Page 35 of The Wilder Widows

The limo continued winding down the idyllic streets until we pulled up in front of a grand hotel. When it stopped, Alice pulled her purse into her lap. “This is the best place to stay in Paris. Ed and I came here a couple times when he was traveling for work.”

Even though I’d wanted to pay my own way, since Alice insisted on staying at all the best places and flying first class, she’d picked up the bill for our plane tickets and suites in Las Vegas, and now in Paris. Though we all had some savings and life insurance money from our husbands, none of us could have afforded to travel in the kind of luxury Alice demanded. And even though it made me feel a bit guilty, I was grateful to get to enjoy the luxurious things I’d never imagined someone like me could experience.

The limo door opened, and we all filed out, each stopping to stretch while the driver grabbed our bags. I’d spent more time on planes this week than I had my whole life before this, and every muscle in my body ached from all the travel. I noticed Alice take a tender step and wince when she landed on her left foot.

“Still bothering you?” I asked while we started inside.

“It’s nothing. I’m fine.” She dismissed my comment with a wave, but her unnaturally smooth skin crinkled as she grimaced with each step.

Marge furrowed her brow while she watched Alice hobble toward the hotel entrance. “Maybe we should get you some crutches. You look uncomfortable.”

Alice scoffed and spun to meet us. “I will not be caught dead in Paris on some hideous sticks. They won’t go with any of my outfits. I’m just a little sore from my return to the stage. I’ll be fine.”

She spun on her heel and started off, one awkward step at a time. After exchanging a glance, the three of us followed. When we arrived at the counter behind her, Alice was already barking orders at the front desk receptionist. Being the most seasoned traveler of our bunch, she took over booking all our flights and hotels, and I was grateful we had her. I wouldn’t know the first thing about reserving a room or plane tickets. Harold and I rarely traveled except for the occasional wedding or to visit our grandkids, and when we did, he always took care of the arrangements. Now Alice handled it, and I was glad this wasn’t one more skill I’d need to learn as a widow. Figuring out taxes and paying bills had been more than enough for me.

This whole trip had been such a whirlwind. It was hard to believe this was real and not some bizarre dream I was having after taking cold medicine. When I’d started this Wilder Widows club, I had intentions of knitting circles and baking tips. Hopping on a plane and jetting around the world was never part of the plan. But as nervous as I was to step out of my comfort zone and join these women, I had to admit I was having the time of my life.

“We’ll need those four rooms next to each other if you can,” Sylvie said while she helped Alice sort out our reservations.

“Maybe put one of them on the opposite side of the hotel.” Marge chuckled, and we all furrowed our brows. “You know, since Doris will be having a hootie and hollering away. I don’t need to have that sound burned into my mind for eternity. Keep her room away from ours.”

With a gasp, I clutched my chest, and my eyes darted to the receptionist who only pinched her brows together and continued clicking away at the keyboard. At least I didn’t think she understood Marge. Alice and Sylvie burst into laughter, and their mirth-filled eyes raked over me once again.

“Stop it!” I hollered in hushed tones. “All of you, stop it! I’m not having a,” I leaned in and whispered lower, “hootie. It’s not happening. I want a room next to all of you. I’ll be scared all by myself!”

I could see the enjoyment in their glimmering eyes at how uncomfortable this made me. While I wanted to crawl out of my skin again, they only seemed egged on by the horror I knew I wore plain on my face.

“Lighten up, Doris.” Alice smirked. “We’re just having a go at you.”

I crossed my arms and did my best to level them with a glare, hoping I was getting my point across but knowing it probably fell short. Scolding had never been my strong suit. Harold was the firm one with the kids while I tried to bribe them with baked goods. I narrowed my eyes and tried anyway. “Well, stop it. I’m going to get on a plane and go home if you don’t stop.”

“We’re just teasing.” Sylvie reached out and touched my arm. “All in good fun.”

“Well, it’s not. I’m not comfortable with it at all.” I lifted my chin and pursed my lips, hoping that maybe, just maybe, they would stop.

“Fine. Four rooms together,” Alice said to the receptionist, who never stopped typing.

“Oui. Four rooms, all side by side, Miss Addington.” His thick French accent caressed every word. “Should I have your bags brought up?”

“Yes. Merci,” she answered while she took the keycards from him. “Come on, ladies. Let’s go get refreshed before we hit the town.”

We followed the concierge to the elevator and rode up in silence. When we got to our floor, one by one we filed down the hall and broke off to enter our rooms. Mine was last, and I followed him through the door, stopping to catch my breath when I saw the beautiful room before me. Elegant curtains dangled from the windows framing a spectacular view of Paris. The four-poster bed was far more elegant than any I’d ever slept in with its innate carvings and crisp linens. Every inch of this room screamed luxury. When I traveled with Harold to visit the kids, we always stayed at a Super 8 since he got a discount, and this was a far cry from that.

“Will you be needing anything else?” the concierge asked while he waited at the door.

“No. Thank you. It’s beautiful.”

A long pause kept him at the door, and I remembered then I’d seen the others slip him some money on their way in.

“Oh! Hold on!” Remembering this wasn’t a Super 8, I fumbled through my purse and opened my wallet, pulling out a few dollar bills. “Thank you.”

“Merci.” He bowed before closing the door behind him.

Alone at last, I fell back on the bed with a sigh. I glanced out the window and watched the fingers of sunlight stretch across Paris, and it took my breath away. How was someone like me, a suburban girl from Minnesota, in a luxurious hotel room in Paris?

A knock on the adjoining door startled me, and I almost slipped off the bed.

“You in there having a hootie?” Marge asked from the other side, and I heard the laughter peppering the words. “Don’t be too loud. I gotta call and let my mom know I landed safely. Don’t want her to think I’m staying in a brothel.”