The Ariana Trilogy

by Rachel Ann Nunes

  He jumped up and grabbed my hands. “No. Never that, Ari! You were more beautiful and pure on the day we married than any other bride on earth or in heaven.” He paused, sucking in a deep breath. “It’s me. I can’t help but wonder if he wouldn’t have made you a better husband in the long run. If maybe you wouldn’t rather have him as the father of your children, have him holding you at night. You did love him once. And before me.” His voice broke on the last word, as if he couldn’t bear to think of it.

  “The love I had for Jacques was simply the need of a love-starved child,” I said, feeling the passion with which I meant the words. “I was a child. That was all. I chose you, and you are my life now. You can’t denounce our love or yourself because of what happened so long ago. I love you.”

  “Then don’t go to him, Ari.” There was pain in the words.

  I had never expected to have to choose between my husband and my child. The two should always be on the same side. Then a thought occurred to me. With the dialysis, Marc was not in immediate danger of dying; there was still time for Jean-Marc to change his mind—at least as long as the infection the doctor worried about never appeared.

  I touched his face, running my fingers over the six o’clock shadow on his chin. “All right.” But inside, I was still upset that he could put his feelings before our child.

  He seemed relieved, and yet at the same time I sensed his guilt increase. I could not change that; Jean-Marc would have to deal with his own demons.

  * * *

  The next few days did not alter Jean-Marc’s attitude. Each time Marc went for his lengthy dialysis treatments, his father was at his side. I knew it relieved some of his imagined culpability. I didn’t go with them because each time the sight would make my stomach churn, and I would become lightheaded. In some odd way, Marc’s discomfort became my own.

  At the café on Friday, five days before the twins’ birthday, my head and heart felt heavy. I had finished the accounts for the week, but I had no desire to go home to an empty house. Jean-Marc was at the dialysis center with Marc, and the children were in school. I shut the door to my office and sobbed as quietly as possible to prevent Dauphine and Hélène from hearing.

  I didn’t understand my feelings. There was a great deal wrong with my life, but even more had gone right. Pauline hadn’t had any more tumors or odd illnesses since beginning the protease inhibitors, the ward had raised a great deal of money for Marc’s transplant, and we were paying the bills with our part of the profits from the café and apartment building. It wasn’t the living to which we were accustomed, but our family was together, and we always had the hope of eternity.

  A brisk knock at the door jolted me from my self-pity. I wiped the tears quickly with my fingers and the backs of my hands and made my way to the door. My mother, dressed in a loose smock, more casual than her normal attire, stood in the kitchen. Hélène, at the stove, cast a brief eye in our direction but, seeing my face, glanced hurriedly away.

  “Come in, Mother,” I said.

  “You’ve been crying.” Crossing to my desk, she pulled a couple of tissues out of the box on the desk and began to wipe under my eyes. Black mascara stained the soft white. “What’s wrong?”

  “The same. I think I’m mostly just tired or maybe getting a cold. I don’t seem able to cope as well as I should.”

  “You’re doing fine, given the circumstances. You can’t be strong every minute.” She dabbed a bit more at my face and then surveyed me. “There, now you look better.” She paused before asking, “Has Jean-Marc changed his mind about approaching Jacques?” My mother was the only person I had told about the discovery and the ensuing confrontation with Jean-Marc.

  “No,” I said sadly. “I haven’t asked him. But maybe he’s right.”

  “I don’t agree. Marc has to be put first.”

  I said nothing, not knowing what she expected of me.

  “Why don’t you go home and take a nap?”

  “I like to be here for the lunch rush, in case they can’t handle it. Annette sometimes gets out of class late.”

  “She’s already arrived. And I can be here, just in case.”

  “You?” I asked incredulously.

  “Don’t look surprised. I’ve come to make a few cakes, as you suggested.” Pulling her purse from her shoulder, she fished out a large apron. She shook it out and tied it over her dress. Now I understood why she was outfitted so casually. Mother was going to bake.

  “But where’s Father?”

  “Out visiting.”

  I raised my eyebrows. “Back to his old ways?”

  “No,” she said, seeming embarrassed. “He’s doing everything I could ask of him, but—” she bit her lip—“I realized that it wasn’t just his fault, our problems. I need to have something to interest me besides him. Just because we’re old doesn’t mean we have to sit around in our rocking chairs and stare at each other.”

  I grinned despite my dark mood. “Good for you.”

  “Now go home and rest,” she countered, kissing my cheeks. “Things will be all right here.”

  I did as she asked, but on the way home I stopped briefly at the cemetery to place a rose at Nette’s grave. Not wanting to risk meeting Jacques again, my visits had been irregular and never on my accustomed Wednesday. A bouquet of white roses already graced the base of the tombstone, revealing that Jacques had come within the past few days. If only Jean-Marc would agree to let me ask Jacques! Of course, I could go without his approval; but I felt that to do so would risk our marriage, and I couldn’t bear to do that.

  Why did everything have to be so complicated?

  Pondering the problem only added to my frustration, and I gave it up willingly. Instead, I drove home, kicked off my shoes, and curled up in bed, not bothering to remove my white blouse or brown linen jumper. I had been home for less than two hours when a sound woke me from a restless sleep. I yawned and walked down the hall, my stockinged feet making no noise on the soft carpet. Immediately the voices of my husband and oldest son came to me.

  “I’m a little tired,” Marc was saying. “I think I’ll go to my room and read. I have a lot of homework to catch up on.”

  “Sounds like a good idea,” Jean-Marc said with forced cheerfulness. “But are you hungry? I could bring you a snack.”

  Marc made a disgusted sound. “Snacking isn’t fun for me anymore with this diet.” He sighed. “I’m not hungry, anyway. But thanks, Dad.”

  I paused outside the kitchen, pasting a smile on my face before entering. But a new voice stopped me.

  “Are you okay?” It was Ken.

  “Yeah, but . . .” There was a long pause from Jean-Marc. “I hate seeing him like that. He used to be so full of life and laughter. You know, always teasing everyone.”

  “And you feel it’s your fault.”

  My smile died. A scraping noise echoed in the silence, a chair being pulled back from the table. Jean-Marc sighed. “Logically, I know I couldn’t have stopped it. But I can’t help thinking that if I hadn’t blown it at the bank, then—”

  “Then you wouldn’t have been working at the café, and the children wouldn’t have been in the station when it was bombed. But that’s crazy. You can’t change the past.”

  “I know. I know. But now there’s good old Jacques, with his money and an extra kidney. He can give my son what I can’t. How do you think that makes me feel?”

  “Rotten,” sympathized Ken.

  “One part of me wants nothing to do with him, but the other wants to help my son. I keep rationalizing that Marc will get another kidney from somewhere else, but how much time will he lose? And how much more will he suffer because I don’t want to accept anything from my wife’s ex-husband? I don’t want to be indebted to him. In fact, I’d like to shoot him and get it over with.”

  Ken chuckled dryly. “Not an easy situation.”

  “Easy?” Jean-Marc snorted. “He’s caused nothing but trouble in Ari’s life and now in mine. The agents investigating the
bank failure are sure that at least one of the employees who mishandled funds was accepting bribes to do so.”

  “And you think Jacques had something to do with it?”

  “No. Yes . . . I don’t know. But with him going to most of the major banking corporations and promising them favors to not hire me, I can’t help but be suspicious. And then that mess with the insurance. What am I supposed to think? I’ve tried to ignore the man and go about my life, but in the business world, I’m effectively shut out. Those who don’t believe the rumors that I stole money still want to stay away from any connection to me.”

  “You’ll have to go outside your profession.”

  Jean-Marc didn’t reply, and I thought of the café. My husband had gone outside his profession, way out, and all in the name of supporting his family.

  “There is something you may be overlooking,” Ken said. “I mean, why did Jacques show up now, after all these years? What circumstances brought him to this point? Could all of this be that he was supposed to be here when Marc needed him?”

  I had thought of that myself, though had never dared to voice the words to Jean-Marc.

  “Marc doesn’t need him; he needs a kidney.”

  “Which Jacques may have to give,” countered Ken. “And maybe he needs to do it.”

  “What do you mean?” A touch of anger colored Jean-Marc’s voice.

  Another scraping noise sounded as Ken settled at the table. “When I first met Ariana,” he began, “it was the day of her brother’s funeral. I stopped her during a street meeting. You should have seen her. She looked remarkably like Josette—young, slender, passionate, and just dawning on great beauty. She turned on me, eyes blazing, and told me to get lost, but I sensed the need in her. For nearly two years I prayed to find her again and that she would let me help her. Now, this wasn’t just for her, as I would like you to believe, but I needed to find her for me. I needed to gain a testimony that the Lord could save a life so destroyed. I hadn’t had much proof of that during my missionary service, and I began to doubt. My faith wore thin—until I met Ariana again and saw how much the Lord loved her and how my prayers had been answered. Watching her become converted to the gospel planted in my heart the seed of the strong testimony I have today. In fact, she was the only person I baptized during my whole mission.”

  “Really? The way she talks about you, it’s like you were the most spiritual person she had ever met.”

  Ken laughed. “Maybe right then I was, because that was what she needed. The Lord can work miracles, even with such poor material as me.”

  “So, are you saying that Jacques needs something from us?” Jean-Marc asked.

  “I really don’t know. But I don’t believe in coincidence. He’s here for a reason.”

  “Yeah, to convince Ari what a lousy provider I am,” Jean-Marc said in a harsh voice. “He wants her back, you know.”

  “Can you blame him?”

  Jean-Marc gave a short laugh. “You sure know how to put things in perspective.”

  “Like I said, I don’t believe in coincidence without reason. Perhaps that’s why I’m here in France this year instead of next. To put things in perspective. Who can say? But what I do know is that Jacques seems willing to do most anything to win Ariana back. What are you willing to do for her?”

  “It all comes down to the kidney, doesn’t it?” Jean-Marc said sadly. “Ari wants it, I want it, and Marc needs it. I just wish it wasn’t Jacques.”

  “Maybe it won’t be. We don’t know the medical particulars. For all we know, Jacques is on dialysis himself. The drugs he used years ago could have ruined his kidneys.”

  “One can only hope.” From his voice, I knew Jean-Marc was smiling.

  I changed my mind about going into the kitchen, afraid to spoil the moment, and instead retraced my steps to my room. The blankets no longer held the warmth from my nap, but I curled under them anyway, wondering what Jean-Marc would do. Silently, I prayed.

  It wasn’t long before Jean-Marc came into the room, humming under his breath. “Ari! What are you doing here?”

  I felt my face flush, but I didn’t confess that I had been eavesdropping. “I didn’t feel well. I haven’t been able to sleep much this week.”

  He crossed the room and sat on the bed, one hand reaching out to check my forehead. “No fever,” he said, but his face showed worry.

  “I’m fine. I slept a little. I’m about to get up and go to the café. Are you going there now?”

  He stood and crossed to the dresser. “Yes. I have appointments to interview some couples for the upcoming vacancy at the apartments. I wanted to change first.” The clothes he wore were casual and rumpled from his stint at the dialysis center. He reached for a suit. “I actually enjoy this part of the job,” he said, grinning slightly.

  “How did it go at the center?”

  His grin vanished. “The same.” He let the suit fall back onto its hanger and turned to face me. “Ari, I’ve been thinking.”

  “Yes?”

  He glanced over to where the February sun shone through the window, sending fingers of warm light into the room. “I think maybe I’ve been wrong about not asking Jacques to help with the kidney. We can ask him, if you want.”

  I knew how much the words cost him, and the turmoil raging in his heart. Slipping from the bed, I walked over to him, placing my arms around his waist. “Are you sure?”

  He shook his head. “Not really. But I don’t see any other way right now.”

  I nodded. “That’s how I feel.”

  “Then we’ll ask him. It can’t hurt.”

  “I’ll ask him,” I said, remembering the last time they had faced each other.

  His face was troubled. “I don’t want you to go alone.”

  “You have to trust me.”

  “It’s Jacques I don’t trust.” He sighed. “When will you go?”

  I glanced at my watch. “Right now, I guess. I’ll meet you at the café afterward. The children will be there shortly, anyway.”

  “Okay, then.” His arms wrapped around me tightly, and I could feel his breath, hot on my cheek. “Remember how much I love you.”

  I pulled away and fingered the white gold rose pinned near my heart. “I never forget. But if I did, I have this to remind me.” I kissed him. “I love you.”

  Pulling apart, we both went about changing our clothing. My linen jumper was wrinkled, and I couldn’t face Jacques that way. Doubt and apprehension assailed me. What if Jacques wouldn’t help? What if going to him caused even more problems?

  I wished I didn’t have to go.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Jean-Marc and I left the apartment at the same time, and he insisted on driving me to Jacques’ office. I kissed him once on the lips before exiting the van. He touched my cheek and his sad green-brown eyes watched me leave. I smiled. It’s all right, I mouthed. He nodded and drove off. I shivered in my leather coat with the warm lining. Not from the cold but from dread. Setting my jaw, I tossed my head and pulled open the door.

  As before, the opulent aspect of the company caught my attention. The lush carpet seemed to drag at my feet, and the inlaid gold on the wall mocked my purpose. The same blonde receptionist sat at the desk, a phone to her ear and her hands on a computer keyboard.

  I approached the desk, and Charlotte—if I recalled her name correctly—glanced up from the screen. She paused in mid-speech, staring. I knew she remembered the scenes with my daughter and husband. She quickly finished her conversation and hung up the phone. “May I help you?” she asked. Blatant curiosity filled her face.

  “I’m here to see Jacques de Cotte. I don’t have an appointment, but he’ll see me, if he’s in.”

  “And you are?”

  “Ariana.”

  “If you’ll tell me your last name and what it’s about, I’ll ring him,” she said in a brittle voice.

  I didn’t want to satisfy her curiosity, especially with the way she adored to gossip. “Just tell him I’m here.�
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  She hesitated but evidently remembering the way I had been received before, she picked up the phone. “A woman named Ariana is here to see you. She refused to tell me the nature of her business.” Jacques’ answer was not to her liking. Her eyes widened, and her lips drew together tightly, as if tasting something bitter. “You can go on down,” she said irritably, not bothering to tell me where. But I remembered all too well.

  “Thank you,” I said politely. She smiled, but I could feel a hostile glare boring into my back as I marched to Jacques’ office. If I had ever held any regard in her eyes, I had lost it by refusing to answer her questions.

  Jacques opened the door before I arrived, eyes alight with pleasure. “Ariana. How wonderful to see you. I’m glad you came.” He had his hand outstretched, and I felt compelled to offer mine. Jacques held it for longer than necessary, but in the light of what I had come seeking, I decided not to mention it.

  His gaze fell to the pin Jean-Marc had given me, and his jubilance faded. “What brings you here?” he asked, leading me to the couch on the left side of his desk. A painting in a beveled frame above the couch stopped me cold; it hadn’t been there before. The picture was of me, taken by one of my friends on the day Jacques and I were married, more than twenty-one years earlier. Jacques had obviously paid someone a great deal of money to copy the cheap photograph, and the painted copy was far better than the original. The younger me smiled out at the world with the intense, innocent expression of the very young, passion flaming in my deep brown eyes. That day, I thought I knew what love was. How was I to know that my feelings were only a hint of what was to come later with Jean-Marc?

  “Do you like it?” Jacques asked.

  “I do, but—”

  “But you object to my having it.”

  “Yes.”

  He sighed. “Why are you here?”

  I sat abruptly on the couch, the picture forgotten. How could I say it? I had never been one for coating the truth or making allusions, but then I had never before asked someone for a body part.