"I know know we'll see her again," Lydie said. we'll see her again," Lydie said.

"No, I mean us," Patrice said. "We'll see each other a few more times, of course. And I'll come see you off when you go, but Michael will be here then, and Didier. This is our good-bye."

Lydie, who had been thinking the same thing, took Patrice's hand as they walked through the airport. "We'll stay in close touch," she said.

"Yes," Patrice agreed. "We'll write letters. Our phone bills will be terrible. You'll take vacations in France."

"And you'll come to America for Christmas," Lydie said.

Travelers hurried past them, laden down with luggage and blue-and-yellow plastic bags from the duty-free shops. Patrice and Lydie strolled along, like two friends wandering through the roses in the Bagatelle.

"Finally I understand what you were saying, weeks ago," Patrice said, "about always calculating the time difference between Paris and New York. I'll be doing it myself now. Subtracting six hours to figure the time in New York, adding seven for the time in Manila."

"And you know Kelly and I will be thinking of you, on Paris time," Lydie said. "We've been on it ourselves. Once you've lived in a time zone, well..."

"You set your clock by it," Patrice said.

"When it's dinnertime in New York, it's midnight in Paris," Lydie said.

They walked in silence for a while, out of the airport, into the short-term parking lot.

"What do you say you take us for a spin?" Patrice said, throwing Lydie the keys to Didier's big silver Citroen.

"Great idea," Lydie said. She walked around to the driver's side and unlocked the door.

"We'll drive around till teatime and then sit outside in the Jardin du Palais Royal," Patrice said. "It's warm enough out, don't you think?"

"It is," Lydie said, remembering that that was where she and Patrice had first met. They would sit in the shadow of Richelieu's palace, gazing into the blue, October sky, and they would drink a toast: a farewell, but also a celebration. Lydie would raise her gla.s.s to Paris, to visions of forgiveness, to Michael, to Patrice, to Didier, to her father, to her mother, to the Seine, to the Salle des Quatre Saisons, to Madame de Sevigne, to the "Ma.r.s.eillaise" and the "Star-Spangled Banner," to St. Patrick, to Kelly in the Philippines and Kelly in America.

They climbed into the car and Lydie started the engine. She revved it twice. She fastened her seat belt, watched to see that Patrice fastened hers, then s.h.i.+fted into gear. Lydie drove very carefully out of the airport parking lot. At the stop sign she looked both ways. Patrice found a radio station playing a French variety of rock and roll. Then Lydie pulled onto the Peripherique, hit the toggle marked "overdrive," and drove.

LUANNE RICE is the author of twenty-eight novels, most recently The Deep Blue Sea for Beginners, The Geometry of Sisters, Last Kiss, Light of the Moon, What Matters Most, The Edge of Winter, Sandcastles, Summer of Roses, Summer's The Deep Blue Sea for Beginners, The Geometry of Sisters, Last Kiss, Light of the Moon, What Matters Most, The Edge of Winter, Sandcastles, Summer of Roses, Summer's Child Child, and Beach Girls Beach Girls, among many New York Times New York Times bestsellers. She lives in New York City and Old Lyme, Connecticut. bestsellers. She lives in New York City and Old Lyme, Connecticut.

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