Ties That Bind

by Rachel Ann Nunes

  “What would I do without you?”

  He had one arm around her, pulling her close so that their cheeks were touching, and his other hand held hers firmly. Rebekka was grateful for his comfort. Throughout their lives they had been friends and his support during this rough time in her life was just about all that was keeping her sane.

  “Marc asked me to watch out for you,” André said. “And I will. You can always count on me, Rebekka.”

  “Marc asked you to take care of me? That’s so sweet.” Then almost immediately, she wondered what Marc had meant by the words. Was he talking about after his death? Did he mean for her to find someone else—perhaps someone like André?

  What a ridiculous thought, Rebekka told herself.

  Rebekka met André’s gaze, noticing how handsome he was, how like his brother. She could also see the apparent loneliness in him, and for the first time in her life, a feeling other than friendship for him rippled through her heart.

  Rebekka’s surprise was so great that her tears ceased and she stared at him in open-eyed wonder. All at once, there seemed to be a powerful electric link between them, and Rebekka’s thoughts raced crazily, unable to comprehend the new feelings in her heart.

  After a few brief, powerful seconds, their eyes broke away. “What were you saying?” he asked, shaking his head as if to clear it. There was an apology in his eyes, but she didn’t understand why. Had he seen and understood her fleeting feelings? She hoped not—she certainly hadn’t.

  It’s nothing, she wanted to tell him, yet if she spoke, she would give credence to the experience. Guilt arose in her heart. How could she even begin to notice her future brother-in-law in that way? Stress, she told herself. It’s the stress. I love Marc and I’m worried that he’s going to die. And André is here, strong and healthy—everything I want for Marc. That’s all.

  There was so much tension between them, she almost couldn’t breathe. She forced herself to answer his question. “I said, uh, that it was sweet for Marc to want you to take care of me.”

  He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Well, it’s not as if it’s a burden. You and I have always been friends.” He chuckled. “In fact, a long time ago, after my mission and before Claire, I had a huge crush on you, Rebekka. But—”

  “I was too young,” she said bitterly. “The story of my life.”

  “Not that. I mean you were very young, but you were always mature. The reason I didn’t pursue it was because I knew you were in love with Marc and I realized that would never change. Then I met Claire, and I knew we could be happy together. We were happy. I love her so much.”

  Rebekka understood what he was saying. When she had given up on Marc and fled to America to work for Damon Wolfe, she had come to care for Damon a great deal—before she had become involved with Samuel. While she had never really loved Damon, knowing him and experiencing his kindness had taught her that somewhere in the world there would be another man that she could love. Someone who didn’t have to be Marc. She had believed it enough then to give Samuel a chance, but now that Marc had come around, she didn’t want to entertain such notions. Marc was everything to her. And yet—tears came to her eyes at this next realization—he wouldn’t marry her until he was sure he would be around to take care of her. Did that mean he thought she would find someone else the minute he died?

  “Why not tell me since—I mean, now that you don’t feel that way anymore?” Rebekka asked.

  He shrugged. “A guy thing, I guess.”

  She felt there was still much he wasn’t telling her, but she wasn’t about to push. She was already confused enough by the odd thoughts about André. What would Marc say if he knew?

  The tension between them had faded significantly, but everything was by no means as it had been before. Now when Rebekka looked at him, there was an awareness in her heart that hadn’t been there previously. What did it mean?

  She pushed the thoughts guiltily aside. “I have to go see Marc,” she said, half-apologetically. “I have to make sure he’s all right. This news about Louis-Géralde isn’t going to be encouraging.”

  “Good idea,” André answered easily. “Tell him I’ll stop by this afternoon after I pick up the girls. They aren’t going to Mom’s today.”

  “I will.” Rebekka’s heart thudded in her chest. They were pretending that nothing had happened—as best they could. Then again, nothing had happened. They were friends and soon would be in-laws. She loved Marc with her entire heart, and André was still mourning Claire. That was it.

  They emerged from the restaurant, side by side, careful not to touch one another. With regret, Rebekka realized that the days when they had so innocently comforted each other with siblinglike physical affection were over—and she missed him already.

  He smiled at her, squinting slightly in the sunlight. With a fluid gesture, he placed his sunglasses on his face, covering his warm brown eyes. Was it her imagination or did he seem even more lost than before?

  “You know, Rebekka,” André said, voice teasing. “By rights you should have more freckles than you do.”

  She shrugged, wondering where this comment came from. “I did once. As a kid. They’ve faded away, that’s all.”

  “You still have thirteen,” he said. “Here and here.” His finger pointed out the marks without actually touching her skin.

  “Oh, great.” She rolled her eyes. “That’s some number.”

  Then his eyes widened. “Wait. There’s another right above your lip. Fourteen. I don’t know how I missed it. It’s darker than the others.”

  She laughed. “That’s a relief.” She wondered if she really did have that fourteenth freckles or if he was just trying to make her feel better. “I’ve never had anyone count my freckles before.”

  “Now you have.”

  The tension of earlier was back and Rebekka nearly began weeping. What was wrong with her? Why did she suddenly not want to go to the transplant hospital at all? It didn’t make sense. She loved Marc, and André was only an old friend.

  It was all too much to think about. “Good-bye, André,” she said firmly.

  “Bye, Rebekka, and try not to worry. The Lord knows what He’s doing.”

  On the way to the hospital, Rebekka pondered André’s parting words. “I’m glad someone knows what he’s doing, then,” she whispered in the quiet of the car, “because I certainly don’t.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  In the days after the surgery to remove Rebekka’s kidney from his body, Marc had been incapacitated by severe anemia. Dr. Juppe tried to compensate with drugs, but even then Marc had only enough energy for a brief walk in the halls. Though he longed to leave the confines of the hospital, there was no possibility of his returning home.

  He was dying, he could feel it. Every day he felt worse, not better as the nurses kept telling him he would. Rebekka came to visit faithfully, and she often talked about their wedding—especially about getting married in the hospital. He could see the hurt in her eyes when he refused to be drawn into the conversation. He loved her so much that he wondered what hurt more, his body or his heart. If only he could make her see that his all-encompassing love for her prevented him from tying her down to a ghost. He’d spent many years as a blind idiot, but now he would do right by Rebekka, even if she couldn’t see it. Someday, if worse came to worst, she would thank him.

  By worse you mean leaving Rebekka to someone else, a voice in his head clarified. The idea was terrifying and horrible to consider. His whole being ached with the possibility of not having her sealed to him.

  Please, Father, he prayed fervently. I knew I wouldn’t have much time, but not like this. Can we have a little more?

  He was still repeating this prayer when Rebekka came in Monday afternoon. She’d been with him a few hours in the morning but left to run a few errands and to have lunch with André. Marc hoped his brother had explained to Rebekka why he couldn’t marry her in the hospital. Maybe André had been able to make her understand. />
  “Hi, sweetheart,” she said, bending to kiss him. She smelled like fresh flowers instead of the impending death odor Marc knew hung around his own body.

  He returned her kiss. “I missed you. Did you have a good lunch?”

  “Yes. Very nice.”

  “What about that book I asked for?”

  “First stop I made.” She held it up. “Want me to read a few chapters?”

  “Sure.” He was relieved she didn’t bring up the subject of marriage. Maybe André had been able to help them after all.

  “Okay, then.” She started reading and he relaxed, holding her hand and listening to her soft voice as it flowed over and around him.

  “Don’t go to sleep on me, Marc,”

  He started. Had he been drifting off? That happened a lot now. He was always so tired.

  There was a noise at the door, and from far away he seemed to hear a nurse talking, but couldn’t understand the words. It wasn’t important enough. Not even the book in Rebekka’s hand could tempt him now. His eyes shut. He felt Rebekka leave to talk to the nurse, but knew she would be back.

  When she did return, she was silent and pale. With effort he asked, “What happened? No one else died, did they?” The joke fell decidedly flat.

  “Nothing’s wrong. Maybe you should rest. Do you want me to read some more of your book? If we’re going to get married—” she stopped and swallowed hard “—then I’d better get used to reading them. And you’d better start reading my mysteries.”

  She wasn’t fooling him. Even in his drugged state he could see that something was wrong—something besides everything else. “Rebekka,” he said softly but with determination, “please tell me.”

  Tears sprang to her eyes. “I just talked to the doctor. He’s bumped you up as far as he can on the transplant list. Thank heaven money isn’t a problem.” Her voice was unsteady as she added, “Your condition is . . .”

  “Worse, huh? But why the list? Louis-Géralde should be home soon. Uh-oh, what happened? Rebekka, I can see it in your eyes. What’s wrong with my brother?”

  “Nothing.” Her gaze didn’t quite meet his.

  “Rebekka. I can take it.”

  “He’s okay. Really. It’s just that he can’t come home right now. There’s been some sort of a mix-up and he’s been put in jail. They’re working on getting him out now. I didn’t want you to worry.”

  “Jail!” Marc’s desire to sleep fled. “I’ve heard about Ukrainian jails. He could be there for weeks.”

  “I’ve already called my friends at the embassy to see if they can do something. If I still worked there it might be faster, but they’ll come up with a plan. He’ll be okay. It’s you we’re worried about.”

  He tried to sit. “I can go get him.”

  “You aren’t going anywhere.” She pushed him down. “Louis-Géralde is fine. Or will be soon.”

  Marc bitterly acknowledged that he wasn’t well enough to even sit up, much less get on a plane bound for Ukraine. Tears threatened to fall, but he fought the familiar sensation. Rebekka held his hand and they stared at each other. His eyes roamed her face, every inch known and beloved to him. The fear in her eyes was so prominent and deeply etched that he wondered if it would ever go away.

  Once again, he began to pray.

  * * *

  Back at his desk, André couldn’t concentrate. Fourteen freckles, he thought. What had possessed him to count them? He didn’t understand the urge, would never have believed possible the odd thoughts that were coming into his brain. During their life together he had loved Claire completely and totally. Any feelings he might have once harbored for Rebekka had been eradicated from his heart the moment he had seen Claire. She had been his life. Yet now she was gone, and he knew that whether he wanted to or not, he had to find some semblance of happiness, if not for himself, then for his daughters. But his plans for happiness did not include another woman.

  So what happened at that restaurant with Rebekka?

  Marc put it into my head, that’s all, he told himself. It never crossed my mind until he asked me to take care of her.

  Then why did you tell her that you once had a crush on her? He still had difficulty believing he had confessed this, seeing as how she was engaged to his brother. The whole confession had been a mistake. But he had been so terribly lonely and she bursting with a visible need for comfort.

  At least he hadn’t admitted everything.

  He hadn’t told her how he’d wondered—however briefly—what might have happened had Marc not come around, or if he hadn’t met Claire. Would such a relationship ever have worked?

  Guilt assaulted André from every side. How could something like this even cross his mind? Was he so desperate to fill the emptiness inside that he would betray his brother and so soon forget his wife?

  No! his soul cried. He had loved Claire—with his entire heart. And he would never hurt his brother.

  Then why all these feelings? Yesterday, he had sworn it would be years before he might be able to think about another woman romantically.

  The problem was that Rebekka wasn’t another woman—she was his friend. She had always been his friend.

  Did these feelings stem from the fact that Rebekka had known and loved Claire? Or perhaps because she could teach Claire’s daughters what a wonderful person their mother had been?

  André put his head in his hands and moaned. The pain he’d felt at Claire’s death seemed to double. He longed to have her with him, to have their family whole. That must be why he had been drawn to Rebekka at the restaurant. She represented all that he had lost.

  Marc asked me to take care of her.

  His hands tore at his hair, and the pain helped him focus. What it all boiled down to was this: Marc thought he was going to die, and Rebekka thought he was going to die. Even the other members of the family seemed to be preparing themselves for tragedy. I’m the only one who believes he’s going to live, he thought. The only one. Yet if he doesn’t live he wants me to take care of . . .

  The thought was not one to be finished. Suddenly André had to do something about his brother’s condition. He absolutely wouldn’t stand by and watch Marc die. He loved him too much—him and Rebekka both.

  He grabbed an envelope of money reserved for emergencies from the back of his desk, picked up his briefcase, and strode to the door, locking it behind him. “I need the next flight available to Ukraine,” he told his secretary. “If there’s a choice, I need only enough time to stop by the hospital to see my brother. Call me on the cell as soon as it’s set. Leave a message if I don’t answer. Then find Mr. Massoni and tell him I’m going out of town for a few days and he’ll have to go solo in the meeting tomorrow. Tell him I’ll call to explain later. Oh, and call my mother and get the number of the mission president in Ukraine. Leave the number on my cell messages as well.”

  If she thought his commands a little strange she didn’t let on. With a hurried thanks, André ran out of his building and hailed a taxi. If everything went as planned, he wouldn’t have time to worry about his car.

  At the transplant hospital, André sauntered purposefully past the nurses’ station and into Marc’s room without permission. He was at once met with the antiseptic scent of death that hovered over the room. Rebekka was there, and both she and Marc looked with surprise in his direction. Marc’s eyes were too dark in his pale face, and André knew Rebekka had told him about Louis-Géralde.

  “Hi, André.” Rebekka flushed slightly as she said his name. She was so beautiful and uncertain that he wished to wrap his arms around her and tell her not to worry. But that was Marc’s job.

  “I’m going to Ukraine,” he announced. “I just stopped by to let you know.”

  They stared at him, but he shrugged. “I’d planned to go there for a week anyway with Marie-Thérèse to pick up the baby they were going to adopt, just in case they ended up having to stay three weeks instead of two and Mathieu couldn’t take more time off work. Since I’m clear to go, I’
m the logical one to bring back Louis-Géralde. I’m going to call the mission president on the way and see if there’s anything I can do to speed his release.”

  “Thanks,” Marc’s voice was gruff and the gratitude in his eyes all too apparent. André felt uncomfortable, unworthy. His gaze strayed to Rebekka.

  “My friends at the American Embassy might have some connections in the French Embassy in Ukraine,” Rebekka said, rising from the bed. “It’s worth a try anyway. Let me see your documents. I’ll fax copies to my friends, so they can help you if you run into any problems. You never know.”

  With a click André opened his briefcase where he had kept his passport and other documents since he had received them over a month ago. He handed them to her.

  When she had gone, André turned to Marc. “Why are you staring like that?”

  “Because it’s what I wanted to do—go get Louis-Géralde. I’m the oldest and I feel responsible. Thank you for going in my place.”

  “He’s my brother too, and you’re not the oldest, Josette is. Remember?”

  Marc snorted. “By five minutes.”

  “And there’s Marie-Thérèse—she’s four months older than both of you—even if she was adopted later.”

  “I know, but a man’s responsible for his younger brothers.”

  “Maybe.” André cleared his throat. “Anyway, I’m not going for Louis-Géralde. He’d be okay. The mission president would take care of him.”

  “You’re going for me.” Marc’s voice was flat, hopeless, and André’s anger flared to life.

  “Yes, I’m going for you, and for Rebekka, and for our whole family.” He leaned closer. “But you aren’t doing your part like you promised. You’re giving up.” He swept his arm in a wide arc, indicating the room. “Is this the last place you want to live in before you die? Marc, you have to try!”