Turn Back Time (The Full Circle Series Book 1) Read online

  “Ouch, you’re hurting my brain… Please don’t go all Tao on me,” Naomi said and cupped her right hand around her ear. “Wait…what? I think Confucius is telling me I need another drink. How about you?”

  “Don’t play dumb. I know you know Taoism and Confucianism aren’t the same. But whoever whispered in your ear was right! You go get us a refill, and I’ll watch our bags.”

  When Naomi came back with two more flutes of champagne and another plate of finger food to share, she said in a mock-serious voice, “Okay, spill it. Where is this Yin/Yang shit coming from?”

  When Stella didn’t answer, Naomi waved a finger in front of her eyes. Left, right, left, right. It was an annoying newer habit. “Are you overthinking things again? Are you clinging to the past again? Didn’t I tell you to let go and have fun?”

  “I can’t change who I am. And take your finger out of my face. I’ll always be more serious than you are, but it doesn’t mean I can’t have fun. Fun for me is reading a great book or discussing something I discovered in the archives at work.”

  “Oh, boy… The last book I read front to back was in college. Why spend weeks with a book when the story can be told in a two-hour movie? And if I don’t like the movie, I’ll press the stop button.” Naomi pushed an imagined button in front of her.

  “Don’t pretend to be so shallow. I know you’re not. It’s fine with me if you prefer to watch movies and would rather read travel magazines and archaeology reports in The New Yorker or National Geographic.” She leaned closer. “I also know you’re fine-combing through those magazines trying to find Rev’s name. It’s all about motivation. And, like all of us, you’re afraid to get your feelings hurt.”

  “Was your last bedside reading a book about analyzing your friends? It sounds to me as if you really need a break. And of course, for someone to whisk you far away from memories of the Troubadour.” Naomi even had the nerve to hold her hand in front of her face exactly the way David did three years ago.

  Stella laughed. “You’re terrible. I wish I could find out what he thinks of your nickname for him.”

  CHAPTER 7

  Stella—July 2018

  “I

  ’m sorry, Miss Winters, but your room is not ready yet. The guests before you couldn’t vacate the room at checkout time.” Pierre, the twenty-something front desk employee, looked from Naomi to Stella and back again.

  “May I offer you something to drink in our courtyard while you wait? Your luggage will be safe in the storage room and will be taken to your room as soon as housekeeping has finished cleaning.” He printed two vouchers and handed them to Naomi with an apologetic smile.

  “Please let us know when they’re done,” Naomi muttered.

  Stella could see Naomi wasn’t happy, but it wasn’t the man’s fault, so she said, “Thanks for helping us, Pierre.”

  “Are you coming, Stella?” Naomi was already halfway to tall glass doors opposite the check-in desk.

  Outside, Stella counted six small groupings of bistro tables under huge yellow umbrellas, and three outdoor sectionals with colorful cushions tossed into the corners. There were no other guests, and she was surprised how quiet it was. The only sounds were of a small backyard water fountain and the muffled traffic on the other side of the tall buildings.

  “Look at those palm trees!” She couldn’t believe it. “In Paris? I think I’ll have breakfast, lunch, and dinner here.”

  As soon as they plopped down in one of the sectionals, a waiter came to take their order.

  “Just a coffee, please,” Stella said.

  “Two cafés crème, please,” Naomi clarified. After the waiter left, she explained, “You have to ask for café crème or café Americano, otherwise you’ll get an espresso in a cup no larger than a thimble, but so strong you won’t sleep for the next eight days.”

  When Pierre informed them their room was ready twenty minutes later, Naomi jumped up, but Stella was reluctant to leave. It was just too peaceful, and she was tired. She didn’t get much sleep on the plane. Between reading, the anticipation of their trip, and the ever-present humming of the airplane, she barely managed a couple of hours of shut-eye.

  Their room was on the top floor. A low wall separating two double beds almost gave it the illusion of two bedrooms. There was also a sitting area with two deep chairs, a coffee table, and a small but luxurious bathroom.

  She opened a glass door and saw the narrowest balcony she had ever seen, no more than two feet wide, but easily eight feet long. Two chairs and a rickety table were squeezed onto it.

  “I changed my mind,” Stella said. “You’ll find me on this balcony in the mornings with coffee and a croissant, and in the courtyard the rest of the day, until it’s time to have a glass of wine on our balcony in the evening. Over the rooftops of Paris, just like in a movie.”

  “Not happening. We’re here to see something, not to hide from the world. Let’s take turns in the bathroom, freshen up, and let the fun begin.”

  “I read in The New York Times not long ago that part of the joy of exploring Paris is getting lost and wandering about. I’m not so sure I agree,” Stella unzipped her suitcase and opted for shorts, a sleeveless blouse, and slip-on canvas shoes for their afternoon excursion.

  “Where’s your adventurous spirit? But I think we’re going to be fine. You can’t take the girl scout out of this lady.” Naomi thumbed her own chest.

  “Which is exactly what I’m afraid of. I remember you got lost more than once on hikes and field trips in school!”

  Naomi pulled up a map on her phone, then read the street signs again. “Ah, this way,” she said, nodding to the right. It hadn’t taken them long to get lost in the spiderweb of Montmartre’s cobblestone streets.

  “I can’t imagine anybody walking through this quirky arrondissement and not falling in love with it,” Stella gushed as she peeked into the window of one of the many charming stores lining the streets.

  L’Objet Qui Parle, The Talking Object. What an interesting name.

  “Look at the mish-mash this store’s selling,” she called to Naomi. “I wanna go in and browse.”

  “If we continue at this rate, we’ll never make it to the top of the hill.” Naomi joined her at the storefront. “I’m hungry. Want to check out this patisserie?” Naomi pointed to a small café at the corner of the street. It wasn’t very wide, with barely enough space on both sides of the door to put up signs to advertise the daily specials, and no more than twenty feet long. Three tiny sets of chairs and tables were squeezed hazardously on the sidewalk, which was just wide enough for one adult to walk on it. She couldn’t imagine anyone with long legs, like David, sitting there and being comfortable.

  “Now you mention it, I am hungry. And I want to buy a bottle of water. It’s hotter than I expected.”

  After refueling their energy levels with ratatouille on toasted sourdough bread with basil and garlic, they continued their uphill climb. Five minutes later they rounded a corner, and Stella gasped.

  “This is un…be…lie…va…ble!” She reached for Naomi’s arm and squeezed it hard.

  Basking in bright sunlight, the Sacré-Cœur Basilica rose into the azure sky. Built of white stone, the majestic landmark had watched over Paris from the highest point in the city since 1891, and now greeted them in all her perfection.

  Stella felt tears pooling in her eyes and didn’t even try to stop them from trickling down her face, knowing it would be futile. She sat down on one of the many benches.

  I wish David could see this with me. He always hoped we could visit Paris together.

  But David would never see this with her; he made it crystal clear. She shook off the unwelcome thought.

  After taking pictures of the church, the views, and each other, they continued strolling through the idyllic streets, absorbing the flair and the symphony of languages. It was impossible to count them. This is what a meeting at the United Nations must sound like.

&nbs
p; “Do you know what Montmartre means?” Naomi interrupted her musings and peeked through iron gates into a private backyard. A small dog jumped up and down, barking at the prying intruder.

  “No.”

  “Mount of Martyrs.”

  “Kind of gloomy. Do you know why?”

  “It has something to do with pilgrimages.” Naomi didn’t elaborate further.

  The charming hamlet, a village perched atop the vast city, was a giant beehive of activity. They stopped to watch artists painting amazingly skillful portraits of tourists, sellers offering fresh fruits and mouthwatering juice, and there were little shops everywhere, as well as a small working vineyard on the slopes of Butte Montmartre.

  Stella liked how many of the houses were covered with dark green ivy or purple wisteria. To her, it was very humbling to walk where artists like Edgar Degas or Pablo Picasso painted, where Alexandre Dumas wrote some of his novels, Jacques Offenbach composed masterpieces—in short, where those geniuses lived and loved. Or suffered, if their inspiration left them, when their muse abandoned them. Maybe the name of the hill was fitting.

  She said with reverence, “Can you imagine what these buildings have seen and heard in their lifetimes, and what secrets they still keep?”

  “Maybe it’s better not to know,” Naomi chuckled.

  Reaching the bottom of the hill, Stella looked over her shoulder, hoping to catch one last glimpse of the Basilica of Our Lady of the Sacred Heart. There she stood, tall and proud, watching and protecting them.

  “Have you ever seen anything more beautiful?” she breathed, and a feeling of contentment settled around her heart.

  Meandering back to their hotel, they passed the famous windmill of the Moulin Rouge—and came face-to-face with another side of Paris. Gone was the fairy-tale world of artists, replaced by the harsh reality of greedy salesmen offering their worthless trinkets, desperate men and women using drugs in plain view, and homeless people sleeping on benches, their meager belongings squeezed into a few plastic bags.

  “This is so depressing,” Naomi said in a hushed voice. “And how must those people feel, being watched by nosy sightseers? Look at those morons on the bus taking pictures of them!”

  “I can’t even imagine,” Stella replied. It was disgusting how many gawkers held up their cell phones and snapped photos of the less fortunate ones. “Let’s keep walking. I have no desire to linger here.”

  CHAPTER 8

  Stella—July 2018

  “L

  ooks like Pierre’s recommendation is a good one,” Naomi said after they were seated at an outdoor table in a small restaurant. “Did you see the other guests’ food? I’m almost drooling.”

  “No, I don’t stare at people’s plates,” Stella said and pulled her feet out of her shoes. “Ouch, my feet hurt from all the walking. They need a good soaking before I go to bed.”

  “Guess what I brought? I never travel without my emergency stash of bath salts. Naomi to the rescue!” With a quick fist pump, she added, “You better be prepared for more walking. We’d never be able to see all of Paris, even if we had a whole week, but I think we’ll manage to hit quite a few more highlights tomorrow. I’ve put an itinerary together and will tell you at breakfast.”

  “Why not now, while we’re sitting here?” Stella stretched her legs out under their table.

  “Because I want to surprise you.”

  “Then I better be patient and wait. By the way, I don’t think I have thanked you enough for asking me to come along. This is already amazing.”

  “Yes, you did. Things just fell into place. Now, shush!” Naomi waved it off and rolled her eyes. “Where did our waiter disappear to? I’m thirsty.”

  “Give him a minute. The restaurant is packed.”

  Naomi looked around, taking in the hectic coming and going of cars, tour buses, cyclists, and pedestrians. “I count six busy streets merging at this intersection.”

  “The French seem to love their traffic circles. I noticed them on the way from the airport.”

  “I’ve read Place de Clichy,” Naomi pointed at the roundabout, “is one of only a few places in Paris where four arrondissements—the 8th, 9th, 17th, and 18th—meet at a single point. And look, all drivers know how to enter the traffic circle and go around the bronze statue in the center of it without causing accidents. Oops! I spoke too soon. A Peugeot almost took out a tour guide.”

  “How do you know he’s a tour guide?” Stella chortled.

  “Hint, hint…see the umbrella he’s holding up? And all the little ducklings wearing name tags and headphones who are following him?”

  “Are we expected to wear name tags on our tour?”

  “I don’t think so, since our group is small. There are only representatives of six or seven agencies and their guests.” Naomi made air quotes when she said guests. “It won’t take long to memorize everyone’s name. And by the end of the first day, we’ll have figured out who we want to hang out with at meals, and—even more important—who to avoid. There are always a few fellow travelers too chatty or nosy for their own good.”

  “Says the one who’s talking to every stranger,” Stella laughed.

  “True, but I prefer to be the one asking questions instead of being interrogated by some snoop.”

  “At least you don’t deny it.”

  “Nope, you know me too well,” Naomi admitted.

  The waiter arrived with two glasses of champagne on his tray and set them in front of them. They looked at each other, confused and surprised.

  “Thank you, but we didn’t order those,” Naomi told him.

  “The two gentlemen at the bar are sending their regards,” he pointed to two men in their thirties. Both were wearing dark business suits with ties hanging around their necks. The men winked and raised their own drinks in the international gesture to say “Cheers.” Naomi and Stella tried to suppress giggles and raised their glasses, mouthing “Merci.”

  “Do you think they expect an invitation to our table?” Stella whispered.

  “I hope not…since they’ll be disappointed.”

  “Maybe they’ll get the message if we don’t pay them much attention. Stop looking over there.” She pulled out her cell phone. “Oh, I have an idea. Let’s take a selfie and send it home. Luca asked me to let him know when we landed in Paris, but I forgot. He can forward it to my parents. And then I don’t wanna hear anything from anybody until we’re back in Philly.”

  “Sounds good. Mom asked me to send a short note, too. Seeing your phone reminds me of something. Did you add an International Pass to your cell phone plan? Otherwise the roaming fees will kill you.”

  “I never cancelled the plan after we went to Niagara Falls.”

  “Good.” Naomi got up. “Now move over, I’ll sit next to you. Then we have the guys in the background, and we can tell Luca and Rev how we made friends on our first night in Paris.”

  “Why would they care, and why send a photo to Rev?” Stella held up her phone. “Ugh, I hate selfies, maybe the waiter can take it.”

  “Why send a photo to Revan? Easy. I’d like to see his reaction to the guy on the right.” Naomi stopped the waiter and asked him for the favor.

  “Why?” Stella smiled for the photo, then sipped the champagne. “Mm, this is delicious. I could get used to having a glass every day before dinner.”

  Naomi went back to her own chair. “Have you never noticed how Revan is always trying to show off his chest hair? He’d be envious of the guy behind us. Rev is such a down-to-earth guy, but sometimes he can be pretty vain.”

  She leaned over the table and whispered, “Take a look next time he takes off his shirt.”

  Stella scanned through the photos and sent one to Luca. “Listen, I’ve known Rev since he and Luca were in middle school, and I have no desire to eyeball him the way you do.”

  Naomi fluttered with her hand and shook her head, “Speaking of Luca…”

  “Not an
other discussion about chest hair, please. He’s my brother.”

  “Did he say anything about Jo?” Naomi went on.

  “What’s Luca got to do with Jo? She’s your cousin.” She made it a point to look at the menu. Her friend was like a bloodhound when she thought she was hot on the trail of something. “I’ll have the linguine with salmon. And you?”

  “Sounds good, I’ll have the same.”

  After they ordered, Naomi continued, “Jo mentioned she and Luca went out for drinks a few times. She used to text me almost daily, but she’s been quiet. It makes me suspicious.”

  “Maybe she’s busy with her job. Isn’t she trying to build up her client base as a personal trainer? And she’s teaching yoga a few times a week. It’s a lot. New York City’s a tough place to establish a clientele.”

  “Mark my words. I can smell it! Something’s going on. She’s ‘I’m in love’ quiet.” Naomi tapped the side of her nose. “Ask Luca.”

  “I’m not about to ask Luca. If they had drinks, great. Having a beer with a friend doesn’t mean anything. We accepted the champagne from those two Casanovas, and we’re not doing anything with them. By the way, look over. They found someone else to hang out with. Good, we’re off the hook.”

  “I think I’ll ask Revan. I’m sure men talk about their latest conquests with their best friends,” Naomi went on.

  “Now Jo is Luca’s conquest? You’re terrible,” Stella choked out. “Nam, they’ve known each other as long as you and I have been friends. They happen to live in the same city. Leave ’em alone.”

  “I can’t. Because she’s my cousin, and since I’m five days older than she is, it’s my responsibility to look out for her.”

  Naomi could come across as bossy, but she meant well, and protected those she loved. “I think she can do it for herself,” Stella said.