Ties That Bind Read online

  “There!” Josette returned to her a chair, grinning in triumph. “That’s what I’ll give you. Two months of weekly maid service while you become adjusted to your new baby or babies.”

  Marie-Thérèse laughed, admitting that Josette had hit on the perfect gift. She touched her sister’s shoulder. “I accept. Thank you.”

  “And I’m sure I can get Marc and André to spring for some baby clothes, and Mom and Dad can fork it over for the car seat and a new stroller, and Grandma Louise can—”

  “I get the idea,” Marie-Thérèse said dryly. Secretly she felt happy knowing her family would be there every step of the way.

  Then, wanting to change the subject because the realization of her dream was still a month away, Marie-Thérèse picked up one of the papers Josette had been drawing on. “Now let’s see what you’ve done with these designs. Hey, I really like this triple folded one. Let’s call a few printing shops for prices before we run it by Danielle.”

  After checking on the six children, who were busying playing a rousing game of Monopoly, they bent to their task. Almost two hours passed before André appeared at their door, his dark hair disheveled and his brown eyes worried.

  “We’ve been trying to reach you for hours,” he said, the words tumbling over themselves. “Marc’s had a collapse and he’s in the hospital. They think his kidney is failing.”

  Chapter Four

  André explained the situation to his sisters on the way to the hospital. “Mom should already be there by now. I knew you would want to come, so we took separate cars. I’ve been calling you since Rebekka called us, but your phone was busy.”

  “We were talking to printing shops,” Marie-Thérèse said.

  “Hasn’t there been any news since then?” In the back seat, Josette chewed her lip nervously, her face devoid of color. “Oh, I can’t stand not knowing!”

  André nodded sympathetically. Marc was his business partner and his best friend, excepting Claire, and he knew exactly how Josette felt. “Mom called me once, but she didn’t have any news,” he told her. “They’re still doing tests. But don’t worry, they’ll get his blood pressure down. Marc’s too stubborn to die.”

  “Yeah. Too stubborn.” Josette looked happier. Marie-Thérèse said nothing, but her lips moved as though in silent prayer.

  “Is your cell on?” Josette asked. “We left that number with the kids. Mine wasn’t charged—I always forget.”

  “It’s on.” Normally André would have teased her about the ludicrous question—of course he would have his cell phone turned on during such a crisis—but this time he let it ride.

  “I’m going to kill him,” Josette muttered into the abrupt silence. There were two spots of bright red on her cheeks now, which André hoped was a good thing. But almost immediately, tears started down her cheeks. “I bet he didn’t go in for testing when he should have. It’s all my fault! I’ve been so wrapped up in this terrible pregnancy that I didn’t check up on him—not that I don’t love you, Baby.” She touched her stomach fleetingly.

  “He’s a grown man,” Marie-Thérèse reminded her.

  Josette nodded, chewing on her lip. “That’s why he needs someone to care for him. It’s the whole macho thing—refusing to get help because he’s a man. But Rebekka wasn’t around and I knew . . .” She looked at André, her thoughts changing in midsentence. “How long have you known that Rebekka’s been in love with Marc for like a million years?”

  He shrugged. “Rebekka’s always been in love with him. That’s nothing new.”

  “It was to me.” Josette’s bottom lip poked out in a pout that was oddly becoming. André couldn’t help but smile. Despite the passing years and all her children, his big sister was just as passionate and expressive as ever.

  “This is the same hospital we came to with Brandon last month,” Marie-Thérèse murmured as they arrived at their destination.

  André pulled into the nearest parking space. “Has he had any more reactions?” he asked. Brandon had been swimming with his cousins when his entire body had become splotchy red and swollen. He’d begun coughing, and experienced such difficulty breathing that his parents had rushed him to the emergency room.

  “It happened again when the neighbor children got together outside for a water fight,” Marie-Thérèse answered, slipping from the front seat. “Though not as bad. That kind of rules out an allergy to the pool chlorine.”

  “What I don’t get is why it happened when he was outside your apartment, but it doesn’t happen in the bath,” Josette said. “It’s the same water.”

  Marie-Thérèse shrugged. “I know. It’s confusing. Must be something in the air. But the allergy testing hasn’t yet revealed anything other than the food allergies we already knew. At least he seems to be okay now.”

  “Maybe it’s a passing thing.” They were at the hospital doors now and André held them open for his sisters.

  In the waiting room of the ICU, their parents sat on a brown couch, hands linked as they clung to each other for support. They arose as André and his sisters entered.

  “Any news?” Josette asked quickly.

  Ariana shook her head. “Soon. But they let me in to see him for a minute.” She paused. “It’s bad.”

  Josette was aghast. “Where is he? Is he alone?”

  “No, Rebekka’s with him. She’ll let us know the minute she hears anything.”

  * * *

  “It’s my kidney, isn’t it?” Marc asked the doctor, his grip on Rebekka’s hand tightening. She sat on the edge of the bed, as close to him as the doctor allowed. How grateful he was to have her with him!

  The doctor’s ruddy face was grave. “It looks that way. Your creatinine is high, and that’s caused your blood pressure to rise. The high blood pressure is, in turn, causing the capillaries in your retina to bleed, thus explaining the blurry vision you’re experiencing.”

  “Creatinine?” Rebekka’s finely shaped eyebrows rose in puzzlement.

  “A measure of kidney function. Normal levels are point eight to one point four, but Marc’s is over six.” He paused briefly before explaining to Rebekka what Marc already knew. “The loss of kidney function is not reversible; Marc will soon need dialysis or a transplant.”

  “When?” Marc felt a pit form in the bottom of his stomach. Nineteen years had passed since his first transplant, but he vividly remembered the pain and lack of energy he had experienced before and after the surgery. Strangely, the memories of dialysis were even worse. His hand went to his abdomen, where he carried the scars of both the surgery and dialysis to forever remind him of the night he had pulled Rebekka’s mother out of an underground train station that had been bombed in a terrorist attack, nearly entombing himself in the process.

  He looked at Rebekka. I know everyone thought I was irresponsible that day, but I’d do it again. If not for Danielle, then for Rebekka. She was only five at the time; she needed her mother.

  “Normally blood pressure medicine might be able to control or even stall your decline, but your kidneys aren’t producing enough erythropoietin.” The doctor glanced at Rebekka and added for her benefit, “That’s a hormone that aids in the production of red blood cells. When you don’t have enough erythropoietin, your red blood cell count declines, and fatigue and anemia set in. That means you’re constantly tired. And since the kidney is losing its ability to cleanse the blood, impurities and toxins are left, making you ill.” His attention shifted back to Marc. “I bet you’ve been feeling nauseated.”

  “I thought it was because I’d gotten engaged recently.” Marc gave Rebekka an apologetic smile. “You know, nervousness. And that the tiredness was jet lag.”

  The doctor eyed their linked hands without speaking. Marc wondered if he noticed the ten-year age difference between them. No, maybe not—everyone always said he appeared young for his age.

  Rebekka moistened her lips with her tongue and said, “The last time Marc had dialysis they were worried about finding access—I’m not sure
if that’s the right term—and that they wouldn’t be able to clean his blood anymore. And he wasn’t doing well on dialysis anyway. He got really sick, had no energy . . .” Rebekka blinked furiously, and Marc knew she was holding back tears.

  The doctor met Marc’s gaze. “Then it’s probably important that you begin transplanting procedures. You’ve been through this before and know the routine. Do you have anyone who would be willing to give you a kidney?”

  Marc sighed. He certainly had been through this before, and the only members of his immediate family who had a compatible blood type and were qualified to give him a kidney were his father and Louis-Géralde. But at the time of his first transplant his father had been ruled out because one of his own kidneys was not fully functional, and Louis-Géralde had not yet been born. Because Marc’s blood was relatively rare and hard to match, and because the dialysis was not going well, the doctors and his family had feared for his life. Thankfully, they had found a match in time.

  “I’ll give him mine,” Rebekka said, pulling Marc from his thoughts.

  He looked toward her in surprise. “But your blood type probably isn’t—”

  Rebekka lifted her chin stubbornly. “When my mother almost died in that train bombing, there was talk of your getting her kidney—the one that still worked—if she died. She wanted you to have it, but then your father gave her that blessing and she lived—our first introduction to the gospel. So I guess that if she could have given you a kidney, there’s a chance I probably can, too.”

  Marc opened his mouth to protest, but realized she was right. He also realized that he didn’t want her to endure such a thing for him. Though the chance of complications for the donor were very rare, it was not a risk he was willing to take with Rebekka’s life. They had already lost so many years together because of his stupidity. “You still might not have the right blood type,” he stalled. “My sisters and André don’t. You could take after your father.”

  “You don’t actually have to have the same blood type,” the doctor put in. “Your blood only has to be compatible. That makes it a lot easier. Of course related donors are likely to have more matching antigens, but even most unrelated people have one matching antigen. There have been quite a few successful nonrelated transplants.”

  Marc ignored him. “It can be dangerous, Rebekka.”

  “I don’t care.” Her normally velvet voice was firm and unyielding, and her beautiful gray eyes resembled pieces of hard granite. “It’s a risk I’m willing to take.”

  Marc glanced at the doctor helplessly, hoping he would explain the dangers to her, but the doctor only smiled. “Good. Live donor transplants are so much more successful than cadaveric ones. I’ll write down a recommendation for a transplant center—though you probably already have one in mind, having been through this before. I’m sure you know that the center you choose will most definitely affect the outcome of the surgery. The more kidney transplants a center does, the higher its percentage of success. Meaning, of course, that the doctors in the high-volume centers are more skilled and the staff more equipped to handle any emergencies that may arise.”

  Marc looked away from Rebekka’s stony gaze. “I remember reading that. Or maybe my mother told me.”

  The cuff that automatically checked Marc’s blood pressure every twenty minutes tightened around his arm again. The doctor studied the numbers intently. “Your blood pressure seems to be coming back down, although very slowly. In another hour some of that growing crowd out there in the waiting room can come in, perhaps two at a time, and hopefully you will be able to go home tomorrow.” With a final smile, he was gone.

  Marc saw a single tear sliding down Rebekka’s smooth cheek. He caught it with his finger, enjoying the soft feel of her flesh but hating the pain in her eyes. “I don’t know about this,” he said softly.

  “You promised you’d make me the best husband,” she rejoined, adjusting her position on the edge of the bed. “You have to fight. I know you can make it.” No more tears fell now.

  He’d been going to tell her more about the feelings he had experienced in America, when he had felt that their time together might be short. How in response to that feeling, he had promised the Lord to be happy with any time he would be allowed with her. But as she stared at him with those luminous gray eyes, he couldn’t share the experience. He had to comfort her.

  “It’ll be okay,” he murmured. “We’ll get through this.”

  A faint smile flickered on her lips. “If we do the transplant quickly we might be able to still make our honeymoon.”

  He frowned. “I don’t know if Louis-Géralde’s going to be so excited about having his mission interrupted before it even begins.”

  “You’re willing to let Louis-Géralde do it, but not me?” Rebekka’s soft voice rose a pitch. “Marc, he’s on his mission, for heaven’s sake! I’m right here.”

  “Rebekka, it’s not as easy as that! The better the match, the longer the kidney will last and the lower the dosages of medicines I’ll have to take each day.” His voice lowered. “Besides, this kidney lasted me nineteen years. Even in a best-case scenario, I’ll need another transplant in twenty-five to thirty years. You could always donate then.”

  “Or one of our children could,” she said tersely. “A lot can change in twenty years.”

  “I know.” Marc stared down at the white sheet and worn, off-white blanket that covered his hospital gown. “Rebekka, I can’t bear to lose you.”

  “I’m the one who doesn’t want to lose you.” Her voice plainly exposed her fear.

  He put his arms around her, awkwardly with the blood pressure cuff attached, and clung to her slender form. “You won’t.”

  “At least let me try. I might be almost as good a match as Louis-Géralde.”

  “Okay,” he conceded, willing to do almost anything to ease her agitation. “But Louis-Géralde has planned all his life to give me a kidney. He might be a little jealous.”

  She smiled blandly at his poor humor. “Well, in another twenty years he can have his chance.” She bent down to kiss him with those soft, sweet lips. Their kiss was achingly tender and promising. Despite his exhaustion, Marc wanted nothing more than to melt into her, but to his disappointment she pulled away quickly.

  “Can’t do anything to affect your blood pressure,” she said, eyeing the monitor. “You nearly died today.” Then her body started shaking, as if she were only now realizing the gravity of the situation. He held her hand more tightly.

  Thoughts began to haunt him. What if he did die and she had to suffer losing him all over again? Perhaps it would have been better to let her marry that man in Cincinnati. For the first time, Marc almost regretted going after her.

  Almost.

  But life without Rebekka was no life at all. He had learned that the hard way.

  He wished he could promise her a long life together. But all he could give her was hope . . . and his love.

  “I love you, Rebekka,” he whispered fiercely. “Whatever happens, I love you.” As if that made it all right.

  Gradually she stopped shaking. “I love you too. So much.” She bent and kissed him again, this time on the forehead. “I’m going to talk to your mother and the doctor now, to see about getting tested. You rest. I’ll be back later.”

  Before he could protest, she was gone, the lingering scent of her perfume the only sign she had been there at all. He wanted her back the moment she had gone. The memory of her lips on his was vivid and tempting. Why hadn’t he married her in the States when he’d had the chance? At least then they would have the promise of eternity.

  Marc shut his eyes and tried to think of something else. Self-pity would get him nowhere.

  * * *

  Rebekka hadn’t returned when the nurses finally let his family in to see him, two at a time as promised. Marc expected his parents first, but Josette and André came through the door.

  “Look at you!” Josette rushed to the bed and bent over awkwardly to plant a kiss
on his cheek.

  “You know me—anything for attention.” Marc tried to smile, hoping she didn’t hear the fear beneath the words. How many times had he made her cry as a child because of his repeated crazy stunts? He wished he could take it all back now.

  “You were just trying to get me out of the house without the kids,” Josette said to him, wiping the tears from her cheeks.

  Marc gave her a weak grin. “I seem to remember a phone call you made to Mom last week. Something about needing a baby-sitter or you were going to jump off the balcony.”

  “Yeah, well, I was having a rough day. Everybody has them.” Josette’s eyes suddenly gleamed. “But remember, I don’t have a balcony anymore in our new apartment. It was an empty threat.”

  “There’s always the neighbor’s,” André said. Josette punched him in the shoulder.

  They fell silent, as though wondering what to say next. Josette settled on the edge of the bed, bracing herself with an extended arm as she leaned back, her stomach jutting out more noticeably.

  “So, we’re back where we started, eh?” André didn’t meet Marc’s eyes, but studied the monitor next to the bed.

  “Something like that.”

  André met his gaze. “Rebekka says you need a new kidney.”

  “Or dialysis.” Marc couldn’t help making a face. He had detested every minute of his time on dialysis—four hours, three times a week, watching his blood go through a machine. “I’m thinking about doing that until Louis-Géralde gets home.”

  Josette bit her lip. “Not that again. I hated seeing you that way!”

  “It wasn’t that bad,” Marc felt compelled to say. “I met a lot of people who didn’t have problems with it. Maybe it was my age. At least I learned how to play chess.”

  Josette said nothing, but her fingers stroked a long scar on his arm, a remnant of his days of dialysis. Marc stifled the urge to hide it from view. Even as an adult the scars bothered him, and he usually wore long-sleeved shirts to conceal them.

  “I was afraid you would leave me,” Josette said finally.