The paper was local. His thoughts had crossed the border.
The Travel Section
Grandpa Arthur had reached Paris without leaving the sofa.
The local paper lay open across his knees. On the travel page, a photograph showed the Eiffel Tower beyond a row of trees. Another showed a bridge, with people walking beside the river.
“Bonjour,” he said to the tower.
It did not answer, but Grandpa considered that a promising beginning. He turned the page and found a small article about a garden. He folded its corner down, then opened the paper again when he heard the front door.
Grandma Rose came in carrying her gardening gloves.
“Bonjour,” Grandpa called.
She stopped beside the sofa. “Have I come into the wrong house?”
“Not at all. You’ve arrived in Paris.”
A Passenger Arrives
Grandma set down her gloves and sat beside him. “That was a quick journey from the garden.”
“I’ve reserved you a seat.” Grandpa patted the cushion. “The tower is over there.”
He pointed to the photograph. Grandma leaned closer.
“And what do we say when we arrive?” she asked.
“Bonjour.”
“And when we order tea?”
Grandpa thought for a moment. “Bonjour, but with a hopeful expression.”
She laughed. “Is that the only French word you’ve packed?”
“It had a ticket. The others weren’t ready.”
Grandma looked at the folded corner. “What’s this stop?”
“I thought you might like it.” He unfolded the page. The article described a garden with paths and places to sit. “Would you choose that, or the bridge?”
“The garden first,” she said. “Then I’d like to sit somewhere and watch people go by.”
Grandpa considered the itinerary. “Does watching people count as a stop?”
“It does if I’m sitting down.”
One Stop Each
They took turns choosing places from the paper. Grandpa chose the tower; Grandma chose the garden. He added the bridge, and she added a pause beside the river.
“How long shall we stay there?” he asked.
“Long enough for you to learn another word.”
“That could be a very long afternoon.”
Grandma pointed to a photograph of a café. “We could have tea while you practise.”
“Bonjour,” Grandpa said to the cup on the table.
“Excellent. The cup looks delighted.”
As they turned the page, a smaller notice caught Grandma’s eye. It listed events at their own town’s gardens, including a walk among the autumn flowers the following week.
“We could actually go to that one,” she said.
Grandpa read the date. “Would you like to?”
“Yes. And afterward we could sit and watch people go by.”
“I know just the passenger to invite.” He circled the notice and wrote the day on the calendar beside the sofa.
Home Without Unpacking
They returned to the travel page for one last look at the bridge. Grandma traced its curve above the river; Grandpa found a tiny boat in the photograph that he had missed before.
“Is that our boat?” she asked.
“If you like. It appears to have room for two.”
“And the luggage?”
Grandpa examined the picture. “We seem to have packed very lightly.”
At last he folded the paper and set it on the table, leaving the local garden notice on top. Grandma picked up her gloves.
“Are we home already?” she asked.
“Yes,” Grandpa said. “And the sofa didn’t lose a single piece of luggage.”
Livora Gracely ♥
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