Don couldn't imagine what possessed him to jump out of that cab. He threw whatever French currency was in his pocket at the irate driver and opened the door. The cab barely rolled to a stop before he was sprinting down the street.

The street signs were confusing. No matter how long he was in that damned city, he was sure he would never be able to find his way. Finally, he recognized some store fronts and the church from which the wedding party had emerged. The group was long gone, but maybe he could find out where they went.

He tore open the oaken door and entered the stone chapel. His steps were firm as he approached the altar and tugged his hat from his head. The priest was neatening the sanctuary.

Don cleared his throat. "Excuse me, Father. Uh.... S'il vous plait..."

The priest turned and adjusted his spectacles. The old Frenchman's face broke into a smile of recognition. "Ah yes!"

"Yes?" Don repeated, confused.

"The wedding!" He replied in English, his accent rich as wine. "Yes, on Rue d'André, the hotel..." He snapped his fingers looking into the far corner as he tried to remember. "I cannot- how you say... recall. The hotel on Rue d'André."

"The hotel on Rue d'André," Don repeated slowly, his face brightened. "The wedding party, there is a reception?"

The priest laughed and nodded fervently. "Aussi vite que possible, quickly!"

Don was unable to keep from smiling as he backed up towards the door. "Thank you, Father!"

His mother would have been horrified to see him running in a church. He bolted down to the door, the priest chuckling behind him. He had no idea where the street called Rue d'André was but by God, there wasn't anything that was going to stop him from finding it.

After nearly an hour and several difficult conversations in broken English, Don Malarkey stood outside the only hotel on Rue d'André. Taking a deep breath, he walked out of the silvery, lavender glow of the Parisian twilight into the lobby.

Beyond the warm, red tones of the hotel lobby, he gripped his hat as he entered the bar area. Big Band music drifting in from a rented room next to it. His heart was thudding in his ears. Laying a hand on the sandy wood of the bar, he dared peek into what he assumed was the reception for Mira's wedding. 

There was a good sized party with servicemen mostly from the Air Force. He recalled from England that Cate had mentioned that Mira's man was an Airman. He recognized some of the girls from Aldbourne on the dance floor.

Catie Doyle. She was dancing with the man she had been walking arm in arm with on the street. Don studied them with morbid fascination, the man's large hand was almost possessive as it lay on the small of her back. He was holding her other hand and she was glancing up with a faint smile. She bit her lip and laughed.

"Well?"

Don's mouth was dry as he looked away, his eyes on the bar. The bar tender was wiping down a wine glass, his eyes disinterested as Don looked up.

"What will it be?"

"Beer," Don managed, sitting down at a stool, his shoulders hunching over. "S'il vous plait."

The bartender grunted and turned away. Don ran a hand through his hair as he struggled to slow his thoughts. Her presence was burning into the back of his head. She was so close. The bartender slid a glass nearly foaming over towards him. Don nodded and tipped the glass back.

"Excuse me?" Another man saddled up to the bar.

Don looked over and blinked. It was Cate's date or whatever he was to her. For all he knew, the man was her fiancé.

"Scotch and a glass of white wine, please," he smiled handsomely with a jawline that could cut glass.

Don took another pull from his beer. The Airman tapped his fingers on the bar, glancing back over his shoulder towards the room. Don cringed as he felt the man's gaze drop on him.

"Hell of a place, huh?"

Don coughed, nearly choking on a swallow of beer. "What?"

"Paris." He sat down with a smile, his southern accent refined as though he came from old money. "I have to admit, this is my first time in the city. It's a hell of place, I've got to say."

"It certainly is," Don managed, trying to seem casual.

"Roy Jarvis." He stuck out a hand with a nod.

Don shook his hand, but stayed facing the bar. "Don Malarkey."

"Where you from, Don?"

"Oregon."

"Oregon, huh? I have a buddy from around there, I think he said he's from Eugene?"

"Yeah, not far from me."

"Is that so?" Roy squinted with a grin. "Small world. So what do you do in Oregon, Don?"

"We're just going to have to wait and see when I get back, I suppose." Don shrugged. His brain hummed with the dread that this had been a mistake. A wildly disastrous mistake.

"I understand that. I'll be heading back to Natchez myself and joining my old man's law firm like I said I would before Hitler started this whole mess." Roy thanked to the bartender and paid him. "Still, I wouldn't mind doing some traveling a bit before settling down. Maybe New England, but who knows."

Don tried to keep from visibly shuddering. He tipped his head back as he finished the beer in one swig. Don set the glass down hard, Roy nearly jumped at the sound.

"I have to go, it was nice to meet you, Roy." Don clapped him on the shoulder, his head buzzing. He trotted out of the lobby and into the street.