“We're going back to the hotel to have Thanksgiving dinner with Anthony and Chloe,” Jason explained with a gentle look at Carole as he held her hand. “I wish you were coming with us.” She frowned when he mentioned the hotel, as though trying to pull something elusive out of her mental computer but it just wouldn't come.
“What hotel?”
“The Ritz. It's where you always stay in Paris. You love it. It's beautiful. They're making a turkey dinner for us in a private dining room.” They had a lot to be grateful for this year.
“That sounds nice,” Carole said, looking sad. “I can't remember anything, who I am, who you are, where I live… the hotel… I don't even remember Thanksgiving, or the turkey or pies.” There were tears of sorrow and frustration in her eyes, and seeing her that way tore at their hearts.
“You will,” Stevie said quietly. “Give it time. It's a lot of information to try and get back all at once. Go slow,” she said with a loving smile. “You'll get there. I promise.”
“Do you keep your promises?” she asked, looking Stevie in the eye. She knew what a promise was, even if she didn't remember the name of her hotel.
“Always,” Stevie said, holding up her hand in a solemn oath, and then ran two fingers in an X across her chest, as Carole broke into a smile and spoke in unison with her.
“Cross my heart! I remember that!” she said victoriously. And Stevie and Jason laughed.
“See! You remember the important stuff, like ‘Cross my heart.’ You'll find the rest,” Stevie said with a loving look.
“I hope so,” Carole said fervently, as Jason kissed her forehead and Stevie squeezed her hand. “Have a nice dinner. Eat some turkey for me.”
“We'll bring you some tonight,” Jason promised. He and the children were planning to come back after the meal.
“Happy Thanksgiving,” Stevie said as she leaned down to kiss Carole's cheek. It was a little strange doing it because to Carole, Stevie was a stranger now, but she did it anyway, and Carole caught her hand in her own as she did.
“You're tall,” she said, and Stevie grinned.
“Yes, I am.” She was taller than Jason, in high heels, and he was over six feet. “So are you, but not as tall as I am. Happy Thanksgiving, Carole. Welcome back to the world.”
“Fuck,” Carole said with a grin, and they both laughed. There was a spark of mischief in her eyes this time, and along with deep gratitude for the fact that Carole was awake and alive, she could only hope that Carole would once more be herself, and that the good times would come again. Jason had already left the room by then, as Stevie grinned at her.
“Fuck you,” Stevie said. “That's a good one to know too. Very useful.”
Carole smiled broadly and looked into the eyes of the woman who was her friend and had been for fifteen years. “Fuck you too,” she said clearly, and both women laughed, as Stevie blew her a kiss and left the room. It wasn't the Thanksgiving any of them had expected to have, but it was the best one of Stevie's life. And maybe Carole's too.
Chapter 7
Matthieu came to see Carole on Thanksgiving afternoon, by sheer happenstance, while her family and Stevie were having their Thanksgiving meal at the hotel. He had been cautious about coming to visit her. He didn't want to run into them. He still felt awkward about that, whatever the circumstances now. And things had been so desperate at first, he didn't want to intrude on them in the midst of their shock and grief. But he had read in the newspaper that she was awake and doing better, so he had come again. He couldn't resist.
He walked slowly into the room and looked at her, drinking her in. It was the first time he had seen her awake. And his heart leaped as he saw her. There wasn't even a flicker of recognition in her eyes. He wasn't sure at first if it was due to the distance of time, or the blow to her head. But after all they'd meant to each other, he couldn't imagine that she didn't remember him. He had thought of her every day. It was difficult to believe that, in her normal state, she wouldn't do the same, or at least recall his face.
She turned toward him with surprise and curiosity as he walked into the room, and didn't remember ever seeing him before. He was a tall, handsome white-haired man with piercing blue eyes and a serious face. He looked like a person of authority, and she wondered if he was a doctor.
“Hello, Carole.” He was the first to speak. He spoke to her in heavily accented English, unsure if she still remembered her French, which for now she didn't.
“Hello.” It was obvious that she didn't recognize him, and it nearly broke his heart, given all they'd felt for each other. She looked blank. “I've probably changed a lot,” he said. “It's been a long time. My name is Matthieu de Billancourt.” Nothing registered on her face, but she smiled pleasantly at him. Everyone was new to her now, even her ex-husband and kids, and now this man.
“Are you a doctor?” she asked clearly, and he shook his head. “Are you my friend?” she said carefully, although realizing full well that if not, he wouldn't be there. But it was her way of asking him if she knew him. She had to rely on others for that information. But he was startled by the question. Just seeing her again, he was in love with her. For her, there was nothing left. He couldn't help wondering what she had still felt for him before the accident. But clearly, nothing now.
“Yes… yes… I am. A very good friend. We haven't seen each other for a long time.” He readily understood that her memory had not returned, and he was careful about the information he gave her. He didn't want to shock her. She still looked very frail, propped up in the big hospital bed. He didn't want to say too much because her nurse was in the room. He didn't know if she spoke English, but he was cautious just in case. And he couldn't tell secrets anyway to a woman who didn't remember ever seeing him before.
“We knew each other when you lived in Paris.” He had brought her flowers, and handed the large bouquet of roses to the nurse.
“I lived in Paris?” It was news to her. No one had mentioned that to her yet. There was so much she didn't know about herself it frustrated her constantly. He could see it in her eyes. “When?” She knew she lived in Los Angeles now, and had lived in New York with Jason, but no one had mentioned Paris.
“You lived here for two and a half years. You left fifteen years ago.”
“Oh.” Carole nodded, and asked no more questions, she just watched him. There was something in his eyes that rattled her, it was like something she couldn't reach, but could see in the distance. Carole wasn't sure what it was, if it was good or bad. There was something about him that was very intense. She wasn't frightened by it, but she felt it, and couldn't identify the feeling by name.
“How do you feel?” he asked politely. It seemed safer to talk about the present than the past.
Carole thought about it for a long time, looking for the word, and then found it. The way he spoke to her, like an old friend, she had a sense that she knew this man well, but wasn't sure. It was a little like Jason, but different. “Confused,” she said in answer to his question about how she felt. “I don't know anything. Words. I can't find them. Or people. I have two children,” Carole said, still looking surprised. “They're grown up now,” she explained, as though reminding herself. “Anthony and Chloe.” She looked proud that she remembered their names. She was retaining all they told her. It was a lot to absorb.