If so, it was a perfect metaphor for her life thus far.

Sure, she’d done a lot. There wasn’t a thing about her past she wasn’t proud of. She’d had wonderful children, a good career. Even her marriage had been good—for a time. But they were all happy accidents. None of those things had been the result of doing exactly what she wanted.

“If it kills me, I’m going to see the sights I want,” she said in a loud voice, so loud that a couple of other tourists looked at her like she was insane.

She shrugged and continued on, feeling lighter and more resolved. As she did, she made a mental list: Rent the most gorgeous costume at Versailles, no matter what the expense. Be outgoing and talk with as many people as possible. Dance with at least one handsome man. Be the envy of the ballroom floor. Make this night absolutely unforgettable . . .

Some of the things got jumbled in her head, but the last one hung there. Make this night absolutely unforgettable . . .

Yes. Tonight, at Versailles, she would do everything she wanted. Every last thing.

*

But by the time she left the cemetery and got herself a chicken taco—yes, she realized she was in France but aromas coming from the food truck were positively stop-in-her-tracks deadly—it was almost one. There was absolutely no way she could retrace her steps, go all the way to Saint Chapelle and Notre Dame, and be back at a reasonable hour.

Maybe there’s something else in my itinerary that’s nearby, she said, licking the taco grease off her fingers and reaching into her bag for the notebook. I should also write down my itinerary for tonight. Make this night absolutely unforgettable . . .

After rummaging for a few moments, she gasped.

It was big. Full. Took up most of the space in her purse. And now, she realized . . . it was gone.

“I must’ve left it in the hotel,” she said aloud, remembering how she’d been studying it the prior night before bed, trying to salvage her sightseeing time. She could even picture it, sitting right on the night table. “I can’t believe I forgot it.”

She rushed back to the hotel, and with every step she felt more naked. She’d never gone into a board meeting without her trusty folio with her agenda. It might as well have been surgically attached to her hip; it was that dear to her.

But she’d been out of sorts that morning after getting another text from Lily. Even though she’d responded that everything was great, Lily had said, You just don’t sound happy. Diana had laughed. All she’d written were two words: Everything’s great!! As if Lily could sense her unease all the way across the Atlantic?

When Diana had responded, asking what she meant, Lily had said: You never use double punctuation in your texts.

That was very true. It seemed like overkill. She’d responded, Don’t be silly, I am doing wonderfully. Off to see the Bastille plaza and Notre Dame!