He watched sinews strain in his hands and wondered how much longer it would be before those hands could return to the work they did best. He wanted his surgical career back; he wanted his life with Amy back.
She called every night at twelve o’clock Paris time, and he was always waiting. Depending on what city she was in, it would be late afternoon or early evening there, and she would be getting ready to go to work, two shows a night, three on the weekends. Often she and he talked until the minute she had to leave her hotel room. A month had passed since they parted. He would see her again next week. It seemed years away.
Anticipating her nightly calls kept him going. His days were filled with meetings, travel, and paperwork. His father still clung to life in the hospital, though each day he remained in a coma made it less likely he would survive. Annette had been released from the hospital a few weeks ago, but only because Sebastien had arranged nursing care and daily visits from physical therapists at home.
What he could not arrange, no matter how hard he tried, was her contentment. Her jealousy over his new power had riddled the core of their relationship. Annette’s injuries and her grief over losing Giancarlo were no less potent than her suspicions about Sebastien’s authority. He had lost his sister, the one member of the family who had been close to him.
He threw boxes atop the highest stacks and felt neglected muscles stretch taut in his torso. The company’s general manager came over for the fourth time in a half hour, wringing his hands. “Please, sir, there’s no need for this. I really don’t understand the point.”
“Stop bothering me, or I’ll put you to work at a job that requires more than a talent for making excuses.”
The manager turned red when the dockworkers failed to hide their smiles. “Sir, I’m tired of this humiliation! You complain about my organization of the warehouse, you say that my accounting procedures are unsatisfactory, and now you try to show me that my dockworkers are overburdened and underpaid. I won’t accept this! I’ll resign if you push me too far!”
Sebastien paused long enough to glower at him. “Your resignation is accepted. Good-bye.”
So much for diplomacy in management.
Annette’s anger was waiting for him, as usual, when he returned home that evening. From the hospital bed in her suite, she glared at him, though her eyes were glazed from pain medication. “You made quite a show today, I hear. Demonstrating your affinity for the downtrodden employees. Firing a reasonably efficient general manager. How melodramatic.”
Sebastien smiled and gritted his teeth. “I wanted to see if the docks were being managed as badly as I thought. They were. I don’t have your diplomatic knack for getting the best from mediocre managers; I have to solve problems in other ways.”
“You humiliated the lower managers as well.”
“They deserved it. Calm down, sister. You’re not well enough to dabble in business gossip, yet. It’s a strenuous hobby.” He tolerated his sister’s irrational jealousy because of her condition; he hoped it would pass as she recuperated. But it was one more reason that he counted every day, sometimes every hour, until Amy finished her club tour next month. At least he could visit her then.
Sebastien sank into a thickly stuffed chair near the foot of Annette’s hospital bed. He crossed his legs and pretended to be absorbed in brushing a bit of dust from the perfect crease in his trouser leg. He had showered and changed into a fresh suit at the office; he had other duties to perform, and had only stopped at home to soothe Annette’s daily need for business news.
“I’m attending the opera league dinner tonight in your place,” he told her.
“You loathe the opera. The only music you’ve ever considered worthy of serious attention is that squawking American jazz.”
“That’s beside the point. Is there any message you’d like for me to convey? They’ve asked me to say a few words on behalf of your volunteer work.”
She jerked the bedcovers. “Oh, just tell them you’ve taken over everything. That by the time I’m able to return you’ll have grown so accustomed to being in control that you’ll ignore me just as Papa always has. Tell them that Papa would be very pleased if he woke up and found that the prodigal son has finally assumed command.”
“If you waste your energy on paranoia, your recovery will take even longer.”
“Why should I care?” Tears slid down her thin cheeks. “I’ve lost Giancarlo, I’m an invalid, and you’re just waiting for Papa to die so that you can inherit everything that you already control!”
Sebastien leaned his head back on the chair and shut his eyes. Annette would always distrust him, even though he didn’t doubt that she loved him. Their father’s stubborn favoritism toward him had scarred her, as it had scarred their brother Jacques.
“I only want my freedom,” he told Annette, as he had countless times before. “As soon as you’re well, I’m going back to America.”
“Oh, I know, I know, and you’ll live there and return to medical practice and marry your strange American woman.”
Sebastien straightened and watched her closely. His tolerance sank to a low point. “Who has been discussing her with you?”
“Oh, the servants told me about her. That she’s some kind of actress who has an odd voice and performs magic tricks. That she has a tattoo on one wrist and a scar on her face. I will never believe you’d marry someone like that.”
He stood, went to the side of her bed, and took her hand. He looked down at her until color rose under her tears and she turned her head to stare at the far wall. “Don’t glare at me like that, Sebastien. I apologize.” Her face crumpled. “I don’t like being hateful to you. I’m so confused. I’m so—so furious with Papa for putting you in this predicament and leaving us to fight over it.”
“He hasn’t left yet.”
“He’ll never come out of the coma.”
Sebastien subdued a grim smile. “There is the sun, the moon, and our father. I’d bet against the first two rising, if I were you.”
He was right. A week later, their father opened his eyes and, in a firm whisper, demanded attention.
He was paralyzed from the neck down, a fact not even his indomitable willpower could change. “Does this please you?” he whispered.
Sebastien turned from studying the catheter bag tied to the foot of the bed. He kept his expression neutral and his bearing rigid, while inside he struggled with sympathy he did not want to feel. “No. I don’t enjoy running your affairs for you.”
“Why did you come back?”
“For Annette’s sake.”
“Ah. You will never admit any sense of duty to me.”
“I have none.”
“Why did you come here today, then?”
“Because Annette requested a firsthand report on your condition. She loves you. It’s amazing, considering how little you deserve her love.”
“Oh, my son, my son. You think that I don’t love her? and you?”
“Please, no confessions now. They don’t ring true.”
“Why should I tell less than the truth at this point?”
“So it has been your secret all these years? How interesting.”
“I’ve always wanted the best for my children.”
“That must be why three of them are dead.”
“Hear me out. I wanted the best for all, but a wise man knows that he must concentrate his hopes on the strongest child. After Antoine … that child was you.”
“Antoine wanted to be your favorite. I never did. Why force your goals on me?”
“Force my goals? I wanted to give you my dreams.”
“The only thing I wanted from you was Antoine, and Bridgette, and Mother. Which you couldn’t give back to me.”
“I know. I thought the rest would make up for it … eventually.”
Sebastien sank into a hard metal chair near the hospital bed. He stared at his father in shock. “You ask me to believe that you have badgered and manipulated me all these years out of guilt?”<
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His father’s gaze moved weakly around the room, as if searching for answers. “Guilt and pride make terrible companions. One fights the other. But yes, yes, I felt that you had suffered nobly and should be rewarded nobly.”
“Even if the reward was nothing I wanted.”
“You didn’t know what you wanted, except to punish me. I reasoned that your attitude would change, in time.” He managed a thin smile. “Well, look at me now. Have I been punished enough?”
Sebastien refused to answer. To say yes would end thirty years of bitterness. “Didn’t Jacques and Annette deserve rewards?”
“No. They were raised in luxury; they had all the advantages.”
“So did I.”
“But their strength was never tested, the way yours was.”
“Mother, Antoine, Bridgette—their deaths were no test of my strength. If I’d been strong, I would have killed you. For a long time, I thought about it. I was ashamed of my weakness for not doing it.”
“A child considering murder. That is strength. Come here. I can’t turn my head to look at you over there. Come. Look straight into my eyes.”
Sebastien felt vulnerable, threatened, then angry. The emotions shook loose deep memories of the confusion that had racked him in the years after the tragedy. He leapt to his feet and bent over his father’s bed, clasping the handrails on either side, staring down into his father’s eyes with fury.
“You can take your revenge now,” his father whispered, holding his gaze with unblinking command. Understanding numbed Sebastien’s fury. He heard the blood roaring in his ears. With horror he continued looking into his father’s eyes. They taunted him. “Kill me,” the soft, determined voice ordered.
Sebastien leaned on the handrails for support. He realized that his legs had gone weak. “You want salvation, not death.”
“Isn’t that your specialty, Doctor?”
“To ruin myself for your benefit? No. Not any longer.”
“Then have mercy. You think I want to live like this? I know I can’t last long, but this is … torture.”
“I know that.”
“Ah. You approve.”
“No.” Trembling, he put a hand alongside his father’s cheek. The older man’s eyes flickered with surprise at the tender touch. “I wish I could help you.”
“Why?”
“Because of my medical training.”
“No. Love.”
Sebastien stepped back. The word hung in the air between them, unparried, unreturned, but not denied. “Rest now. I’ll be back tomorrow.”
“I’ll be waiting.” His father’s eyes were warmer than Sebastien had ever seen them before.
Sebastien came back every day after that. He and his father sometimes didn’t talk; the effort was too much for Philippe physically and too much for Sebastien emotionally. When they did talk, it was about the businesses. The mood was wary. Sebastien wouldn’t admit that he wanted to comfort his father, and his father would never admit the need for it.
“Hi,” she said in her most sultry voice.
Sebastien cradled the phone closer to his ear and, shutting his eyes as he conjured her image, lay back on the bed. “Hello, love.”
“How was your father today?”
“Growing weaker. He has fluid in his lungs.” Sebastien hesitated, then added gruffly, “I realize something today. I can stand to be around him now because I know that he no longer has the power to keep you and me apart. I have that satisfaction. And also, after seeing how you reconciled your feelings for your father—how you have become stronger because of him—I feel that I should be able to do the same with mine.”
“I’m glad, Doc. I’m so glad you don’t despise your father anymore.”
“Don’t credit me with too much generosity, Miracle.”
She sighed and changed the subject. “How is your sister?”
“She took her first walk outdoors. The therapist wrapped her in a heavy coat and they walked across the garden and back.”
“Terrific! And how are Jacques and Louise?”
“Angry with me. I wouldn’t let them go to a movie. Bambi.”
“Why not? Have you ever seen it? It’s a classic!”
“I heard that the fawn’s mother is killed. That, I decided, is not good for them to see right now.” He frowned, feeling foolish. “I don’t know much about children. Do you think I was wrong?”
After a second her voice came back soft and gentle. “No, Doc, I think you’re a sweetie.”
“Ah. Hmmm.” Her sentiment pleased him but ignited his loneliness even more. He couldn’t think of a dignified response.
“Doc? Those kids want to love you. If you’d only give them a chance, they’d climb inside you and never leave.”
“It’s not good for children to be too dependent.”
“You want them to be little grown-ups? Don’t do that to ’em. Let ’em be carefree and have fun and … help ’em learn from their mistakes. Don’t expect little folks to be perfect.”
“Miracle, you know the value of self-reliance as much as I do.”
“Yeah, we both had to grow up too fast. I understand your point, Doc, I really do. But just because we had it rough, why should Jacques and Louise? I wouldn’t wish my childhood on those kids. Would you wish yours on ’em?”
“Are you saying that I want them to suffer the way I did? That I’m being cruel?”
“Not cruel. Just forgetful. Can’t you remember what you were like before your mother died?”
“No.”
“You have to, Doc. If you want to be good with kids, you have to remember what it was like to be a kid.”
He masked his discomfort in exasperation. “Why are we talking about children? I don’t need to be good with children.”
“Yes, you do.” Her voice didn’t rise, but the light-hearted melody had a new, urgent pitch to it. “I want you to try. Be fair to me. To us. Try to change your attitude toward having a family.”
“And if I can’t?” Her tense silence made him regret his bluntness immediately. “Don’t answer that. It was a foolish question. There’s no point in speculating about the distant future. I’m sure we’ll reach an understanding.”
She said softly, “If you don’t ever want children, it’ll hurt me worse than I can tell you.”
The anguish in her voice shocked him. He’d thought there was nothing that could drive her away from him, but suddenly he realized this problem might. “I’m sure we’ll reach an understanding,” he repeated, shaken.
“We’ll have to.”
Strained silence filled the phone line between them. “So … how was your day?” she asked. The question drove a wedge between the awkward mood and more comfortable conversation.
“I’m fine,” he lied.
“You sound tired. Was it another long day at the office?”
“Yes. Chaos. I suppose it’s always like this when a corporation cleans house.”
“I bet you wield a mean broom.”
“Of course. I’m a dictator. All surgeons are, by their nature. I belong in the operating room. And will be returning there within the next few months. Ah! I have so much remedial study to do to catch up!”
“Doc, you’ll be fine. Most heart surgeons would give their right aortas to know as much as you’ve forgotten.”
“Such wonderful faith. Now I know why I love talking to you.” He paused, then added gruffly, “Why I love you.”
She made a soft, broken sound. “Love you, too. Miss you. Wait.” She took a moment to get herself under control. He heard her clearing her throat and sniffing. Her loneliness merged with his and made him rub the ache in his eyes.
“Only a few more days,” he reminded her.
“I woke up kissing my pillow this morning. I was on a plane at the time. The flight attendants were staring at me. It was embarrassing.”
He smiled. “You’re in Kansas City tonight?”
“Yep. I’ll be at a club called Happy’s tonight through Sunday
.” She paused. “And then I’ll be on a plane to Paris.”
He shut his eyes, anticipating her arrival. “I have a surprise for you. I’ve arranged for you to take another flight when you arrive there. To Rennes.”
“Rennes?”
“I’ll meet you there, and we’ll drive through the countryside. I’ve reserved a cottage in Beg-Meil. It’s one of the prettiest seaport towns in Brittany.”
“Brittany—the province your mother was from?”
“Yes.”
“I’d love to go there! But … one favor. Instead of meeting me at the airport in Rennes, could you meet me at a hotel there?”
“You sound so mysterious.”
“No, I just want everything to be perfect when I see you. I want to meet you in private.” Her tone became teasing. “I’ve got a list of lewd things I want to do the second I get my paws on you, and I can’t do ’em at an airport. Not without drawing a crowd, anyway.”
“I like your impatience, love. All right. I’ll make the arrangements. Lewd, hmmm? I can’t wait.”
“Oh, I’m gonna shock you.” Her voice went on one of its whimsical flights upward, as it did whenever she was tense. “You can count on it.”
Sebastien worried about the nervousness in her voice. “Yesterday you said that your movie was in the editing process. Any more news?”
“Oh, yes! I nearly forgot! My part didn’t get cut! I have a good ten minutes of screen time.”
“Marvelous!”
She sighed. “Careers are not made on ten minutes of goofy lines like, ‘Hon, your duck just ate the laces out of my tennis shoes.’ This ain’t art.”
“I’m sure I’ll enjoy it. I’ve always preferred Jerry Lewis over François Truffaut.”
“Yeah,” she said drolly, “but that’s because your idea of entertainment is playing Simon Says with cadavers.”
“What is Simon Says?”
“It’s a game. I’ll show you how to play it when we meet in Rennes.”
“I’m counting the days.”
“Four. Plus six hours and forty-seven minutes that are left in today.”
Miracle Page 40
