Twice in a Lifetime

by Rachel Ann Nunes

  “Wait!” Marie-Thérèse said. “Thank you so much.”

  Mathieu took a step toward him. “Yes, thank you. We know this isn’t easy. We know it only too well.”

  “You’re right,” Raoul said shortly, “but it’s the right thing to do.”

  Valerie took his hand in hers as they left the apartment. “Come on,” she said, “let’s get an early start on our date. I know the perfect place for lunch.”

  Her hand squeezed his and the broken place in his heart began to mend.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  December, three weeks later

  Rebekka sat in the rocking chair on the cabin porch, watching Marc as he chopped wood for the fire. They were celebrating their second wedding anniversary, and Rebekka couldn’t believe how happy she was. Even the fact that she’d failed to become pregnant once again hadn’t dimmed her anticipation of this trip with her husband.

  He threw down the ax and approached the porch, wearing only jeans and a T-shirt that showed wet where his perspiration had seeped through. Bundled in a sweater and blanket, she wondered that he wasn’t cold.

  “Hi there,” he said, climbing the few stairs. He gave her a lingering kiss and she tasted the salt on his lips from his wood-chopping efforts.

  “Good work. We won’t be cold tonight,” she said.

  “Hey, last night wasn’t bad. You had me to keep you warm.”

  She stood and hugged him. “You’re all I’ll ever need.” She meant it, too, but suddenly he drew away and began pacing the small porch. Rebekka sat again in the rocking chair.

  After a while, she said, “Are you going to quit pacing and tell me what’s wrong? Or do you like keeping me in suspense?”

  “Sorry.” He stopped pacing and leaned against the waist-high railing. “I was just thinking.”

  “Uh-oh.”

  He grinned. “No, it’s not bad, really. It’s just that everything is so excellent between us. Everything. It’s better than I ever imagined—and I am pretty good in the imagination department.”

  “So what’s wrong with everything being so good?”

  “Nothing. It’s just . . . Rebekka, do you believe that anything could be too perfect? That perhaps we’re being prepared for something. That maybe we don’t have fights or problems because the Lord knows we won’t have time to . . . well, to get through them?”

  She didn’t like this vein of thought. She made her response teasing. “Marc, we do have problems. Just the other day you bought another plant for me to forget to water. And two nights ago you refused to go out to eat escargot with me.”

  “Hey, that was your fault. If you hadn’t looked so ravishing, we wouldn’t have decided to have a quiet night at home.”

  “Marc!” She giggled.

  “You see? We are perfect. Life is perfect.”

  She became more serious. “We don’t have a baby yet.”

  “So? We can adopt. I don’t see that being a problem in the long run.”

  She stood from the chair and went to him, wrapping her arms around his now-shivering form. “It’s not all perfect but merely the way we look at things. Our attitude.”

  He snuggled in closer. “Maybe. But I can’t help but think . . . there’s still that feeling I had when I followed you to Utah, the one that told me I wasn’t going to have you for long.”

  “Let it go.” She tried to keep her voice light. “We’re together and we’re happy.”

  “There’s no other donor available if I need a kidney,” he said against her neck.

  “Zack or Thierry could do it. Don’t look for trouble.”

  “I’m not. I just want you to be prepared. I love you, Rebekka. I love you more than life. More than anything I want you to be happy. Please remember that.”

  Rebekka woke from her dream. For a moment, she could almost believe that she was back in the family cabin with Marc celebrating their second anniversary. She wasn’t surprised to be dreaming of him so clearly; today would have been their third wedding anniversary. The entire previous evening she’d been thinking of him, talking aloud to him as though he were alive. She’d gone over in detail in her mind their week together in the cabin, treasuring each moment.

  Now she closed her eyes and tried to recapture the dream, but it was gone, and the memory of the event wasn’t nearly as satisfying. Tears trickled down her face and into her pillow.

  The intercom by the door buzzed loudly—again and again. Rebekka realized bitterly that the noise was what had awakened her. If whoever it was hadn’t come, she could still be reliving that happy time with Marc.

  The buzzer rang once more.

  It was Tuesday, and since Raoul had begun going to work very early in the past three weeks since relinquishing custody of Nadia, he’d likely left the apartment. That meant she had no choice but to answer the buzzing or ignore it. With the persistent way the ringing continued, she doubted the person would go away.

  She moved slowly, one limb at a time, and climbed out of bed. The pain today seemed bearable, though she wondered how much longer she could endure. Three more months, she thought, and then he’ll be born—safely. She clung to this thought with all the tenacity she could muster.

  Now at six months along, her stomach seemed impossibly large. Her inactivity had helped add to her weight and Rebekka wondered if she would ever be able to fit into her clothes again. The thought was depressing.

  While putting on her robe, a sudden pain arced along her back and shuddered throughout her entire body. Oh, help me, she prayed. At times she was ready to go to the doctor and beg him to remove the cyst, but each time she prayed, she knew she couldn’t take the risk. Not yet. She would have only one chance for Marc’s baby. One chance that meant everything.

  She glanced at Marc’s carved clock on the wall, surprised to see that it was only six o’clock in the morning. Who could be visiting at this hour? Even Raoul might still be home. She peeked in his room, but it was empty. Maybe he’d gone out for bread and forgot his keys.

  She stabbed at the intercom with an annoyed finger. “Who is it?”

  “Flower delivery.”

  “I’ll kill him,” she muttered, pressing the button.

  She fumed as she waited for the delivery man. She’d been enjoying André’s company these past weeks, had appreciated how he let her avoid any serious conversation, but this was going too far. This was solid proof of how he was coming between her and her memories of Marc.

  She schooled herself to be polite to the man, but when he left, she sat at the table, letting her anger and frustration rule her emotions. Tempted to throw the entire vase of three-dozen red roses out the window, she clenched her hands together until the desire passed. Finally, she grabbed the note and ripped it open. The words chilled her blood:

  Hi honey! Three dozen beautiful red roses for three wonderful years together. I wanted to start this day off right, and knowing how forgetful I can be, I ordered in advance—way in advance. The idea of waking you with flowers on our anniversary just came to me today, and it was such a brilliant idea, I wanted to make sure I followed through. It took some doing, but I found a flower shop willing to take my order early. Okay, I paid them extra and the owner promised me he’d take care of it himself. See? No one can accuse me of forgetting my gorgeous wife, whom I so completely adore. Come back to bed, love, and wake me up so we can begin celebrating our anniversary. I love you with my whole heart.

  Eternally yours, Marc

  There was no date on the note and Rebekka wondered how long he had written it before the accident. She felt stunned—her heart simply didn’t know how to react to this assault. She removed a rose from the vase and took it and Marc’s note back to bed where she wept, holding them against her chest. Logically, she knew Marc would have never done such a thing to hurt her, and yet why had this happened? She asked herself over and over. Once thing for sure, she believed this was a sign. Marc wanted her to wait for him.

  * * *

  André was driving to work when a s
trange urgency hit him. His first thoughts were of the girls who had still been sleeping when he left the house, under their grandmother’s care. He called quickly on his cell phone, but Ariana assured him they were fine.

  He still couldn’t relax. Then the thought came again with force—this time with a name attached: Rebekka.

  Immediately André turned the car and headed back the way he’d come. He had learned to listen to the Holy Spirit and he knew Rebekka needed him. The reason made no difference; he was compelled to her side. As he drove, he prayed. His cell phone rang as he drove up at Rebekka’s.

  “Hello?” he asked.

  “It’s Raoul. Are you about here? I know we have that important meeting this morning, but I . . . I have to go home. I need to check on my sister.”

  “I’m at your apartment now,” André said. “You cover the meeting.”

  “Thank heaven! I just had the overwhelming feeling that—”

  “Me, too.”

  “Call me if something’s wrong. We can always reschedule the meeting.”

  “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of Rebekka.”

  André had been ringing the apartment intercom as they spoke, but there was no reply. He removed his keys and found the one he’d taken from Marc’s office all those months ago after his death. He should have given them back to Rebekka, but he hadn’t been able to bring himself to do so—not since the time he’d found her crying and staring into space on the day he had come to drive her to her first doctor’s appointment after Marc’s death.

  He ran up the stairs, not willing to wait for the elevator. Thoughts careened about in his head. What had happened? Was she ill? She had been fine yesterday afternoon when he and the girls had checked on her after school, though she had refused their offer to stay and have family night, pleading a headache. Had that been the real reason for her refusal?

  Again there was no answer at the door, and André blessed the fact that he’d kept the keys. He nearly burst into the apartment. “Rebekka?” he called. “Rebekka!”

  No answer.

  He saw a vase of roses in the kitchen, but no sign of Rebekka. Who sent them? he wondered, knowing they weren’t ones he’d ordered recently. He strode down the hall, his worry increasing. “Rebekka?”

  He didn’t stop to look in her office but went straight to her room. She was lying in the middle of the bed on her side, curled around one of the red roses from the kitchen.

  “Rebekka?” Still no answer. She looked so small there, except for the mound of her stomach. Small and pale and unprotected. He touched her and was shocked at the coldness of her skin. Shaking her gently, he called her name again. Relief flooded through him as her eyes opened.

  “Why?” she asked. “Why did you do that?”

  André had no idea to what she was referring. He pulled a blanket around her freezing body and tried to free her hands from the rose, whose thorns had pierced her fingers, bringing drops of dark red blood. Then he saw the note, pressed up against the satin nightgown covering her swollen belly. She protested feebly when he took it, but she wouldn’t let go of the rose. He read the note and finally understood.

  “Oh, Rebekka,” he groaned, gathering her into his arms. “It wasn’t me who wrote this. You aren’t dreaming. I’m André. I’m so sorry. Marc didn’t mean for this to happen—for you to receive this alone. He loved you so much.”

  For a very long time André kept murmuring words and rubbing her limbs under the blanket. The warmth seeped back into her body and the color into her pale cheeks. He fell silent but still held her, wondering where they could go next. Had this taken her from him forever?

  Tears slipped down her cheeks now, which André took as a good sign. Maybe she could begin to experience the emotions, to deal with them and go on.

  Her next words were a heartrending blow. “I can’t marry you,” she said softly, glancing back at him. “Not ever. You know that now—don’t you?”

  He took a second to steady himself before responding, praying that he could find the right answer. “I don’t see that at all. I love you, Marc loved you, and you loved us both. Now he’s gone, and it only makes sense for us to team together for what’s left of this life. To support and love one another, to raise our children together.”

  Rebekka drew away from him, moving slowly as though she were too weak or in too much pain to move faster. Her tears began to fall in torrents as she looked blindly in his direction. “You told me to tell you the truth, but I didn’t. I asked you if it was enough for you if I married you because you looked like Marc. I told you that I might cry out his name instead of yours in my dreams. But I lied.”

  Her teeth bit into the soft inner flesh of her bottom lip, and her hands tightened on the red rose, bending and twisting the thorny green stem. “The real reason I can’t marry you, that I can’t have a relationship with you, is because I love you.” Her unsteady voice rose an octave. “If we spend all these years together, I might just love you more. I—you would replace Marc. I made a vow to love him forever, but how can I do that if I love you? I would be unfaithful to him, and I won’t do that—I promised. When I married him, I covenanted not to do that.”

  André felt a strange hope at her words, though on the surface she was refusing him yet again. At least she’d come to the realization that she did love him. That alone gave him the will to continue trying.

  He made his voice firm. “I know you’d rather maintain what you see as your loyalty to Marc rather than let yourself love again. I know you’d rather let your baby grow up without a father than let go of the guilt. But you can’t let that happen, Rebekka.”

  “His father is dead!” she shouted. “That can never change.”

  “Yes, but I’m not dead. I love you, and I love this baby. I want to be his father. You can’t let your heart shrivel up inside until there’s no room in it for happiness. That’s not good for you, and it’s certainly not good for your baby.”

  She didn’t reply, but her hands went to her stomach.

  “Rebekka,” he said scooting closer to her. “I know this is all too sudden, way too soon after Marc’s death. And being pregnant and experiencing all the emotions that involves doesn’t help. You should have years to mourn Marc, to come to terms with your feelings and the fact that he’s gone. I remember only too well what you’re going through—that’s one of the reasons I backed off pursuing you before you married Marc. Claire had just died, and I didn’t want to be unfaithful to her. But I realize now that if I married you I can be faithful to her. You loved her and you love our daughters. Of all the women I could choose, only you can raise them to love and remember her.”

  Rebekka didn’t deny it, and André felt even more hopeful. “Don’t you see that I can do the same for your son? And for you? If there is one person in this world that I love as much as I love you and Claire, it would be Marc. He was my brother, my friend, and business partner. Do you think I would ever try to take him from your life? No! I want us to remember him, to talk about him, and to raise your son to know him. Please, Rebekka, hear me.” He was overwhelmed with emotion and tears started to fall.

  Rebekka stared at him, gray eyes opened wide, and André began to believe he was getting through. “Whether this happens between us now or in five years from now is really up to you,” he continued. “I’m not going anywhere. I love you, and I will always love you and be a part of your life—no matter what decision you make. But what you need to understand is that it doesn’t have to be Marc or me. You can choose both. I know, because I love you and I still love Claire. I love to talk about her and tell the girls stories about her—you’ve seen that.”

  Rebekka nodded slowly, wonderingly. “Yes, I have.”

  “We’ll do the same for your son. Marc would like that. You know, I think more than anything he was afraid that you wouldn’t allow yourself to be happy again—stubbornly loyal, I think he once called you. But he wanted you to go on. Don’t you believe that? If you do, and if you love me, there’s no reason to
hold back.”

  Her grip loosened from the rose, and André took it from her and set it aside. Deliberately, he reached for her hands and began rubbing the small wounds with his fingers, obliterating the blood. Her skin was warming beneath his touch.

  “I was dreaming of the cabin,” she said, staring at their linked hands. “Marc and I went there last year for our second anniversary. He was talking about not finding a donor when he needed another kidney and about our life being too perfect.” Her eyes rose suddenly to his. “It was like he knew something was going to happen. Only I didn’t want to hear. I just didn’t want to hear.”

  “No one would want to hear that. But it wasn’t as if Marc lived every day thinking about death. He lived the best he could, enjoying every day he had with you.” The way I want to, he thought.

  Rebekka sucked in a deep breath. “I thought the flowers were a sign. It was all too much. André, I don’t know if I can—”

  “I was told to come here,” André interrupted. “Raoul had the same impression. Someone up there realized you needed help.”

  “I wanted to die.”

  “But not now,” he told her. “Now you want to live.”

  “Yes.”

  They were quiet for a long moment. André wanted to talk to her, to explain why they should marry soon instead of in a year or in five years when the girls and her son would have gone that much longer without two parents, but he forced himself to remain quiet. He’d said his piece and Rebekka was an intelligent woman. She would have to make up her own mind.

  After a long moment she said, “One thing I remember Marc saying at the cabin. He wanted me to be happy. I thought I could never be happy without him, but I have been a lot lately with you and the girls.” More tears gathered in her eyes as she looked at him. “I think maybe the flowers were a message, André. Not to wait for Marc, but to go ahead without him.”

  André reached for her, pulling her into his arms—gently so as not to aggravate the pain of the cyst. “Rebekka,” he murmured. “I’d like to help you through these last few months. To be there for you every day—to make your dinner, to rub your back, be with you when the baby’s born, and to walk the floors with him at night. I want to see his first smile, to be there when he rolls over or takes his first step. I want to be there for you when he’s sick, or when you have to work.”