Page 83 of The Last Letter of Rachel Ellsworth

She took a breath, focusing on the beauty of the patterns of sunlight cast by screens overhead, patterns of ornate grids, flowers, concentric circles. It made her think of the stained-glass windows at Notre-Dame. “I read somewhere that these kinds of shapes express the same sacred geometry as the medieval windows in cathedrals.”

“I can see that,” Mariah said. “Did you guys go to Notre-Dame?”

“No,” Veronica said. “We did a Hemingway tour.”

“I figured you went out when I was sleeping.”

Henry looped an arm around Mariah’s neck. “And you were right.”

She laughed.

They made more turns, left, right, then into a tiny clear alley and up to a doorway, carved and elegant, where the space opened into reception. When they were escorted to their rooms, the journey echoed the medina, another winding trip, up some stairs and down and around, walking along areas open to the floors below, and light coming in from above. Little areas were set with chairs or settees in bright colors, pink and blue and patterned, in velvet and stripes and motifs she didn’t know how to name.

And everywhere were tiles, on the floors and walls and posts and tables. Intricately laid in patterns of rectangles and diamonds and flowers and color. The opulence lit something in her deepest heart, and she thought of Rachel expressing the “so muchness” of India and how much she’d loved it. The extravagance thrilled Veronica, made her feel more and more alive with every step.

She stopped in an alcove to admire a chair with a yellow cushion. Sunlight fell in angular blocks across it, the very picture of serenity.Sit here,it said.Breathe.

“I feel kind of drunk in here,” she said.

Henry touched her hand, the back of his knuckles to the back of hers.

“We’re all close together,” Mariah said, opening a door that led to a lavishly appointed bedroom that overlooked a patio with bougainvillea growing in pots, and greenery tumbling from overhead. Again the roof was covered with grid-work and glass, which probably helped shield the area from the heat.

Two other doors opened to the same space. “You can pick,” Mariah said.

“Oh, that’s okay. You choose.”

“I’ve been here about twenty times,” she said, a soft smile making her look younger. “You haven’t.”

She thought of Sophie’s beautiful old face, and the walk of shame, and the ridiculous surprise of this entire trip. Maybe she could just accept the gift. “Okay,” she said. “Thank you.”

All three rooms were beautiful, of course, appointed with brass and gold and tile and velvet. The bathrooms were a delight, tiled with flower patterns meeting stars meeting the soothing stretch of flat rectangles. She chose the room withallthe details and colors and a deep tub tiled in turquoise and dark blue.

Who would she be in this room? How would it change her?

“How long are we here?”

“Three days,” Mariah said. “Then to India.”

She would be sad, Veronica knew, but she wouldn’t think about that yet. Today, she would be here, in this place, with these people and see what happened. Out of her bag, she took the copy ofOne Thousand and One Nightsshe’d picked up in Paris and laid it on the nightstand. It looked just right.

They agreed to take some downtime, closing their doors to the patio. Despite her delight, Veronica was tired, and crawled between the crisp linens to nap. When she woke up in the red room with its stars and moons and brass lamps and red chandelier, she felt like Scheherazade. What story would she tell to stay?

She washed her face and neck with a cool cloth, looking at her face in the mirror. In the soft light, she looked younger, happier. The circles beneath her eyes were gone, and even her mouth looked fuller, as if she’d relaxed.

An intrusive thought about the apartment and Spence and Jenna refusing to help her knocked into her consciousness, and she physically shook her head.Not now. It would be Christmas in two days and she wanted to forget all the trouble and drama back home. When would she ever be back in this magical place?

She sent a quick text to Ben, asking him how he was feeling, and one to Jenna, telling her not to forget to get her things out of the apartment.

Quietly, she opened the doors to the patio and let in a breeze. Soon they would go find some dinner, but she had some time to simply enjoy this space. She settled on the wide settee and propped an embroidered pillow in her lap, gazing out at the tumble of scarlet flowers, listening to the soothing sound of the fountain. It was easier to look at her life from this distance. All the things that had been causing her so much pain seemed suddenly so small and strange and far away. Although she’d been afraid she’d be bereft without the close company of her children, she found she was doing all right on her own. She’d survived them growing up and landed in this new chapter of her life. And while she was angry at both Spence and her landlord, those seemed small and far away, too.

Sitting here was what mattered.

A gray cat sat beside the table, cleaning its paw, completely at home. Where did they come from, these cats? She had no idea, but it delighted her.Cats killed scorpions,she thought, remembering something from childhood. Mice and rodents and big bugs. Useful creatures.

And beautiful. The sleek fur and curl of paw, the thorough way it cleaned every single molecule of the space between its claws. A cat seemed just right in this world.

She thought of Rachel’s letters home from India. It was fortuitous that Veronica could come to these places naively, as Rachel had. If she had come to all these locations with impressions already formed, it would be hard to treat them with a fresh eye. The idea of trying to get those observations on the page gave her a sense of excitement, a stirring somewhere deep in her DNA.