The Ariana Trilogy

by Rachel Ann Nunes

  He shrugged. “I’ll wait out here. I have plenty of time.”

  We tried to go to Jacques’ room, but he wasn’t there. A strange fear gripped my heart and was reflected by the expression in my husband’s eyes. “He should be here already,” he muttered.

  We asked the head nurse and finally received some news. “He’s still in recovery,” she said. “He had some complications with bleeding. You won’t be able to see him for a while. I’ll tell the doctor you were asking.”

  Jean-Marc and I stared at each other. What exactly was going on?

  We weren’t allowed to see Jacques until the next day. Dr. Juppe came into Marc’s room, where we had smuggled Pauline in to see him, but the doctor didn’t seem to notice. “Monsieur de Cotte is asking to see you.”

  “Is he all right?” The words burst from my mouth.

  The doctor shook his head, and his voice was grave. “He has developed blood clots in his lungs and an infection as well. It’s pretty serious. There is always a risk of blood clots after surgery, but coupled with the great deal of blood he lost . . . well, would you like to see him? He doesn’t seem to have any family.”

  “He doesn’t,” I said.

  We went to Jacques’ room. Thin wires connected him to a monitor, and oxygen went in through a tube to his nose. Pain was etched across his lean face, and at the sight, guilt assailed me. It was my fault he was there.

  “Ariana,” Jacques said softly. “Thanks for coming.”

  “After what you did for my son? I will always be grateful.”

  “How is Marc?” he asked with effort.

  “Doing fine. The kidney seems to be working well. I’m sorry about your complications.”

  He tried to shrug but gave it up. “I’m glad to help him.”

  “You need a blessing,” Jean-Marc said. “Will you please let us give you one?”

  Jacques studied us without speaking. “Does it mean that much?” he asked finally.

  “You’ve done everything you can for Marc; now let us do what we can for you,” I said. “Please.”

  “Okay.”

  Jean-Marc glanced at me. “I’ll call someone.” To Jacques he said, “I’ll be right back.”

  “Don’t worry. Your wife is safe with me,” Jacques said, a flicker of humor passing over his face. “Besides, she chose you every time, even when I bribed her with my kidney.”

  “What?” Jean-Marc said, uncomprehending.

  “Never mind.” Jacques closed his eyes and seemed near death, though surely the doctor would have told us if he was so critical, wouldn’t he? Silence settled over the room, cold and unforgiving.

  Casting a sorrowful look at Jacques, Jean-Marc hurried from the room.

  “I’m dying,” Jacques said into the quiet. The stark words held no regret.

  “No.”

  “Look at us,” Jacques continued as if I hadn’t spoken. “We’ve come full circle, you and I.”

  “Full circle?” I couldn’t tear my eyes away from his stare.

  “I took Nette away from you, but I gave you everything I could for your Marc. Does that make it okay? Can I finally rest?”

  “What do you mean? Nette’s death was an accident.”

  “But it came from an earlier choice I made to use drugs,” he countered. “A terrible choice. But this, what I did yesterday, was good.” His laugh was low. “I don’t mean this in a bad way, Ariana, but if I weren’t going to die, I think I could live without you now. I think I’ve given you enough. Perhaps not as much as I took, but enough.”

  A sudden understanding filled my mind. Jacques had never really wanted me but had yearned to compensate me for my great loss. In some way, his gift to my son had erased that debt, and now Jacques planned to let himself die. Why? My mind searched for the answer, but I found none. A conscience can be a terrible thing.

  “You must fight, Jacques! You can’t give up.”

  His grin was sardonic. “I don’t want to fight anymore. I’m tired. You have what you need. Jean-Marc is a good man.”

  “This isn’t about me. It’s about you and your life.”

  He frowned. “My life ended when our daughter died.”

  “No, it didn’t. If it had, you wouldn’t be here to help Marc. Look at me—my life went on. I know you didn’t want Nette’s death to happen. I forgave you. Why can’t you put it behind you?”

  “I thought I could,” he said dully. “But something inside me won’t let me ever forget.”

  “You don’t need to forget completely. Just get beyond it.”

  “Get beyond the fact that I killed my daughter?” Irony tainted his words, and a single tear trickled down his cheek. “How? I tried. Please, don’t talk about it anymore. I’m so tired.” His pallor convinced me he told the truth, and for fear of upsetting him and further depleting his strength, I said nothing.

  It seemed like a long time before Jean-Marc returned with Ken in tow. Jean-Marc did the anointing, and then Ken gave the blessing. Near the end, the words seemed to strike a chord within me: “Your past can be forgiven and forgotten,” Ken said, “but only in and through the Lord Jesus Christ.”

  The blessing held the answer! I had survived my terrible trials and lived a happy, fulfilling life because I had accepted my Savior. He had made me strong and had taken upon Himself the pain I could not bear. But Jacques had trusted in the arm of flesh. Because he could never make complete restitution, he could not heal himself, and he didn’t know how to let the Savior fill the void. He had simply gone through the motions of living, while all the time, guilt and sorrow had become twin aches inside his tortured heart. No wonder he could not go on. No wonder he wanted to die!

  A silence filled the room when the blessing had been concluded. “Do you understand what I’ve said?” Ken asked. “Or what the Lord has said through me?”

  Jacques nodded, wheezing slightly. “I think so.” Then he added, as if musing aloud to himself, “Could it be so easy?”

  “The strait and narrow way is never easy,” Jean-Marc said. “In fact, it can be a pretty tight squeeze. But belief in Jesus is the easy part. The beginning.”

  Like when the Israelites had only to gaze upon the staff of Moses and be saved, I thought. We must look to our Savior to find our salvation.

  Jacques’ eyes met mine. “And the rest. Is it hard?”

  I nodded. “But terribly worth it in the end.”

  “You said that once, long ago. But only now did I hear.”

  A commotion in the hall made us turn. The door burst open to reveal Charlotte, Jacques’ receptionist, fighting off two nurses. “I will see him!” she shouted.

  “It’s all right,” I said. “Let her in.”

  “I’m sorry,” the nurse said apologetically. “She said she was his sister, and when I told her he already had too many visitors, she went”—the nurse glanced warily at the wild-eyed Charlotte—“crazy.”

  “Sister?” Jacques said in puzzlement.

  Charlotte rushed to his side. “I told them that so they’d let me in. I can’t believe you’re here and that you gave away your kidney! I’ve been searching all over for you!”

  Jacques’ eyes showed his surprise. “I told you I was taking a vacation and that I’d check in.”

  “But you always leave a number. I was . . .” Her voice drained away, and she looked around the room, as if realizing for the first time that they weren’t alone. “I was worried,” she finished lamely.

  Knowing the woman’s feelings for Jacques, I wasn’t surprised to see her here or at the intensity of her emotions, but Jacques continued to stare at her in confusion. “Why are you here?” he asked weakly.

  “To see you,” she said, lowering her voice. “I’ll take care of you.”

  Some inkling of the situation found its way to Jacques’ brain. I thought I saw a glimpse of life come to his eyes. He glanced at me and then back again at Charlotte, as if wondering when this thing had come about. I nearly laughed aloud.

  “Please,” the n
urse said. “You can’t all stay. He’s in very serious condition.”

  “We’re just leaving,” I said. “Good-bye, Jacques.”

  He hardly took his eyes off Charlotte. “Good-bye, Ariana.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Jacques didn’t die. He had to stay in the hospital three weeks, a week longer than Marc, but he left without a trace of the complications that had beset him. The doctor felt confident he could return to his normal schedule a month or so after his release. As for us, our lives were changed dramatically by Jacques’ gift. Marc gained strength daily, and though he had a strict follow-up regimen, it was nowhere the time-consuming monster dialysis had been. His cheerful nature returned, and so did his impetuousness and teasing. We didn’t mind.

  The many fund-raisers paid for most of the transplant costs not already covered by insurance, and once more we had something to be grateful for. We felt fortunate that because of others’ generosity, we would not be in financial ruin the rest of our lives.

  The Sunday after Marc’s release, Danielle and her children attended church. Jean-Marc was at home with Marc, but the rest of our family met them in the foyer. To our surprise, Philippe accompanied his family. The bruises on Danielle’s face had disappeared, leaving only her vitality and innocence. She walked over to us, an unmistakable bounce in her steps, clinging to her husband’s arm.

  “How wonderful to see you again!” She hugged each of us, and we hugged her back. “I heard about your son’s transplant. Philippe told me. I knew the Lord wouldn’t let him down. He’s such a good boy.”

  “I’m so glad you came,” I said.

  “I am, too,” Lu-Lu agreed. I watched her carefully. She tried to avoid Philippe’s steady gaze, but it seemed like a magnet, ever pulling on her.

  “Why don’t you come meet the missionaries, Danielle?” Simone said. “And my fiancé. I’m gettin’ married, you know.” Danielle cast a smile in our direction and let Simone lead her and the two children to where the missionaries stood near the chapel door. My children followed, Pauline already deep in conversation with Danielle’s daughter.

  Philippe glanced at my face, as if asking for privacy, but Lu-Lu stayed me with a shaky hand. Philippe shrugged. “Why have you been avoiding me?” he asked.

  “I haven’t.”

  “Yes, you have. What about our plans? I thought you cared for me.”

  Lu-Lu stared across the room at Danielle. Feeling her gaze, Danielle glanced up and waved. The happiness in her face was all too obvious. “Danielle loves you,” Lu-Lu said. “Don’t you see it?”

  Philippe blinked twice, making me feel he had not expected this vein of thought. He stared at his wife. She winked and blew him a kiss.

  “And you love her too,” Lu-Lu added. “Knowing that, there can never be anything between us. You need to make the best of what you have.”

  Philippe seemed about to protest, but his eyes again went to his family. His eyebrows drew together in deep thought while we waited silently. At last, his mouth closed, and he turned to Lu-Lu. “I’m sorry, Lu-Lu, if I hurt you. I didn’t mean to. I never wanted to. You are very special to me.”

  He took a step away, but Lu-Lu’s hand stopped him. She gazed earnestly into his face. “Make Danielle happy. Promise?”

  Philippe nodded. “I promise.”

  He walked across the room and took his wife by the arm. “Shouldn’t you sit down?” I heard him say. “You don’t want to overdo it.” Simone led them into the chapel.

  “He wasn’t hard to convince,” Lu-Lu said forlornly.

  I put an arm around her. “He already knew he loved her.”

  “Did he love me at all?” Lu-Lu blinked back the tears.

  “I think so. And I think he was afraid of hurting you again. He really must have changed, if he could risk his feelings. But it’s obvious that he loves his family, too.”

  “Then it’s all for the best. But why do I feel so empty? Why am I alone?”

  “There will be someone. There will. Someone as special as you are.”

  “Only if a miracle happens,” Lu-Lu said.

  “A miracle? Well, why not? Look at the way Marc got his kidney. Look at the way I found the gospel. This is the church of miracles! Miracles follow faith.”

  “Thanks, Ariana,” Lu-Lu managed. “I do believe the Lord loves me. And maybe I was an instrument to save Danielle’s marriage. But that doesn’t stop it from hurting. Maybe it will one day.” She turned on her heel, heading blindly to the rest room.

  The service was beginning, and my family had already taken their accustomed seats. Philippe and Danielle sat next to them. Frédéric, Simone’s fiancé, nearly beamed with his new happiness. Josette and Marie-Thérèse were making eyes at Kenny two rows behind, and Pauline drew a picture for Danielle’s children. Where was my youngest son?

  “Poor Aunt Lu-Lu,” said a voice beside me. It was André. I knew his sensitive nature was once again wounded by the seeming injustice of the situation. Leave it to him to have noticed his aunt’s dilemma.

  “Oh, I don’t know. Let’s wait and see. Come on, it’s about to start.” I reached for his arm.

  “I need to use the bathroom,” he said, escaping me. His brooding expression returned. He left and didn’t reappear until time to go home. I prayed silently for a change of heart, that something could reach him before it was too late.

  * * *

  “Danielle was at church,” Josette said to Jean-Marc when we arrived home. “And her husband, too. She is such a nice lady, and beautiful, too.”

  “Not as pretty as Aunt Lu-Lu,” André said.

  Josette stared at him. “What does she have to do with Danielle?” Before André could reply, she rushed on. “Mom, Kenny asked me to go to a movie on Friday. Can I go?”

  Marie-Thérèse’s face turned a bright red. “He asked you! You asked him, was more like it. I’m the one he likes. He asked me to go on Saturday.”

  “Did not!”

  “Did too! I don’t know why you just can’t find your own boyfriend, instead of trying to steal mine!”

  “He likes me!” Josette shrieked.

  “Does not!”

  “He’s using both of you!” André inserted.

  “No, he really likes me,” Josette protested. “He just feels sorry for Marie-Thérèse.”

  “It’s you he feels sorry for!” Marie-Thérèse retorted.

  “That’s enough!” Jean-Marc and I said together.

  Pauline stamped her little foot on the white tile of the kitchen floor. “I’m so sick of hearing about Kenny or some other boy. Who cares about them? Our family is what matters. Sisters are more important than any boy!”

  Jean-Marc smiled. “‘Out of the mouths of babes,’” he quoted.

  “Pauline’s right,” I said. “Boyfriends will come and go, but sisters never change. I think you two have lost sight of what’s really important. In a few months Kenny will go back to America, and most likely you will never see him again, either of you. Is he worth breaking up the best sister friendship you’ve ever known?”

  The girls were silent, both pouting and glaring at each other for long minutes. Finally, Marie-Thérèse relented. “I do miss doing stuff with you,” she said hesitantly.

  Josette’s face softened. “I can’t believe he asked both of us. I think Kenny needs a lesson.”

  A smile transformed Marie-Thérèse’s face. “Yes . . . and we’re just the ones who can do it!”

  “Let’s work it out together,” Josette said, a wicked glint in her eyes.

  “Deal.”

  The older girls hugged Pauline. “Thanks,” they said together.

  “Finally, some sense around here,” Pauline said with a grin. Jean-Marc and I laughed, but André didn’t crack a smile.

  I sighed, remembering the other problem tugging at my heart. “Where were you at church today?”

  Jean-Marc looked disapprovingly at his son. “I thought we talked about this.”

  “You talked. I listened,�
� André said belligerently.

  “We only want what’s best for you,” I said.

  “Then just leave me alone.” He stalked from the kitchen, heading out the apartment door before we could protest.

  Jean-Marc sighed. “We have to do something about him.”

  I nodded. “But what?” Now that our crisis with Marc was over, perhaps we could help André.

  “We’ll think of something,” he said. “We can’t let things go on this way.” Pauline stared at us with brown eyes huge in her small face. But she remained silent.

  Girlish laughter reached our ears. “That’ll teach him,” Josette said, coming into the kitchen. “We called all the girls from church, every one of them.”

  Marie-Thérèse giggled. “Now Kenny’ll have no dates!”

  “Hey! What’s going on here?” Josette asked, noting our somber faces. “Did something happen?”

  “It’s André,” I said.

  She frowned. “What happened?”

  I sighed. “Oh, nothing. Your father and I will deal with it. Can you girls get lunch? I’m feeling tired.” What I really wanted was some time alone with Jean-Marc to plan what we should do.

  “Sure, Mom.” Marie-Thérèse was already moving to the refrigerator.

  I ended up taking a nap, while Jean-Marc searched the scriptures for an answer. I hadn’t meant to sleep, but the constant worry of the last few months had taken its toll. When I awoke, the sun was already far in the west, and I was alone in the room. My stomach growled; I had missed lunch, and it was already near dinnertime. Stretching, I pulled my weary body from the bed.

  Jean-Marc met me coming down the hall, his face grim. “I’ve just had a call from the police,” he said. “They’ve picked up André and some other boys. We have to go get him at the police station.”

  “What!” I caught my breath. My little boy in a police station! “What did he do?”

  “I’ll explain on the way. My mother is already here to keep an eye on Marc.” He led me down the hall to the entryway and helped me put on my coat.

  “Can’t I go with you?” Pauline asked tearfully.