Free Promises to Keep by Patricia Sands

was a researcher with an environmental science company in nearby Sophia-Antipolis, and they shared a common history of education with science degrees. Much of the week she worked from home and could pick and choose her hours.
    Annette had laughed and nodded when Katherine said she had noticed that picking up dog poop seemed to be a problem, especially for the person walking the dog.
    “That’s why walking in France requires picking your path carefully. Les crottes de chiens! Le caca! Those cute chiens like to poop as they make their rounds. Picking up after them is starting to happen slowly over here, but we do have signs now and even the odd poop station.”
    Kat let the sounds from outside envelop her again, and her thoughts turned to her mother, who had always been the first person to call her on her birthday. She missed her.
    She took a clementine from a bowl, and as she peeled it and its scent became stronger, so did warm memories of times with Anyu, the Hungarian word for “mother” she always used. She recalled her mother telling her on her last birthday how much it meant to receive a simple orange as a gift in the months right after the war, in 1945. This conversation occurred soon after James had left Kat, while she and Elisabeth were lingering over one of her mother’s appetizing Hungarian dishes in the warm, comfy kitchen.
    “My darling Katica, we live life thinking we will always be able to do everything we want but before we know it, old age catches up with us. We find ourselves grasping the outer edge of the time we have left. Don’t let this injury James has inflicted stop you from living life, from seeing what else is out there for you,” Elisabeth had said, a knowing look in her eyes as she reached to take her daughter’s hand. “I trust there is more. There is always more.”
    At the time Katherine had not believed there was anything else out there for her. But her mother had been right.
    The tantalizing aroma of paprika that often filled her mother’s kitchen now suddenly seemed to fill her nostrils, and she decided to make chicken paprikash for Philippe. Winter was coming. The time was right.
    With her thoughts grounded in the past for the moment, Kat made another decision that surprised her more than anything: the next time she was in Toronto, she would speak with James. Face to face.
    She watched a couple walking their bikes down the lane below the window and thought about how much she enjoyed cycling. The rhythm of her body’s movements, her breath, and the sense of being in a world of her own always freed her from the constraints that often inhibited her reflections. She had been putting a lot of thought into how things had ended with James and why she had avoided any contact with him since then.
    There was her mother’s voice again. What doesn’t kill us makes us stronger.
    Kat knew she was stronger. She knew she was now capable of meeting James, and she had some words to say to this man who had taken so much of her life and discarded it so hurtfully.
    Her time in France and Philippe’s love were allowing her to see for the first time the woman she really was.
    She definitely had a few words for James.

    Philippe rushed home in the early afternoon, and they were soon on their bikes. The day called for warm clothes, but the sky was its classic blue and the sun shone brightly.
    When they reached a favorite spot by the sea, they followed the narrow, well-worn path to a grassy patch near large flat rocks. Resting their bikes against a tree, they reminisced about being there in October, when Kat had planned to leave for Toronto.
    “It seems like a lifetime ago,” she told him, her eyes glistening. “You have changed my world, and I thank you for that.”
    After Kat spread the picnic blanket, Philippe opened a bottle of champagne and they toasted her birthday, their love, and the delicious food he had prepared, still hidden in the picnic basket.
    “I get lost in your eyes. You make me so