“No, I’m sorry. I don’t want you to get sick.” There was silence; we all knew what that meant.
André put his arm around Pauline. “Don’t worry, Dolly,” he said, using her childhood nickname. Marie-Thérèse had given Pauline the rag doll her mother had made before her death, and Pauline had carried Dolly with her constantly. When the doll had become too old to repair further, it had at last been retired to the chest in Pauline’s room, but the name had somehow transferred itself to the child, though only André used it now. “I’ll bring your homework and play a game with you when I get home,” he added.
Pauline’s sunny smile blossomed. “Thank you, André. You’re the best brother.”
“What about me?” Marc teased.
Pauline laughed. “Will you play a game, too?”
“We’ll all play,” Josette said. None of the other children could resist Pauline.
“And I’ll bring you a chocolate,” said Marie-Thérèse.
Pauline giggled. “I think I’ll stay home every day.”
“We’d better get going or our train will leave without us.” Marie-Thérèse’s upturned nose twitched as if she were fighting a cold.
“You stay out of the rain, too,” I said to her.
The children were scarcely out the door when my mother appeared, her arms full of groceries. “You can’t be doing this,” I said as she settled herself at the large table. It wasn’t the first time she had brought food.
“Of course we can. We’re not as well off as we were before the bank failed, but we’re getting by. Your father seems to think we’ll recover some of the loss when the investigators finish up at the bank.”
“I hope so. Where is Father?”
She sighed. “Counseling some members. You know, he works much more than he ever did now that he’s retired.”
“But that’s Church work. It’s not the same thing.”
“Isn’t it?” She gazed at the floor. “You know, when he was baptized I said I’d never ask the Lord for another thing. But I always thought that when we got old, we’d spend time together, just the two of us. Sometimes I don’t want to share him with the Church.” Her voice sounded resentful.
“Tell him how you feel,” I said.
“Maybe.”
* * *
The next few days were dreary and colder than ever. I missed Jean-Marc, and though I loved my children, they were poor company. With the money the bishop had given us, I paid the insurance and numerous other bills that had piled up. There was little left for food, but Marguerite and other members were generous with their gifts. I often found bags of food anonymously left outside the door to our apartment.
Jean-Marc called on his cell phone each night he was away, the frustration evident in his voice. “It was a bad lead,” he said. “The company doesn’t even want to hire; in fact, they’re cutting back. I don’t understand. If I didn’t know better, I’d say someone was trying to sabotage me.”
I laughed, grasping at the trace of mirth in his voice. “It’s because something better is out there waiting. You’ll see.”
“Are you keeping warm?” he asked. “It’s been colder here than I’ve ever seen it. Some of the people who don’t have central heating have been moved to shelters.” The gentle flow of his voice faltered. “An old woman died last night. It was in all the papers here. She refused to go to the shelter, and she died of exposure.”
“We’re fine. I’ve been keeping Pauline home from school, though.”
“That’s good.”
“When are you coming home?”
“In a few days. I wanted to try to get something before Christmas.” His voice grew husky. “I love you, Ari.”
“And I love you. No matter what.” But I hung up the phone feeling utterly alone.
That night I woke up because of the cold. Stumbling down the hall and through the kitchen, I opened the small closet that housed our furnace. The pilot light was out, and I had no idea how to relight it. The apartment I had grown up in hadn’t had central heating, and since marrying Jean-Marc, I had left those things to him.
“It can’t be too hard,” I said to myself.
“What is it, Mom?” Marc appeared in the hallway, rubbing the sleep from his eyes as he had done as a child.
“Do you know how to light this?”
He shrugged. “No.”
“Oh, here are the instructions. ‘For relighting, shut off gas and wait for it to clear. Then turn on and light with match.’ Doesn’t sound too hard, except which knob is the pilot? The printing is too faded.”
“What’s going on?” André asked, appearing behind us. “Why is it so cold?”
“The pilot’s gone out. We’re trying to figure out how to light it.”
“I can do it,” he said. “I’ve watched Dad before.” This didn’t surprise me, as he always seemed to see everything. He squatted down and took the matches from my hand. “Let’s see,” he murmured, striking one. “I just turn this knob and put this here.” There was a sudden flare, and a small explosion knocked us backward onto the carpet in the hall.
“Are you all right?” I asked my sons. The loud noise had left a ringing in my ears.
André jumped to his feet to help me up. “It looked so easy when Dad did it.”
“At least there’s no fire,” I said. The gust of air caused by the small explosion had put out the flame.
“What happened?” Marie-Thérèse and Josette came running down the hall.
As the boys explained, I worked on the furnace. Try as I might, I couldn’t get it to light, and I worried that the explosion had caused irreparable damage. “I guess we’ll have to get out the electric heaters,” I said at last. That meant I would have to stay awake all night because of the fire hazard, but it was better than having my children freeze. I wondered when this strange cold spell would end.
“Everyone to my bedroom.” I handed each son a portable heater. We tramped through the kitchen, where there had once been a wall separating the conjoined apartments, and down the other hallway to my room.
“Mom, Pauline’s window is open!” André had gone into her room to wake her.
I followed him quickly and found him shutting the window. “Pauline,” I said, “wake up!” It was hard to believe she had slept through so much noise.
Her eyes fluttered open. “What’s wrong?” she asked sleepily.
“Why did you open the window?”
“I was hot.”
I put a quick hand to her forehead; she didn’t feel hot. “Come on. We’re going to have a sleepover in my room.”
“Why?”
I left the older girls to explain and walked into my room. Marc and André were busily setting up the electric heaters. “Girls in the bed, boys on the floor,” I said. They went about happily arranging the blankets.
Josette insisted on sleeping on the floor with the boys. “It’s too crowded in the bed,” she said.
I tucked Pauline under the covers and plugged in the heaters. Soon the room was warm. “I wish we could sleep like this every night,” Pauline said. “But I miss Daddy.”
“So do I.”
I tried to stay awake, but my eyes shut against my will. The next thing I knew, André was shaking my shoulder. “Wake up, Mom! There’s a fire!”
Any hint of sleep fled from my mind. I jumped from the bed to help Josette and Marc, who were using their pillows to pound out a fire by the door where one of the heaters had been. “Go get the fire extinguisher!” I yelled to André. He nodded and slipped past the fire and ran in the direction of the kitchen.
It wasn’t a big fire, but it blackened a large portion of the wall by the door before we managed to extinguish it. The carpet had big holes with melted strands surrounding them. Marc’s blanket was a total loss. The elaborate cedar chest my parents had given me when I married was singed on one end, but the precious contents, memories of my own and my children’s earlier years, were untouched. I fingered the marred wood, feeling a brief anger at the
damage.
“I’m sorry, Mom,” Marc said, noting my frown. “I scooted closer to the heater, and before I knew it, my blanket went poof!”
The realization that it could have been so much worse washed over me like a wave. I hugged him. “It’s all right.”
A cough from the bed brought my attention to Pauline. “It’s smoky in here,” she said.
I opened the window to clear the air and wrapped her in my quilt to keep her warm. Her face glistened, and I didn’t like the sluggish way she turned to look at me. When I touched her forehead, it burned like fire.
“Go call Grandma Josephine,” I said. “Tell her to come quick! We need her to take Pauline to the doctor!” A stunned silence filled the room, as André gave a strangled cry and ran out the door.
After André finished talking with my mother, I called Jean-Marc’s cell.
“Hello?”
“It’s me,” I said. “Pauline’s sick. She’s got a fever. I don’t know if it’s serious or not.”
“What did the doctor say?”
“We haven’t gone yet. Mother’s going to take us. We’re waiting for her.”
“I’m coming right home.”
“What about the job?”
“My family is more important.”
“Thank you,” I said. “I’m scared.” Even though he was hundreds of kilometers away and wouldn’t be able to arrive before evening, the idea of his coming made me feel better.
“It’s going to be okay. I love you. I’ll be there soon.”
I hung up and dressed myself with trembling fingers. My parents arrived shortly, and my father wrapped Pauline in a blanket and carried her to the car. Then we all squeezed into their car and drove to the AIDS clinic near the hospital where our doctor worked. The children were grave, and tears streaked André’s face as my father carried Pauline inside.
Dr. Medard was at the clinic. He was in his mid-forties, a man of average height whose plain face was enhanced by compassionate light brown eyes and a thick moustache that hid a cleft lip. A strong presence surrounded him. “How’s my favorite patient?” he asked. He had tended Pauline since the day he had guided her head from her mother’s womb, and I knew his words were sincere.
Pauline giggled weakly, and a concerned frown came to his face. After a few minutes of examination, he decided to admit her to the hospital. “Don’t worry,” he said, touching my arm lightly. “I’ll take care of her.”
It was hours before the blood tests came in so we knew exactly what was wrong. I waited at the hospital, battling my fears and praying, while my parents took the other children home. Everything had the surreal appearance of a bad dream. Finally the doctor came with the news.
Because of her HIV, Pauline’s T-cell count had dropped dangerously low from the previous month; this, combined with the cold weather, had led to pneumonia. The drop in T-cells showed that the virus had mutated and become immune to the old drugs. We had known this would happen eventually and that we’d been lucky it had taken so long. For the past year she had been showing signs of AIDS, meaning that the HIV was widely spread in her system, leaving her open to many opportunistic diseases.
“I recommend giving her a protease inhibitor,” Dr. Medard said.
I knew what that meant. It was part of a relatively new mixture called a “cocktail” treatment. It consisted of two of the old drugs and a new one called a protease inhibitor. Most patients rebounded for months after receiving the medicine, and it was being hailed as a possible lead to a cure. But there was a downside as well; 10 percent of the patients began to fail again after nine months or so on the drugs. For them, there would be no second chance.
“Do I have your permission?” Dr. Medard asked.
I nodded. He had already tried the other drugs, and this was all that was left. Both of us feared that she would develop an immunity to the protease inhibitors, leaving her nothing else to take. Still, I agreed to the treatment. While this drug was a last chance for Pauline, it would give her precious time until a cure could be found.
The cocktail mixture was very expensive, more so than the other drugs, and it worried me that we didn’t have any money coming in. I made a hasty decision: when Jean-Marc arrived home tonight, he would have to agree to my going to work.
“Mom, don’t cry. I’m okay,” Pauline said after they had begun the medication. Her eyes were beginning to droop with the sedative they had given her.
I wiped the tears away. “I know. I just worry.”
A smile spread across her lips. “I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
Her eyes closed, and I watched her sleep. If a bit thinner than some girls her age, she seemed so healthy and so full of life. She had always seemed so, even as an infant.
A cough from the doorway distracted me from my reverie. I glanced up and smiled at Simone, my adopted daughters’ grandmother and my good friend. She wore a flowered dress as usual but had thick tights underneath to ward off the cold.
“How ya doin’?” Her nearly colorless eyes had a green tint today, a reflection from the green flowers on her dress.
“All right. She’s asleep now. I think she’ll be home in a few days.”
Simone approached the bed and settled in a chair near mine. “Your mother called me, and I went to your apartment to help the kids dress for school. Man, that place is cold. I’m glad my whole apartment buildin’ only has one heatin’ system in the basement. When it goes out, I just call the manager.”
I sighed. “It’s never been a problem before.”
We sat in silence for a moment. “Oh, here. I got your mail. It came just as I was leavin’.” She fumbled in her purse and handed me the letters.
“Don’t you have to be at the university?” I asked. Simone had been taking courses since her baptism ten years before. She was close to completing a degree in physical science and now taught part time. It had been rewarding to see the changes in her life, from her new job to mastering correct verb conjugation. Also, to my regret, she had all but lost the colorful accent of the small French village where she had grown up.
“Naw, I took the day off when I heard about Pauline,” she said. “I’ve an in with the boss.” Actually, Simone was dating the head of her department, who happened to be an older widower she had met at a stake function. They had been dating for nearly two years, and he wanted to marry her, but at age fifty-six, she feared making a big mistake. Poor Frédéric held on, completely under her spell.
“When are you going to finally marry him?” I asked. The question was more habit than anything else; we always teased her.
“Maybe someday.”
We fell into silence as I thumbed through the mail. A letter from our health insurance company caught my eye. I opened it quickly. The check I had sent them slid out of the envelope and to the floor. I felt the blood drain from my face. “They’ve cancelled our insurance!”
“What!” Simone’s eyes narrowed, and she grabbed the letter from my hands. “‘In accordance with articles thirty-seven point two and sixty-five point one, we hereby terminate health insurance coverage for . . . ’” Simone read on, but I didn’t hear the rest.
What am I going to do? The heater broken, my room burned, and Christmas less than two weeks away. I had to find some relief. I needed money, a lot of it. Today.
The answer came, and before I knew it, I spoke aloud. “I’ll ask Jacques.”
“What?” Simone said. “Where’d that come from?”
“I met him in the cemetery visiting Nette. He’s read the papers, and he’s offered me help. I know it may be difficult to believe, but he’s a real businessman now. President of a carpet compay, he said.”
“Impossible to believe is more like it,” she said. “That boy was never anythin’ but trouble. You’ll stay away from him, if you know what’s good for ya.” She waved the insurance company’s letter under my nose. “We can fight this. I’m sure there’s been a mistake. You don’t have to go to him.”
“Don’t worry. I’m not a child anymore. I’ve been through with Jacques for a long time now. But I won’t see Pauline’s treatments held up for anything, especially not my pride. You know as well as I do that the public system won’t allow the care she’s been getting. If Jacques can help and wants to, why shouldn’t I let him?”
Simone didn’t seem convinced. “I wouldn’t be surprised if he wasn’t lyin’ to you even now.” She snorted. “President of a carpet company. Of a drug ring, I’ll bet.”
“But his father really did work in carpet,” I told her. “And here’s the card he gave me.” Why I came to his defense, I didn’t know. Perhaps because of the roses he placed at our daughter’s grave; perhaps because I needed it to be true. “I never met Jacques’ father, though, because he’d already kicked Jacques out before we met.”
Simone rolled her eyes expressively. “That, I believe.”
“Will you stay with Pauline?”
“What about Jean-Marc?”
I shrugged. “He won’t be here until later. When the hospital finishes the paperwork, they’ll call the insurance, and then they’ll know we’ve been cancelled. I don’t know what else to do.” I gazed at her, pleading for understanding.
Her wrinkled face softened. “Go, then.”
I kissed Pauline’s cheek and nearly flew from the room, bumping into someone outside the door. “Josette!” I exclaimed. “What are you doing here? You’re supposed to be in school!”
“I did go, but I just couldn’t stay there. I had to see if Pauline’s okay.” She glanced toward the door, which was closing behind me.
“She’s fine. We’re not going to let anything happen to her.”
Josette sniffed. “It’s my fault she’s here. She asked me if she could open her window a little last night. Her room was so hot, I didn’t see any harm in it. I meant to go back and shut it, but I forgot.”
I hugged her. “You couldn’t have known the heater would go out, and you couldn’t have known her T-cell count was low. It’s not your fault.” I helped her dry her tears as we walked down the hall.
“Where are we going?”
“You’re going back to school.”
The Ariana Trilogy Page 50
