But moving from Brooklyn to Paris after my parents’ death was anything but a dream come true. MOST SIXTEEN-YEAR-OLDS I KNOW WOULD DREAM of living in a foreign city. I had given him “new life.” But was he expecting me to save his soul?
Jeanne had said that meeting me had transformed Vincent. And all of a sudden, Vincent’s name for me popped into my mind: mon ange. As if he was looking to her to save him, and not vice versa. Now, when I looked at the ethereal beauty of the two connected figures-the handsome angel, with his hard, darkened features focused on the woman cradled in his outstretched arms, who was all softness and light-I couldn’t miss the symbolism. THE FIRST TIME I HAD SEEN THE STATUE IN THE fountain, I had no idea what Vincent was.
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