“Will I remember how to drive?” Her motor skills and coordination had already improved but weren't perfect yet. The physical therapists had been pushing her hard, with good results. Her balance was better, but every now and then the room reeled around her, or her legs felt weak.

“Perhaps not at first. It will probably come back. In each case, you have to remember what you once knew without a second thought. The dishwasher, the washing machine, your car, your computer. Everything you've ever learned has to be entered into the computer in your head again, or brought back if it was saved. I think more of it has been saved than you know. A year from now you may have no evidence of the accident at all. Or even in six months. Or there may always be some small thing that is harder for you now. You'll need a physical therapist in California, one who is familiar with brain trauma. I was going to suggest a speech therapist, but I don't think that's an issue for you.” After her initial difficulty at finding words, she seemed to have full access to her vocabulary, and had for a while. “I have the name of an excellent neurologist in Los Angeles, who can follow your case. We'll send all your records to him after you arrive in L.A. I suggest that you see him every two weeks at first, but that's for him to decide. Later, you can see him once every few months, if you're not having any problems. I want you to be aware of head aches and report them to him immediately. Don't wait for your next visit. And any problems with balance. That could be a problem for a while. We're going to do some scans today, but I'm extremely pleased with your progress. You are our miracle child here at La Pitié.”

Others who had survived the bombing hadn't done as well, and many had died, even after the first days, most of them from burns. Carole's arms had healed well, the burn on her face had been superficial, and she was getting used to the scar. The doctor had been impressed at her lack of vanity. She was a sensible woman. Carole had been far more worried about her brain than her face. She hadn't decided yet whether to have surgery, to get rid of the scar, or live with it for a while and decide how she felt about it later. She was worried about the possible effect of anesthesia on her brain and so were they. The scar could wait.

“I still don't want you to fly for a few more weeks. I know you want to be home for the holidays, but if you could wait till the twentieth or twenty-first, I'd be pleased. Providing you have no complications between now and then. That could change plans considerably. But as things stand now, I think you'll be home for Christmas.” There were tears in Carole's eyes as she listened, and Stevie's too. For a while there, it looked as if she'd never go home again, or wouldn't recognize it if she did. It was going to be a great Christmas this year, with both her children under the tree, and Jason too. He hadn't spent holidays with them in years. The kids were thrilled he was coming, and so was she.

“When can I go back to the hotel?” Carole asked. She was safe and comfortable in her hospital cocoon, and a little frightened about leaving, but she liked the idea of spending her final days in Paris at the Ritz. They had already agreed to send a nurse with her.

“Let's see how your scans look today. Perhaps you can go back to the hotel tomorrow or the next day.” Carole beamed, although she was going to miss the feeling of safety she derived from being there, with medical care close at hand. The CRS guards were going to the Ritz with her, that had already been arranged, and hotel security would be tightened once she returned. They were planning for it. “How would you feel about my sending a physician on the flight to California with you? I think it might be a good idea, and reassuring for you. The pressure might cause some changes that could alarm you, although I don't think you'll have a problem by then. It's just a precaution, and another element of comfort for you.” Carole and Stevie both liked that idea. Stevie hadn't mentioned it, but she was worried about the trip, and the pressure, as the doctor said.

“That would be great,” Carole said quickly, as Stevie nodded her approval.

“I have a young neurosurgeon who has a sister in Los Angeles, and he's dying to make the trip to spend the holidays with her. I'll let him know. He'll be thrilled.”

“Me too,” Stevie said with relief. She'd been panicking about the responsibility of being alone with Carole on the flight, in case anything went wrong when they were in the air. It was an eleven-hour flight, a long time to worry about her, and have no medical advice or support after all she'd been through. They had talked about chartering a plane, but Carole wanted to go commercial. Chartering seemed an unnecessary expense to her, and she was ambulatory after all, just frail. She wanted to go back as she had come, on Air France, with Stevie next to her, and now the young doctor with the sister in L.A. Stevie felt infinitely better now about the trip. She could even sleep, with a doctor close at hand, a neurosurgeon yet.

“I think everything's in order then,” the doctor said, smiling again. “I'll let you know how the tests look later on. I think you can start packing up soon. You'll be drinking champagne at the Ritz in no time.” She was teasing, they knew, as Carole had already been told she shouldn't drink alcohol for a while. She seldom drank anyway, so she didn't care.

She got out of bed and showered after the doctor left. Stevie helped her wash her hair, and this time Carole took a long look in the mirror at the scar on her cheek.

“Not too pretty, I must say,” she said, frowning at it.

“It looks like a dueling scar,” Stevie said blithely. “I'll bet you can cover it with makeup.”

“Maybe. Maybe it's my badge of honor. At least my mind's not completely shot,” Carole said, walking away from the mirror with a shrug, drying her hair with a towel. She mentioned to Stevie again that it was a little scary leaving the hospital. It was like leaving the womb. She was glad she was taking a nurse back to the hotel.

She called Chloe in London after her hair was dry, and told her she'd be back at the hotel soon, and on her way to Los Angeles by Christmas. She assumed, as they all did, that her scans would be fine, or at least no worse than they'd been before. There was nothing to suggest otherwise.

“I was wondering if you'd like to come out a few days early,” Carole offered her daughter, “before the others. Maybe the day after I get home myself. You can help me get ready for Christmas. We can do a little shopping together. I don't think I bought anything before I left L.A. I was thinking it might be a nice time for us to spend together, and maybe we can plan to take a trip together in the spring, someplace you'd really like to go.” Carole had thought about it for days, and liked the idea herself.

“Just us?” Chloe sounded stunned.

“Just us.” Carole smiled as she held the phone, and met Stevie's eyes, who gave her a thumbs-up. “I think we have some mother-daughter time to make up for. I'm game if you are.”

“Wow, Mom … I never thought you'd do that.” Chloe sounded awed.

“I'd love it. It would be a treat for me, if you can take the time.” She remembered what Matthieu had said, about how needy and demanding she'd been as a child. But even if she had been, if that was what she needed, why not give it to her? Everyone's needs were different, and perhaps Chloe's were greater than most, for whatever reason, whether her mother's fault or not. Carole had the time. Why not use it to bring happiness to her daughter? Wasn't that what mothers were for? Just because Anthony was more independent and self-sufficient, it didn't make Chloe's needs wrong. Just different. And Carole wanted to spend time with him too. She wanted to share the gift that had been given to her, her life. They were her children after all, even if adults with their own lives. Whatever they needed from her now, she wanted to try to give them, in honor not only of the past, but the present, and future. One day they would have lives and families of their own. Now was the time for her to spend special moments with them, before it was too late. It was the eleventh hour for her, and she was just squeaking in under the wire. “Why don't you think about where you'd like to go? Maybe this spring. Any where in the world.” It was an amazing offer, and as always, Stevie was impressed by her employer and friend. She always came through, for all of them. She was an extraordinary woman, and a pleasure to know and love.

“What about Tahiti?” Chloe said in a single breath. “I can take my vacation in March.”

“Sounds great to me. I don't think I've ever been there. At least I don't think so. And if I have, I don't remember it, so it'll be new to me.” They both laughed at what she said. “We'll figure it out. Any way, I'm hoping to get back to L.A. on the twenty-first. Maybe you want to arrive on the twenty-second. The others aren't coming till Christmas Eve. It's not a lot of time, but it's a start. I'll be in Paris till then.” But she knew Chloe had to catch up on her work at British Vogue, and even work weekends, to make up for the time she'd been away, so Carole didn't expect to see her till just before Christmas in L.A. She wasn't well enough yet to fly over to London to see her. She wanted to take it easy until her flight back to L.A., a trip that would be something of a challenge. Less so now with a neurosurgeon traveling with them.

“I'll come on the twenty-second, Mom. And thank you,” Chloe said. Carole could tell it was heartfelt. If nothing else, Chloe appreciated the effort her mother was making. Maybe she always had made the effort, Carole told herself, and maybe her daughter had never noticed it before, or been old enough to understand it and be grateful. They were both making an effort now, and aware enough to be kind to each other. That alone was an enormous gift, for both of them.

“I'll let you know when I'm back at the hotel. Tomorrow or the day after. I'll call you,” Carole said calmly.

“Thanks, Mom,” Chloe said in a loving tone, and they both hung up after saying that they loved each other.

Carole's next call was to Anthony in New York. He was at the office and sounded busy, but he was pleased to hear her. She told him about going back to the hotel, and how much she was looking forward to seeing him at Christmas. He sounded in good spirits, although he warned her about befriending Matthieu again. It was a recurring theme in every call.

“I just don't trust him, Mom. People don't change. I remember how miserable he made you before. All I remember about our last days in Paris was you crying all the time. I don't even remember what it was about. I just know how sad you were. I don't want that to happen to you again. You've been through enough hard times. I'd rather see you back with Dad.” It was the first time he had said that to her, and it startled her. She didn't want to disappoint him, any more than she wanted to hurt Jason, but she was not going back to him.

“That isn't going to happen,” she said calmly. “I think we're better as friends.”

“Well, Matthieu is no friend,” her son growled at her. “He was a real bastard to you when you lived with him. He was married, wasn't he?” His recollections were fuzzy now, only the negative impression had remained, and it was extreme. He would have done anything to protect his mother from that grief again. Even the memory of it hurt him now. She deserved so much better than that, from any man.

“Yes, he was married,” she said quietly. She didn't want to be put in the position of defending him.

“I thought so. Why did he live with us then?” He had been there most of the time.

“People make arrangements like that in France. They have mistresses as well as wives. It's not a great situation for anyone, but they seem to accept it here. It was a lot harder to get divorced in those days. So people lived that way. I wanted him to get divorced, but his daughter died, and then his wife threatened suicide. He was too high up in the government to get out of his marriage without it causing a major incident in the press. It sounds crazy, but it was considered less shocking to do what we did. He said he'd get divorced, and we were going to get married. I think he really believed we would, there was just never a good time for him to get out. So we left,” she said with a sigh. “I didn't want to go, but I didn't want all of us living that way forever. It didn't seem right. For you, or for me. I'm too American for that. I didn't want to be some-one's mistress permanently, and lead a secret life.”

“What happened to his wife?” Anthony asked, sounding stern.