Finding Paris

Epilogue

It had been three years since our Paris trip. There were no calls made, no letters written. Some nights, I’d wait at the village park by the blue swing and read Robert Frost. But no one ever showed up. It was always just me and Frost and its okay.

Mother’s doing fine. She and Aunt Rita stopped yoga and put up a small organic restaurant instead. There, on one of the cream colored bricks, hang father’s Sunflowers on Her Shoes which was adored by many.

I still paint and continue to teach my little apprentice, Sienna. One of her works was displayed on the restaurant’s counter. It puzzled a lot of the usual customers, what with the yellow blotches of paint over a land of trees. For Sienna, it was the sun exploding and showering the trees with a million glittered crystals.

Cecile and Pierre wrote occasionally and sent me pictures and recipes for mother to make. In return, I sent them small paintings of the different places we’ve visited in Paris.

Today is another ordinary day. I got up, drank my milk and went to check the mail. There are the usual bills, mother’s card, Cecile and Pierre’s letters and Sienna’s painting of the day. There is also a white envelope with no return address. I opened it and the card only said one word written in thick straight letters.

HI!

“Can I come in,” came the voice from the other end of my gate.