Twice in a Lifetime Page 31

  Ana nodded and scampered toward the door, but Marée looked gravely at her father. “Now, be nice,” she admonished with a few shakes of her finger. “Aunt Rebekka is sick. And if you’re not nice she might never marry you and become our mother.” She gave Rebekka a wink and followed her sister out of the room.

  André went to the door and shut it, making Rebekka even more nervous.

  “What is it?” she asked as he came to stand by the sofa, hands shoved into the pockets of his suit pants. “Uh, do you want to sit down?”

  “No, I don’t.”

  “Did I thank you for the plant you brought this morning? It’s really nice.”

  He continued looking at her sternly and the other inane comments on her lips vanished. “So,” he said finally, each word coming slowly as he struggled to maintain his calm, “did you do your talking with Samuel?”

  Something warned her that he already knew the answer. “Well, no. I haven’t called—”

  “I figured as much. I know you don’t like to make people wait on you. That’s why I took the liberty of calling Samuel myself.”

  Rebekka’s heart lurched, and her throat went dry.

  “Guess what? He wasn’t home. He was in the Caribbean.”

  Rebekka had begun to feel relieved when he added, “Imagine my surprise to learn that he was there on his honeymoon.” He took his tightly clenched hands from his pockets. He shook his head. “Rebekka, you lied to me. Not in so many words, perhaps, but the result is the same. You lied.”

  “Okay, yes. I did it to free you.”

  “Free me? Free me?” he said, running an agitated hand through his dark hair. His handsome face clearly showed his pain. “Who are you kidding? I don’t want to be free. I want you. When I think of all the wasted time these past weeks I’ve waited and tried to be patient, all the while feeling tortured because I thought you had feelings for that man . . .”

  Abruptly, he dropped to his knee and grabbed her hands. “You are going to marry me, Rebekka—sooner or later. I love you, and whether you know it or not you love me.”

  She didn’t say anything, unable to trust her own emotions or to bring herself to tell him the reason why she would never marry him.

  “Kiss me, André,” he whispered, his face drawing near. “Kiss me again. Do you remember when you said that? Can you imagine how that made me feel after waiting so long for a sign—any sign—that you cared? Think of everything I’ve pent up inside. Imagine how I felt afterward when you implied that you kissed me only because you missed Marc.” He made an impatient noise. “Now I’m asking, Rebekka. Kiss me—of your own will. Because you want to, not because of anything or anyone else.”

  She wanted to tell him to get out but felt helpless to do so. Though she could never admit it aloud, she did love him—more than she imagined possible after loving Marc so completely.

  “How do you know I would be marrying you for yourself?” she asked. “And not because you look like my dead husband?”

  The muscles in his jaws flexed, and he swallowed hard. When he spoke, his voice was hoarse and devoid of his earlier anger. “I’ll take that chance.”

  “Would it be enough?” Her words rose to a high pitch. “What if in my dreams, I call out his name. How would that make you feel?”

  His eyes gouged into hers, as though trying to dig deep enough to gaze at her hidden emotions. “I would endure anything to be with you. I love you, and that means I’m here to stay.” He paused and took a deep breath. “But you’re wrong, Rebekka. I know you loved my brother—how could I not know that? But I see the way you respond to my kisses. I see the way you’re looking at me right now. I may not be able to make you forget Marc—I wouldn’t even want to—but I can make you happy. And I bet it just might be my name you call out in your dreams.”

  He lowered his face and kissed her. The connection between them was immediate and strong, but Rebekka’s heart felt as if it were being torn in two—between the men she loved. Tears slipped down her face and soon she could taste their salt. André drew away and caught a tear on his fingertip. Then he kissed her face tenderly until the wetness was gone.

  Still kneeling by the sofa, he pulled her gently but firmly into his embrace, kissing her brow. “It’s okay, Rebekka,” he murmured. “I promise you everything is going to be all right. We’ll get through it together. Trust in me a little, okay?”

  Rebekka wanted to do just that. After all, she and André had been friends since she was five and he thirteen. They cared about the other and both put the Lord first. Logically, that was enough to pursue a serious relationship—even if she didn’t love him, which she did. But was there any way around the guilt? Was there any way to make up to Marc the fact that if she married André, her son would grow up calling another man Daddy?

  André was looking at her so tenderly and with so much love that for a moment, Rebekka believed their relationship possible. The enormous loneliness inside her heart shriveled, leaving room for his love. “I’ll try,” she whispered. “I’ll try.”

  “No more lies. I want the truth—always. I’ll give you the same.”

  She nodded and laid her head against the warmth of his chest, feeling the comforting beat of his heart beneath his crisp white dress shirt. Oddly, he wasn’t wearing a tie—something she’d never thought he would forego while wearing a suit. Maybe there was a lot she didn’t know about him after all . . . or herself.

  “So will you marry me?” he asked.

  She thought for a long moment but still came to no solid resolution within herself. “Ask me again after the baby comes. Give me until then.”

  “All right. If that’s what you want, I’ll wait until the baby is born.”

  After he left that night, taking Ariana and the girls with him, Rebekka slowly made her way to the piano bench and lifted the lid. Her fingers rippled over the keys, fumbling once or twice after such long inactivity but quickly finding their way. Joy sprang to life in her heart. Oh, how she’d missed this! The music made her heart swell and sing, rising on a current toward the sky.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Nadia was crying—again. Raoul paced the floor on Friday night, wondering how long he could keep the vigil. He’d fed, changed, bathed, and rocked the infant, but nothing seemed to improve her mood.

  He went down the hall to Rebekka’s room where she was lying in bed, propped up by several pillows, her laptop open. An hour ago, André had been in there with Ana and Marée, playing games, but he’d finally taken the girls home to bed. To Raoul’s satisfaction, André had been over with the girls every night since Tuesday—four nights in a row, and Rebekka was looking much happier these days, though Raoul knew she was in constant pain that seemed to increase with each day.

  “Do you think she’s teething?” he asked Rebekka, as she looked up from the computer.

  “I don’t know. Let’s see, she’s about three and a half months—do they get teeth at that age? Seems kind of young.”

  Raoul sat on edge of the bed, staring at his screaming daughter and wondering how he could love her so much and yet be so annoyed. How could such a small person be so loud? “Marie-Thérèse said she rarely cried—so what am I doing wrong?”

  “Give her to me.” Rebekka held out her arms. “I mean, if you’re not going to walk with her. I can at least give you a break from the crying. That way you won’t get too frustrated.”

  Raoul shook his head and stood. He paced the room, bouncing Nadia gently in his arm. She quieted some, but the crying continued.

  Rebekka watched him with concern in her gray eyes. “I wish I could help out better. Or that André was still here. If only I could stand up and walk around.”

  “Should I call Valerie? No, that’s just an excuse to see her, isn’t it?”

  “Have you asked her out yet?”

  “Yeah, on Saturday—tomorrow, I mean. Can it be Friday already? Mom said she’d watch Nadia, but I don’t know if she’s ready for this.”

  Rebekka nodded. “I thin
k she’ll do just fine. Dad might become a little impatient, though. Maybe you could ask Ariana or Marie-Thérèse instead—they have a lot of experience with this sort of thing. I wonder what’s wrong, though. This really isn’t like her.”

  “I can’t let her continue like this.” Raoul put Nadia’s head on his shoulder and patted her back. “She doesn’t have a fever, I’ve checked her diaper, and I even gave her a bath. I wonder if I should call the doctor.”

  “Maybe.” Rebekka looked thoughtful. “Hey, wait a minute! I remember Marie-Thérèse saying something about having to drive all over town to get Larissa to sleep when she was little. Maybe that’ll work.”

  Raoul grinned. “That’s it! Nadia always sleeps in the car. I should have thought of it before. Will you be okay?”

  “I’ll be fine. I’m just going to get a little work done before I sleep.” She yawned widely. “That is, if I can stay awake.”

  Raoul left her, grabbing Nadia’s diaper bag on his way out. In the car, she quieted after two blocks, but she didn’t sleep. For one hour he drove through Paris, hardly able to keep his own eyes open. At last, Nadia drifted off, still shuddering in her sleep. Raoul drove home.

  When he tried to slip her out of the car seat, she went from sleeping to screaming in a matter of seconds. With resignation, Raoul put her back into the car seat. He had been driving for another half hour when he found himself outside Marie-Thérèse’s apartment building.

  Impulsively, he stopped. It was after midnight now, but he needed help and he was sure Marie-Thérèse and Mathieu would be able to give it. Besides, he was becoming dangerously tired and didn’t want to risk an accident.

  He rang the downstairs intercom three times before arousing anyone. “Yes?” came Mathieu’s tired voice.

  “It’s Raoul,” he said over Nadia’s cries. “I need help with Nadia. Can I come up. Please?”

  “Of course.” The door clicked open.

  When Raoul arrived at their apartment, Marie-Thérèse and Mathieu were waiting with the door open. Marie-Thérèse immediately opened her arms to take the screaming baby. She put her face next to Nadia’s, giving her a shower of tiny kisses. “There, there,” she said. “I bet it’s just a touch of gas.” She looked at Raoul. “Could be something worse, though. How long has she been crying?”

  “Hours,” Raoul said. “Not constantly but very consistently. Do you think I should take her to the doctor?”

  Marie-Thérèse removed Nadia’s double-knit sweater and flipped her over so that her tiny stomach lay against Marie-Thérèse’s arm. “Let’s give it a moment. She’s had a few nights like this with us—very few, but she’s done it on occasion. Usually this calms her down enough to sleep. Larissa got colic at this age. It’s not unusual.”

  Raoul shook his head in frustration. “She kept crying, and I couldn’t make her stop. I didn’t want to hurt her, and Rebekka wasn’t any help—she can barely get out of bed. The car calms her some, but I’m too tired to drive anymore.”

  Mathieu put his hand on Raoul’s shoulder. “Come on in the kitchen for a drink. Let’s leave Marie-Thérèse alone with Raqu—Nadia. It’s possible that she’s feeding off your frustration.”

  Raoul followed him with unveiled relief, and Mathieu grinned at him. “Hey, it’s hard when there’s no one else to hand off to. Larissa used to start howling every night when I came home from work, and kept it up till midnight. In fact, she’d cry all night if she woke up. Marie-Thérèse kept her right in the bed with us and the second she stirred, she’d have to feed her before she woke up all the way. If she did it quickly enough, without moving her around too much, we were okay. But if she took a moment too long—oh, we were doomed to a night of endless torture.”

  Raoul slumped on a kitchen chair. “I don’t remember hearing any of that.”

  “It was a long time ago. I remember one night when she was about four months and we’d been passing her back and forth all night. We’d both had it. We placed Larissa in the middle of our bed and knelt to pray. We said, ‘Father, we’re too tired to do this anymore. We need Your help. You gave her to us and we’ve done our best, but nothing is working. Please help us.’ We were at the end of our endurance that night.”

  “That’s how I feel,” Raoul said. “I feel like the worst parent ever.”

  “So did we. We felt terrible for not knowing what to do and for being so frustrated and helpless. We hadn’t learned that every parent has really tough moments like that. We didn’t realize that it was okay to put our crying baby in the crib and leave the room for a while. Or to call someone for help. Anyway, after the prayer, Marie-Thérèse picked her up and Larissa fell suddenly asleep. It was a miracle. Prayer didn’t usually work that quickly for us, but it did that night. Our next step would have been to call Marie-Thérèse’s mother.”

  Raoul put his elbows on the table, propping up his head with his hands. “It’s frustrating. I feel bad for her and for me. Poor little kid.”

  “At least you learned to ask for help a lot sooner than we did.” Mathieu opened the cupboard and pulled out a bottle of orange-pineapple soda. “How’s this? It’s my favorite. Marie-Thérèse likes well-balanced diets, so we don’t drink much soda, but this is a special occasion. Your introduction, so to speak, to fatherhood.”

  Raoul nodded. “Sure, thanks. But it wasn’t this hard the first few nights I had her.”

  “Guess the honeymoon is over.” Mathieu filled two glasses with ice and brought them to the table. “From here on out it only gets harder. But it’s all worth it. When they put their little arms around your neck, or when they look up at you with that trusting stare—it’s more than worth it. You’re a lucky man, Raoul.” He hurriedly busied himself with pouring the soda, not meeting Raoul’s eyes.

  Raoul understood in that instant how much Mathieu missed Nadia. It wasn’t only Marie-Thérèse who suffered. “Thanks, Mathieu,” he said, hoping to convey so much more than a simple thanks for the drink.

  Mathieu smiled and leaned back. “There, see? She’s done it. Marie-Thérèse is good with babies when they’re upset.”

  Raoul hadn’t even noticed that Nadia had quit crying until Mathieu pointed it out. “You don’t think something’s really wrong, do you?”

  “No. Babies like routines and hers has been upset. She’s young, but she still feels it. You can trust Marie-Thérèse’s instincts. My wife can smell a sick baby from across the city. Our children have been to the doctor more times than I can count, but she’s kept them safe, so I trust what she feels. A few times, it’s been overkill, but I’d rather be safe than sorry.”

  “I understand why—Brandon’s almost died several times.”

  Mathieu took a long sip of soda. “He’s allergic to so much. It was the flour this time, and the bananas. We’re hoping he grows out of some of the allergies. Marie-Thérèse sees that he gets what he should and stays away from what he’s allergic to. Luckily, he’s an obedient child. If Larissa had been the one with the allergies . . .” He gave a short laugh and let the subject drop.

  In the ensuing silence, they heard a faint voice singing a lullaby. Both men listened for a long while without speaking until the song faded away. Then Raoul said, “I never knew silence could sound so good.”

  Mathieu refilled Raoul’s cup. “Don’t get used to it. You’ve got a long way to go.”

  Marie-Thérèse came into the kitchen, gliding along so she wouldn’t wake the baby. “It’s colic,” she said with certainty.

  “Colic?”

  “Yeah. Basically the fancy name for gas. I rubbed her tummy while she was on my arm like this, and I think the pressure helped.”

  “Will it be gone tomorrow?” Raoul asked, not daring to touch the baby who slept stomach-down on Marie-Thérèse’s arm, her tiny legs and arms dangling on each side.

  “I don’t know. Hope so. If not, she’ll grow out of it eventually. It took Larissa about four months of nightly fits if I remember correctly.”

  “Was it only four months?”
Mathieu said with a groan. “Don’t you mean years?”

  Marie-Thérèse laughed softly. “It certainly seemed like it at the time.”

  “Thank you so much for letting us in,” Raoul said. “I’m really sorry for disturbing you. I didn’t know what else to do. I guess I would have taken her to my mother or to the emergency room next.”

  “Any time you need help, you’re welcome to show up here,” Marie-Thérèse said, easing into a chair. “I really mean that.”

  “I know you do.” Raoul felt guilty because he knew how much she wanted to care for his daughter.

  Without disturbing Nadia, Marie-Thérèse carefully transferred the baby to her chest, stomach still facing downward. She looked at Mathieu. “Will you get me a blanket? Now that she’s resting, she’ll cool off, and I don’t want her to get sick.”

  While Mathieu vanished into the hall, Raoul said, “I have one in the car.”

  “That’s okay. I have plenty.”

  When Mathieu returned, Raoul watched them gently tuck the blanket around Nadia, still cradled against Marie-Thérèse’s chest. “Well,” he said with reluctance. “Guess I’d better get going.”

  “You can stay here tonight.” Marie-Thérèse’s arms curled tightly around the small body.

  “I don’t like leaving Rebekka.” Raoul sighed. “Problem is, Nadia’s going to wake up when I put her in the car, isn’t she? Or when I take her out.”

  “Probably.” Marie-Thérèse hesitated before continuing. “You brought her diaper bag, so you could leave her here. Go home get a good night’s sleep and come back in the morning.”

  “I wouldn’t want to impose.”

  “It’s okay, really,” Mathieu said. “We’ll take good care of her.”

  “Please,” Marie-Thérèse added.

  Raoul looked back and forth between them and understood how serious they were. Even more, he suspected that Marie-Thérèse was desperate for him to leave Nadia. Could she be more worried about Nadia’s crying than she let on? Or did she just want to make sure? Were her motherly instincts kicking in? Probably, he decided. And there’s not a thing wrong with that. Nadia can use all the mothering she can get.