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  This 3rd edition contains text that has been updated by the author.

  This is a work of fiction, and the views expressed herein are the sole responsibility of the author. Likewise, certain characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  Twice in a Lifetime (Rebekka Book 3)

  Smashwords Edition

  Published by White Star Press

  P.O. Box 353

  American Fork, Utah 84003

  Copyright © 2012 by Rachel Ann Nunes

  Cover and ebook design by ePubMasters

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be scanned, uploaded, reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means whatsoever without written permission from the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. Purchase only authorized electronic editions and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Thank you for supporting the author’s rights.

  ISBN: 978-1-939203-26-7

  Printed in the United States of America

  First electronic release March 2012

  Last updated July 2012

  TWICE IN A LIFETIME

  Rebekka Book 3

  a novel

  by

  RACHEL ANN NUNES

  Book Description

  On a beautiful summer day Rebekka's life changes forever. Devastated, she struggles to somehow find the will to go on—to live without the one person she thought she could never live without.

  Handsome widower and longtime friend André Perrault would like to help her find joy and love again, but Rebekka's determination to hold onto the past makes a future relationship doubtful. Or does it? Can André find a way to heal Rebekka's broken heart?

  A special thanks to Anita Stansfield, Julie Bellon, Polly Daw, Tami Bradley, and Dore Elmer for their friendship, encouragement, and support through difficult times. Ladies, I couldn’t have done it without you!

  For TJ.

  I would do it all again.

  Chapter One

  Rebekka Massoni Perrault arrived much too early at the Parisian restaurant where she planned to meet her husband for lunch. She couldn’t help herself. With news as wonderful and life-changing as she had to share, how could she be anything but early?

  She felt everyone could see the difference in her face. It sang in her veins and echoed on the hot August air as pungent and enticing as the smell of the fresh bread that permeated the streets of Paris. Surely Marc wouldn’t be surprised at her announcement. He would take one look at her and know. His brown eyes would twinkle in the way she loved and his ready grin would fill his handsome face. Then he would wrap his arms around her and laugh with pure joy.

  “Rebekka!”

  She looked up to see her brother-in-law André Perrault emerging from the depths of the restaurant. Since Perrault and Massoni Engineering and Architecture was located across from the restaurant and down the street a short way, she wasn’t surprised at his presence. Both Marc and André, as well as her own brother Raoul Massoni, the third partner in the firm, often came here for lunch, either on their own or with clients.

  “Hi André.” She smiled and waved in greeting. Once she would have launched herself into his arms and shared her good news, knowing he would be happy for her, but such openness belonged to years ago—before she had chosen to marry his older brother Marc. Though André had never treated her other than a sister since the day of her marriage, she remembered when there had been more between them than friendship, a time when she wondered if she was engaged to the right brother. Because of that, she was still careful. Guarded. Just in case.

  “You look beautiful today.” He didn’t kiss her cheeks in the customary French greeting. The innocent gesture was something else she missed, one more thing that belonged only to her childhood. Yet though she missed the easy camaraderie, there was no way she would take back her decision to marry Marc. The past two years and eight months had been the most happy time of her entire life. She loved Marc so completely; there was no doubt in her mind that she’d made the right choice.

  “Thank you.” She smiled, eying her brother-in-law’s finely cut gray suit. “You’re looking rather nice yourself. Just finished a lunch meeting?”

  His laughter was warm and his brown eyes, so like Marc’s, glinted with amusement. “You guessed it. Just nailed another bid and took the client out to celebrate.” He lowered his voice. “You know how they treat me here—like royalty. My client was completely impressed.”

  She laughed with him. André, either at this exclusive restaurant where he was so well-known or anywhere else, was always someone who impressed people. Though not quite as tall as her husband, his shoulders were broader, and his dark brown hair as every bit as thick. His attractive face was decidedly masculine, and his manner engaging. His heart was equally admirable, and over the years Rebekka had often been a first-hand witness of his compassion. She had watched him with clients, members of their church, and with Ana and Marée, his young, motherless daughters. She especially noticed the kind and firm hand he had extended to his adopted son, Thierry, who was by birth André’s nephew on his wife’s side of the family. Without André’s unconditional love and guidance, the eighteen-year-old Thierry would likely be living a life of hunger and drug dealing on the streets.

  The one thing André didn’t do was date, though no one who had known his wife could blame him for that. Claire’s death almost three years ago had taken a heavy toll on his soul. But that was something else they didn’t talk about.

  “Are you meeting Marc?” André asked.

  “Yes. I’m early, though. I suppose I’ll have a seat and wait for him.” She glanced past him at the thin, distinguished-looking maître d’ hovering near at his post.

  “I’ll tell him to hurry. I’m headed back to the office right now.”

  “Thanks.”

  Rebekka watched him leave the restaurant before heading toward the maître d’.

  “Ah, Madame Massoni,” he said with his small perfunctory bow. “I have your table reserved. This is a very important day for you, no? I can see it in your eyes.”

  “Yes. This is one of the happiest days of my life.”

  Later, the statement would return to haunt her.

  * * *

  As he left Rebekka, the old familiar loneliness hit André square in the chest. Oh, it wasn’t always this hurtful—usually he could talk to Rebekka and remember that he’d done the right thing in encouraging her to marry his brother. They belonged together as he and Claire had belonged together. But today Rebekka was so beautiful and . . . well, radiant, and Claire so long absent from his life that for some reason it took more effort than usual to stay aloof. Exactly why he couldn’t say; he was well resigned to living the rest of his life alone.

  Squinting in the bright sunlight, André shoved on the dark glasses he’d begun wearing more and more of late. Not because he needed them, but because they made it easier to hide his loneliness. Sometimes he would even leave them on inside—especially when Rebekka and Marc were in the room. He would never let either his brother or Rebekka realize how much he suffered. He wanted them to enjoy their life together—and he was happy for them. Well, at least he tried.

  How had it all happened? Well, he knew, of course, but the reality wasn’t as simple as it seemed. Shortly after his wife’s sudden death, his feelings for Rebekka—ones that had root in a youthful crush but had lain forgotten during his years of marriage to Claire—had blossomed. Rebekka had returned his feelings, at least in part, but she’d loved Marc from her childhood and had chosen, in the end, to marry
him. End of story.

  From that time there had sprung up between them an invisible gulf that neither he nor Rebekka would ever approach, much less attempt to cross. Yet for André the old feelings were difficult to set aside completely. Lately he’d found it an increasing challenge to be in her presence and he used every opportunity to distance himself. No matter the consequence to his own feelings, he would never allow his loneliness to hurt either Rebekka or his brother.

  Sometimes the distancing worked. Most of the time he enjoyed seeing them happy together. But not today. Today seeing her waiting so eagerly for Marc made the loneliness in his heart ache.

  Why was today different? André couldn’t pinpoint it exactly, but there had been something new about Rebekka. While always beautiful with her dark auburn hair, oval face, and slender, smartly-dressed figure, today she’d was absolutely dazzling. There was an undefinable look in her gray eyes, a becoming flush on her high cheek bones, and the line of her strong chin was somehow softened. Every one of the fourteen freckles on her otherwise unblemished face seemed more appealing than the first time he’d counted them years ago.

  It’s because she’s meeting the man she loves. André felt no bitterness at the thought. He’d shared a great love with Claire and believed he would again in the next life. He loved his brother and Rebekka enough to wish them a similar relationship . . . despite the insoluble longing that too often arose in his heart.

  Fighting this inner turmoil, André walked steadily in the direction of the crosswalk. Around him he heard the clatter of feet against the cobblestones, the continuous hum of the car motors, rising and fading as they raced madly past. Frequently the drivers used their horns to warn off pedestrians or perhaps simply because they felt like it—André couldn’t be sure. There was also the occasional shout from a pedestrian greeting an acquaintance. He saw that he wouldn’t make the street before the light changed; the area became more and more crowded each day—with both people and cars. He didn’t mind. The noise and bustle was invigorating, exciting.

  He continued walking, his thoughts once again drawn to his personal life. His only salvation in the years since Claire’s death was the gospel of Jesus Christ, his children, and his work. He lived for these things and had found great joy in them. The laughter in his life had returned.

  Yet he was not complete, and there was nothing he could do about it.

  His family and friends urged him to date, but he felt no need. Losing Claire was heartache enough for a lifetime. No, better he stick to being a father, businessman, and friend. This, he knew he could accomplish with at least some measure of success.

  Lifting his head toward the intersection in the distance, André caught sight of his brother on the far side. He was closer to the street than André, but wouldn’t make the light this time either. Marc spied him and grinned boyishly, lifting a hand in greeting. Though Marc was three years older than André, he often passed for younger. André suspected that his brother’s youthful appearance was due to his well-deserved happiness—or perhaps to the fact that Marc had married a woman nearly ten years his junior.

  At the curb André waited, a crowd of impatient pedestrians gathering around him. He studied his brother’s face over the cars that rushed by. He looked good. He’d regained his strength completely after his third kidney transplant just before his marriage to Rebekka. With luck and a lot of prayers, it would be years before he had to face another operation. André felt gladness in his heart for the miracle of his brother’s life.

  A commotion behind Marc drew André’s attention. Somewhere a woman shouted “My purse!” A small man in dark clothing shoved into the crowd around Marc. Something large flew into the street. Brakes screeched, and there was a sickening thud. More frightened screams pierced the air.

  “He’s hit! He’s hit!” a woman yelled in a high, excited voice. “He was pushed!”

  “Call an ambulance!” someone else called.

  André froze, a feeling of horror seeping into his body. He scanned the crowd across the intersection for his brother’s familiar face.

  He couldn’t see it.

  He’s just helping the victim, André reasoned. That would be like him. The traffic had stalled, and André was carried into the street with the crowd, most of them pausing near the fallen figure.

  Marc.

  André was on his knees in a minute next to his brother’s prostrate body. Tears wet his face, and his entire being trembled with fear. “Marc, I’m here,” he said, almost unable to make his throat force out the words. “Hold on. You’re going to be all right.”

  Marc’s eyes slowly opened. “André . . .” He trailed off and then said, “Take care of Rebekka.”

  “You’re not going anywhere. We need you! Rebekka needs you.”

  “I always knew our time would be short.” A trickle of red liquid gushed from Marc’s parted lips as he struggled to speak.

  “Don’t say that.” André gripped his brother’s shoulders, careful not to raise him from the pavement or to cause more damage than the car had already inflicted.

  “Please,” Marc said with a groan.

  Suddenly André was consumed with guilt. “Marc, it was me. I was the other man that time she called off your engagement before you got married. I didn’t mean to hurt either of you.”

  Marc’s brown eyes turned in his direction, but they were unfocused. “I know . . . I mean, I didn’t know at the time, but later I saw how much you cared for her . . . how much she cared for you. It doesn’t bother me.”

  “She loves you—she always has. In the end, I urged her to marry you. Can you forgive me?”

  “For loving Rebekka?” Marc asked, his breathing coming in gasps. “There’s nothing . . . to forgive. How could you—anyone—not . . . love her? I asked you once before . . . when that last kidney failed . . . asking you again. If . . . anything happens to me . . . make her happy.”

  Sirens cut through Marc’s words. André leaned over and put his wet cheek next to his brother’s, his mouth close to his ear. “Fight, Marc! You must fight! I can’t be the one to tell Rebekka something happened to you. I can’t. It would destroy her. You have to make it. Please, Marc—I don’t want to lose you!”

  “Promise me.” Marc’s voice was faint but urgent.

  “Yes, of course. You know I’ll do anything for you.” André fumbled in his pocket for his consecrated oil, hoping to give his brother a priesthood blessing.

  He was too late.

  Marc’s eyes closed and his breathing stopped.

  “Help me!” André screamed, checking for a pulse. A woman knelt on the other side of Marc, and they began CPR.

  You will make it! André thought at his brother, over and over. Don’t you dare die on me!

  The ambulance arrived and the EMTs took over. André fell back to give them room.

  “Call it,” one man said finally, shaking his head.

  “No!” André pleaded. “You keep trying—or I will! Please, he’s my brother.”

  To their credit the men kept working on Marc until even André had to admit that his brother wasn’t coming back. He sobbed as they drew a sheet over Marc’s too-still face and put him inside the ambulance, away from the interested stares of the crowd.

  The police began to ask questions. Still sitting on the black road, André put his head in his hands, stunned by the agony knifing into his soul. Vaguely he was aware of someone pulling him to his feet and pushing him toward the sidewalk.

  A welcome feeling of disbelief settled over him. With hands that didn’t seem to be his own, he took out his cell phone and called his father, transferring part of his terrible burden.

  Traffic was moving again shortly and the ambulance had driven away. André didn’t go with it. What good could his going to the hospital do for Marc now? There was something more important André must do, a trust he promised to fulfill.

  With a heavy, aching heart he walked back to the restaurant to face Rebekka.

  * * *

  Re
bekka heard the faint sound of sirens but wasn’t really concerned. Nothing could penetrate the warm cocoon of contentment around her. Sitting at her table, she scanned the menu, thinking she would try something new in honor of this day.

  She didn’t know what made her look up just then, but she saw André coming toward her, his face a pasty white against the dark sunglasses. Her hand froze at what she could see of his expression.

  Something was horribly wrong.

  He threaded around the linen screens that nominally divided the tables in this section of the restaurant, giving the occupants a semblance of privacy. The crystal dewdrop chandelier overhead seemed suddenly too bright. Couldn’t that be what made André so pale?

  She rose to meet him, knocking over her wine glass, filled with ice water against the heat of summer. The water turned the burgundy cloth red as the spill seeped over the neatly laid table on its way down to the carpet.

  “It’s—it’s Marc,” André said.

  All the gladness drained from Rebekka’s heart. She tried to peer past the glasses to see André eyes, but all she saw was a woman she no longer knew, staring back at her with a terrified expression.

  “No,” she whispered. “No!”

  André’s strong hands gripped her arms. “He was”—he swallowed with difficulty—“hit by a car.” Tears cascaded from under the dark glass, seeming unreal. Rebekka wanted to rip off his glasses and shatter them beneath her heel—anything to see the truth beneath. But her trembling hands wouldn’t obey her command.

  “I’m so sorry.” His lips trembled with the words. “Rebekka, I—”

  She pushed away from him and started wildly toward the exit, uncaring of the interested stares of her fellow diners, peering around their screens. In two steps he caught up with her and held her back.

  “I have to get to Marc!” she cried. Her chest began to hurt, and she tried to suck in breath to relieve the pain. “I have to hurry. If he’s hurt, he’ll need me!”