Rebekka caught up to him, grimacing with the effort. André slowed to her pace and they walked in silence. “You were a wonderful husband to her,” she said softly. “And Claire loved you so much.” She paused, searching for words. “I can’t pretend to know how you feel, but I know how I would feel about losing Marc. I’m so sorry, André. I’m here for you, no matter what. Please let me help.”
Strangely, Rebekka’s words brought him comfort. André believed with all his heart that he and Claire would be together eternally, but the thought of living the rest of his earthly life without her was frightening. With the support of Rebekka and his family, it would be much easier.
“Thank you,” he replied simply. How could he ever tell her how much it had meant to have her appear at the hospital precisely when he had been so alone? Perhaps someday he would be able to convey his gratitude.
Rebekka put an arm around him. “You’re welcome.”
André let her lead him back to the hospital. His father and sisters had arrived, notified by caring nurses. André fell into their arms and wept. Later he would talk to the girls. Later he would have to deal with everyday life. For now, he would grieve with those who loved Claire almost as much as he did.
Chapter Fourteen
Two days after Claire’s death, Rebekka lay in a narrow recliner the nurses had set up for her next to Marc’s hospital bed. Since she visited so long and often, they had worried about her obtaining enough rest to fully recover from her own surgery. Rebekka had to admit that the reclining position was somewhat easier on her abdomen than sitting. She was feeling better and stronger each day, but this morning felt tired and exhausted—the result of a lousy night’s sleep. She had come into the hospital only because she had wanted to prevent Marc from spending all day on the phone working.
Dr. Juppe came in before nine. “Hello, pretty lady,” he greeted Rebekka. He glanced at Marc. “This guy doesn’t know how lucky he is to have such a faithful fiancée.”
Marc grinned, but it was tinged by the sadness everyone felt from losing Claire. “Oh yes I do. I’m the luckiest man alive. So, have you come to break me out of here?”
Dr. Juppe’s smile faded. “I’m sorry. Your creatinine levels are actually rising.”
Rebekka’s breath caught in her throat and her eyes flew to Marc’s where she read the same dismay on his face. Oh, Father, please, she prayed.
“Are you saying . . .” Marc’s voice trailed off.
“We believe you are rejecting the kidney.” The doctor’s voice was soft and kind.
Marc’s eyes widened and his face went slack as he tried to mask his emotions. “So what now?”
“I’m increasing your immunosuppressive medication. The drug will block a specific region of your immune system T-cells, preventing the cells from multiplying and attacking your kidney.” He put a hand on Marc’s shoulder. “Most people go through several bouts of rejections before their body settles into a routine, so try not to worry.”
“I went through a few before and that kidney lasted a long time,” Marc said, more to Rebekka than to the doctor. The words should have comforted her, but they didn’t. His eyes were darker and conveyed a hopelessness that she had never seen before, and his hand gripped hers tightly as though he used every effort not to weep.
After the doctor left, Marc turned to her. “It’ll be fine. Don’t worry.”
“I’m not worried.” But she was. The song she had written for Marc once more sounded a haunting melody in her mind. Would she ever play it for him? Would it ever have a name?
“I guess I won’t be going to Claire’s funeral tomorrow,” he said.
“Would you like me to tell André?”
“No. I’ll call him.” He sighed. “His problem certainly puts ours into perspective, doesn’t it?”
Rebekka nodded solemnly.
* * *
By Wednesday, the day of Claire’s funeral, the terrible cutting agony André had first felt at his wife’s death had begun to fade into a determination to live worthy of being reunited with her. At times the aching and emptiness were too much to bear, and he would collapse onto his knees next to the single bed he had slept in as a youth and pray until the desperation eased, or until he fell asleep. He spent much of the first few days after his wife’s death kneeling.
He and the girls had been staying with his parents, as he didn’t feel emotionally capable of returning to his own apartment. He knew he would have to face it soon and was glad his mother and sisters had promised to help him go through Claire’s possessions. There would be items he should put away for the girls—objects with only material value, like her jewelry and her collection of pewter. Other items he would save were priceless, like her diary, the letters she had written to the girls on each birthday, or the knickknack of the kissing couple he had bought for her on their honeymoon. Someday Ana and Marée would want to know the stories behind the items, and he would want to reminisce.
Someday.
It was hard now, when his soul still cried out for her. When his ears longed to hear her voice, and his body craved her touch.
The girls had cried when he had tearfully but steadily informed them of their mother’s passing. He had held and rocked them until they fell asleep, and continued to stay with them the entire night, in case they woke up and needed him. Sunday they had spent together quietly at his parents, and on Monday he had taken them to see Claire at the funeral home. She looked peaceful in death, and though the girls cried again as they touched and kissed their mother, he felt he had been wise in letting them say good-bye in this manner. The funeral home director and the counselors at the hospital had urged him to be open with the girls about the death, but he had feared their grief as much as his own.
Now as he helped them into the matching dresses Claire had made for them last Easter, he pondered his wife’s life. Her ill health early in their marriage had encouraged her to search for more sedentary occupations, and not only had she become an excellent seamstress and cook, but she was also an avid reader of anything from novels to nonfiction of all types. When he’d experienced troubles at work, she had drawn from her learning to counsel him. Her mind had become a veritable library of which he had made frequent use. It was only now as he fingered the material she had cut and sewn with such preciseness that he realized he had taken many of her talents for granted. “I’m sorry, dear,” he murmured.
“That’s okay, Daddy. It didn’t hurt. I didn’t feel anything.”
André’s hand paused as he zipped Ana’s dress, realizing she thought he’d been addressing her. “I’m glad it didn’t,” he said. “Now for the shoes.”
“I don’t know where mine are,” Marée wailed from the floor where she was sitting with a small doll her grandmother had given her the day before.
“They’re right here in this suitcase,” André said. “Grandma went and got them at our place yesterday. See? She even remembered your tights.” He scrunched up the white tights and slid them onto her tiny feet. Ana began pulling on her own. Claire had stitched a small X on the bottom of each foot so the little girls could tell which way to wear them. André knew it had been for him as well, since he had as much trouble as they did with the awkward things.
André tried to lift Marée to finish pulling up the nylons, but she was staring at her shoes and not cooperating. He stifled his irritation and the urge to jerk her to her feet.
“Marée, I need you to stand up,” he said, voice carefully controlled.
Her small face swiveled toward him, and by her expression he realized she hadn’t heard anything he had said. “Marée,” he called.
Her eyes focused on him, blue-green orbs that so reminded him of Claire. “Did I make Mommy die for not getting my shoes on?” she asked. Her voice was heavy and sad, and tears began falling from her eyes.
André was shocked. How long had this worry been weighing upon her young mind? He gathered her stiffened body into his arms and cuddled her close. Ana paused with her shoes in hand, e
very bit as curious for the answer as Marée.
“Of course you didn’t cause Mommy to die,” he said. “Never, ever think that. She just got sick. It had nothing to do with you.”
“She always got better before,” Marée protested with a trembling frown. “Except this time when I couldn’t find my shoes.”
“That’s because it was time for her to go home to Heavenly Father. I know it’s hard to understand. She loved you so much and didn’t want to leave, but she had to. And now we just have to keep on and someday we’ll see her again.”
Marée buried her face in his chest, her stiff body finally relaxing. “I miss her.” The words came out as a plaintive cry. Ana began crying with them, and André reached out to pull her into their embrace. “It’s going to be okay,” he whispered. “I promise.”
* * *
Rebekka and her family had been invited into the Relief Society room to take part in a Perrault family prayer before the funeral. She was surprised and happy to hear occasional gentle laughter as people conversed quietly, waiting to share a final moment with Claire. An air of reverence and love hung over the room. Many members of the extended family had traveled to be there to support André and to pay their last respects.
Perhaps that was why Rebekka was startled to see Raoul walk in the Relief Society room alone, just in time for André’s father to offer a prayer.
“Where’s Desirée?” Rebekka whispered after it was over.
Raoul frowned. “She didn’t come.”
“Why?”
“She didn’t know Claire well, and she hates funerals.”
“She should be here to support your partner,” Rebekka insisted. She looked across the room at André, who stood by the recently closed coffin, talking quietly with his parents. His eyes were rimmed with red, but he had managed to maintain his composure throughout the viewing and the condolences. The girls were at his side holding his hands tightly, and Rebekka was gratified to see him smile at something one of them said. “André needs all the support we can give him. As your wife, she owes it to him to come.”
Her comments fell on deaf ears. Obviously, Raoul could hear no evil when it came to his new wife. “I know she’s not really connecting with the family,” he said, “but she really is a nice person. You should see her with her friends.”
“Her friends?”
“Our friends. She’s warm, fun to be with, and—well, sexy.” When Rebekka punched him on the shoulder he said, “Hey, I can say that about my own wife!”
“Not at a funeral you can’t. And I still say she should be here.”
Raoul sobered. “Honestly, Rebekka, it’s okay. She has this thing about funerals. She’ll get depressed for days remembering her grandmother’s funeral. They were pretty close. At least she sent flowers.”
Rebekka couldn’t help the pity that formed in her heart. If only Desirée would listen to the gospel. Maybe then she would be able to accept them.
“Come on,” she said to Raoul. “There’s still time for you to say a word to André before we go in.”
* * *
The funeral services comforted André more than he had expected. His parents each spoke, recalling Claire’s special talents and how much she cared for her family. Then Josette recounted stories of her faith, how close Claire had been to the Lord, and the example she had been to them all. As they talked, André found himself thinking of the day he had met Claire, how there had been an air of purity around her. He had known instantly that she was to be his companion. How fortunate he felt to have loved and shared his life with such a wonderful woman.
The Spirit of the Lord descended and filled André’s heart with comfort and sweet hope. He would see Claire again, of that he was sure. He would touch her soft face and love her for eternity. Even at that moment he felt her close, almost as if her arm rested on his.
When the funeral was over and Claire had been interred at the cemetery, André felt a strong need to be in his own home. He thanked everyone who gathered at his parents’ to express their condolences and then carried the tired girls to his car, suddenly anxious to be back where he and Claire had lived and loved.
In their apartment, he brushed the girls’ teeth, though he had never been the stickler for it that Claire had been, seeing as all their baby teeth would soon be replaced by new ones anyway, and snuggled them into separate beds in their shared room.
Afterwards he was restless, and he paced from one end of the apartment to the other. His mother had been at work here, and the place was clean. Every room—even the bedroom where Claire had been so sick that last day—smelled fresh. Thank you, Mom, André thought.
As he walked through the apartment, memories of how they had purchased and arranged their belongings crowded into his head. Their furnishings were simple yet elegant, with deep hues of mauves, greens, and off-white instead of pastels. Claire had never gone for frills, but for solid value and timelessness. The furniture and accessories fit him perfectly. As had Claire.
He slumped onto the sofa in the TV room, staring at the blank screen while his hands fingered the crocheted lap blanket Claire had made. He held it to his chest, closing his eyes, breathing in her smell that was comforting and yet filled his heart with longing. Tears squeezed out of his swollen eyes, even when he thought there were none left. “I miss you, honey.” His voice was but a whisper in the silent stillness of the room.
The buzzer sounded in the hallway, signaling that someone was outside the apartment building wanting to come up. He walked wearily into the hall and pushed the black button without asking who was there. Then he waited, peeking through the tiny spy window. Depending on who appeared from the steps or elevator, maybe he would answer the door. And maybe he wouldn’t.
Rebekka came into view from the staircase, her fine features pensive. Even to a member of his family, he might not have opened the door. But to her he must. She had been with him when he needed her most.
“I’m sorry,” she said apologetically, as he emerged before she could ring his doorbell. “Your mother said you’d left these and since I was going home anyway, I thought I’d stop by and deliver them.” In her hand she held the dolls Ariana had purchased for Marée and Ana. “She said that Marée was particularly attached and that she might need it tomorrow.”
“Thank you.” He took the dolls and waited for her to say good-bye. Instead she continued to stand in the hall, hesitating. “Are you all right?” he asked.
She sighed, and her eyes that were already red and swollen turned desolate. “Marc didn’t want me to tell you . . . said you had enough to worry about, but I think you should know. Yesterday he started rejecting my kidney.”
André felt as though he’d been hit. Marc had been on the phone the past few days taking over the part of his work that Raoul didn’t have time to handle. All this time André thought his brother was recovering steadily, but instead he had become more ill. “So what does this mean?”
“Well—” she stared at the ground “—so far nothing. They’re controlling it by medication. But it still . . . oh, André, I’m so worried.” Her gray eyes were like storm clouds again, huge and threatening rain. “After all these years of waiting for him to notice me, I’m afraid I’m going to lose him.”
André put an arm around her and led her into his apartment. “Come on in. Let’s talk about it.”
“I knew giving him my kidney was right,” she said, hitting her right fist into her left palm. “But now I just don’t know what to do. I keep asking myself why we’re having to go through this, what lesson I should learn, but I just don’t see the necessity of his rejecting the kidney for some stupid lesson.”
He helped her settle on the sofa, the cream color of her knit pants blending in with the color of the leather, while he sat in the glider-rocker nearby. She fingered Claire’s white lap blanket. “I’ve thought about marrying him now while he’s in the hospital, just in case. That way if anything happens, I could still seal us later in the temple.” Her eyes met his rel
uctantly. “How’s that for faith?”
André shook his head. “I think your faith is fine, Rebekka. You were always great at planning things and going for what you want.”
“But I’m afraid to tell Marc,” she answered, relief in her voice. “It’s important that he keep up his spirits. If he thinks he’s . . .” She couldn’t finish the words.
“What does the doctor say?”
“Only that we have to wait and see. If the medication works, he’ll eventually be released and we’ll go on. If it doesn’t, they’ll have to remove my kidney from his body and put him on dialysis until he can get another operation.”
“Then it sounds like you have some time.”
A frown marred the smooth face. “Maybe.” She leaned toward him, rubbing her fingers together. “I feel like it’s so close, our being sealed, and yet life is so fragile. Everything can change overnight.”
Yes, I know. His thoughts must have shown in his face because Rebekka placed her hand on his arm. “Look at me, carrying on this way, when you’ve been through so much, and today of all days. I’m so sorry, André.” A single tear escaped the confines of her luminous eyes and slid down her left cheek. “I guess that shows the true me—how selfish I am. But I’ve no one else I can tell this to. Well, Raoul, maybe. If he weren’t so caught up with his own problems.”
André’s momentary agony subsided. “It’s all right, Rebekka. That’s what family’s for.” He realized that he had always considered Rebekka family. Once, before meeting Claire, he had actually imagined himself in love with her. Rebekka had only been sixteen or so at the time, though she possessed a maturity beyond her years. Even then he had seen her passion for Marc and, never being the type for unrequited love, he hadn’t let himself fall too deeply. Then he had met Claire, just eighteen, and had never looked back.
André still cared for Rebekka, though more in a removed sense since she belonged to Marc, and also because his love for Claire hadn’t let thoughts of other women enter his mind. Claire had filled his every emptiness. Now suddenly, his life stretched out before him, long and lonely without her. He sighed.
Ties That Bind Page 13
