The Ariana Trilogy

by Rachel Ann Nunes

  “But she’s not even dead!” I exclaimed. “How could we ask something like that?” I remembered how the doctor in the emergency room had told us we should pray once Marc was on the waiting list, but how could we pray for a kidney? How could we pray that someone else would die so that our son could live?

  Jean-Marc shook his head. “It is something we could pursue,” he said. “But we can’t just wait for someone to die. I’ll give Marc one of my kidneys. Surely I would be a better match for my son.”

  “Presumably. But we’ll have to do a workup to make sure you’re healthy, etc. That way if we need it, we’ll be ready.”

  “Let’s do it then,” Jean-Marc said. “I want Marc well as soon as possible.”

  “The test results usually take about a week,” the doctor cautioned. “But that’ll be better for Marc, anyway, as he is too weak right now for a transplant.” He paused, picking up a schedule on the desk with his thick fingers. “I have some time today for some of the tests if you’re able.”

  “What is the success rate for the transplants?” I asked. The doctor had explained that while donating a kidney was generally safe, it still involved major surgery. We needed to be prepared in case Marc rejected my husband’s loving gift.

  “With living donors we have about 90 to 95 percent success in the first year as opposed to 85 percent with cadaveric donations,” Dr. Juppe said. “Don’t worry. We’ll do everything we can to ensure that the transplant runs smoothly.”

  Before the tests, we drove to the hospital to visit Marc. It took longer than usual to make our way through the streets. Once, we were pulled over and our van searched by police. I didn’t mind; I hoped they would find whoever was responsible for the bombing. Like many others, I had kept my children home from school for fear of more attacks. Josette and Marie-Thérèse were helping out at the café, more to keep themselves busy than anything else, and I had left André and Pauline at home with Grandma Louise.

  At the hospital, Marc was more lucid than the previous night but still very weak. “I’m sorry,” he said, as we entered the room.

  I smiled, kissing his cheek. “Next time there’s a bomb, run!”

  “I’ll keep that in mind,” he said. Then a wide grin covered his bruised and scraped face. “But I saved that lady, you know. The nurses say she told them all about the boy with roller blades.” The grin faded, and he strained slightly, as if trying to sit up, grimacing with the pain. “Only she’s not doing so well now, and they’re worried she’s going to die. They say her husband’s about crazy because of it and that her children can’t do anything but cry. I’m not supposed to know, but I hear them talking. One nurse said she had a subdural hematoma, and they had to drill a burr-hole to fix it. Later, I asked the doctor what that meant, and he said it happens when someone gets a bad blow to the head. The hematoma grows and squishes the brain, and they have to put in a needle and let out the blood and stuff.” He stared at us anxiously. “I don’t want her to die! Will you help me pray for her?”

  “Of course we will,” Jean-Marc said. I nodded in agreement. I was proud of my son and his faith.

  Marc sighed and relaxed. “Her name is Danielle Massoni.”

  I bit my lip and glanced over at Jean-Marc, but I saw he didn’t recognize the name of the woman Dr. Juppe had told us could be a possible kidney donor. Was that why the name had seemed familiar? But I didn’t remember Marc mentioning it before.

  “We’ll pray for her.” I was happy I could say it and mean it. Because of Jean-Marc, we didn’t need her kidney.

  “I’m going to give you one of my kidneys,” Jean-Marc said, punching Marc lightly on the arm. “Imagine that. You’re going to have a piece of me inside of you!”

  Marc chuckled. “I’ve been thinking about that since you mentioned it last night. That’ll be twice you helped give me life.”

  Jean-Marc grinned. “I’m glad to do it.” The love in his voice brought happy tears to my eyes. Even in the midst of this hardship, we were blessed.

  I went back to the café to get some work done while Jean-Marc went for his tests. Upon arriving at the café, I sent the girls to the hospital to see Marc. Both went eagerly. Louise brought Pauline to the café shortly before dinner, but André had refused to come. Worry grew in my mind, but I had to push it aside. First I had to get through Marc’s problems.

  Many of the ward members came by the café to ask how Marc was doing. Not one had heard from my mother. Some of the women began planning fund-raisers to pay for the transplant. Thanks to Simone’s hard work, our insurance had been reinstated; but there would be much it wouldn’t cover. I was glad the Church members were there to offer support, because I couldn’t deal with the problems alone. Each time I thought too deeply, a desperate fear—like the one I had felt on the day I had asked Jacques for help—came over me. But I had learned that fear wasn’t constructive. I needed to focus on one thing at a time and go from there. Living in fear came from the devil, but trust in the Lord conquered those feelings.

  Simone also stopped by the café to see how I was doing. “I’m beginnin’ a fund for Marc’s transplant at the college,” she said.

  I hugged her. “Thanks.”

  “Well, I’d best be gettin’ along.”

  “Wait! Have you seen my mother?” Was it my imagination, or did she shift her weight nervously at the question?

  “I’ve been at the hospital. She wasn’t there.” Glancing at her watch, she added, “I’ve got to go.”

  I watched her leave. Why is she in such a hurry? Probably she had a class to teach or, more likely, she wanted to see her boyfriend, Frédéric. She wasn’t a blushing schoolgirl, but I knew she loved him.

  Lu-Lu came in shortly after the girls returned from the hospital. “I wasn’t fired,” she announced. “It’s strange, but no one really noticed I was gone. Philippe came back, but he didn’t say anything about my not being there. Everyone thought we were together talking, so they never missed me.”

  “Did you get the promotion?” I asked.

  She grimaced. “I doubt it. But the curious thing is that no one did, at least not yet. Philippe was supposed to call today with his recommendation, but he never did. I heard he was having family problems. One of the girls told me he and his wife were separating.”

  It seemed suspicious that Philippe’s marriage was in trouble the day after Lu-Lu appeared on the scene. I couldn’t help but think the two might be connected.

  “Shall we go visit Marc?” Lu-Lu asked.

  “Sure. Let’s go.”

  Pauline went with us to the hospital but stayed only a short time in the room. Marc was sleeping, so there wasn’t much to do but watch him breathe, as I had so done often when he was a child.

  When we were ready to go, I kissed his forehead and went to find Pauline. She was reading a book in the waiting room.

  “Let’s go home,” I said.

  “I wish you had come sooner,” she said. “There was a man here asking me questions.”

  I stiffened. “What about?”

  She gazed at me innocently. “He was so sad, Mom. I asked him why, and he said his wife was dying and he felt bad. I told him he would see her again, and he asked me all sorts of questions about that. I told him the thirteen Articles of Faith.” Her face beamed. “I remembered all of them, but I think I got the last one a little messed up. He didn’t seem to care. He shook my hand and said thank you.”

  “That was all?” I asked suspiciously. Was this real or just another part of Jacques’ plan?

  Pauline nodded. “Except he showed me a picture of a little girl. She’s only five.” The corners of her mouth turned downward into a frown. “She’s going to be so sad if her mother dies. I wanted to help her.”

  “Maybe you have,” I said, hugging her. “Maybe you have.”

  We went by the café and picked up the girls and then drove home. All the lights in the apartment were on, and my father was pacing in the kitchen. Jean-Marc sat with André at the table.

 
“We’ve called everyone we know,” my father said. “I just don’t know where your mother is.” He ran a hand through his short hair. “How can she do this to me?”

  “Maybe she thought you wouldn’t notice,” I said softly.

  He whirled on me, his dark eyes flashing. “How could she think that? I love her!”

  “I’m not the one you should be telling.” I glared back at him.

  “Stop it, you two,” Jean-Marc said. “Wait a minute.” He slapped his forehead with his open palm, as if remembering something important. “There is one place I didn’t think to look.”

  Hope blossomed on my father’s gray face. “Where?” he demanded.

  “Simone’s.”

  I stared at him doubtfully. “I saw her today, and she didn’t mention anything.”

  “Did you ask her directly?” Jean-Marc asked.

  “Yes, but she said she’d been at the hospital and hadn’t seen her.” I hesitated. “Come to think of it, she did seem like she was avoiding answering me.”

  “Ah-ha.” My father left the kitchen, stopping at the apartment door only to throw his long coat carelessly over his shoulders. But his steps faltered in the outside hall, and before the door closed, it was pushed open again as he backed into the entryway.

  “What if she won’t see me?” he asked, not turning to face us. “Why is she doing this?” Once it had been I who had gone to him for help; I wished I could help him now.

  “I think you know,” I said.

  He shut his eyes, letting his head droop. “Maybe I do. But how do I fix it?” He didn’t wait for an answer but slowly retraced his steps to the outer hall, shutting the door softly behind him.

  “Look at that,” André said mockingly. His sharp eyes had taken it all in. “This is what the Church does to people.” Then he disappeared into the glaringly empty room he had once shared with his brother.

  Jean-Marc followed him. I never knew what passed between them, but it made no apparent difference in André’s attitude. Marc was still in serious condition, but I greatly feared it was André who needed the real help—a spiritual surgery we didn’t know how to perform.

  Chapter Twelve

  The next day we went earlier than normal to the café to finish our work in time to be at the hospital for Marc when they hooked him up for a dialysis treatment. Slowly, the blood flowed into the machine to be purified and then back into Marc’s body. He took it stoically, as he always had the unpleasant things in life, staring in fascination at the catheter entering the cut in the flesh of his arm, making a scar he would carry for life.

  Jean-Marc paced. Seeing this process made him even more eager to give one of his kidneys to Marc. The doctor had promised to notify us as soon as the test results were ready, but I was in no hurry. According to the doctor, Marc wouldn’t be strong enough for the operation for at least a week, perhaps a day earlier if his steady progress continued.

  During the long process, I left and telephoned Simone. “Where is she?” I asked bluntly.

  Simone sighed. “Okay, she’s here. Your father already called, but she wouldn’t talk to him.”

  “She’ll talk to me. Put her on.”

  There was a brief pause as Simone obeyed. “Hi, Ari.” My mother’s voice sounded apologetic.

  “You worried me,” I said.

  “I’m sorry. I just needed to get away. I feel bad that I haven’t been there for you. I didn’t hear about Marc until yesterday. Please forgive me?”

  “Sure. But are you coming to see Marc?”

  “Yes, this afternoon. We’ll talk then, okay?”

  I smiled, though she couldn’t see me. “All right.”

  “I love you.”

  “I love you, too.” I hung up, feeling happier now that I knew for sure where my mother was staying.

  “Mother’s at Simone’s,” I said to Jean-Marc as I reentered Marc’s room.

  “That figures. Simone always was kind of sneaky.”

  I laughed and settled on a chair next to Marc’s bed. “At least Mother is safe. She’s coming to see Marc later in the afternoon.”

  “Good,” Marc said. “I miss her.”

  My husband gave Marc’s leg a squeeze. “I’ve got a few things to fix at the apartments. And I’m going to talk with another bank today.” He bent and kissed me on the cheek. “Take care of yourself. I’ll be back later.”

  I wanted to question him about the bank where he was going, but each time I probed, he became distressed and slightly hostile—reactions stemming, I believed, from his insecurity. It was best to leave him be, to play a supportive role without asking for anything in return. Standing, I threw my arms around him. “I love you! Good luck.”

  A flash of gratitude touched his face. He kissed me. “Thanks, Ari.” I watched him leave, my heart full of tender emotions toward him.

  In the late afternoon, after the lengthy dialysis treatment was finished, I went to stretch my legs and get a drink of water in the waiting room. There, I overheard a couple of nurses talking about Danielle Massoni, the woman Marc had pulled from the rubble. Their news worried me. As I turned to go back to my son, a voice called to me.

  “Mom!” Pauline skipped out of the elevator, followed by André and Lu-Lu. “Did you find Grandma?” Pauline asked.

  I nodded. “She’s at Grandma Simone’s. She said she’d come by.”

  “How’s Marc?” Lu-Lu asked. Pauline was already wandering down the hall to his room, but André stayed nearby. He stared dismally at an impressionist painting above the green couch, his eyes dark and intense.

  “Doing really well,” I said.

  “Then why do you look so worried?”

  I sighed. “It’s that lady he saved. You know, the really beautiful one you carried to the ambulance?”

  “Danielle. She said her name was Danielle.”

  “Well, she’s not improving at all. She’s slipped into a coma. I heard two nurses talking about it just now. I don’t dare tell Marc.”

  “Have you met the family?” Lu-Lu asked.

  I shook my head. “No. I haven’t been here all that much, and when I am, I’m in Marc’s room. Pauline met the husband, I think yesterday evening. Remember that man she talked to? That must be him.”

  “So much devastation because of that bomb,” Lu-Lu said. “It just isn’t right. Pauline said he has a five-year-old daughter.”

  “Marc heard they have two children, a boy and a girl,” I added.

  We both sighed and turned to go down the hall when the elevator opened. “Dad,” André said. “And Grandpa.”

  Jean-Marc and my father caught up with us, both wearing business suits. It had been so long since I had seen my husband dressed that way, except for church, that I looked at him twice. But it was my father’s presence that occupied my thoughts. “Jean-Marc Perrault,” I muttered under my breath. “You’re setting up my parents. You know Mother is coming this afternoon.”

  A boyish grin filled his face, and his green-brown eyes twinkled. “The safest place for a meeting,” he returned in a whisper. “After all, if a fight breaks out, we have doctors at hand.”

  I almost laughed aloud at the suggestion of my parents fighting physically. Their fights may have involved yelling or running away but never hitting or other physical abuse. “You’re the one who’ll probably get in trouble,” I said. The words bounced off the white walls in the corridor and seemed to come back to me like a promise. I shrugged the odd feeling aside.

  “They have to talk,” Jean-Marc insisted. “Running away does no good. I know.” He was right to some extent, but I knew that if my father hadn’t been so stubborn, he would have listened before it reached this point. I pursed my lips and followed him into Marc’s room.

  “Wow, I’m getting popular,” Marc said.

  We laughed, all but André. “Where’d Dolly go?” His use of his pet name for Pauline didn’t escape me.

  Marc shrugged. “She said she wanted to visit a friend down the hall. Don’t worry. She can take
care of herself.”

  The room was comfortably crowded, but it became overwhelmingly so when the door swung open and my mother walked in. She wore her nearly white hair swept elegantly on top of her head to reveal the graceful curve of her neck. Beneath her open coat she wore a gray skirt and white blouse.

  “Josephine!” My father took a step toward her.

  She gripped her purse tightly. “Géralde.”

  “Where have you been?” Relief and anger played over his face before he squelched the emotions with a stern frown.

  “Ari,” my mother chided.

  I raised my hands. “Don’t look at me. Blame him.” I pointed an accusing finger at Jean-Marc, whose grin matched Marc’s.

  “This is better than TV,” Marc said from the bed.

  The door opened again, and the room became even smaller when Dr. Juppe entered. “Uh, I’m glad to catch you here,” he said. “I came to check on Marc, but I have news about your tests.” His last words hung ominously in the air.

  “What is it?” Jean-Marc said quickly.

  Dr. Juppe glanced at my parents, but they made no move to give us privacy. “My parents,” I explained.

  He nodded and turned to Jean-Marc. “I’m afraid you can’t give your kidney to Marc. All the results aren’t in yet, but one thing is sure: one of your kidneys isn’t working as well as it should. I can’t fix it.”

  Jean-Marc’s jaw clenched. “So, give the other to Marc. I’ll live with the defective one.”

  The doctor shook his head. “It wouldn’t be enough to keep you alive. I’m afraid we’ll just have to wait for a donor, unless you have other friends and family to be tested.” He continued, explaining the reason for the kidney’s impaired function with medical names I didn’t recognize. “The good news is that medication will prevent the same thing from happening to your other kidney,” he finished.