June 13, 1940
Despite having spent her first twenty years in the city, Helen could barely recognize it.  From Theo’s balcony, she could see the Eiffel Tower on a day as clear as this one, but that was the only familiar sight as far as she could see. 

Accustomed as she was to the bustle of the city, the silence was startling and worrisome.

She heard the familiar scuffling of Oxfords on the pavement, but she didn’t look up. 

Hot breath tickled her ear as Theo whispered, “We should go.”

“Just a moment longer,” she said simply, her eyes never leaving the tower. 

“We don’t have a moment to waste,” he insisted.  “They’ll be here any moment.”

Helen sighed.  He was right, but she couldn’t bring herself to part with her city without a proper goodbye.

“Put our things in the car, I’ll come down when everything is ready.”

Without a glance up, she knew he was shaking his head lightly and pursing his lips.  Theo was many things, but unpredictable was not one of them.

His soft lips brushed her cheek, then he was gone.

Behind her, the sound of suitcases and trunks being shuffled reverberated off the walls.  Normally, these sorts of disturbances would result in pounding on the floor and ceiling by the neighbors, but theirs was the last occupied apartment.  All other tenants had had the sense to leave much earlier.

The summer sun had broken through the last of the clouds, and by the temperature, she guessed it would be a warm day.

Months ago, Theo had begged her to leave for his parents’ summer home in Switzerland, but she’d resisted.  Despite their clear reluctance to join the war, she still believed that the United States would step in before they let France fall.

It appeared she’d misplaced her faith.

She glanced down and saw Hugo carrying the trunk that held her mother’s china.  Being full of priceless, delicate dishes, it would be the last thing to go in the car.

Which meant that it was time to go.

Helen searched the scene in front of her for a flower shop beneath an old hotel.  Her eyes focused on it almost immediately.  It was, after all, the most familiar sight in the entire city.

Just the thought brought the scent of dozens of flowers mixing together to mind.  Roses and castile flowers, and daffodils all fighting for her attention with their bright colors and sweet aromas.

She could imagine her mother’s calloused hands, scarred from thorns and gardening blades, effortlessly plucking flowers to create a bouquet. 

Her mother may have had a laborer’s hand, but she had an artist’s eye.

Quickly, Helen pulled away from the balcony and raced down the narrow staircase into the waiting car.  Theo slid across the seat in the back and opened his arms when he saw the tears streaming down her face.

“Shh,” he cooed.  “We’re going to be safe.  We’ll beat them out of the city.”

She sniffled and leaned into his embrace, but his misunderstood her sorrow.  She wasn’t worried that they wouldn’t make it out of the city, she was worried that they would and that she would never see it again. 

Right before they crossed the city lines, Helen spun around to catch one last glance out the rear view window, but it was too late.  The flower shop was out of sight.

The last thing she saw in the city of her childhood was the Eiffel Tower, stoically standing in an empty street.

Not a word was spoken until they crossed Mulhouse; they didn’t have to speak, for they were all thinking the same thought: the war that they had thought would be over immediately had only just begun.