“No you aren’t.” Mathieu grabbed her arm and marched her into the emergency room waiting area where Josette and an elderly couple were the only occupants. “Now if you so much as rise from that chair until I give you permission,” he said with unconcealed anger, “your bottom will be redder that it ever has been. And believe me, I don’t care how old you are. I mean what I say. If you keep acting like you’re three instead of almost thirteen, you’re going to be treated like it!”
Larissa’s face twisted in an ugly grimace, but she stayed in the chair. Marie-Thérèse felt her daughter’s hateful stare ripping into her like the claws of a cat.
Yet at least for that moment, Marie-Thérèse was distracted from her terrible fear for Brandon’s life. Larissa was her daughter and she loved her deeply. “Please, Larissa,” she pleaded. “I might lose Brandon; I can’t bear to lose you, too.”
Larissa said nothing, but her glowering seemed to abate slightly.
The doctor emerged then, to Marie-Thérèse’s relief, and escorted her and Mathieu to Brandon’s side. “We’ll be moving him to a permanent room in a while,” he informed them. “But take your time with him.”
Brandon lay on the pillow, face red and blotchy against the stark white. Other than the slight rise and fall of his chest, he was motionless. An IV dripped steadily into his veins.
Marie-Thérèse began to sob again, stroking her son’s hair, while Mathieu gripped his hand. “We’re right here, son. Come back to us. We need you.”
Marie-Thérèse continued to cry.
After a long time, they moved Brandon to another room, where Marie-Thérèse took up immediate occupancy in the chair to the right side of the bed. She rubbed at her son’s lifeless arm. The rest of the family arrived and she listened as her father, assisted by Mathieu and André, gave him a blessing. She noticed that Jean-Marc also blessed the family to accept the Lord’s will.
No! I won’t. I can’t. I won’t! I can’t let him die!
She prayed as she had never before prayed in her life. She begged, pleaded, and bargained with the Lord, promising every good thing if He would allow her son to live.
But her prayers lacked faith—she knew it. Brandon was going to die.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Rebekka returned to her parents’ home on Monday morning, more exhausted than the night before. She should have contacted Marc as she had promised, but since she still didn’t know what to say, she didn’t, though her heart ached for comfort—his comfort. To be fair she had left a message on his cell phone, though she called when she knew he was in sacrament meeting and would have it turned off. She had promised to call again the next day.
Today.
She sighed. She had spent the entire Sunday feeling very ill because she had slept so poorly on Saturday night. Raoul had finally returned home at nearly three in the morning—alone—and she had heard him in the kitchen. They talked for hours and then finally fell asleep on the living room floor together, waking up stiff and sore, but just in time for church meetings. Raoul looked as terrible as Rebekka felt, and getting themselves ready took longer than they expected. They ended up going to a different ward an hour away, and Rebekka was glad that she wouldn’t have to face anyone she knew—especially Marc and André. She almost hadn’t gone to church at all, but Raoul reminded her that after the first time it was easier to miss, and one day she might not go back at all. He was right, she decided, and had forced herself to dress, though finding something in Desirée’s closet modest enough to wear to church had been a challenge.
At church, she had felt a peaceful calm enter her heart, and she was intensely grateful she had attended. Only Marc should be at my side, she had thought.
Or should it be André?
Now the harsh confusion was back. Rebekka rubbed her temples, where a headache was steadily growing.
At least no one was home to demand an explanation. She had called her parents on Saturday night so they wouldn’t worry, but Danielle would most certainly want to know why she hadn’t been in their sacrament meeting the previous day, and all about Raoul’s separation. She would likely have also heard from Ariana about Rebekka’s break-up with Marc, and want to know the reason.
For the time being, Rebekka was spared the questions.
Going into her office, she plunged into her work. She paused several times to stare for long moments at the phone. What would Marc be doing now? She hoped he wasn’t overworking. Surely his family would check up on him.
He’s a full-grown man. She told herself. He doesn’t need a baby-sitter.
In the afternoon, her stomach reminded her that she hadn’t eaten anything. She turned off her computer and made her way to the kitchen. Danielle, who was standing by the counter, glanced over at her in surprise.
“I didn’t know you were home, honey.”
“I didn’t know you were, either.” Rebekka poured herself a glass of orange juice from the refrigerator. “I’ve been working in Raoul’s room—I mean, my office.”
“I was doing the grocery shopping,” Danielle said, motioning to the counter where there were three large reusable shopping bags, all made of sturdy material with wide, padded handles. “Here, these are still warm.” She rummaged in one of the bags and offered Rebekka a cloth sack filled with fresh rolls.
Rebekka took a roll gratefully, biting into the flaky crust. “Mmm,” she said with a sigh. The bread in France was the thing she’d missed most while living in America.
Well, that and Marc.
Had she even missed André?
Of course, he and Claire had been together then, so why would she have missed him in that way? In fact, if Claire hadn’t died, Rebekka and Marc would nearly be married, and she wouldn’t be in this predicament.
Rebekka felt she was on the verge of discovering a truth that might be terribly important, but her mother interrupted her thoughts.
“So, how’s Raoul?” Danielle asked.
“He’s at work.” Rebekka took another bite of bread and chewed slowly. “Apparently, Marc and André came up with a new project and they put Raoul in charge of it. He has to leave town tomorrow.”
Danielle paused with a carton of juice in her hands. “That’s good.”
Rebekka set her cup forcefully on the table, dropping the half-eaten roll next to it. “What do you mean, good? I think he should find Desirée and either talk some sense into her or get a divorce, not bury himself in work. What good is that going to do?”
“I don’t know. Why don’t you tell me?” There was amusement in Danielle’s face. “I mean, you seem to be doing pretty much the same thing.”
“I am not . . . I’m—my situation is different.”
“Of course it is.” Danielle resumed shelving her purchases, the amusement gone. Rebekka knew then that someone must have filled her mother in on the details of what had happened on Saturday night, or at least some of them. But surely she didn’t know about her feelings for André. Neither Ariana, Raoul, nor André would break her confidence.
“Dear,” Danielle continued, “men generally tend to bury their problems in work, while women turn to their friends and their children. Now maybe that’s because men have traditionally been the breadwinners—I don’t really know—but that’s the way it is.”
“Did you do that?” Rebekka’s curiosity overrode her anger.
Once again Danielle paused in her work. “Rebekka, believe it or not, there was a time when I almost left your father. And I did turn to you and Raoul and to my friends. But we made it through. He loves me and I love him.” Danielle’s face glowed. “He even went to church again yesterday. I didn’t have to ask him.”
Rebekka knew what that meant to her after a lifetime of hoping and praying . . . and waiting. “Do you think he’s really interested? Or is it that boy—Thierry?”
“He’s interested,” Danielle said with assurance.
Rebekka wasn’t so sure, but she didn’t want to hurt her mother’s feelings.
Danielle put her
hand on Rebekka’s shoulder. “Someday you’ll look back on this trouble you’re having with Marc and see the reasoning. I promise you. It won’t be tomorrow, or even next month, but someday. And Raoul will do the same. The Lord loves both of you, and He’s aware of your needs.”
Ariana had said much the same thing. Rebekka sighed.
“Why don’t you get cleaned up and we’ll take a break—go for a walk or something. If you want, we can talk about what’s bothering you. And we still need to get some shoes to go with your wedding dress.”
Rebekka looked down at her rumpled linen pantsuit—the same outfit she’d worn Saturday night. “I don’t even know if I’ll be wearing the wedding dress,” she mumbled.
Danielle didn’t appear to hear her. Resigned, Rebekka trudged to her room, dragging her feet. Once there, her eyes rose to the closet where she kept her wedding dress in a specially designed blue bag. Carefully, she unzipped the bag and fingered the delicate folds of shiny satin. Marc had never seen her in this dress, but she knew it made her beautiful, and she ached to try it on again. Instead, she headed for the shower.
In the bathroom, she slipped off the engagement ring Marc had given her. She examined it carefully, remembering the expression on his face when he had offered it to her near the river. His gaze had held so much love and hope, and now she didn’t feel worthy to wear it, not when she had betrayed their love.
I didn’t!
With a heavy sigh, Rebekka returned the ring to her finger. She wasn’t going to take it off until . . .
Until what?
Huffing in frustration, she cut off her thoughts and hopped in the shower.
When she emerged from the bathroom, wrapped in her white terry-cloth robe, her mother was waiting in the hall, her face etched with worry. In her hand she gripped their portable phone.
Marc! Rebekka first thought flitted across her mind.
“Josette called,” Danielle said. “Brandon ate something at school and had an allergic reaction. He’s in a coma and they don’t know if he’ll come out.”
Rebekka felt the color ebb from her face. “Oh no!”
* * *
Rebekka and Danielle went immediately to the hospital where Brandon was being treated. Rebekka was stunned. How could such a terrible thing happen to such a nice kid? And how could something as benign as a strawberry cause such a disaster? Rebekka felt disillusioned. Brandon was a wonderful boy. How could this happen to him?
All the Perraults had gathered at the hospital except Marc and Louis-Géralde. Ariana gave them a small smile as she embraced Danielle.
“How is he?” Danielle asked. The distress in her voice reminded Rebekka that not only was Danielle a good friend of the Perraults, she was also Mathieu’s cousin. Brandon was family in more ways than one.
“He’s in a coma,” Ariana told her, “but the doctor seems to think he has a good chance of waking up. Marie-Thérèse has taken it very hard, though. Mathieu says he doesn’t know how to comfort her.”
Rebekka’s own problems suddenly became trivial; at least Marc was going to live. “Poor Marie-Thérèse,” she said. “Is there anything I can do?”
“They’re giving him a blessing now. Besides that, they won’t let anyone in to see him besides immediate family. So I guess we’re just here for moral support.”
“We’ll do anything we can to help,” Danielle said. “Organize meals, read to him. Whatever we can do. Please let us know.”
Rebekka was about to add to her mother’s comments when she saw André saunter through the heavy wood door that set off the waiting room from the rest of the hospital wing. The confused emotions of the previous day returned and Rebekka bit the inside of her bottom lip nervously.
“Is something wrong?” her mother asked, touching her elbow in concern.
“No,” Rebekka lied.
André’s eyes locked onto hers and for nothing could she tear them away. She was vaguely aware of his father and grandfather behind him, branching off to talk with their wives. André came straight toward Rebekka.
“We have to stop meeting like this,” he said.
Danielle gave a wry smile at his poor attempt to joke, but Rebekka couldn’t even manage that much. Her heart hammered in her ears.
“I’m so sorry about Brandon,” Danielle said. “I know you two are close.”
Rebekka saw the naked mourning on André’s face, but almost immediately he masked the emotion. He took Rebekka’s arm firmly and led her away down a hall, away from the others.
“Where’s Marc?” she asked. “I mean . . . how’s he doing?”
“He’s all right—physically. I was with him earlier today at his place. But he doesn’t know about Brandon yet because no one answered at his place when I called. And he must not have his cell on. I was going to see him now.”
“He wouldn’t have gone to the office, would he?” Rebekka said anxiously. “He promised me he wouldn’t but—” She didn’t know if all promises were void after the incident Saturday night. She bit her lip.
He stopped walking and turned to face her. “He’s not at the office. But I doubt he’s sleeping. He’s probably looking for you.”
A wave of guilt hit her. “I should have called him. But . . . but . . .” Tears filled her eyes and she could barely see André through the haze.
“Look, Rebekka.” He broke off and stared at the ring Marc had given her for a moment before continuing. “There—there’s something I need to tell you.”
She blinked hard, but his face was still blurry. “What?”
“I’ve done a lot of thinking this weekend and I want to tell you that I think you should marry Marc.”
“I should marry—what?” She was so stunned that she wondered if she had heard correctly. Had she imagined that he was attracted to her?
André cleared his throat and continued. “I know that in your heart you love Marc and that he loves you more than life itself. The two of you belong together.” Her eyes had dried and she saw his face now, earnest, convincing.
“Then you don’t—?” She couldn’t finish.
“I’ll always be your friend Rebekka. And hopefully, I can learn to be your big brother.” He tried to laugh though it sounded flat to her ears. “It might take a little time, but I’ll be okay. I care a great deal for you, I really do. You are a special, incredibly talented woman, and under other circumstances, I think . . . well, it doesn’t really matter. The fact is, I’m still in mourning. I believe I’ve been too ready to try to fill the void Claire left in my life, and that was wrong of me. I need time to heal. I really miss her.” His voice had grown hoarse.
Rebekka thought there was more truth to his last statement than anything else he’d said. “You and Marc are ready to go on with your lives.” André hugged her with a finality that ripped at her heart. “I want you both to be happy. I’m sorry I confused things between you. It was wrong when I’m still so in love with Claire.”
A weight seem to lift from her shoulders. He was right. André was still in love with Claire, not her, and she loved Marc. She did! All at once, her confusion was completely and utterly gone. “What should we tell Marc?” she asked.
André shrugged. “What is there to tell? We comforted each other, and somewhere along the way the lines were blurred. But they were always there, and we always knew that.”
Which was why she’d felt so much confusion when she’d considered stepping over the line.
“I’m going to get back to the family,” he said, thumbing casually over his shoulder. “And I think maybe you ought to be the one to go see Marc. You two can check in here later. It doesn’t look like Brandon’s in any immediate danger—he’s unconscious but stable.”
She glanced down the hall, nodding. “I’ll do that. Please tell Mathieu and Marie-Thérèse that I’m praying for them . . . and for Brandon.”
“I will.”
They stood looking at each other, and Rebekka was acutely aware of how differently this moment might have ended in other ci
rcumstances.
Or would it? An incredible calm filled her soul, similar to the peace she had experienced in church yesterday.
Like the times she spent alone with Marc.
The answer was there all along, Rebekka marveled, just as Ariana said it was.
Finally she saw what had been hidden from her these past weeks. When everything was said and done, she could imagine being happy with Andre, but she could never imagine living without Marc. He was her hero, the man of her dreams.
She had to find Marc! Her anticipation to be with him outweighed any other emotion. She couldn’t wait be in his arms and feel his lips on hers.
“Good-bye, André,” she said somewhat breathlessly.
He nodded and she was relieved to see not pain but understanding in his eyes. She smiled thankfully and walked away.
Chapter Thirty-Three
André watched until Rebekka walked away, knowing he had helped her see the truth that had always been in her heart. Her reaction to his words proved that if forced to choose between them, she would have eventually turned to Marc. André could have tried to persuade her to wait, to get to know him better, but in the end, he believed she would still have married Marc. By encouraging her to do so, André had given them a chance at the happiness they deserved. He would still be a part of their lives, and that was a deal he could live with. A deal he had to live with.
Heaving a sigh, he walked in the direction of the room where his family had gathered. One foot in front of the other, he told himself. That’s the way I’ll survive. He knew it wouldn’t be easy, seeing Marc and Rebekka together and wondering what might have been, but he had done the right thing. Over the years, his ache for what she represented would fade.
“André!”
With surprise he turned to face the newcomer. “Hello, Monsieur Massoni.” He used the formal title for Philippe, as he had done since childhood, despite the closeness of their two families.
“My wife called me. She seemed really upset. How’s Brandon?”
Ties That Bind Page 29
