Sisterchicks Say Ooh La La! (24 page)

I didn’t realize I was crying. Amy handed me a tissue and gave my hand a squeeze. “What just happened?” she whispered.

I tilted my head and rested it on her shoulder for a moment. I smiled. “I know why Eve hid. I’m not afraid anymore.” Swallowing a rising wave of amazement-tears I said, “He wants me. God wants me.”

As I looked up at Amy, she grinned. Her dark eyes glowed with the reflected light from the nearby stand of votive candles. I didn’t have to explain what had just happened in my heart. She could see right through me. Just like always.

Amy linked her arm in mine, and for a long while we sat where we were, watching all the movement around us. We didn’t talk or evaluate or expound. We just sat together, receiving from our Papa.

The rest of the day was like that. All the details of our final afternoon in Paris floated into place and fit together. We investigated a variety of shops in the Latin Quarter, and I felt free. The ghost of “Gerard Past” didn’t jump out from around a corner to taunt me. The familiar sense of shame didn’t shadow my steps or haunt my choices. I felt free. I was out of the shadows and walking in the light.

We took our time walking along the Left Bank, examining original art for sale as well as an assortment of jewelry, souvenirs, and clothing.

I kept thinking about God. How patient He was. How gracious and how kind. It seemed that I finally knew who I was because I wholeheartedly knew who He was. I was my Beloved’s, and He was mine. His banner over me was love.

Amy and I made a loop through the area near the opera house and found an open-air market. I bought three kinds of jams for Joel along with a jar of some sort of special artichokes. Every time I thought about seeing my husband again I felt warm. I was eager to express love to other people now that the wet blanket of shame had been lifted.

By the time our feet were complaining, we had covered considerable ground. I was starving. The decision of where to eat dinner became complicated. While we knew a few options of where to find fabulous food in this city, we were aware there were oh so many more.

“It’s your turn to choose,” I told Amy. “All I ask is that we go to the hotel first so we can drop off all these bags.”

“I’m not sure what I want,” Amy said.

“If you say you want frog legs, you might be forced to dine alone this evening.”

“No, I’m not interested in frog legs. We’ve had so much great food.” She thought hard. “Would you be bummed if we just went back to the hotel and ordered room service?”

“Of course I wouldn’t mind.”

“Every time we’ve ordered from room service it’s been great,” Amy said. “I love the idea of putting on my jammies and having dinner brought to me. That won’t happen once I go home.”

Before she suggested eating at the hotel, I had hoped Amy would say she wanted to dine on the Eiffel Tower. While it was too late to check on last-minute reservations at one of the main restaurants, we always could have eaten at one of the snack bars.

Apparently Amy would have to come to terms with the Eiffel Tower on her own. I wasn’t going to push her or fight with her about it. She was up against fear the same way I had been for so long. If I was afraid of God’s disapproval, what was Amy afraid of? Gravity?

We went back to our room. I packed while Amy took a relaxing soak in the bathtub. Dinner was delivered, and we dined in our pj’s on salad, bread, chicken Marseilles, and crème brûlée for dessert. Instead of eating on our beds, we
pulled the chair from the desk over to the corner chair by the window and balanced the plates on our laps, as if we were at some fancy buffet party.

The view from our hotel room window was dramatic. The City of Lights gave us her best performance. The skies were clear. The spring night was gorgeous. Despite the sound of car horns and the smell of traffic that rose through our open window, a slight scent of fragrant blossoms and rain-softened earth greeted us as well.

Amy chatted about her children and what all of them had said when she called home earlier. “I can’t wait to give everyone the gifts I bought. The only problem is, how am I going to fit everything in my suitcases? I brought way too much with me. But you already knew that.”

“At least you were prepared,” I said.

“Overprepared is more like it. I wonder if I could leave anything here. Or maybe I could mail some of my lighter T-shirts and things home.”

“Or,” I suggested, “you can go to the souvenir shop on the corner and do what I’m probably going to do tomorrow. I’m going to buy a lightweight carry-on bag for everything that won’t fit in my luggage.”

“Great idea.”

Leaning back and studying Amy’s slumping posture, I asked, “Are you okay?”

“No. Yes. No. I don’t know. I will be. I’m not ready to leave, but I’m ready to go home.”

“Is there anything else you want to do? Anything you want to see? Anything …”

“I know what you’re getting at, Lisa, and my answer is still no.”

“Okay.” I went over to my bed and stretched out under the covers. “I have a question for you, though.”

“What?” Amy looked at me skeptically. I knew that expression.

“Why do you think Eve hid?”

“Lisa …”

“No, I’m just asking. You asked me, and now I’m asking you. Why do you think Eve hid?”

“She was afraid.” Amy appeared to dislike the taste of her words.

“Okay. That’s what I thought, too. Good night.”

“You’re going to sleep now?”

“Yes. You can leave the light on while you pack. It won’t bother me. I’m going to sleep soundly tonight.” I turned off the light by my bed. With my eyes closed, I talked with my heavenly Papa, closely and honestly. One of the things I talked to Him about was Amy.

I fell into a peaceful sleep, which was a surprise, since I’d been a night owl since we had arrived. If I was having dreams, crazy or calm, I didn’t remember any of them. What woke me was the sound of Amy’s sniffling. I rolled over and saw her standing by the window in her pajamas, wrapped up in the hotel’s plush robe. Her gaze was fixed
on the lit-up Eiffel Tower that dominated the horizon.

I don’t know how I knew what to do next, but I knew. Maybe my years of being Amy’s friend made my steps certain. Maybe my heavenly Papa nudged me. Maybe it was both.

Rising quietly, I went over, put my arm around Amy, and gave her a hug. Then I turned on the light, went to her packed suitcase, and lifted out several of her stacked clothes. She didn’t ask what I was doing, nor did she protest. I unfolded her beautiful, Grace Kelly golden dress and laid it out on her bed. Then I went looking for her new black shoes and matching purse. I found her fuzzy pink beret and stuffed it in my purse.

Going to my suitcase, I pulled out my skirt, my new pink shoes, and the silver box with my new white blouse. I made sure my beret was in my purse as well.

We dressed in silence. I looked over at Amy. She smiled at me.

“Come on,” I said after she had on everything but some cheerful lipstick. “You can keep an icon waiting only so long.”

Without a peep Amy followed me out of the hotel room. Her dress swished when she walked. Her new shoes tip-tapped on the tile floor in the lobby. She smelled rich, and she walked as if she were royalty, with her shoulders back and her chin forward.

We silently rode in the taxi.

Stepping out of the car and into the glow of the brightly lit Eiffel Tower, I walked to the short line of people buying tickets to go up into the tower. We had an hour before the elevators closed at midnight. Amy stepped in line with me. I opened my happy new purse, pulled out my last fifty-euro bill, and paid for two tickets to the top. We stood in line for the first of three elevator rides. The elevator door opened, we stepped in, and stood beside each other in our dazzlingly yummy new shoes.

A variety of other late-night Eiffel Tower fans joined us. We were by far the best dressed of the bunch. That meant we received a few stares. Especially Amy. She didn’t mind. The door opened, and we walked out onto the first level into a space that felt solid and stable. Amy was doing just fine.

Taking our time to proceed to the next elevator that would transport us up to the next level, Amy nudged closer to me. “Lisa, am I on the Eiffel Tower?”

“Yes.”

“That’s what I thought.”

“How does it feel?”

“It’s okay. I’m not afraid.”

I smiled the way she had smiled at me earlier that day in Notre Dame. I knew what she was feeling. Light. Free.

She looked to the right and then a little bit to the left. “I’m on the Eiffel Tower, Lisa. I’m standing on the first level of the Eiffel Tower, and I’m not freaking out. Look, that’s
Paris down there. I can do this. Hey, that’s a new verse for the dieter’s cards with Shirleene! ‘I cancan do all things through Christ who strengthens me.’ ”

“I take it that’s the French version.”

“Of course.”

“Next elevator is this way,” I said with a wide, sweeping gesture.

Amy shocked me when she said, “Let’s take the stairs.”

“Really?”

She nodded. “Really.”

We followed the sign to the stairs and began a journey upward that had me speechless. The metal stairs with the open metal girders on the sides let all the night air come rushing in so that our legs grew cold quickly. We took a set of eight stairs up, then a short landing, then a turn and eight more stairs. We kept climbing, both holding on to the railing. The optical illusion was freaky. Dots of light illuminated the sides of the airy metal structure and more dots of light appeared beneath our feet where the streets of Paris stretched out below. The higher we went, the queasier I felt. Why wasn’t Amy having a problem with this?

“You okay?” I asked as we caught our breath on one of the short landings.

Amy’s face was radiant in the glow of the lights coming from all directions. “Yes. I’m more than okay. I’m climbing the Eiffel Tower!”

“Yeah, you are.” I personally would have done much better with an elevator ride that popped me out at the final destination. But this was typical of Amy. When she went for something, it was all the way. Step by step she was conquering her fear of heights, and I was trying hard not to take on the phobia she was defying.

We reached the second level. Amy was unstoppable now. With every step, her elegant gold dress made a ruffled swish. Her sassy shoes clicked across the metal platform as if they owned the place.

“More?” she asked me, as if I was the one who needed coaxing.

“Elevator is over there,” I said, catching my breath and nodding at the line of others waiting for what suddenly felt to me like a rocket ship to the moon.

The line moved steadily. We looked around, standing close together but not saying anything. The elevator wobbled slightly as we packed inside. Holding on to one of the side rails, I smiled at Amy as she swallowed and smiled back. The doors opened, and we stepped out onto a narrow platform that was surrounded by safety bars and mesh netting. My heart pounded as we took a step closer to the guardrails and grasped them in unison. Aside from being in an airplane, I had never been this high before. All the world seemed to spread out before us in a dazzling display of twinkling lights.

Amy held the guard bar with one hand and grasped
my arm with the other. We both caught our breath, looked at each other, and laughed.

“You did it, Amy!”

She laughed the laugh of freedom.

“To commemorate this moment, I have a little something.” I pulled her pink beret from my purse. “This is an essential component in our rite of Eiffeling.”

“Eiffeling?”

“Just lower your head a minute.” Clearing my throat and not caring what the other tourists thought, I proceeded. “Amelie Jeanette, for being a faithful friend, a heroine of the French Republic revered by honest taxi drivers and policemen on Vespas, a defender of the nauseous, and an overcomer of childhood fears, on you I bestow the first ever
Oui Oui Mon Ami
Award for bravery and loyalty beyond the call of duty!” With that, I placed the fuzzy pink beret on the top of her head, tilting it just so.

“I feel like a poodle,” Amy said. “But on behalf of Sisterchicks everywhere, I accept this esteemed award.”

She reached for my beret peeking out of my purse. “Your turn. Bow, Lisa Marie—and I do mean
Marie.
Ahem. I now present you with the one-of-a-kind Flying Buttress Award for outstanding accomplishments in keeping a lifetime of promises to your dearest friend, renouncing fear with clear-hearted honesty, and assisting finicky eaters of random Parisian bistros by cleaning their plates!”

My beret was plopped in place and tilted a little to the
right. The moment was sealed with a picture that I took of both of us by holding my camera at arm’s length and snapping.

Laughing and linking our arms, Amy and I turned to face the vast expanse that sprawled far, far below us. Paris was tucked under a blanket of light. And we were standing above her, looking down on her patchwork of twinkling diamonds from the top of the Eiffel Tower.

We both had waited a lifetime for this trip. This moment.

In unison, without prompting, Amy and I put our shoulders back, tipped our chins high, and with one mighty breath we held on to our berets and shouted, “Ooh la la!”