Twice in a Lifetime

by Rachel Ann Nunes

  The idea that their youngest brother might soon be getting married felt odd to Marie-Thérèse. Louis Géralde had been home from his mission nine months already, but it seemed like only yesterday he’d left.

  A silence pervaded the kitchen and Marie-Thérèse looked closely at her sister’s beautiful face. There was a sadness there beneath the vivaciousness, one that bit into Marie-Thérèse’s heart. “You’re thinking of Marc,” she said.

  Josette closed her eyes without speaking, her dark lashes contrasting sharply with the white of her skin. For a moment, Marie-Thérèse saw their mother in her features. When Josette’s eyes opened, they held tears. “I knew the moment he was gone,” she said. “I was sitting at home reading to David and suddenly the tears started to come. It was . . .” She struggled to speak through her emotions. “It was some silly, happy story, you know, with the children dancing around counting things, and there I was crying. It was like a part of me had died. At first I thought something was wrong with Zack or one of the children, but then Dad called to tell me about Marc.”

  “He was your twin,” Marie-Thérèse said gently. “You were very close.”

  “I remember Mom said she felt the same way when her twin died. I’m glad I had Marc longer than she had her brother and that he was able to have some years married to Rebekka.” Tears leaked from the corners of Josette’s eyes and made steady rivulets down her cheeks. “But I miss him. Not every day—with five boys I’m mostly too tired to do any thinking at all, but whenever I have a minute, I miss him so much. The idea of a family party without him . . .”

  Josette sighed before continuing. “I think it would be easier if he’d left something behind. You know, a child. Something we could love as much as we loved him. I’ve even thought of having another baby myself and naming him Marc—of course he’d be a boy, that’s all I know how to make—but then that really wouldn’t be the same thing, would it? And I don’t think either Zack or I would live through another pregnancy.” She impatiently dabbed at her wet cheeks. “I can’t stop wondering how Rebekka even makes it through each day. If I didn’t have Zack and the kids, I’d be lost.”

  “Me too,” Marie-Thérèse agreed. “Rebekka has no one really—except Raoul and her parents. That’s really not the same thing. And now suddenly I’m feeling guilty because I haven’t been to see her as much as I should this past week. These girls keep me rather busy.”

  “I know what you mean. Even though I have only David at home during the day, I’m always busy. That’s why I dropped him off this morning at Mom’s. Thought maybe I could get some grocery shopping done without the hassle today. Do you need anything while I’m there?” Josette’s tears were drying now, and Marie-Thérèse knew from the determination in her sister’s voice that she was purposefully focusing on something other than Marc.

  “I need an entire list of things,”Marie-Thérèse said. “Too much to ask you to get. I need to go myself, but I haven’t dared to take the girls out. I’m afraid Celisse will mess her pants.”

  “You could use a diaper.”

  Marie-Thérèse stared. “I never even thought of that. I mean, she’s four years old.”

  “Sometimes an hour of relief can buy you a world of patience. Believe me, Anton taught me that. I thought he’d never potty-train in time to go to school.”

  “Then get me some diapers, okay? Big enough to fit Celisse.”

  Josette stood. “Okay. I’ll be back in an hour or so.”

  Marie-Thérèse walked her sister to the door, thinking how much less burdened she felt with the short exchange. Even the prospect of grocery shopping seemed exciting after being practically imprisoned in the apartment since last Friday.

  Almost a week, she thought. How much my life has changed in that short time.

  Marie-Thérèse went to check on the girls and found Raquel lying awake in her bassinet. She dimpled when Marie-Thérèse walked into the room and began moving her arms and legs in excitement. A rush of love filled Marie-Thérèse’s heart to bursting. She picked up Raquel and cuddled her carefully. “I love you so much. You are so precious. You know that? Yes, you are. I love you so much.” Tears sprouted unbidden. What if Raquel couldn’t be hers? With each day that passed, Marie-Thérèse loved her more, and Celisse, too, despite her problems. Marie-Thérèse hugged the infant to her chest tightly. I won’t allow either of you go back to your mother. I’ll protect you.

  “Come on,” she said aloud. “Let’s go check on your sister and then get you dressed.”

  Celisse was awake and Marie-Thérèse had just finished bathing and dressing the girls when Pascale finally called back.

  “You got our message,” Marie-Thérèse said a bit breathlessly.

  “Yes. And actually, I just got off the phone with your husband. He called me again this morning.”

  “And?” Marie-Thérèse tried not to hold her breath, but she was afraid Pascale would hear her nervousness in the shallow breathing.

  “I would be delighted to put in your request. Of course, there’ll be more paperwork and some classes you’ll have to take, but the girls can remain in your care.”

  Marie-Thérèse took a slow and easy breath. “What about adoption?”

  “Given Celisse’s condition, I think it would be a miracle if the mother was ever awarded custody again, though stranger things have happened. Some mothers straighten up when faced with losing their children, but I really doubt that will happen in this case. Celisse has not only been neglected but seriously abused. The fact that we haven’t been able to find the mother is also very much on our side.”

  “Maybe she’s dead. I mean she always came back before, right?”

  “She may be afraid of being caught. I believe we’ll find her—hopefully soon. We won’t be able to move toward adoption until we do find her.”

  “And if we never do?”

  “Well, there is a time limitation. But let’s discuss this when you come in, okay? I’ll give you all the information you need to know. Meanwhile, you’ll receive money for their care. That’s how fostering works. It’s not much, but it’ll pay their food and basic expenses.”

  “What about that other family you had lined up? Aren’t they going to be disappointed? Especially about Raquel?”

  Pascale was quiet a long moment. “There never was another family,” she said quietly. “Oh, I was trying to find one, but I was praying that you and Mathieu . . . I knew how much you two wanted a child before. No matter how many other families I thought about, you kept coming to my mind. I hoped you’d grow attached to them and want to keep them. Can you forgive me?”

  “Yes.” Marie-Thérèse smiled through her tears. “Oh yes. They were meant to be here. That much is true. I just hope . . .”

  “That everything works out,” Pascale finished.

  “Exactly.”

  “It will. Now, let me tell you what we need to do next.”

  * * *

  Late Thursday afternoon, Marie-Thérèse felt nervous as she approached the physician’s office carrying Celisse. That morning after she had talked to Pascale, Monique had not only called with the name of a female pediatrician who specialized in working with abused children but had also succeeded in wheedling a brief appointment for that very day. Feeling confident after an uneventful trip to the grocery store with a newly diapered Celisse, Marie-Thérèse had left Raquel with Josette and jumped at the opportunity. She wanted to begin helping Celisse deal with what she’d been through—emotionally and physically—and find out if there was a reason for her bowel problems.

  Dr. Veronique Lerat was a tall, thin woman with black, shoulder-length hair and a round face. She looked young and pleasant, though a little sterile in her white lab jacket. Celisse hid her face as she entered the room, but when the doctor didn’t touch or threaten her during Marie-Thérèse’s long explanation of the circumstances, Celisse relaxed. She even began playing with the dolls on the nearby table. After a while, she let Dr. Lerat feel her stomach over her clothes but protested
when she tried to examine her further. Dr. Lerat did not push the matter.

  “From what you describe and from what I feel when I touch her lower stomach area,” Dr. Lerat said, “I believe Celisse has an impacted bowel. Basically that means she’s been holding in her bowel movements over a long period of time until her bowel stretched much larger than normal, perhaps even to the size of an adult’s. Usually this begins because a child doesn’t want to eliminate because it’s painful—either because of constipation or a tear in the skin. What is coming into her underwear each day is slippage from around the impacted waste. Little if any of the old stuff is being eliminated. New waste slips around, becoming very odorous on its way down.”

  Marie-Thérèse nodded. “The bathroom does smell for hours after we wash the underwear out. But what can I do?”

  “The cure is rather simple: we have to eliminate the cause—most likely poor nutrition. But it will take time for the bowel to resume and maintain its normal size—often up to a year. I will give you a prescription for a laxative that is safe for her size and for an extended period of time. Whatever you do, don’t stop the treatment until I tell you to, even though you’ll see a noticeable improvement right away. If you stop even six months into the program it could come back. In severe cases such as hers, I’ve seen that happen too many times to count. It’s very important that we fix this now because an impacted bowel can lead to many other problems—the least of which are tiredness, headache, listlessness, and a general feeling of unwellness.”

  “Could this be in anyway related to her . . . her abuse?”

  “I’m sure it is, though it certainly can happen to children who aren’t neglected and abused. Sometimes children aren’t really neglected, but the parents are so busy, they forget how vital nutrition is for young children—for everyone really—and they feed them convenient or fast foods with no vegetables. Since Celisse is no longer in her former situation, and it sounds like you’ve put her on a proper diet, I think she’s well on her way to full health. Meanwhile, the laxatives will force her to eliminate so that the bowel won’t remain distended. Over time it will shrink, and she won’t need the help. The only suggestion I would have is that you remove refined foods such as white flour and sugar for a month or so and then use sparingly afterward. Instead of apple juice, give her an apple so she can get more fiber. Same with other fruits. She should have at least one vegetable at every meal.”

  “I can do that.” Marie-Thérèse always served a lot of vegetables, and she knew a place that sold whole wheat bread. “Of course, there’s a lot more here that we’re dealing with—the other doctor she saw seemed to think she might need some surgeries related to the abuse.”

  “That’s not unlikely. What we really need to do is schedule a time to talk to Celisse together with my partner who deals more with the emotional side of abuse. Together we’ll gain her confidence and explain to her why she needs an examination and what will happen. Then we’ll see where we need to go from there. Without a thorough physical examination, I can’t tell you anything more about her condition, and I don’t want to traumatize her by forcing that exam. It’s not advisable unless there’s an urgent physical problem that needs to be taken care of.”

  “How long do you think it’ll take? I mean to explain it so she understands and feels comfortable?”

  “It varies. Some children are fine after one visit, others need five or six or ten. Some need more. But I’d say there’s no hurry. The other doctor who examined her would have noted any overt problems that needed immediate attention, but I’ll call him just to be sure.”

  “He missed the boil.”

  Dr. Lerat smiled. “Given the scarring you describe, I’m not surprised. But Monique did just right on that. It’ll be fine. However, I’ll take a look at it while you’re here, if you like.”

  “I would.”

  The doctor arose from her stool and crossed to the chair next to Marie-Thérèse where Celisse stood by the dolls. She reached to expose the area, talking to Celisse softly, but Celisse immediately recoiled from her touch.

  “Come on, Celisse,” Marie-Thérèse cajoled. “Look, what if I take off the bandage and the doctor just peeks at it?” That was acceptable to her, so Marie-Thérèse eased down the side of her pants and removed the bandage.

  “Excellent,” the doctor said after a few moments. “It’s still draining. I see no reason not to continue with Monique’s poltice. It might take a month, but it’ll heal.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Very good.” Dr. Lerat held out her hand to Celisse, flat with the palm up. “I bet Monique taught you how to make crepes, but did she teach you how to give five? Go on, slap my hand. Come on, hit it like that.”

  Celisse stared for a second before tentatively placing her hand on the doctor’s.

  “Great!” encouraged Dr. Lerat. “Now do it a little harder.”

  Celisse obeyed, and then smiled hesitantly. The smile lit up her face and Marie-Thérèse felt a lump come to her throat. “Thank you,” she said softly.

  “You’re welcome.” Dr. Lerat regarded Celisse in silence for a while. “Does she ever talk?”

  “She’s said only a few words. But I know she understands.”

  “We’ll work with her. Children are more resilient than we realize.”

  “I hope so. Thanks again.”

  Marie-Thérèse made another appointment and left the office. On the way to the car, Celisse walked beside her, every so often giving a little bounce to her step. “So, did you like that doctor?” Marie-Thérèse asked.

  Celisse nodded. “Nice.”

  Marie-Thérèse’s heart jumped inside her chest. She squeezed Celisse’s hand. “That’s right, Celisse. She’s very nice. Now let’s go get your little sister, okay? Larissa and Brandon will be home soon.”

  * * *

  On Friday morning, Marie-Thérèse surveyed the disarray in the kitchen. She couldn’t believe the utter disaster, even though she’d stayed up late cleaning after the children had gone to bed. Mathieu had started to help her, but Raquel had awakened and he had to rock her back to sleep. Marie-Thérèse had finally given up after loading the dishwasher and sweeping the floor. But after breakfast this morning, it looked just as bad as it had the night before.

  Marie-Thérèse sat down and sighed. It wasn’t that her family wasn’t helping out—they were doing their chores and mostly remembering to take their dishes to the sink—but she was so occupied with all the new needs that she didn’t have time to do much cleaning, especially the deep cleaning.

  At her place on the table, Celisse stopped eating and stared at Marie-Thérèse, her blue eyes large and worried. “Don’t worry, Celisse. I’m not going to lose it—yet.” With a sigh, she arose and half-heartedly began clearing the table.

  She was jolted from her attempt by the doorbell. Likely, the visitor was one of the neighbors since the lobby buzzer hadn’t sounded. But when she peered out the spy hole, she saw a short, heavyset woman with long black hair pulled into a bun. In one hand she carried a plastic tote filled with various bottles.

  Marie-Thérèse opened the door warily. “May I help you?” she asked, searching for a kind way to tell this woman she was not interested in buying anything.

  “I’m Ireline, and I’m here to clean. Just tell me what you want done.”

  For a second, Marie-Thérèse was tempted, but with the new apartment in the works, she needed to save every penny. Besides, she would have to learn to cope on her own eventually. “You must have the wrong house. I didn’t ask for a cleaning lady.”

  “It’s all right here.” The lady pulled out a folded sheet of paper, and handed it to her.

  Surprise! Here’s your baby shower present for your new additions. Years ago I said I’d pay for cleaning when you got a new baby and here it is. Ireline will come twice a week and stay for as long as it takes for the first month, and then once a week for the next two months. She’s a wonder! I don’t know what I would do without her coming each week
(we all know what a horrible housekeeper I am). Enjoy!

  Love, Josette

  P.S. See you tonight at the family party!

  So Josette had noticed the condition of her house! And knowing me like she does, I’m sure she knew how crazy it was making me. Marie-Thérèse nearly laughed.

  “Well?” asked Ireline, shifting her tote to rest on her wide hip.

  “Please come in.” Marie-Thérèse opened the door wide. “I am only too glad to let you work your magic. Believe me, though, it’s a mess. Especially in the kitchen.”

  Ireline took one look around and shook her head. “This is nothing compared to your sister’s place. Those five boys . . .” She shrugged and began removing her supplies from the tote.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Josette was glad Zack took the afternoon off to help her wrap things up for the family party that evening. She hated driving in Paris, while her American husband had seemed to take to it instantly. On his mission he’d driven while serving as assistant to the president, and he had never looked back.

  Today he was her chauffeur as she visited the bakery, the butcher’s, and a half-dozen other small stores to find exactly what she wanted to serve at the party. She wouldn’t make any of the dishes as there was no time, except for her special yogurt cake that Zack so loved.

  The party would be held at her parents’ double apartment, of course, since theirs was the only place large enough to hold the entire clan, but she was taking care of all the food. Marie-Thérèse had her hands full and Josette hadn’t wanted to burden Rebekka with requests, and neither of her brothers were good at organizing foodstuffs. Her mother would have helped, but Josette knew she had enough to do with the decorating, table organization, and set up.