Honor Thyself (13 page)

“It's nice of you to visit,” she said politely, finding a phrase that seemed to come out all at once. It happened that way sometimes, and at other times she had to struggle for a single word.

“May I come to see you again?” She nodded, not sure what else to say. Social subtleties were confusing for her, and she still had no idea who he was. She had a sense that he'd been more than a friend, but he didn't say they'd been married. It was hard for her to guess who and what he'd been in her life.

“Thank you for the flowers. They are beautiful,” she said, searching his eyes for the answers he didn't put into words.

“So are you, my dear,” he said, still holding her hand. “You always were, and still are. You look like a girl.”

She looked surprised then as she realized something she hadn't thought of before. “I don't know how old I am. Do you?” It was easy for him to make the calculation, by adding fifteen years to the age she'd been when she left. He knew she had to be fifty, although she didn't look it, but he didn't know if he should say it to her.

“I don't think it matters. You're still very young. I'm an old man now. I'm sixty-eight.” His face showed his age, but his spirit didn't. He was infused with so much energy and strength that his looks belied his age.

“You look young,” she said kindly. “If you aren't a doctor, what do you do?” she asked. He still looked like a doctor to her, minus the white coat. He was wearing a well-cut dark blue suit, and a dark gray topcoat over it. He was well dressed, with a white shirt and somber tie, and his mane of white hair was well cut and neat, his rimless glasses typically French.

“I'm an attorney.” He didn't tell her what he'd been before. It didn't matter anymore.

She nodded, watching him again, as he raised her hand to his lips and gently kissed her fingers. They were still bruised from her fall. “I'll come to see you again. You must get well now.” And then he added, “I think about you all the time.” She had no idea why. It was so frustrating to remember nothing of her past, not even how old she was or who she was. It gave everyone an advantage over her. They knew everything she didn't. And now this stranger who knew a piece of her past too.

“Thank you” was all she could think of to say to him, as he gently put her hand back on the bed. He smiled at her again, and a moment later, he left. The nurse in the room had recognized him, but she said nothing to Carole. It wasn't her place to comment on former ministers visiting her. She was a movie star, after all, and probably knew half the important people in the world. But it was obvious that Matthieu de Billancourt was enormously attached to her and knew her well. Even Carole could sense that.

The others came back that evening after their dinner. They were in good spirits, and Stevie had brought her a sample of everything that had been on their plates, and identified all of it to her. Carole tasted it with interest, said she didn't like the turkey, but thought the marshmallows were very good.

“You hate marshmallows, Mom,” Chloe informed her with a stunned look. “You always say they're garbage and you wouldn't let us eat them when we were kids.”

“That's too bad. I like them,” she said with a shy smile, and then held her hand out to her youngest child. “I'm sorry I don't know anything right now. I'll try to remember.” Chloe nodded as tears filled her eyes.

“That's okay, Mom. We'll fill you in. Most of it isn't important.”

“Yes, it is,” Carole said gently. “I want to know everything. What you like, what you don't, what we like to do together, what we did when you were a little girl.”

“You were away a lot,” Chloe said softly, as her father shot her a warning look. It was way too early to talk about that.

“Why was I away a lot?” Carole looked blank again.

“You worked very hard,” Chloe said simply, as Anthony held his breath too. He had heard it for years, and those conversations between his mother and sister never ended well. He hoped it wouldn't happen now too. He didn't want Chloe upsetting their mother at this point. She was far too fragile still, and it would be too unfair to accuse her of things she didn't know. Carole had no way to defend herself.

“Doing what? What did I do?” Carole glanced at Stevie as she asked, as though the young woman could fill her in. She had already sensed the bond between them, even if she knew no details, and remembered neither her face nor name.

“You're an actress,” Stevie explained to her. No one had said that to her yet. “A very important actress. You're a big star.”

“I am?” Carole looked stunned. “Do people know me?” The whole concept seemed foreign to her.

They all laughed, and Jason spoke first. “Maybe we should keep you humble and not tell you. You're probably one of the most well-known movie stars in the world.”

“How weird.” It was the first time she had remembered the word
weird
, and they all laughed.

“It's not weird at all,” Jason said. “You're a very good actress, you've made a hell of a lot of movies, and won some very major awards. Two Oscars and a Golden Globe.” He wasn't sure she'd remember what those were now, and the look on her face said she didn't. But the word
movies
sparked a memory for her. She knew what they were. “Everyone in the world knows who you are.”

“What's that like for you?” she turned and asked Chloe, and looked like her old self for a minute. Everyone in the room held their breath as she waited for Chloe's answer.

“Not so good,” Chloe whispered. “It was hard when we were little.” Carole looked sad for her as she said it.

“Don't be silly,” Anthony interrupted, trying to lighten the mood. “It was great having a movie star for a mom. Everyone envied us, we got to go to cool places, and you were gorgeous. You still are.” He smiled at his mother. He had always hated the friction between them, and Chloe's resentment as they grew up, although it was better in recent years.

“Maybe it was cool for you,” Chloe snapped at him. “It wasn't for me.” She turned back toward her mother then, as Carole looked at her with compassion and squeezed her hand.

“I'm sorry,” Carole said simply. “It doesn't sound like fun to me either. I would want my mom around all the time if I was a kid.” And then suddenly she looked at Jason. She had just remembered another important question. It was terrible not knowing anything. “Do I have a mother?” He shook his head, relieved to have changed the subject for a moment. Carole had just returned from the dead after weeks of terror for them, he didn't want Chloe upsetting her, or worse, starting a fight with her, and they all knew she was capable of it. There were a lot of old issues there, between mother and daughter, less so between mother and son. Anthony had never resented his mother's work, and had always expected less of her than Chloe did. He had been far more independent, even as a child.

“Your mother died when you were two,” he explained. “Your father died when you were eighteen.” She was an orphan then. She remembered the word instantly.

“Where did I grow up?” she asked with interest.

“In Mississippi. On a farm.” She remembered none of it. “You were discovered and went to Hollywood at eighteen. You were living in New Orleans, when they found you.” She nodded, and turned her attention back to Chloe. She was more concerned with her now than with her own history. That was new. It was as though she had come back as someone different, subtly different, but perhaps forever changed. It was too soon to know. She was starting with a clean slate, and had to rely on them to fill her in. Chloe had done that with her usual honesty and bluntness. It had worried all of them at first, but Stevie suddenly thought it might be for the best. Carole was responding well. She wanted to know everything about herself, and them, both good and bad. She needed to fill in the blanks, there were so many of them.

“I'm sorry I was away a lot. You'll have to tell me about it. I want to hear all about it, and what it was like for you. It's a little late, you're all grown up. But maybe we can change some things. How is it for you now?”

“It's okay,” Chloe said honestly. “I live in London. You come to visit me. I go home for Christmas and Thanksgiving. I don't like L.A. anymore. I like London a lot better.”

“Where did you go to college?” Carole inquired.

“Stanford.”

Carole looked blank. It didn't ring a bell.

“It's a great school,” Jason volunteered, and Carole nodded, and then smiled at her daughter.

“I wouldn't expect anything less of you.” This time Chloe smiled.

They chatted about easier subjects after that, and eventually they went back to the hotel. Carole looked tired when they left. Stevie was the last to leave the room, and whispered to her friend, as she lingered for a minute.

“You did great with Chloe.”

“You're going to have to tell me some things. I don't know anything.”

“We'll talk,” Stevie promised, and then noticed the roses on a table in a corner of the room. There were at least two dozen of them, red, long stem. “Who are those from?”

“I don't know. A French man who came to see me. I forget his name. He said we were old friends.”

“I'm surprised security let him in. They're not supposed to.” Only family members were supposed to visit her, but no French security guard was going to turn away a former minister of France. “Anyone can say they're an old friend. If they're not careful, you'll be overrun by fans.” They had stopped hundreds of bouquets downstairs. Stevie and Jason had had them distributed to all the other patients. They would have filled several rooms. “You didn't recognize him?” It was a foolish question, but she thought she'd ask anyway, just in case she did. You never knew. Sooner or later some memories from the past would surface. Stevie was expecting that to happen any day, and was hoping it would.

“Of course not,” Carole said simply. “If I don't remember my own children, why would I recognize him?”

“Just asking. I'll tell the guard to be more careful.” She had already noticed a few things she didn't like about their security, and complained about it. When the guard on duty went on a break, no one replaced him, and anyone could have walked in. Apparently someone had. They wanted better security for Carole than that. “Nice flowers anyway.”

“He was nice. He didn't stay long. He says he knew my children too.”

“Anyone can say that.” They needed to protect her, from gawkers, paparazzi, and fans, or worse. She was who she was, after all. And the hospital had never dealt with a star of her magnitude before. She and Jason had discussed hiring a private guard for her, but the hospital had insisted they could handle it. Stevie was going to remind them to tighten things up. The last thing they wanted was a photographer getting in and taking a picture of her. The now unfamiliar intrusion would have been upsetting to Carole although before she had dealt with it nearly every day. “I'll see you tomorrow. Happy Thanksgiving, Carole,” Stevie said with a warm smile.

“Fuck you,” Carole said happily, and they both laughed. She was getting better by the hour. For a minute she almost sounded like her old self.

Chapter 8

J
ason, Chloe, and Anthony went to the Louvre, and then did some shopping again the next day. They came back for a late lunch at the hotel, in the bar downstairs. And then Jason and Anthony went back to their rooms to call their office and do some work. They were both falling behind on deals they were working on. But the circumstances were extraordinary, and their clients understood. Several of Jason's partners were standing in for them with various accounts. And they planned to catch up when they got back.

Chloe went for a swim and massage while her brother and father worked. She had taken a leave from her own job, and they'd been nice about it. They told her to stay in Paris with her mother as long as she needed to. She even had time, that afternoon, and was finally in the mood to call a boy she had recently met in London. They chatted for half an hour, and Chloe liked him. She told him about her mother's accident, and he was kind and sympathetic. He promised to call her soon, and said he wanted to see her when she got back to London. He'd been meaning to call her, and was delighted she'd called him. His name was Jake.

The others being busy gave Stevie a chance to spend time alone with Carole. The doctors had told her to tell Carole everything she could about her life. They were hoping that hearing the details would jog her memory and bring back the rest. Stevie was willing to do that, but didn't want to upset Carole by reminding her of unhappy things, and she'd had her fair share of them.

Stevie brought a sandwich with her, and sat down across from Carole to chat. She had nothing particular in mind, and Carole had been asking a lot of questions, like about her parents the day before. She was starting from scratch.

Stevie was halfway through her sandwich when Carole asked her about her divorce. But in that case, Stevie had to admit she didn't know much.

“I didn't work for you then. I know he was married to someone else after you, a Russian supermodel, I think. He got divorced from her about a year after you got back from France. I was with you, but I was new, and you didn't tell me much. I think he came out to see you a couple of times, and I suspected that he asked you to come back to him. It was just a feeling I had, you never told me. And you never went back to him. You were pretty mad at him in those days. It took a couple of years to settle down. Before that, you were always fighting with him on the phone, about the kids. For the last ten years, you've been good friends.” Carole could see that now, and nodded as she listened, groping back in her mind for some recollection of her marriage to Jason, and found nothing. Her memory was blank.

“Did I leave him, or did he leave me?”

“I don't know that either. You're going to have to ask him some of this stuff. I know you lived in New York while you were with him. You were married to him for ten years. And then you went to France. You made a major movie there. You were already getting divorced by then, I think. And you stayed on in Paris for two years after the movie, with your kids. You bought a house, and sold it a year after you moved to