Danielle Steel - Legacy

They were offering her everything she needed-a job, decent pay, a part-time schedule that would allow her to write the book about Wachiwi if she wanted to, and an apartment for little money if she wanted that. It was all right there, if she took it. She didn’t know what to do. She stared at the e-mail and then walked around her apartment.

She never went to bed that night, and she saw the sun come up from her living-room window. She wanted to ask someone’s advice, like Amy or her mother, but she was afraid they’d tell her to take it. And what did they know? It was easy for them to say. What if it was a terrible mistake? If she hated it? If she was lonely? If she got sick in Paris? If she missed a great job in Boston because she was in Paris? She had a thousand worst-case scenarios ready. But she also knew that no one was offering her a job in Boston, or hadn’t yet. Her CV hadn’t shaken the world, and no one had responded. And what if they didn’t, and she had no job here either? What if… what if… what if… She had worn herself out totally by ten o’clock that morning, worrying about it. And they had asked her to respond soon because they had to fill the position. They said that the woman taking maternity leave was leaving immediately, and they wanted Brigitte to be there in two weeks. Two weeks to wrap up her life in Boston. What life? she asked herself. She had no life. She had an apartment she had never really liked, she wasn’t dating anyone, and she had been out of work for four months. She had started a book, maybe, which she could write anywhere, and maybe better in Paris. But what about Amy? Her mother? She was crying by noon, and by late afternoon she was panicked. The phone rang at six o’clock, and she was terrified it was her mother. She didn’t want her to hear how upset she was or have to tell her why. She felt like a four-year-old, and she wanted to hide in the closet. The phone went on ringing. She went to check caller ID and didn’t recognize the number, so she answered, and she was even more stunned when she did. It was Ted. She hadn’t heard from him since he left. She was shocked to hear him on the phone, and couldn’t imagine what he wanted. Maybe he was sorry he’d left her. Then maybe she wouldn’t have to go to Paris. It was just too scary.

“Hi,” she said, trying to sound casual, and feeling stupid as she did it. They knew each other too well to play games or at least they used to.

“How are you, Brig?” He sounded happy and in good spirits. She had no idea what time it was for him, or exactly where he was.

“I’m fine. Is something wrong?” Maybe he was in a hospital and needed her. Or had too much to drink, and drunk-dialed. Anything was possible after four months of silence.

“No, everything’s great here. I was wondering how you are. I’m sorry things got so botched up when I left. It was hard.”

“Yeah, it was. I’m okay,” she said, but her voice sounded small. He didn’t seem to notice. “I went to Paris and did some research for my mother.” She realized that he’d never known she got laid off. She hadn’t wanted him to know.

“Did you take some time off?” he sounded puzzled.

“Uh… actually… I took a break from work. I’m writing.”

She had been writing for ten days, but she didn’t say that. At least she was doing something. He was running a dig for a major university, and she didn’t want to sound pathetic.

“That’s great.” He didn’t ask her what she was writing.

“How’s the dig?”

“Fantastic. We’re pulling out stuff every day. It was a little slow in the beginning, but it’s been really good for the last month. So what else are you up to?”

“Not much.” She hated sounding like such a loser, and then before she could stop herself, she wasn’t sure if she said it to impress him, or to ask his advice, she blurted out, “I just got offered a job in Paris. Ted, I don’t know what to do.” She was crying again, but he couldn’t hear it. “I just found out last night.”

“What kind of job?”

“Admissions office at American University of Paris. Part time, with an apartment.”

“Are you kidding? That’s right up your alley. Take it.” She was afraid he would say that.

“Why? What if I hate it?”

“How bad can it be in Paris? We don’t even have indoor plumbing here.” She was suddenly glad she wasn’t with him. “If you hate it,” he added, “you can quit and come home. You need a change, Brig. I think we both kind of outgrew Boston, and didn’t want to face it.”

“And each other,” she said honestly.

“Yeah, and that too. It’s hard to make changes. Things get so comfortable and you don’t want to move. Maybe it would do you good to be a little uncomfortable for a while, and do something different. You can learn French.”

“It’s an American school,” she reminded him.

“In a French city. I don’t know, Brig. It’s up to you, but it sounds like an answer to a prayer to me. You’ve done Boston, you’re good at what you do. And if they’re offering you part time, it’ll give you time to write the book you’re working on. What the hell, give it a shot. Sometimes I think ‘what the hell’ is the right answer. You’ve got nothing to lose. Nothing is irreversible except dying. And moving to Paris for a while sure won’t kill you. You might love it.” She had been so busy thinking about everything that could go wrong that she hadn’t thought of that. But he was right. What if she loved it? It was the one scenario she hadn’t considered.

“I know you get scared, Brig,” he went on. “We all do. I was scared shitless when I came here, but I wouldn’t have missed it for anything. I know what happened with your father really shook you. But sometimes you’ve got to take a chance. You’re too young not to, and you’ll probably regret it forever if you don’t take it. That’s what I was afraid would happen here. If I had passed up this dig for us, I’d have resented it forever. I didn’t want that to happen.” She understood, but it had hurt anyway.

“You could have taken me.” She had never said that to him before he left, and it felt good to get it out now.

“No, I couldn’t. You’d hate it here. Believe me, it’s not Paris. It’s hot and dusty and dirty. I love it, but the living conditions are squalid. I knew that from the digs I’d visited. You would have been out of here in ten minutes,” he said, and she smiled thinking about it.

“Yeah, you’re probably right. It sounds awful.”

“But it’s what I love to do. Now you’ve got to do what you love to do. Write the book, go to Paris, change careers, find a guy you’re crazy about, who’s not going to run off to Egypt after six years. I miss you, Brig, but I’m happy. I hope this winds up being right for both of us in the end. That’s why I called you. I’ve been worrying about you, and feeling guilty. I know it was a shit thing to do, dumping everything after six years. But I had to do this. I want you to find what you have to do. Maybe it’s Paris. I hope it is.”

“Maybe so,” she said pensively. It was good to hear him, but he didn’t sound like hers anymore. And probably never was. He was someone she had known, but they had never really been connected. She knew that now. And maybe they never would have been right for each other. Maybe she would never find the right guy. But Ted made sense. She couldn’t just sit there forever in Boston, waiting for life to happen. She had to grab it by the horns, no matter how scary it was or what the risks were. And how risky could Paris be? He was right about that too. What if she loved it? And if she didn’t, she’d come home. She was suddenly glad he had called her. He had given her courage when she needed it. His call had turned out to be a gift.