A Summer in Paris (4 page)

Nina laughed. “See that, Jen? Maybe it won’t be so bad here, after all. I mean, how can you get homesick when a little bit of home has followed you here?”

Ms. Darcy, their chaperone and tour guide, had announced back at the airport that the students would be dropped at a central point at the Sorbonne, the city’s famed university on the trendy Left Bank. Their host families would also be there, waiting to pick up their houseguests for the summer. As the airport bus turned down the Left Bank’s main thoroughfare, Boulevard St. Germaine, Kristy began to think less about the city— and more about her brand-new “family.”

“Gosh, I hope I like the people I’m staying with,” she remarked as the bus jerked to a halt in front of a large stone building, one of the many buildings making up the Sorbonne’s far-flung campus. “I’ve been so wrapped up in the idea of coming to Paris that I haven’t given much thought to my host family. I wonder what they’ll be like.”

“I just hope mine can cook American-style food,” Jennifer commented. “Hot dogs, hamburgers ... none of those weird sauces and funny-looking desserts for me.”

She stood up quickly, banging her head on the luggage rack up above. “Oh, darn,” she cried, her voice filled with exasperation. “What I wouldn’t give for a Twinkie right about now.”

“Well, I hope my host family is very, very French,” Nina said firmly. “I don’t intend to speak a word of English while I’m here—except to you two, of course. And if my family has even a single Twinkie in their house ...”

“Just save it for me, will you?” Jennifer pleaded, rubbing the top of her head.

The host families had already gathered inside the small auditorium as the students filed in, looking tired but hopeful as they dragged along their suitcases. Ms. Darcy, looking surprisingly fresh, immediately took charge.

“All right, everybody,” she said, speaking in English. “I know you’re all exhausted from the flight, and I’m sure you’re eager to meet your host families and get settled. First I’ll call off the name of each student, and then I’ll call the name of the family with whom he or she will be staying. The student and the family can meet up front, right here.” She repeated her instructions in French.

The girls held their breath as they waited for their names to be called. Kristy was first. Her family, she was glad to see, consisted of a youthful couple with two children, little girls aged about eight and ten. Madame and Monsieur LeBlanc spoke excellent English, and their daughters Nicole and Sophie, they announced, were looking forward to learning it over the summer.

Next, Nina was matched up with a middle-aged couple who had no children but had spent some time living in America. They were pleased that they would have the chance to brush up on their English over the summer—even though Nina insisted right up front that she would prefer speaking nothing but French in their home.

Finally, every name had been called except Jennifer’s. She stood alone, looking forlorn, watching her friends and classmates happily going off with their new “families.” A knot was forming in her stomach. A wave of homesickness—of fear—began to spread over her with alarming speed.

I don’t want to be doing this, she thought, blinking hard, trying her hardest not to do anything as silly as start bawling like a baby. All I ever wanted to do was to stay at home where I’m safe and happy and—

“Jennifer Johnson!” Ms. Darcy called. She was smiling as Jennifer looked over at her, blinking in surprise at finally having heard her name called. “Jennifer, you’re the last one on my list. You’ll be staying with Henri and Rose Cartier.”

Anxiously Jennifer looked around, trying to catch sight of her new family. She hoped they would have children, like Kristy’s family, or that they would at least be cheerful and bubbly, like Nina’s.

But her heart sank when she caught sight of the Cartiers. They were an older couple, dressed in rather shabby clothes that looked as if they hadn’t been in style for ages. Henri and Rose stood together holding on to each others’ arms, their eyes darting about as they searched for their new “daughter.”

“Madame, Monsieur,” Ms. Darcy was saying, “I would like to introduce your houseguest for the summer, Jennifer Johnson.”

Jennifer felt like bursting into tears. But instead, she blinked hard, picked up her suitcases, and forced a weak smile. Already she was counting the number of days she would have to stay here in Paris before she would be allowed to go back home again. And from the way things were going, it looked like it was going to be an even longer summer than she had expected.

* * * *

The Cartiers’ house, just as Jennifer had feared, was very much like the couple themselves. They lived in one of the more run-down sections of Paris, in a modest apartment that didn’t get very much sunlight. It consisted of four compact rooms: a living room, a kitchen, and two tiny bedrooms, one for her and one for the Cartiers.

“Uh, where is the bathroom?” Jennifer asked nervously, looking around for a doorway she had somehow missed.
“Ou est la toilette?”

“Right down the hall,” Madame Cartier informed her in French, smiling. “Not far at all.”

I simply have to get out of here, Jennifer decided then and there. I’m going to have to go home, that’s all. There’s absolutely no reason in the world to get upset about this. The very first chance I get, I’ll call my parents, collect. I’ll go out to a pay phone, where the Cartiers can’t hear me— even though it appears that they don’t speak a word of English. Once I explain the situation to Mom and Dad, I’m sure they’ll let me come home.

For the moment, however, Jennifer was left to make the best of things.

“You must be tired,” Henri Cartier said in a kind voice after proudly showing her around the apartment. “Would you like to rest?”

“Yes, thank you. That’s an excellent idea.”

Jennifer was only too happy to retreat to her small bedroom. It overlooked a courtyard. In it, someone had planted a small garden. It was flourishing, with colorful flowers blooming and hearty vegetables pushing their way out of the ground. Obviously it was the project of someone quite dedicated to making things grow.

But Jennifer wasn’t thinking about gardens as she lay down on the creaky cot, certain that she would never be able to sleep. Not now, when the thing she had been so dreading was finally coming to pass—and it was turning out even worse than she had ever expected. She was miserable, hardly able to believe she had gotten herself into this unbearable situation. But she was exhausted from her trip, and before long she sank into a deep sleep.

When she opened her eyes once again, it took her a few seconds to remember where she was. And when she did, that same sick feeling returned. She sat up abruptly, noticing that the sun had shifted radically while she had been asleep. Jennifer knew then that she had been asleep for a long time.

She looked around the room, noting that for some reason things looked different. Someone had tried to make it look more homey.

A quick look around told her that, while she had been asleep, someone had come in and unpacked her suitcases. All her clothes were hanging in the closet or folded neatly inside the drawers of the empty dresser next to her bed. There was a pitcher of water and a glass on the dresser. Next to them was a jar filled with a bouquet of fragrant fresh flowers, probably from the small garden out back.

Blinking hard, partly in confusion, partly from having just woken up, Jennifer wandered out of the bedroom and into the living room. She found Madame Cartier sitting in a sagging stuffed chair, reading.

“Ah, you are awake,” she said in French, rising to her feet. “Did you have a good rest?”

“Yes, very good.” Jennifer felt silly speaking in French, but she realized that she had no choice. “What time is it?”

“It is just past three.”

“Three! I practically slept the whole day away!”

Madame Cartier chuckled. “It is very tiring, flying halfway across the world. Come into the kitchen. I have made you something to eat. You must be very hungry by now.”

Jennifer was hungry, but she was a bit fearful about what strange foods might be set before her. She remembered the time her parents had taken her to a fancy French restaurant in New York. It was supposed to be in celebration of her birthday, but in truth she would have preferred going to a place where she could get a nice, plain steak.

As it turned out, she ate little more besides rolls. The dishes she and her parents ordered were so unappealing to her that she couldn’t bring herself even to try them.

So she was not exactly looking forward to the lunch that Rose Cartier had prepared for her. And when the woman motioned for her to sit down at the kitchen table and then brought her a plate full of food, Jennifer’s worst fears were realized.

“This is a very nice goat cheese,” the woman explained, pointing to one of the oddly shaped, unappetizing items on the plate. “And this is
pâté—
you know, goose liver paste. Very special, but then again, you are our very special guest.”

Well, at least I can eat the crackers, Jennifer was thinking. But Rose Cartier sat down at the table right opposite her, beaming and watching her as she poured her some tea from a chipped ceramic teapot.

“Ah, let me show you,” she finally said, misinterpreting Jennifer’s reluctance to try the new foods as confusion. Patiently the older woman spread some of the cheese onto a cracker, then put some
pâté
on another. “Here, try this,” she said, holding it out toward Jennifer.

Well, I guess it won’t kill me.... Jennifer reached for the crackers, so hungry that she decided that some food—any food—was better than none. If I can only get this down without choking.... I just hope that tea isn’t too hot to help me wash it down in a hurry.

Nervously she bit into the cracker with the goat cheese. She was bracing herself for the worst. But much to her amazement, she found it was actually tasty. It was delicious, in fact.

“Umm,” she said, gobbling down the rest of the cracker. “Madame Cartier, this is good!”

And the
pâté,
she discovered, after tasting it with the same caution, was also excellent.

“Ah, I am so glad you like it,” Madame Cartier said sincerely. She was all smiles as she continued to watch Jennifer eat. “You know, my husband and I have so been looking forward to your visit. It is very important to us that you have a good summer here. I know that we are not young people, and that our home is very simple....”

“Uh, it’s fine. It’s very nice, in fact. Really.”

Jennifer was astonished to find herself trying to allay the woman’s fears. Especially since, as far as she was concerned, she still planned to do everything she could to get herself out of this situation as fast as possible.

“Well, please let Henri and I know if there is anything we can do to make your stay here more enjoyable,” Madame Cartier continued.

Jennifer just nodded. She was too busy devouring the rest of the goat cheese and
pâté
to answer.

* * * *

“Jennifer? Is that really you?”

Louise Johnson was beside herself with glee over answering the phone and finding herself talking to her daughter, some three thousand miles away. Jennifer, meanwhile, was relieved by her mother’s reaction. She had been away from home for only twenty-four hours, and she was afraid that her parents would be irritated by the fact that she was already calling home—collect, no less.

“Hold on a second, Jen. Your father is going to pick up the extension—Paul, is that you?”

“It’s me, honey. I’m on. Jennifer, how are you?”

“I’ll bet you’re calling to tell us how fabulous Paris is,” her mother quickly interrupted. “Oh, sweetie, didn’t we tell you you’d love it? It’s a beautiful, wonderful city, easily the most romantic place in the entire—”

“Mom, I really have to get out of here,” Jennifer announced. While she had intended to sound matter-of-fact, perhaps even angry, her voice instead came out sounding terrified. She was on the verge of tears. And sounding desperate, she knew, was no way to win her parents over.

“Now, Jen,” her mother was saying consolingly, “what could be so terrible?”

“It sounds like you’re just a little bit homesick,” Mr. Johnson added, chuckling.

“You don’t understand!” Jennifer blurted out.
“It’s...it’s horrible! The family they’ve got me
staying with is just awful. They’re these two old
people, and they hardly speak a word of English.”

“How wonderful!” Louise Johnson said. “By the time you come home in eight weeks, you’ll be speaking like a native.”

“What an opportunity,” her husband chimed in.

“But Dad! The bathroom is down the
hall!
I mean, it’s not even in the apartment!”

Paul Johnson was chuckling once again. “It sounds just like the place your mother and I stayed in during our first trip. Remember, Louise? Our feet would be killing us from a long day of sightseeing, and then we’d come back to our hotel and find that we had to—”

“Surely you don’t expect me to live in a place with no bathroom!” Jennifer shrieked. She was aware that the people on the street corner on which she was standing as she made this long-distance plea for help were eyeing her oddly. But she didn’t care. All she did care about, in fact, was getting her point across to her parents.

“Oh, honey, I know it’s all new to you,” Louise Johnson was saying. “It will take some getting used to.”

“Of course it will.” Dr. Johnson was, as usual, only too happy to agree with his wife. “But I guarantee that in a week—no, no, make that two or three days—you’ll be tripping along the streets of Paris, considering it your second home.”

“Oh, Daddy ...”

“Now listen, young lady, I want you to try to put all your fears aside and tackle this thing head on. Think of it as a challenge.”

“An opportunity,” came her mother’s voice.

“A chance to experience something brand new. We know you can do it, Jen. We love you, and we have a lot of faith in you.”

Before she knew it, her parents had said their cheerful good-byes and hung up. Jennifer was left standing on a street corner in Paris, holding on to a dead phone.