comment out of my head. She hadn’t said it in a mean way, or as if she were trying to call attention to some giant flaw — she’d said it like it wasn’t a big deal at all. As if everyone in the world knew I didn’t take a single step without the approval of Hannah and Pilar.
Well … do you?
I didn’t have time to answer the question — or even think about it — before I opened the door to the room.
“There you are!” Pilar said.
“Where have you been?” Hannah demanded.
I took a second to hang my bag in the closet before I faced them. “Hi,” I said.
“Seriously,” Hannah said.
“I was out.”
“With?”
What would happen if I said, Mind your onions ?
I didn’t dare find out.
“With Jules,” I said. “And Audrey.”
I threw the Audrey thing in because I didn’t want them spending too much time thinking (or asking) about what Jules and I did all day by ourselves. It was a calculated risk, and it seemed to work.
“Ugh, really? Why?” Hannah looked up at me, a cross expression on her face. But then she started telling me about a store she and Pilar had found that sold both brands of jeans she’d been hoping to buy, and I knew I was off the hook. “AAAAAANNND LOOK OVER here,” Hannah said. “Another dead person. What a shock.”
I cringed. Hannah was in rare form that morning. Even Peely had tried to shush her once — we were in a church, after all — and was rewarded with a look that might as well have been a slap. So now neither of us said anything.
We were at the Basilique de Saint-Denis, where the kings and queens of France were buried. I was glad it was on our itinerary. As time passed since our day at Versailles, the rational part of my brain began to get the upper hand, insisting (to my relief) that I hadn’t really seen a ghost. Getting a look at the final burial site of Marie Antoinette and her husband seemed like a good way to reinforce that. Once I could assure myself that the queen was safely stowed away in a massive stone casket, I’d stop thinking she was following me around.
All the remains were in giant marble boxes, like above-ground coffins, and atop each one was a lid that had a sculpture of the occupant in a state of eternal rest, lying down, hands pressed together in prayer. It was amazing how different they all were — and how well-preserved, even though some of them were about eight hundred years old.
At the feet of most of the men were lions, and at the feet of the women were dogs. Many of the dogs were sleeping, some were holding the women’s robes in their mouths … one had even caught a rabbit. Considering how morbid the whole place was, they were pretty adorable.
Finally, we came upon the memorial for Marie Antoinette and Louis XVI.
As I looked up at the sculptures of the late king and queen, instead of the sense of reassurance I’d been hoping for, I immediately felt ill at ease, like there was a trickle of freezing water running down my spine.
“This is different,” Pilar said in a hushed voice. “They don’t look peaceful, they just look … sad.”
All of the other memorials featured people in peaceful repose. Marie and Louis, on the other hand, were depicted kneeling at prayer benches — looking the opposite of restful.
Louis was praying, and he looked sort of resigned. Marie clutched her chest, staring down at the floor like her heart was breaking. The carvings were amazingly elaborate, with intricately draped fabric and royal crests made of stone.
Brynn gazed up at them. “Why don’t they get to lie down?”
“A good question,” Jules said. He spoke loudly enough for the whole group to hear, but still in a tone that had a hush to it. “This memorial was constructed in 1830. It contains only the partial remains of the king and queen. So they are not technically at rest here. Also, their positions represent the tragic circumstances of their deaths.”
They are not technically at rest here.
My stomach tightened. I turned
Well … do you?
I didn’t have time to answer the question — or even think about it — before I opened the door to the room.
“There you are!” Pilar said.
“Where have you been?” Hannah demanded.
I took a second to hang my bag in the closet before I faced them. “Hi,” I said.
“Seriously,” Hannah said.
“I was out.”
“With?”
What would happen if I said, Mind your onions ?
I didn’t dare find out.
“With Jules,” I said. “And Audrey.”
I threw the Audrey thing in because I didn’t want them spending too much time thinking (or asking) about what Jules and I did all day by ourselves. It was a calculated risk, and it seemed to work.
“Ugh, really? Why?” Hannah looked up at me, a cross expression on her face. But then she started telling me about a store she and Pilar had found that sold both brands of jeans she’d been hoping to buy, and I knew I was off the hook. “AAAAAANNND LOOK OVER here,” Hannah said. “Another dead person. What a shock.”
I cringed. Hannah was in rare form that morning. Even Peely had tried to shush her once — we were in a church, after all — and was rewarded with a look that might as well have been a slap. So now neither of us said anything.
We were at the Basilique de Saint-Denis, where the kings and queens of France were buried. I was glad it was on our itinerary. As time passed since our day at Versailles, the rational part of my brain began to get the upper hand, insisting (to my relief) that I hadn’t really seen a ghost. Getting a look at the final burial site of Marie Antoinette and her husband seemed like a good way to reinforce that. Once I could assure myself that the queen was safely stowed away in a massive stone casket, I’d stop thinking she was following me around.
All the remains were in giant marble boxes, like above-ground coffins, and atop each one was a lid that had a sculpture of the occupant in a state of eternal rest, lying down, hands pressed together in prayer. It was amazing how different they all were — and how well-preserved, even though some of them were about eight hundred years old.
At the feet of most of the men were lions, and at the feet of the women were dogs. Many of the dogs were sleeping, some were holding the women’s robes in their mouths … one had even caught a rabbit. Considering how morbid the whole place was, they were pretty adorable.
Finally, we came upon the memorial for Marie Antoinette and Louis XVI.
As I looked up at the sculptures of the late king and queen, instead of the sense of reassurance I’d been hoping for, I immediately felt ill at ease, like there was a trickle of freezing water running down my spine.
“This is different,” Pilar said in a hushed voice. “They don’t look peaceful, they just look … sad.”
All of the other memorials featured people in peaceful repose. Marie and Louis, on the other hand, were depicted kneeling at prayer benches — looking the opposite of restful.
Louis was praying, and he looked sort of resigned. Marie clutched her chest, staring down at the floor like her heart was breaking. The carvings were amazingly elaborate, with intricately draped fabric and royal crests made of stone.
Brynn gazed up at them. “Why don’t they get to lie down?”
“A good question,” Jules said. He spoke loudly enough for the whole group to hear, but still in a tone that had a hush to it. “This memorial was constructed in 1830. It contains only the partial remains of the king and queen. So they are not technically at rest here. Also, their positions represent the tragic circumstances of their deaths.”
They are not technically at rest here.
My stomach tightened. I turned
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