their way around the Mall of America without a map. Being a librarian no doubt helped. Maureen had majored in library science, and that career was a natural for her. She’d worked for the last twenty years at the Seattle Public Library.
Next spring would be the perfect time to go. Paul was working year-round as a server in Pullman while going through college, and Allie was planning for an exchange program that would take her to Japan for six months, leaving my schedule next year wide open for this trip. Of course, I would need to get time off from the hospital, being certain to get the request in early for my vacation dates. Several months’ notice would guarantee there wouldn’t be a problem.
“I’ll look for our planning notes from when we were in college,” Maureen said, showing her excitement.
“You kept them?” That shouldn’t surprise me. Maureen was an organizational genius and always had been. She liked her life structured. Everything in its place, and a place for everything. She was a spotless housekeeper. Dust didn’t dare make a showing in her home.
“Of course I kept them. Why not? The Louvre is still waiting for us.”
“And Sainte-Chapelle.” I’d looked at breathtaking photos of the stained-glass windows of the chapel countless times, dreaming of the day I would be able to see it in person.
“Shopping on Rue de Rivoli,” Maureen added dreamily.
“Was that on day five?” I asked. If I remembered correctly, shopping had been reserved for later in our self-guided tour.
“Day six.”
Naturally, Maureen would remember the minute details. The woman’s mind was a steel trap. I sincerely doubted she would need those notes to recollect the details of our original plans. She probably remembered the flight numbers and our seat assignments, if I were to ask. That was Maureen.
She had never remarried after she and Peter split. Like me, she’d dated, too, but not often. Her marriage had lasted only five years. Peter and Maureen had never been a good mix, and they both knew it. To their credit, they’d stuck it out as long as they had for the sake of their daughter, Victoria—Tori for short. A couple years following their divorce, Peter had remarried and had two additional children, both boys. He continued to be a good father to Tori, and had remained an integral part of her life, unlike how my ex had been with Paul and Allie.
I’d always hoped Maureen would find happiness with another man. She deserved it, but I feared she’d lost something of herself in her failed marriage. I understood, as I feared I had, too.
Settling back against the sofa, I brought my legs up under me and held the bowl of popcorn in my lap as the movie started. I’ll never forget the first time Maureen and I watched Casablanca in college. The movie had the same impact on Maureen as it’d had on me as a teen. We’d both cried and agreed it was the most romantic movie ever made.
“I love the opening,” Maureen said with a sigh. “It’s the music.”
Surprisingly, Maureen Zelinski had a romantic heart. I suspected she hid that fact from her peers at the library. Only those closest to her would suspect as much.
I munched on my popcorn, relaxing as I got involved in the movie.
“Was Allie able to connect with her dad before she left?” Maureen asked.
I rolled my eyes and shook my head. “No.” It hurt me that Allie’s father had disappointed our daughter yet again. It demanded effort not to add a derogatory comment about my ex. Even before the ink on our divorce papers was dry, Kyle had basically abandoned the children and me. He’d left Seattle Central Hospital, where we were both employed, him as a surgeon and me as a nurse. He’d promptly moved to another state. It wasn’t long before I learned he’d remarried, and, shockingly, it wasn’t to the woman with whom he’d had the affair. In the years since, he’d divorced and married two more times. Paul and Allie were his only children.
To be fair, Kyle had faithfully paid child support, and I was grateful he’d held up that portion of his responsibility. What hurt most, other than the fact he hadn’t been able to keep his pants zipped, was the way he’d treated our children as nonentities. He would send them birthday cards—if he remembered, that is—and send a check at Christmas. Basically, that was it.
In the last year, Allie had tried to reestablish a