The Promise of Provence (Love in Provence Book 1) (26 page)

29

As Kat settled back into her old routines, the week passed quickly.

Lucy organized her life so she and Katherine could have a quick bite after yoga, and there was no end to her questions. Katherine seemed to have been living her dream, she said.

Lucy had consulted her astrological charts, and everything was aligned in Kat’s sphere. She assured her that the trip to France had been the right thing to do, based on her readings. Katherine knew Lucy truly believed the stars were in command.

There was the usual catching up to do with her work: studies to read and assess, and her own papers to work on. Much of this, Kat was able to accomplish in the evenings at home.

She mailed a card to the Lalliberts, expressing her appreciation of sharing their very special home and of course their even more special Picasso, for whom she slipped a packet of treats into the envelope.

Thank-you notes were posted to Joy, her son, Henri, and his wife, Sylvie, as well as Mirella, François, and Philippe. The latter she had sent in care of Joy’s address, knowing it would be forwarded on. She did have Joy’s e-mail address as well as Philippe’s but felt it was more personal to handwrite her thanks.

Every minute her mind was not consumed with other things, it was filled with thoughts and images of France. She wondered how long it was going to take for the fantasies to fade.

In the meantime, she had a good time responding to several more exchange inquiries. Norway, Wales, Costa Rica, and Dallas. The possibilities are endless, she thought as she began to consider what her trip next year would be.

She planned to take Andrea and Terrence two of the bottles of wine the Lalliberts had left to thank them for pushing her into the whole idea of home exchange in the first place.

On Saturday, Katherine lifted her bike off the rack in the garage. She had covered it with an old sheet when she moved it from the townhouse, and now—almost ceremoniously, she noted with a chuckle—she pulled that cover off.

She knew her bike maintenance well, trained under her perfectionist ex-husband. After a wipe-down, along with a few drops of lubricating fluid, she placed the bike on a stand and turned the pedals to check the gears before she examined the brake pads and cables. Everything seemed to be in order. It was ready for the road, and so was she.

Going to the basement, she retrieved the storage bin in which she had placed her biking clothes. Pulling on the skin-tight shorts and jersey, Katherine was pleased to see they fit better than ever in spite of her baguette, cheese, and wine diet.
To say nothing of the
fondants
and
crèmes brûlées
,
she giggled.

Lying on top of the clothes was a piece of paper. Katherine recalled Andrea had sent it to her shortly after “la Katastrophe,” when Kat had announced she was never cycling again.

It read, “When the spirits are low, when the day appears dark, when work becomes monotonous, when hope hardly seems worth having, just mount a bicycle and go out for a spin down the road, without thought on anything but the ride you are taking.”
Written by Arthur Conan Doyle.

Trust Andrea to find a quote that was so right, although she did not appreciate it at the time.

Slipping her feet into the clip shoes and putting on her helmet, her anticipation mounted. The day was perfect for a ride, with no obvious breeze. Pleasantly surprised that she felt nothing but excitement, Katherine rode the few minutes over to the Old Mill, where she hooked up with the Humber River Trail. Pedaling leisurely down to the Martin Goodman Trail, just beyond Humber Bay, this popular paved bike and walking path along the lakeshore would take her right through the city and across to the Beach area on the east side. It was a route so familiar she felt she could ride it blindfolded, and she loved it every time.

As Katherine reached Lake Ontario and headed east, she was reminded that her favorite time for this ride was in the early morning to catch the sunrise over the water. She filed a mental note for the next time.

A completely different landscape surrounded her than in France, but the cycling feelings were the same: a sense of freedom and strength offered by the swiftness of motion and the rapid rush of air. She felt her pulse dance as she picked up speed.

“Yes!” she shouted, feeling the euphoria of liberation. “Yes, yes, yes!”

Molly dropped by late Sunday afternoon on her way to choir practice.

“Hey, I see your bike rack on your car. What gives?”

Katherine grinned as she explained, “I’m taking it up to Chain Reaction later today to leave it for a tune-up. I rode it to the Beaches—”

“The Beach,” Molly interrupted with a cynical look.

“It will always be the Beaches to me,” Katherine stated firmly.

“I think it’s great news that you are back riding, girlfriend!”

“Yeah, that’s another bonus from my trip. I was forced over that hurdle in a fairly dramatic way!”

“I’ll say,” said Molly. “Have you heard anything more about that guy? The one who had the heart attack? How’s he doing?”

“Other than when I had lunch with him in Paris, I really don’t expect to. He was doing well. I didn’t tell you about the words of wisdom he imparted to me before I left his apartment, though.”

Molly looked interested.

“As we were saying good-bye, he suddenly said he felt he had to share something with me. He told me how deeply he had been affected by his ‘episode’ and how he felt fate had connected us. He told me of major personal changes he had decided to make. He wanted to counsel me not to fear change in life and to make choices that would bring me happiness.”

“Hmmm, kinda, sorta spooky. I mean, like, he barely knows you.”

Katherine nodded her head slowly. “I have to say it was a fairly profound moment. Seriously. Not that we don’t know those sentiments, but just coming from him, there, in the moment, and considering how I got to be there in the first place, it did feel meaningful.” Looking off, her eyes welled up as she added, “I’ve been thinking about it a lot.”

“I can see that,” said Molly. “I could use some change in my life right now!”

Shaded by the patio umbrella and serenaded by a chorus of birdsong, they talked for some time about the possibility of change for each of them.

Molly felt stuck where she was, financially and emotionally, but on the other hand admitted to Katherine that she was reasonably happy.

“Two things I want to change in my life? First, finding my brother, and finding him well. Second, these goddamn phone calls and weird shit that’s happening. That’s got to stop. Really, that’s all the change I need.”

“Truly? Wouldn’t you like to have your relationship with the mysterious—to me, at least—Antonio out in the open?”

“Nope, that’s never going to happen, and I can deal with it. I’ve worked through that.”

“Molly, you’ve had me stymied on that one for years, and especially now that we spend so much more time together. I don’t get it.”

“I know, and you’ve been considerate by not pushing me to talk about it. Unlike some other folks, you don’t live in Judgmentistan, and I truly appreciate that.”

Katherine burst out laughing as Molly put her own quirky humor into a reasonably serious conversation.

“As I’ve said before,” Molly continued, “trust me. He’s not married. It’s just the way this has to be. The love is real and we know that and it’s enough for me. And most important, there is respect. This works.”

“One thing I get from you, Molly, is that everyone doesn’t necessarily have to have perfection in their life. As embarrassing as it is to admit this, I think I had a warped view of perfection when I was married. I thought my life was as good as it could possibly be and never looked beyond that.”

“Well, what’s wrong with that? Isn’t that kind of the way it should be? If you’re happy, why look beyond?”

“I guess, but since that seemingly perfect bubble burst, my world seems to be opening up and offering opportunities I never considered. I’m actually feeling a kind of happiness I don’t think I felt in my marriage. At least, that’s how I think I’m feeling. I’m changing, and I’m realizing that my old life wasn’t really perfect after all.”

“Well,” Molly agreed, “I didn’t get to see you that much then, but always felt that James was pretty frickin’ controlling. Turns out that’s how he was!”

“Exactly. So how do you think my ego feels about accepting that for all those years?”

“I’m guessing that part of it sucks! But it looks to me like you made a gigunda breakthrough on this trip.”

30

Her bike loaded on the car rack, Katherine drove up the long lane to Andrea’s farmhouse. The trip through the lush countryside around St. Jacobs, with crops established and pastoral views of grazing sheep and cattle, left Katherine with a sense of well-being.

She never ceased to be surprised when she passed someone working a field with horse and plow and admired the loyalty to tradition the Old Order Mennonites displayed.

The plan was for a cycle with Andrea along some of the back roads they had biked throughout the region since they were teenagers. Special routes they felt were their own secret discoveries.

None of the kids were around, and Terrence was helping out at a neighbor’s farm, so they had a day just to themselves. Andrea was eager to hear more details of the home exchange, and Kat had brought her laptop for more photo viewing.

Wasting no time, they headed out right away to the St. Jacobs Farmers’ Market, where the famous homemade sausage and sauerkraut stand was the first stop.

“I’m starving, Andie! I saved myself for this.”

“Me too!”

They merged into the bustle around them and patiently waited in the long line at the popular food stall. A fine warm June Saturday was peak time for the market. Katherine entertained with comparisons to the markets she had visited on her trip. The lineup of wood-and-canvas horse-drawn carriages in the parking lot was one of Katherine’s favorite photography subjects.

The ride along quiet rural roads, some paved and others packed gravel, took them through rolling countryside and eventually across the Kissing Bridge, the only original covered bridge left in Ontario, in the hamlet of West Montrose. Pausing to drink some water, Kat took a few shots as she commented on the exceptional light.

Andrea gave her a sideways glance. “Kat, I’m so, so happy you are cycling again. I know how special this spot is to you. Is it a problem being here now . . . y’know . . . without . . .”

“Without James? See, I can say his name, although it sounds better if I say ‘without James the Asshole’.”

Andrea laughed. “That sounds more like Molly.”

“Right! But it has a certain ring to it. And no, the answer is no. It’s not a problem. Honestly, Andrea, I’ve really made progress in dumping the baggage. What I have reaffirmed is that I do love cycling and that’s that. In fact, I’m loving that I can decide where I’m going without having to consult anyone. That wasn’t an option before.”

“Good news, girl! I’m constantly amazed. You’ve opened up more and more about how controlling that guy was.”

Kat shrugged. “So am I. I’m amazed that I never saw it that way.”

Setting up for another photo, Katherine was suddenly overcome with melancholy. As much as this landscape pleased her, she felt a deep longing for the countryside of Provence and the images so deeply etched in her memory.

On the ride back to the farm, she struggled with putting her thoughts into perspective.
That was then and this is now.

Over a green salad with juicy cherry tomatoes fresh from the vine and some warm flax bread straight out of the oven for dinner, Katherine shared more of her travel experiences. She thanked Andrea multiple times for helping to make it all happen.

“Kat, you have no idea how thrilled we all are that you went through with this! And guess what? We’ve got an exchange organized for October in Vienna! Cool, huh?”

Opening another bottle of wine, they spent hours looking at Katherine’s photos as she supplied a running commentary and Andrea plied her with questions.

“And you truly didn’t mind being on your own?”

Katherine’s face clouded. “Anyu’s words to me about being alone, about finding strength in being alone, live inside me all the time. They’re empowering.”

Andrea nodded and squeezed her cousin’s hand gently. “For sure. If she did it, why on earth can’t anyone?”

Terrence joined them just after ten and added his questions to the mix. It was approaching midnight when they decided another bottle of wine was in order.

Katherine argued successfully with them about opening one of the special Côtes du Luberon bottles she had gifted them.

“Good idea, Katherine. How better to toast your return home?” Terrence enthused.

“It’s amazing there are around four hundred eighty growers within that small area, along with fourteen cooperative wineries and fifty-five private wineries such as the Lalliberts’,” Terrence commented, reading from a brochure Katherine gave him.

They enjoyed her descriptions of living in the midst of a vineyard, and her intimate photos of the vines, the grapes, and the soil, especially with their experience working the land as they did.

“It sounds like you have a lot of reasons to want to return there,” Terrence said.

“The list is longer than you can imagine! I loved everything about the small taste of France I had, and I will return sometime for sure, but who knows when. I’m receiving exchange inquiries from so many interesting places. I know you told me this would happen, but I never imagined it would be like this.”

Covering her mouth as she yawned, she continued, “But I’m done for this year, so now it’s time to focus on making plans at home. Speaking of which, I’ve got to hit the sack. That’s my immediate plan!”

Sunday morning Katherine was up early and busy helping with chores, in spite of a dull headache from being slightly overserved.

By early afternoon, she was taking back roads home instead of the highway, reminiscing about her drives in Provence.

This countryside is peaceful and picturesque, but its beauty simply does not compare.

The following Tuesday, Katherine was surprised to receive a last-minute “hot list” exchange inquiry. She had taken to checking her e-mails at lunchtime since she had signed up for home exchange. It was just too much fun to wait until she got home.

This one was from a British couple, George and Mary Brown, living in a small coal-mining town in north England with grown children still at home. However, they also owned a small house in the town of Antibes on the French Riviera, and they were hoping to find an exchange in Toronto.

“Our oldest daughter is expecting our first grandchild in Toronto, and we have just learned she must have bed rest for the duration of her pregnancy. We are hoping to go and help for the next three or four months, but they have a small apartment, so if we can find an exchange our prayers would be answered.”

Through Google, Katherine had looked up Antibes and discovered it wasn’t all that far from Villefranche, where she had been so many decades before. On the Côte d’Azur, between Nice and Cannes, the photos and virtual tours on the Internet showed a beautiful old town right on the Mediterranean with a history dating before the Romans.

The artistic history was amazing too with an impressive roster of artists and writers having spent time there. She bookmarked a bunch of sites to read later.

Knowing she certainly could not consider such an offer, it was great fun to entertain the fantasy. She forwarded the request to Andrea in case they knew someone through their exchange connections.

Katherine also told everyone at the office about it.

“You never know,” Lucy said to her as they talked about it on the way to yoga, “somebody might just know someone else who would do something like that. That’s a long time, though—three or four months.”

“Exactly. They would probably be better off to look for a rental. Maybe that’s what they will end up doing.”