Read Online Chasing Sylvia Beach by Cynthia Morris - Free Book Online Page B

a chain of ruby glass beads. Her hair was as neatly arranged as it had been when Lily first met her. In comparison, Lily felt unkempt. She tried to read her own book but couldn’t focus. She began obsessing over Daniel, missing him, and spinning fantasies of their future life together. When she tired of that, she peeked over the woman’s shoulder to see what she was reading. Poetry, laid out in neat short lines, marched down the page. Lily sniffed. She didn’t have the patience for poetry. Stories led her somewhere, and poems usually tricked her into looking at her own life. She wanted to get into other people’s lives. Lily was staring at the page, thinking about Sylvia Beach, when the woman spoke.
    “It would be easier if I read it to you.”
    Lily shrugged out of her daze. “I’m sorry. How rude of me. I wasn’t reading over your shoulder. I was just—”
    “That’s okay.” The woman closed her book, carefully inserting a bookmark between the pages. Lily wished she hadn’t disturbed her. “I’m Louise. And you are?”
    “Lily Heller. Do you go to Paris often?”
    “I do. It gets a little tiring after awhile.” She sighed and brushed the front of her wool jacket. “How about you? Been to Paris much?”
    “I lived there as a student for almost a year,” Lily said. “Are you traveling for work?”
    Louise said that she was, but didn’t reveal anything else. Instead, she got Lily talking. Lily told her about the festival at Shakespeare and Company. She told her about her job at Capitol Books and the kinship she felt with Sylvia Beach. Louise knew of the bookseller, which excited Lily. During their in-flight meal, Lily asked about Louise’s work.
    “Oh, it’s boring. I can’t explain the details. No one understands and it’s a big waste of time.”
    Lily tried not to feel offended that Louise thought she was too dumb to understand her job. Louise was about her mother’s age, but Lily couldn’t imagine her mother and Louise talking. Louise was too proper, too cosmopolitan. Lily pressed a sliver of butter into the hard roll, scattering crumbs everywhere. Then she confessed to Louise what she told customers at the bookstore.
    “I want to be a writer someday.”
    “Do you?” Louise glanced at her sideways. “I see you doing something rather more exciting than that.”
    “What could be more exciting than being a writer? Making things up, telling stories. I love it. I read a lot.”
    “Mm-hmm. More exciting? Read less, live more. That’s the key, dear Lily,” Louise answered, tidying the debris from her meal. Lily’s tray was littered with crumbs and the crumpled plastic bag that had held the utensils and salad dressing. The flight attendant came through, taking the trays and removing the garbage. Lily was jealous of the simplicity of the woman’s work. She knew what she did and just did it. The bookstore was great for now, but what would Lily do in the future? Louise was right. She should be doing something more exciting.
    “And what do your parents think about this trip?”
    “Well, my father thinks it is a good idea because it was his. He bought me the plane ticket.”
    “And your mother?”
    Lily’s throat constricted. She tried to speak but her voice came out in a croak. Outside the window, the night sky seemed both far away and incredibly close.
    “She’s dead. The last time I was in Paris, she passed away and I had to come home early.” The last word clutched in her throat and she had to focus very hard on the hem of her dress to not cry. After a minute, she spoke again.
    “It’s been over a year but it still gets me sometimes. And now, going back to Paris, to the scene of the . . . of the finding out, I’m scared.”
    Louise nodded. “That’s understandable.”
    Lily blew her nose. Louise was friendly enough but aloof. She hadn’t done any of the normal consoling gestures: the patting on the shoulder, the desperate lunge for the tissue to stop the flow of emotion, the