phone number, and email address as well. When I finished, I ripped the paper in half and handed her my piece.
It felt as if my heart was being torn in half right along with that little piece of paper. I blinked back the tears, telling myself to stay strong.
“Oh, I almost forgot,” Phoebe said. “I got you a little present.”
“No. You shouldn’t have.”
She reached into the pocket of her jacket and pulled out a pink beret. “I couldn’t let you leave Paris without one of your own. Even if Parisians don’t like them as much as everyone thinks they do.”
I put it on my head and pretended to pose. “How do I look?” I asked.
“Like an American who has gone on a wonderful journey and fallen in love with the city of Paris,” she replied.
“You are exactly right about that,” I told her.
I gave her a long hug, and when we pulled apart, Alice was standing beside her, tears in her eyes.
There was nothing else to say except good-bye.
“Au revoir,” I said, hoping it wouldn’t make me feel as sad if I said it in French.
“Au revoir,” they replied.
I was wrong. Good-bye is sad in any language.
When we woke up Thursday morning, the sun was shining and it looked like it was going to be a beautiful day. As we ate breakfast, Mom, Justin, and I talked about how we might get to Montmartre. The map said it was about three miles away. After discussing our options, we all decided it would be a nice walk. It took a couple of hours, since we took our time, stopping to look at things along the way. It was exactly the kind of thing I’d dreamed about doing back home when I’d think about Paris.
It was a good thing Grandma had warned us about artists approaching us to paint our portrait. When we reached Montmartre, we had a few different people ask us. Mom just said, “No, thank you,” in her best “I mean it” voice and we kept walking.
We made our way to the Place du Tertre, which is basically a square in the heart of Montmartre. I stopped and stared at all the artists set up with easels and their paintings for sale.
“There are so many,” I said. “How are we going to find Frederic?”
My mother shrugged. “We’ll ask. I’m sure it’s a tight-knit community.”
We watched as my mom approached a lady at one of the stalls and spoke to her. A minute later, Mom was waving at Justin and me to follow her. It wasn’t long before we stood near a thin man wearing a gray cap and black smock. He didn’t notice us at first, as he was busy working on a painting. We watched as he made quick but precise strokes in the hair of the girl he was painting. No one sat, posed, at the moment, which meant he was painting her from either his imagination or memory.
When he paused to dip his brush in the paint, my mother stepped forward. “Excuse me. Are you Frederic?”
“Oui,” he replied, turning toward us.
My mom introduced herself as Sylvia’s daughter. His eyes lit up at the mention of her name, and he stood from the stool he’d been sitting on. Then, he looked around, searching, most likely, for my grandma. I looked down at the ground, knowing what came next.
“I’m sorry,” my mom said. “I have some bad news. My mother passed away in January. But my daughter and I”—she put her arm around my shoulders—“we’re in Paris, honoring her memory. She left notes and gifts behind, and sent us here to see you, so you could paint our portrait.”
Tears filled his eyes. “I am so sorry to hear this news,” he said.
“I know,” my mom said. “It must be quite a shock.”
Frederic sat on the stool again, like the weight of his sadness made it hard to stay standing. “I adored your mother. She was a kind and gentle soul. I will miss her greatly.”
“Yes,” Mom replied. “I think everyone who knew her feels the same.”
After a moment, Frederic cleared his throat and said, “I would be happy to honor Sylvia’s wish and paint your portrait today. Shall we begin?”
“Feel free to explore a little bit while we do this,” Mom told Justin.
“Okay,” he said. “I’ll be back in a little while.”
Frederic pointed to two chairs and then picked up a blank canvas and went to work securing it on his easel. As Mom and I walked toward the seats, I gasped when my eyes landed on something in his kiosk.
“Mom, look,” I whispered. “It’s Grandma.”
She looked around, confused. I suddenly realized what it must have sounded like, so I quickly pointed to the painting I’d been talking about: a picture of Grandma Sylvia. It was kind of unbelievable how much it looked like her.
“Ah, yes,” Frederic said. “I painted that last year after she visited me. From memory, which I don’t do often, because it’s such a challenge. I was going to give it to her as a gift when she returned this spring.” He smiled, though the grief in his eyes didn’t magically disappear when he tried to look happy. I wished for him it had. He motioned toward the painting. “I would be delighted if you took it home with you.” r />
“We’d love to,” I said before my mother had a chance to reply, just in case she had planned on refusing his offer.
“Would you mind mailing it to us, along with our own portrait?” my mom asked. “I’m afraid we won’t have room in our luggage. I can give you our address and pay for the shipping.”
“Très bien,” he said.
As he picked up his paintbrush, Mom and I took a seat. It was strange sitting there, trying to be as still as possible, while Frederic’s eyes went back and forth between the canvas and us. From the look of the other paintings, it seemed he mostly did heads and shoulders, so we’d been right not to wear the fancy clothes Grandma had sent ahead. Hopefully we’d find out soon what the outfits were for.
Eventually, Justin returned, and he stood behind Frederic, watching him paint. Justin gave us a thumbs-up, which I took to mean that the portrait was looking good. Just when I wasn’t sure if I could sit still another minute, Frederic stood up and smiled. “It is finished,” he told us.
“May we look?” my mother said as she stood and stretched.
“Oui,” he said with a smile. “I hope you like it.”
And we did like it. A lot. We looked relaxed and happy, not to mention beautiful in a way that surprised me. If there was any sadness about Grandma Sylvia in our eyes, he didn’t put that in. I was glad for that. Now, the portrait would be a reminder of a happy trip to Paris, not a depressing one.
“I have something else for you,” Frederic said as my mother reached for her wallet. “Something Sylvia sent me some time ago. I’ve carried it with me, waiting for the day when you’d come to see me.”
My heartbeat quickened as we watched him reach into his bag and pull out an envelope. A simple white envelope.
I looked at Mom, and I knew we were both thinking the same thing. What could it possibly be?
He handed the envelope to me. I looked at my mother, and she told me what I needed to hear. “Go on. Open it!”
I ran my finger along the envelope’s sealed flap and then reached my hand inside.
“Two tickets,” I said as I pulled them out of the envelope.