"I wish we could see Paris one more time before we die."
This simple wish would be the cause of the whole debacle; a simple thought, passing through the mind of an elderly woman. It should not have mattered. It should not have been so important. And yet these words, this thought would in the end change the lives of many people.
It wasn't uncommon for Arthur to hear this wish, but he had long ago decided that it was impossible. At this point Marianne had as well, though it didn't stop her from wishing that it could somehow come true. She had mumbled this wish under her breath almost every day since they had moved into the Clover Creek Home for the Elderly.
Suffice to say that they were not overly fond of the home. In the years before, moving there had seemed like the wisest decision; after Arthur had fallen and broken his hip, it had seemed like a necessity. They had not minded it when Arthur was recovering, but as soon as he could walk on his own again, they had started to hate the place.
Yes, they were safer, it was cheaper, and Marianne no longer had to her ride her bike into town when they needed groceries or other items. Arthur was satisfied with the place in those respects, though he felt that the disadvantages were severely outweighing the benefits. The food was terrible, the nurses rude, and the place just reeked of death.
These were minor problems in comparison to his main reason for hating it: he hated Clover Creek more than anything for how the place seemed to simply make Marianne wilt. Like a rather unfortunate transplanted flower, Marianne was not adapting to her new environment well. She didn't get along with the nurses (though no one really did), she couldn't find anything in common with the other residents outside of their old age and aching joints, and the hopeless atmosphere just seemed to dissipate her inherent passion for life.
Arthur couldn't help but worry; it was as if the nursing home was slowly killing her. Most days she'd sit apathetically in the garden, and when Arthur would join her, she would whisper tales of when they were young and living in Paris. He spent most of his waking hours worrying about her. Marianne had always been a rather difficult woman to live with, but there had only been one time in the past where he had been so worried about her.
It seemed, to Arthur's absolute terror, that Marianne was growing old.
This shouldn't have come as a surprise, in all honesty, since she would be turning 75 in just a week. Most people grow old long before they reach this age, truly, some are even born old, though the majority of people grow old when they are somewhere along the age of 25.
Not Marianne, though. Marianne had always looked in the face of old age and laughed; sending it back in its corner to sulk and lure in the world-weary. She had always been immortal before now; sure, her hair had turned gray, she had gained weight about her middle, and her bones ached more often than they did not. It was just that she had never seemed like an old woman before now.
As he thought about it, Arthur realized that going to Paris was definitely possible and that it may very well be the last chance they had to go. They weren't exactly spring chickens anymore, and if Marianne continued to deteriorate like she currently was, then she might very well be gone by the end of the year.
It was at that point that Arthur made up his mind. Whatever it took; come hell or high water, Arthur would take her to see Paris one last time. He'd even take her for her 75th birthday! He would take her there no matter the cost.
Of course there were certain difficulties with this plan; they happened to live in the type of prison-like retirement home in which they weren't allowed to leave unless accompanied by a relative, checked out like library books.
Besides that, they were rather short on funds. They had never been wealthy, but now that they had both retired they had a very limited income, one that barely covered the fee for the nursing home. The only money they had was the 50 pounds that Arthur had saved, kept hidden in an old snuff box in the back of their closet. It was in no way enough money to get them all the way to Paris, let alone come back.
The last problem was a lack of transportation. They didn't have enough money to be able to buy a ticket for a plane or train, and Arthur hadn't owned a car since 1983.
These were not major problems in Arthur's mind. After all, they had been children during one of the worst wars the world had ever witnessed; they had become resourceful people by necessity. Besides, Arthur had no doubt in his mind that the ends would justify the means; no matter how hard it would be for them to get there, everything would be worth it when they were sitting in the little café where they had first met.
But first things first. Before they could worry about money or transportation, they had to find a way out of the retirement home. Marianne liked to say that it was more of a prison than a home, but she always did have a flair for dramatics. Sure, they couldn't leave without a relative since they were "senile old coots," and the food was abhorrent, but there were not bars on the windows, making escape rather easy for them.
Deciding not to waste any time, Arthur pulled a battered old suitcase and his army rucksack from the closet, along with a few sets of clothes for him and the snuff box. He went ahead and began to silently pack his things in the rucksack, leaving the whole of the suitcase for Marianne.
"Whatever are you doing?" She asked suspiciously as he set the suitcase she had owned for year onto the bed and opened it wide. She had bought the case when he had brought her home to England to live. "You're finally leaving me, are you? What perfect timing; I have a date with Monsieur Iuan down the hall."
"We, my dear," Arthur said, ignoring the comment about Iuan. She knew he hated the Scotsman, for he was loud and rude, and someone always snuck him alcohol. If Arthur was forced to go without spirits, then Iuan should as well! That was another thing he hated about the home. As soon as they left he was going to buy himself a nice glass of brandy. "Are going to Paris."
She was silent for a moment before she flew into a frenzy, throwing things into the suitcase whilst rambling on and on about everything they would need. She did not bother to ask him how they were going to get there, for she trusted him implicitly. Arthur always had a plan and he never made false promises, so Marianne never had to worry.
As Marianne began to pack, Arthur was finishing up. He tucked an old map and the snuff box into his bag and sat on the bed, waiting for his wife to finish her packing. He watched her fondly as she shifted through the closet, fretting over what clothes to take on their trip. She was going to Paris, so she had to ensure that she would look as fashionable as she possibly could, though this was difficult for her to achieve since she had not been able to afford designer fashion for years now.
After almost an hour spent packing up clothes, makeup, and scrapbooks, the suitcase was completely stuffed; the only way they could get it to close was if Marianne sat on top of it as Arthur struggled and strained to buckle it. After wrestling with it for almost fifteen minutes, they were finally able to get it to close and Arthur wasted no time in getting to the next part of his plan: throwing the bags out the window and into a bed of petunias, so their descent would not be as drastic.
"We're going to have to climb through the window," he explained, leading Marianne towards the window and wrapping his arm securely around her. "I'll give you a boost, and then it should only be a short step onto the suitcase and then to the ground. It'll be almost as if you are walking downstairs."
It took them a few minutes of clumsy shifting and awkward fumbling before he was able to lift her up just enough so she was able to sit hunched over on the window sill. She waited a few moments in order to catch her breath before she slipped onto the bags with little difficulty.
Arthur passed her his cane through the window and paused to figure out how he could get up there with as little damage as possible. He was rather strong despite his age, and after only a few tries he was able to heft himself up; straddling the window before he came down hard on the suitcase.
His knees throbbed in pain from the jarring drop, but he did not wish to worry Marianne or to hamper their escape, so he pushed past the pain that was echoing through his bones. Arthur wasted no time in gathering up their bags and helping Marianne step over the stone border of the garden; leading her towards the road that lead to their freedom.
They walked along the edge of the property, knowing that they would definitely be spotted if they tried to simply walk down the main driveway. After a few minutes of walking, Arthur spotted an opening through the hedge that marked the border of Clover Creek.
"I'm so happy to finally get out of there!" Marianne crowed, clasping her hands together in delight. "I thought we would be stuck in that horrid place until the day we died."
Arthur made a noise of agreement, not able to help the broad smile that stretched its way across his face. She was already acting more like her old self and it was a welcome relief to Arthur. He had been worrying so much about her recently. Maybe all she had truly needed was something to hope for; something to believe in.
They must have been a sight, Arthur thought as they made their way down the long road that would lead to town; a rickety old couple walking slowly down a deserted road, carrying a large suitcase and holding hands. It was slow going since they were unable to walk very far anymore. They needed to stop often to rest, sitting on the side of the road, perched on their bags.
They finally made it to town when the sun was hanging low in the sky and Arthur couldn't help but worry about what they were going to do. The nurses at Clover Creek would soon begin calling the residents to dinner, and they would surely investigate when they saw that he and Marianne had not made it. As soon as the nurses realized that they were not on the premises, they would undoubtedly ring the police. They had to be out of town by the time the police came if they had any hope of making it to Paris.
Besides that, he could tell that Marianne would not be able to walk much farther. She hadn't complained once, but she was now just shuffling along and Arthur could hear how she struggled for breath. He had to figure out what they were going to do.
They were about half-way through the small town when Arthur spotted the car and formulated a plan. Most of the people in the village had gone home already, and since this car was unlocked, it would be the easiest thing in the world to take it. Sure, it wasn't exactly legal, but if they were caught Arthur could just pretend that he had been confused. That was one of the perks of being old: everyone was more than willing to believe that you were suffering from dementia.
Marianne wasn't shocked at all at his plan to steal some stranger's car. In fact, the idea seemed to excite her tremendously. As Arthur loaded their bags into the trunk, she arranged herself primly in the passenger seat, beaming from ear to ear.
Thankfully hotwiring a modern car was not that different from the cars Arthur had "borrowed" when he was a boy. Sure, there were more wires, but it was pretty straight forward. Marianne found that becoming an accomplice to a car thief to be a titillating experience, and as he worked she rambled on about how this all reminded her when she was young, when her brother had stolen the neighbor's car to drive to Calais with his sweetheart.
Arthur had the car started in a few moments, before her story was even over. Thankfully the car had a full tank of gas so they wouldn't need to stop for a few hours. As Arthur put the car into gear, Marianne gave him one of the happiest expressions he had ever seen, and after a quick peck on the cheek for luck, they were on their way to Paris.