“I’ve been worse,” she told him.
He sat in the kitchen chair opposite her, elbows on the table and head in his hands. “I wonder if I will ever know if Desirée was sick while she was pregnant with Nadia,” he said morosely. “I’ll never have the experience of seeing my first child born, of dressing her to take her home from the hospital. Or watching her eat her first meal. Desirée took all that away from me in the same selfish way she did everything else. I wonder if she ever loved me at all.”
Rebekka sighed. “Look, the problem is hers. It always was. Yes, there were signs before you got married, but you’re not the only one who’s made a mistake in life. Desirée would have burned anyone she married. You loved her, you forgave her repeatedly, you did your best. She didn’t deserve you. It was her fault, not yours.”
“She told me she would have aborted the baby if it had been any other man’s.” He gave a self-deprecating laugh. “I know it’s strange, but I do find some comfort in that. At least I meant something . . . enough to save Nadia.”
“When Desirée walked out on you, she walked out on the best thing in her life. You’re a wonderful person—I should know.”
Raoul managed a weak smile. “Thanks. It was a good idea, moving in with you. I don’t know what I’d have done these past few days without your support.”
“The support is mutual.” Despite her determination to be strong for him, her voice wavered.
“You miss him, don’t you?”
She nodded. “Yes.” She let a comfortable silence fill the room and then said, “Today was easier. I was so caught up in trying to help find Nadia that I hardly had time to think about him. I mean, he’s never far from my thoughts, but today, I didn’t feel that desperate feeling that seems to twist my insides. Does that make sense?”
“Yes.” He laid his hand over hers where it lay on the table. “I think I know that desperation very well.” He sighed. “It’s different, of course. My situation.”
It was. Rebekka believed his situation was much worse. At least she had the hope of eternity with Marc, whereas Raoul had only betrayal and broken dreams. “I’m sorry.”
“Thank you.” He stood, squeezing her hand one last time. “I’m not hungry, so I’m going to turn in early. I’m exhausted. Didn’t sleep much last night thinking about Nadia. I’ll be going to work early in the morning—maybe five. I won’t wake you when I leave.”
“I’ll let you know if I hear anything. It’s early—there’s still time for something to happen.”
He nodded and walked slowly toward the hall. In the doorway, he paused. “Uh, Rebekka, I’m very happy about your baby. I really am. I know how much having Marc’s child means to you. If you need anything—even someone to help get your frustrations out—let me know. We have to stick together.”
“I will.” She wanted to thank him, but her throat was too tight. Another word and she would cry.
“Oh, and don’t be too hard on André. You know how much he cares about you, don’t you? He’s a good guy.”
Rebekka blankly watched her brother leave the kitchen. Where did that come from? she wondered. She took another sip of cold milk, wishing now that she’d taken time to heat it in the microwave.
But Raoul’s words reminded her that she did have a problem with André. This has to stop, she thought. She couldn’t have André hovering over her because Marc asked him to. Somehow, there had to be a way to get him to back off. A way that wouldn’t hurt him.
But how? She’d have to prove to him that she was happy for one thing.
Even if she wasn’t? Rebekka sighed. Solving her dilemma might take more time than she was willing to invest.
As she pondered her options, the buzzer near the door sounded, signaling that someone wanted into the apartment building. She sauntered into the entryway, marveling at how much better she felt since she’d eaten. Though she had never been fond of milk, it was now quickly becoming her best friend.
“Who is it?” she asked.
“Flower delivery.”
Flower delivery?
It would be like Samuel to send another bouquet. He was the sort of man who knew how to woo a woman properly. “Though I am not available for wooing,” she said aloud.
“What?” asked the man over the intercom.
“Uh, nothing. Come on up.” She pressed the release button and heard the door click open.
A few minutes later, the doorbell rang and she looked through the peephole to be sure the man had flowers. Sure enough, a young boy barely out of his teens staggered under the weight of a large vase of red and white roses. Rebekka shook her head at the overkill.
“They’re really heavy,” he said as she opened the door. “Do you have somewhere you want me to put them?”
“In the sitting room would be fine,” Rebekka said. “This way, please. Wow, they’re certainly gorgeous!”
“Yep,” he grunted. After he set them down and she had signed the delivery form, the young man hurried from the apartment. Rebekka barely saw him go. She touched first a red rose, so dark it was nearly black, and then one as white as her wedding dress. There were also several varieties of roses that were a beautiful mixture of red and white.
She reached for the small dark green envelope. It resisted her first tug and she pulled again, scraping her middle finger on a thorn. “Ouch!” she exclaimed, as the blood started to leak from the small gash.
Sitting on the sofa, she pulled a white card with and embossed green border from the envelope. Marc would have sucked his cut, she mused, blotting her bloody finger on the envelope. No matter how many times she’d told him it was unsanitary, he’d insisted that he needed all the blood he had and wouldn’t waste a drop.
When the flow had ebbed to nothing, Rebekka glanced at the card, ready to savor the words which were scribbled with green lettering:
I would have liked the other flowers to have been from me, too.
Love, André
Rebekka didn’t know what to make of his offering. Had he felt so bad about her mistaken assumption that he had to remedy it by actually sending flowers? But why?
If he had sent the other flowers, they would have meant nothing besides a celebration of her pregnancy. But now . . .
The fragrance of the roses demanded her attention. She let her thoughts slide as she leaned forward to breathe in the heady aroma. André’s face came into her mind—so much like his brother, and yet . . . so unlike him. A tenderness she had not believed herself capable of feeling ever again seeped slowly in her heart, seemingly out of nowhere.
With the feeling came her music.
She hadn’t touched a piano for over two months, but all at once she felt the urge to play. Her eyes flew to the small upright piano against the sitting room wall, a far cry from the baby grand she kept at her parents’ because she didn’t have room, but more than adequate for her needs now. She noticed that someone—she didn’t know who—had kept the cherry wood exterior polished to a brilliant glow. Memories rushed out at her.
Once she had thought to pursue music as a career and in her years of study had won many awards. But her love for language had won out, and she had double-majored in French and English instead. For a while she had worked at the American Embassy in Paris, but now she did only freelance translating. She loved the challenge of her job, but music—that was her release, one she’d forgotten about since Marc’s death, as she had so many other things that had been important to her. She stared at the piano now, unable to move or to comprehend the feelings in her heart. How could there ever be music again without her husband? Yet the desire to play was there, beckoning.
The ringing of the phone called to her from far away. Over and over it sounded, until Rebekka finally shook her head, clearing away the tender feelings in her heart. The ringing was instantly louder, and she dived for the phone, praying the caller would not hang up. She’d promised Raoul to let him know if there was any news.
“Hello?” she asked.
“Rebekka?
”
“Yes. Who’s this?”
“Desirée.”
Rebekka’s heart skipped a beat. “Where are you? We’ve been looking everywhere!”
“Look, I’m not staying on the phone long, and I’m not telling you where I am. I just need to know—did you find Nadia?”
Rebekka gripped the phone more tightly. “Not yet. We did find your friend Lana. In jail. She said she didn’t give Nadia to Benny.”
“She’s a good friend.”
There was a sniff on the other end on the line, but Rebekka couldn’t tell if Desirée was crying or if she had a cold. “A good friend? How do you figure that? She lost Nadia, for crying out loud. She can’t remember where she put her. There’s always the possibility she actually did give Nadia to Benny and doesn’t remember. Maybe that’s how she got the money to buy the drugs and alcohol she was using.”
“If she said she didn’t sell Nadia, she didn’t. Lana wouldn’t lie. At least not about this.” Desirée’s voice sounded sure. “Lana’s trustworthy. Even drunk she’s responsible.”
Rebekka wanted to remind Desirée that there were also drugs involved but felt it would get her nowhere. “Look, isn’t there anyplace you know of that Lana might take her? Did she have a family somewhere? Another friend? A co-worker?”
“I don’t know who she might go to, but I’ll think about it. If I come up with something, I’ll call.”
“Why don’t you go to the police? They could use your help. They almost didn’t start an investigation because they couldn’t find you. Now that they have Lana, and she admits to losing Nadia, I think it’ll be okay, but you probably have some information, even if you don’t realize it.”
“I don’t. I can’t help.”
Rebekka’s anger was steadily increasing. “This is your baby we’re talking about.”
“She’s Raoul’s now.”
Rebekka wished she could hit Desirée over the head with the phone. “At least you should talk to Raoul.”
“No. I won’t do that, either. But I’ll call you back if I remember anything.”
“Nadia could need you right now.”
There was a long silence. At last Desirée said. “No, she needs you and Raoul.”
She hung up the phone, but Rebekka waited until the dial tone came back to be sure. With a sigh, she placed the receiver on its cradle, feeling sad. Desirée was far gone if she could abandon her baby.
Yet she had called. There had been concern in her voice. That must mean something. Rebekka would simply have to pray for her to call back with some information. Or that Lana remembered where she’d left Nadia.
As if driven by her desire, the telephone rang again. “Hello?” Rebekka asked eagerly.
“She has a birthmark,” Desirée said without preamble. “On the right side of her bottom. You can only see it when you change her diaper.”
“On her right side,” Rebekka repeated.
“Looks like a heart—an upside down heart. Actually, it’s two brown freckles kinda overlapping. Dark brown. Sticks out a bit.” She cleared her throat. “It’s really cute.”
The phone went dead again in Rebekka’s hand. She took a few seconds to digest the information and then began searching in her purse for the card Detective Francom had given her.
“Hello,” she said when he answered. “I’m glad I caught you before you left for the day.”
He chuckled. “I always work late. I don’t have anyone waiting up for me, and I enjoy my work, so this is mostly where I am.”
“That’s good, I guess,” Rebekka mumbled, feeling distinctly sorry for him. “I wanted to let you know that I heard from my sister-in-law. She called me on the phone.”
“Did you get her location?”
“No. But she didn’t seem to know much anyway. She did say that Nadia has a birthmark on the right side of her bottom, normally covered by her diaper. It’s two overlapping freckles that sort of make a heart—an upside down heart. I’m not sure exactly where it is, but that should help, right?”
“Any information is important.”
Rebekka thought he sounded bored. “I tried to get her to talk to you, but she wouldn’t.”
“I’m not surprised. She wouldn’t like what would happen.”
His comment rankled. “I know Desirée wasn’t acting responsibly,” Rebekka said, “but I don’t think you can charge her with leaving Nadia in the care of her friend. If anything, it’s Lana who could be charged.”
“I wasn’t talking about her role in the child’s disappearance. I’m talking her driving habits. She’s been ticketed.”
“A traffic ticket? She doesn’t want to help us find her baby because of a lousy traffic ticket?”
“Well, she has more than a dozen. Suffice it to say that if we found Desirée Massoni, we would be detaining her for quite some time.”
Rebekka sighed and rubbed her temple with her fingers. Her heart ached to think that because of Desirée’s lifestyle, she was unable—no unwilling—to help her baby. How does that make her feel if it makes me want to cry?
“Uh, Madame Perrault?”
Rebekka forced her thoughts back to the conversation. “Excuse me? Did you say something?”
“I was saying that we have Benny Tovik in custody. He’s not talking, but we’ve come across another case that might have a connection to him.”
“Oh?” Rebekka wanted to ask about the baby, but she was curious to know the rest.
“Yesterday evening we found a sixteen-year-old woman dead of a drug overdose. In a subsequent search of the apartment, we found a thousand dollars in cash, an address to a rather seedy motel, and a few pictures of a baby that remarkably resembles the infant you saw with Tovik. We had the deceased girl’s parents in just now and apparently the daughter was pregnant. They had a big fight about six months ago, and she left. They don’t know where she’s been since. She was due about three weeks ago.”
“That might fit the baby’s age—especially if she was born a week or so early. She didn’t look two months old to me. How can you be sure?”
“The baby wasn’t born in the hospital—as we suspected, but if we find a match in that apartment to the print you took today, we’ll have enough to convict Benny for sure. There’s no way he could convince the court that he legally obtained the baby from a minor. And the parents are pretty desperate to find their grandchild. The baby is all they have left now.”
“Where is the baby?”
“We aren’t sure. The woman slipped away with her before we arrested Benny. He insists that the baby is with her mother, but that’s all he’s saying. I think he knows exactly where she is. We just need a little proof about her identity that will convince him to talk.”
“Let me know, will you?” Rebekka said. “I really hope the parents of that girl are the baby’s grandparents. I feel better knowing someone wants her.”
“There are thousands of couples who want her.”
“I meant that . . .” Rebekka trailed off. She was so tired that she didn’t know what she meant anymore. “Anyway, thank you.”
“You’re welcome. Please feel free to call me again if you have any more information. Don’t worry. We’re doing our best.”
Rebekka hung up, no longer feeling like playing the piano. What if the detective’s best wasn’t good enough?
She set the phone on the table and wandered down the hall. It had grown dark in the past hour, reminding her that winter was well on its way. She didn’t turn on the lights, but felt her way in the dimness. Without knowing why, she found herself in the office, staring up at the portrait of her and Marc by the Seine River. Guilt overcame her as she remembered how Marc had not been her constant unseen companion today as he usually was. She hadn’t even once talked to him.
I’m sorry, honey, she thought. I do love you. It’s just . . . when I think about you, it hurts so much. Today was so busy, and I felt I was making a difference, that I was helping Raoul. You understand, don’t you?
The
re was no answer, but Rebekka knew him well enough to know that wherever he was he did understand. Would there ever come a time when she would think about him and their life together without the feeling of great loss? A time when she could remember the joy without also experiencing the pain?
She simply didn’t know.
What she did know was that she had to distance herself from André. His very presence was disconcerting and confusing. Though why that was she couldn’t explain. She did know that for some foolish, absurd, illogical reason, she kept replaying in her mind his ridiculous proposal of marriage.
Chapter Fifteen
“Marie-Thérèse that’s wonderful!” Josette exclaimed, her face flushed with animation. “We’ll have a family party to celebrate.” She grabbed Marie-Thérèse in a tight squeeze before dropping into a kitchen chair.
“Aren’t we getting together on Sunday for dinner anyway?” Marie-Thérèse was still in her robe after seeing the children off to school. For once Celisse and the baby had slept late, and she’d been enjoying her moment of free time when her sister arrived unexpectedly. Josette’s visit was welcome, but she wondered if her sister noticed the mess in the kitchen and the worse one in the sitting room where Brandon’s belongings were strewn about in his usual haphazard way.
“Your news can’t wait until Sunday. It deserves its own announcement. Oh, I can’t believe it! I’m so excited for you.”
Marie-Thérèse sat across from her sister, amazed at her energy. How did she remain so alive with five little boys to take care of? “I’m still waiting for Pascale’s approval. She hasn’t called me back yet. Mathieu and I only told the children last night.”
“What about Mom and Dad?”
“You’re the first one I’ve told.”
Josette leaned forward, and a lock of her long dark hair fell in a dark puddle onto the table. “Good. Don’t tell anyone else. You can make an announcement tomorrow night.”
“It’s Friday—everyone may have plans.”
“They can change them.” Josette laughed. “Don’t worry. I’ll make sure they do. Anyway, the only one who really might be planning something is Louis-Géralde, and he can bring that cute little girl he’s dating over to the party. They’ve been going out two months now—I wouldn’t be surprised if he had an announcement of his own very soon.”
Twice in a Lifetime Page 16
