Ties That Bind

by Rachel Ann Nunes

  Go back to Marc. The words hung between them, cloying, impenetrable.

  “We arrived in Paris at five,” he said, his voice suddenly growing weary, matching his rumpled attire. “I took Louis-Géralde to the transplant hospital on the way here. Since he’s already had all the preliminary blood-typing tests, they think they’ll be ready to do the surgery tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow?” Rebekka gulped.

  “The doctor would like to wait until Marc is stronger, but that’s not going to happen.”

  She knew. Marc was dying and she had understood by the doctor’s manner the past few days that this transplant would be Marc’s last chance; he was too weak for more. He might even be too weak for this one.

  André regarded her for a moment without speaking, and then he made a move toward her, as though to take her in his arms. Rebekka would have welcomed the comfort but knew she had given up that luxury when she had let those guilt-filled thoughts enter her mind the day before. Their friendship was now forever clouded by that memory.

  “André,” she said, her voice filled with pain and longing. Longing for what? She couldn’t say, not even to herself. If only Marc had been well.

  “He’ll be fine,” he said. “We must believe.” He touched her arm gingerly. “I’m going to say hello to the girls and then take a shower and change. Will you stay until I’m done?”

  “Yes. I have dinner in the oven. Are you hungry?”

  A half smile turned up the corners of his mouth. “Yeah. I didn’t eat much in Kiev.”

  She watched him go into the kitchen to greet the girls, who squealed and gave him exuberant kisses. Both children began talking rapidly, recounting every minuscule thing that had happened to them since his departure.

  Rebekka didn’t follow but walked slowly into the living room and sat on the sofa. She picked up the white crocheted lap blanket and smoothed it with her fingers.

  What was wrong with her? Why did she feel so frightened, confused, lonely? Was it only because of Marc’s illness?

  Closing her eyes, she began to pray for strength and endurance . . . and also something else she could not name.

  * * *

  André let the delicious hot water beat into his tired muscles until the steam in the bathroom was so thick he could hardly breathe.

  Not taking Rebekka in his arms was the hardest thing he had ever done. But it was the right thing. Whatever was between them—was it only his imagination?—had to come secondary to her feelings and her prior commitment to his brother.

  When he emerged from the shower, Rebekka informed him stiffly when to take out the roast, hugged the girls, and left. To Marc.

  André was satisfied that he had done all that he could do for his brother. The rest was in the Lord’s hands. He only wished the knowledge hadn’t come with a vision of the future he would never have.

  * * *

  “Thank you, brother,” Marc said to Louis-Géralde. The words were difficult to utter because the emotions inside him churned and bubbled so violently that it was all he could do to hold back tears.

  “Hey, no prob.” Louis-Géralde smiled.

  “We’ll help him get checked in and settled in his room and then check back on you,” Ariana said.

  Marc nodded, not trusting himself to speak aloud. When his parents and Louis-Géralde left the room, he took a deep breath and murmured, “Thank you, Father.”

  The tears came then and he started to cry deep, racking sobs that came from the depths of his soul. Unlike the other tears he had shed in private since rejecting Rebekka’s kidney, these originated in hope.

  Hope!

  Maybe he would live after all. Maybe the impression he had in Utah didn’t mean what he thought it had. He could have misinterpreted it. Or perhaps the time for their separation was yet in the future.

  Oh, Rebekka, I might just be able to have you for eternity. It’s the only thing I want now. Nothing else matters.

  The uncertainty of his situation had caused him more agony these past weeks than he would admit to anyone. Not to the Lord in his prayers, not even to himself. The truth was, Marc had looked many years for a partner, and not one woman had remotely aroused stronger feelings than the ones he held for Rebekka. He knew there was no one else he would ever love the way he loved her. Even his supposedly once-strong feelings for her mother, Danielle, were revealed to be nothing more than a boyish crush.

  Yet it was this same burning love for Rebekka that made it possible for him to refuse her offer of marrying him in the hospital. Marry her and die. He couldn’t do that to her—he wouldn’t. Oh, he desperately wanted to give in to her wishes because without her he would spend eternity alone. There was no one else for him—of that he was certain.

  Now there was hope. He had exercised his faith and the Lord had seen fit to bless him, despite the obstacles in his way. At last he and Rebekka would be happy and together.

  “Thank you, thank you, thank you.” The words formed a continuous litany. Marc felt so grateful to his God and his brothers that he was almost too full of emotion.

  The wrenching sobs were at last subsiding, and Marc dried his face on the soft white sheet. He took long, cleansing breaths, and began to think about the future.

  Rebekka entered the room a scarce fifteen minutes later, her face flushed with her hurry. She practically flew to his bedside.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked anxiously, searching his face. “You’ve been crying.” Her soft hands touched both sides of his jaw, cradling his face. He could smell her sweet perfume. His arms went around her and he pulled her closer.

  “Louis-Géralde. He’s here.”

  “I know.” Her cheek felt deliciously cool against his own.

  “I’m going to make it, Rebekka. At least I’m going to try. Will you pray for me?”

  “Now?”

  He nodded.

  They held hands as Rebekka offered a prayer of thanks, followed by a loving petition for Marc’s well-being.

  A warm feeling entered Marc’s heart, engulfing his entire soul with light. “Can you feel that, Rebekka?”

  She nodded, tears escaping from her eyes. “I can.”

  * * *

  “It’ll just be a little while now,” Rebekka told Marc the next morning as they waited for his surgery.

  He smiled weakly at her from the bed. “You know, I can’t help thinking that I’m the most fortunate man alive. Look at all the sacrifices people are making for me—André flying to Ukraine, Louis-Géralde coming back to give me his kidney, and you, Rebekka. You are the best. Have I ever told you how much I love you?”

  He had, but every time he said it, she felt the thrill of it again. She looked at his familiar, beloved face, now so much happier and hopeful than she had seen it in a long time. “Yes. And I love you.” She bent her head and kissed him tenderly. He shut his eyes and sighed with her touch.

  “Now be a good boy and come back better, okay?”

  “I’ll do that.” He gave her the youthful grin she adored, the one that had so frustrated her when he hadn’t returned her affections while growing up. “And three weeks from today we’ll get married, okay?” He kissed his finger and held it up to her lips as the orderly pushed his bed from the room. Rebekka held onto his hand for as long as she could, but let him go at the door. She watched until he was out of sight

  She began to pray.

  Hours passed as they waited for Marc to come out of surgery. Rebekka stayed in the waiting room with Marc’s family for most of the time, talking quietly or reading a magazine. Her parents checked in occasionally, but knowing that her father had already missed too much work, she insisted they leave. “I’ll call you with any news,” she promised.

  Before lunch she was permitted in briefly to see Louis-Géralde, who was doing well after his surgery earlier in the day. “Hi, Rebekka,” he groaned when she came into the room. “They made me get up and walk, the brutes! Can you believe it?”

  She shook her head sympathetically. “I remember i
t all too well.” Her hand went to her side where she would forever bear the scar of her attempted gift to Marc. They made small talk for a minute and then Rebekka said, “This is a great thing you’re doing. I can’t tell you how much this means to me.”

  Louis-Géralde’s face grew sober. “They say he still might not make it. That even if the kidney works fine, he may be too weak to recover.”

  Rebekka reached out and touched his shoulder comfortingly. “It’s in the Lord’s hands now.” Almost miraculously she felt the Lord’s love surrounding her like a warm embrace.

  Back in the waiting room, her eyes met André’s, and instinctively she found herself walking in his direction. She had always been so grateful for his support; perhaps she could offer him some of the comfort she had felt in Louis-Géralde’s room.

  He smiled tentatively as she approached. “Where are the girls?” she asked.

  “With Josette. She’s feeling sick right now, with the baby due next month and all.”

  Rebekka felt a mild surprise that the months had passed so quickly. “Worrying about Marc hasn’t been helping her. Josette and Marc are close.”

  “She always tried to protect him as kids. This time there’s nothing she can do. It’s tough for her.”

  Rebekka nodded, knowing exactly how Josette felt.

  They sat together on the couch without speaking, far enough away from one another that not even their clothes touched. The silence was comfortable, but the memory of the incident at the restaurant returned. She quickly shoved it to the back of her mind and forced her thoughts elsewhere.

  At long last Dr. Juppe came into the waiting room, and the Perrault family and Rebekka gathered around him. “The transfer went really well,” he announced. “The kidney’s working, but he’s still very weak. The next twenty-four hours will tell. Since the match is so good, I worry a lot less about his rejecting the kidney than I do his surviving the surgery. He’s a strong man, though, and he’s got a lot to live for.” The doctor winked at Rebekka. “I would go so far to say that if he makes it until morning, he’ll be just fine.”

  Joy sang through Rebekka’s heart and tears of gratitude sprang to her eyes. Marc was going to live. He was!

  “Thank you, Dr. Juppe,” Ariana said for all of them. “We appreciate everything you’ve done.” Jean-Marc shook his hand and asked if he could take the doctor and his wife out to dinner later that day. Dr. Juppe agreed.

  Rebekka’s eyes met André’s and for some reason her stomach churned. He frowned and drew her aside from the group. “Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine,” she replied a bit tersely. More gently she added, “I should call my parents with the news, though. They’re waiting to hear.” What she really wanted to do at that moment was find out why she felt so uncomfortable whenever she spoke to him.

  It’s nothing, said an inner voice, but her guilt returned in force.

  André said nothing, but his eyes didn’t leave her face. Suddenly, Rebekka was acutely aware of her rumpled jeans and her pink T-shirt. Pink? Why had she worn pink? She knew it contrasted with her auburn locks, despite their being so dark. She must look a sight.

  For a moment she felt utterly miserable.

  “You, André!” came a tight, angry voice from across the room. Rebekka was relieved to feel André’s searching eyes leave her face. Raoul strode quickly across the carpet toward them, looking furious.

  “What?” André asked.

  Rebekka had never seen her brother so angry except for the night their father had informed Raoul that Desirée was nothing more than an overly made-up, money-digging tramp. Rebekka hadn’t agreed with her father’s assessment then, but now? Could it be that he had seen something she had missed? Like Raoul, Rebekka had been so willing to overlook the initial warning signs. After all, Desirée had been going to church at the time.

  “I’ve just had an interesting discussion with my wife,” Raoul said, nearly spitting out the words.

  “Raoul, calm down!” Rebekka cast a glance at the rest of the Perrault family, who quickly averted their interested gazes. “I’m sure we can work this out.”

  “Not this we can’t!” Raoul cast a threatening glare at André.

  “Just spill it, Raoul.” André said crisply. “Your timing couldn’t be better. Marc just finished his surgery and we’re waiting to see if he’s going to live or not.”

  A look of regret passed over Raoul’s face but was almost immediately lost again to the seething anger. “My wife says you made a pass at her last Monday when she came looking for me. Says it happened in your office. What do you have to say for yourself?” Raoul’s expression was venomous.

  Rebekka grabbed Raoul’s arm. “Stop it, Raoul. If you can’t discuss this civilly, then leave.”

  Raoul strained against her grasp. “I’m not going anywhere until I hear what he has to say for himself. And if I’m not convinced, then you’ll be glad we’re in a hospital because he’ll need one!”

  “He didn’t do it.” Rebekka looked at André, confident that he would explain what had really occurred.

  “She did come looking for you on Monday,” André answered steadily, “but nothing happened between us. I was leaving right then to eat lunch with Rebekka.”

  “That’s right,” Rebekka volunteered, continuing to grip her brother’s arm. “I arrived just as Desirée came out of his office. She looked fine to me.” Then because he had not asked about Marc’s well-being, she added a bit spitefully, “Except she was wearing too much lipstick, and that skimpy white shirt she had on was way too tight for my tastes. She should have worn her leather jacket instead of carrying it.”

  Her words had an odd effect on Raoul. He was still tense under her grasp, but not fighting to get free. “Leather jacket? You mean a black one?”

  “Yes. She was carrying it.”

  “She took it off while we were talking.” André’s color deepened and for the first time Rebekka wondered what had occurred between him and Desirée. Had something actually happened? No, she couldn’t believe that of him. More likely, Desirée had been the one . . .

  Oh, no . . . Rebekka stared at her brother in dismay.

  “I—I wanted her to wear the jacket today,” Raoul explained in a lost-sounding voice. “She said she’d left it in André’s office. That he was holding it when she escaped from—”

  Rebekka understood then that Desirée had been protecting herself. She must have honestly thought she’d left the jacket in André’s office, and then had believed André would use it to convince Raoul of what had really occurred between them.

  “She must have left it somewhere else,” André said softly, obviously coming to the same conclusion. “Would you tell her that I don’t have it, and that I’m sorry if she mistook anything I might have said on Monday?”

  “Maybe it was all a misunderstanding.” Rebekka gently released her hold on her brother’s arm. “Ask her to think about it and see if maybe there was some misinterpretation.” Misinterpretation, my eye, she thought. Her heart completely went out to her brother.

  Without another word to either of them, Raoul turned and walked stiffly to the elevator.

  Rebekka looked at André. “It was her, wasn’t it? She made a pass at you.”

  He sighed and glanced mournfully in Raoul’s direction. “She’s young. She doesn’t understand . . . she wasn’t raised the way we were.”

  Rebekka shook her head. “Excuses. When you’re married, you’re faithful. There is no other choice.”

  “What if there was still a choice? What if she was only dating or engaged to him?” André stopped talking, face paling, and Rebekka knew he was no longer talking about Desirée. “Uh, Rebekka,” he continued hastily. “I have to leave. Now.”

  She watched pensively as André fled the waiting room.

  * * *

  When Rebekka was finally allowed to see Marc late in the day, he was in good spirits. “They didn’t make me get up this time. I guess I was too weak. They did help me move my
legs and hips a lot. Sort of like walking in bed. Tomorrow they said they’ll help me give standing a try.”

  Rebekka sent up a prayer, thanking her Father in Heaven for the success of the surgery.

  So far.

  She stayed all night with Marc, fearing that despite how well he looked, he would die if she went away. Occasionally she dozed in her chair, and once she dreamed of André. She awoke shivering slightly, annoyed that the thoughts intruded on even her sleeping hours.

  Dr. Juppe arrived the next morning and ordered a battery of tests. Rebekka read aloud to Marc as they waited for the initial results, but her heart thumped so thunderously she wondered if Marc could hear her words. Finally the doctor came in smiling. “I think you two better call the preacher,” he announced. “This has every indication of a keeper.”

  “Yes!” Marc threw his fist triumphantly into the air, and then winced. “You’d think I’d remember by now.”

  Rebekka laughed and kissed his cheek, blinking away tears of relief.

  “Louis-Géralde wants to see you,” Dr. Juppe added. “Is it okay if I bring him in here? Says he wants to play chess.”

  “Sure. I feel great.”

  Dr. Juppe threw him an amused smile. “You won’t later when the nurses get done with you.”

  “Walking?”

  “Yep. Walking.”

  Marc sighed loudly, but his face was content.

  As the doctor left, Rebekka stood. “Look, I’m going home to shower and change.” She glanced down at the pink T-shirt that looked even worse than it had the previous evening. “Goodness, this is an awful color. I think I’ll just throw it away.”

  “That’s my favorite shirt! You can’t throw it away. You look so adorable in it.”

  For a moment Rebekka was speechless. How could she have forgotten that he loved this shirt so much? Of course he did. He told her that every time she wore it, which must have been the reason she put it on.