““Whewww.” Caroly’s blue eyes are wide, darting all around. Her grip on the wheel has blanched her knuckles, betraying the calm she’s been faking all the way from the Avignon train station. Those fists match my heart, tight and bloodless. But we’ve made it. I give her shoulder a squeeze and a pat. “Well done.” With a comically hysterical sigh, she switches off the engine and collapses over the wheel, honking the horn and startling herself. She laughs and straightens, and drops the keys in her pu...rse. “Okay. We survived.” Yes. A cab ride from Paris’ Latin Quarter to the Gare de Lyon train station, two and a half hours to Avignon. Thirty minutes in the hire-car parking lot while Caroly re-taught herself how to drive, not having done so in five years. And finally an hour’s journey—with a detour to collect groceries—to our destination. Any one of those steps on its own would be enough to mire me in churning, nauseous worry for days beforehand. All of them together, strung in a terrifying marathon?MoreLessRead More Read Less
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