Because there was an invisible egg timer in the back of her mind, slowly pouring out grains of sand, each one representing another moment that she would no longer have to get to the end of her so-called adventure.

The idea of it all, that she could even contemplate staying in Paris, terrified her. But there was a small part of her, a voice that had been ignored for oh-so-long, the one that had been trying to get her to pay attention to herself, to her secrets and dreams, which was shouting a little louder, asking Emily to remember what it felt like to experience something new.

“You’re right.” Tyler sighed as he leant against the wall and closed his eyes.

Emily had forgotten about this side of him, the side which looked for penitence even when it wasn’t due. The boy who was so adept at making people feel sorry for him, despite all the advantages he possessed.

It’s Sunday, she thought again. A day of rest. One for roast beef with all the trimmings, the smell of which would hit them as they opened the back door on their return from church with the bells still ringing clear and true. A day for long walks along the beach, sharp winds in winter to blow all the cobwebs away, as her grandmother used to say, then back to sit and tackle the crossword with a mug of tea and a pile of homemade cookies.

Except they didn’t taste the same without her. Nothing tasted, or sounded, or felt the same since she had died. Even before that, when she was given her final diagnosis, decided to forgo further treatment, chose instead to go graciously, whatever the hell that meant.

What were her Sundays now, other than a mess of thoughts she had no idea what to do with? And where did all the days go? How did it come to the end of another week without her even noticing?

“Wait here,” Tyler said, and she watched with a tilt of her head as he picked up their suitcases. “I’ll drop the bags at the hotel, then we can go and grab something to eat.”

“I’m not hungry.” Emily heard her muttered response, berating herself for acting like a petulant child. But he was the one who had insisted on leaving when they did. Tyler had been the one to book a train ticket without even asking if it was okay with her. He was the one in such a hurry to leave Paris and now they were here, in another town where her grandmother had once lived, long before Emily was born.

Retracing her steps, Emily followed the narrow street out toward a harbor lined with designer stores and overpriced restaurants. Beyond the super yachts, she could just make out the Maures mountains, thought how much quieter life would be over there.

What made you stay? she wondered as she walked along the quayside, looked up to watch the clouds roll by. She saw a handful of birds that dipped and turned through the blue and followed them as they flew up and over the harbor wall. In the distance she could see a round stone structure, on top of which was an unflagged ship’s mast.