Twice in a Lifetime Page 5

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  The next morning, Marie-Thérèse hummed as she prepared her family breakfast. At last she stood back and surveyed with satisfaction the array of food she’d gathered—juice, milk, yogurt, fresh fruit, and the still-warm bread Brandon had brought back a few minutes ago from the corner bakery. Something in this assortment ought to appeal to Celisse. Normally, Marie-Thérèse didn’t bother making breakfast on Saturdays as each member of the family had different rising times and liked to eat whatever appealed to them, but today she wanted to eat together.

  “Brandon, ask your sister to come to the table, would you?” she called into the sitting room where he was watching television.

  Larissa hadn’t emerged from her room the night before, not even for dinner or to ask to go out. Marie-Thérèse hoped a night of going hungry had done something for her attitude. Mathieu had talked to her and explained that Celisse and her sister were only at the house temporarily, but her comments sat like a weight on Marie-Thérèse’s heart.

  She sighed. Just when life was going smoothly, something else happened to test them. First Marc’s sudden death and now these poor children.

  Marie-Thérèse immediately felt guilty at the thought. She would only have to deal with the situation until Monday, but the unfortunate Celisse would have to live with her hurt for a lifetime.

  The door to Brandon’s room was ajar, and Marie-Thérèse eased it opened and tiptoed inside, not planning to awaken Celisse if she was still asleep. She’d checked on the little girl a dozen times during the night, and every time she’d been sleeping soundly. Now the bed was empty.

  “Celisse?” she called when she didn’t immediately see the child. She checked under the desk and in the closet before she became worried. Had Celisse somehow slipped out of the apartment unseen? Marie-Thérèse immediately dismissed the thought. She could be anywhere in the apartment. Perhaps she was with Mathieu and the baby. Or with Larissa. She could even be watching TV with Brandon, although she didn’t seem to like him at all.

  As she went toward the door, a rustling sound under the bed caught her attention. Marie-Thérèse dropped to her knees. She hadn’t thought of looking under the bed since the space was so small.

  “Good morning, Celisse,” she said, trying to sound happy. “I’m glad you’re awake. Do you feel safe under there? Is that why you’ve moved from the bed? Don’t worry. That’s perfectly okay. But guess what? I have breakfast ready for you. I have fruit and yogurt and fresh bread, and juice. And milk. If you want, I can put some chocolate in it for you. How does that sound?”

  Celisse didn’t speak, but simply watched Marie-Thérèse with her sober blue eyes. A lump came to Marie-Thérèse’s throat. “Look, honey, I’m going to help you come out from under there, okay? I’m not going to do anything but take you to the kitchen so we can eat. All right?

  Getting Celisse out proved more difficult than she thought, and Marie-Thérèse had to lift part of the bed. “My, how did you get in there? Hey, maybe next time you could go under the desk instead. I could put a sheet there to make it like a secret hiding place. You would still feel safe, I bet.”

  Celisse made no reaction, so Marie-Thérèse put her on the bed and pulled off the top sheet. She folded it and put it over the front part of the desk. “See? Like this. That way it’s your own little private space, and you can go there whenever you want. Brandon won’t need his desk.” There was still no reaction from the child, but Marie-Thérèse tried not to feel deflated. Celisse had been severely abused and it would take time for her to trust an adult again. “Well, let’s go eat.”

  She stopped in her room to tell Mathieu she was ready for breakfast. He was lying prone on the bed with the baby on his chest. “Look! She’s raising her head, watching me. Did you ever see anything so cute?”

  Marie-Thérèse laughed and sat down at the edge of the bed. In her arms, Celisse stiffened. “It’s okay,” Marie-Thérèse murmured. “Mathieu is good. He would never hurt you.”

  Mathieu sat up, his black hair tousled from the pillow. “Hello, Celisse. How are you this morning?” He reached out a long-fingered hand to touch her arm, but she recoiled, burying her face into Marie-Thérèse’s shoulder.

  Marie-Thérèse tightened her hold on the child. “Don’t worry, he won’t hurt you. Come on, just say hi.”

  “No, don’t make her.” Mathieu settled the baby in the crook of his arm. “Celisse, we will never force you to say anything or let anyone touch you, if you don’t want them to.”

  “Except to get you out from under the table to eat.” Marie-Thérèse made her voice light. “Let’s go have breakfast.”

  “Breakfast?” Mathieu arched his eyebrows.

  “Yes. We’re eating breakfast together this morning.”

  “Good.” He arose, bending briefly to plant a light kiss on her lips. “I guess, we might as well get used to not being alone,” he teased, his black eyes reflecting the light from the window.

  “Only until Monday.”

  He sighed. “That’s too bad. I kind of like having them around.”

  Marie-Thérèse stared at him. “Better not let our daughter hear you say that.”

  He shrugged and looked at the baby in his arms. “I didn’t remember what it was like, caring for a baby.”

  “I know,” she answered softly.

  “Maybe Larissa wouldn’t mind. It’s been a long time since we thought about adopting.”

  “You can say that after how she acted yesterday?”

  “You’re right. But let’s just wait and see, okay?”

  Marie-Thérèse shook her head. “No, Mathieu. We made our decision.”

  “We made it once the other way, too. Things can change. I’m only saying we should remain open to possibilities.”

  Marie-Thérèse started for the door. “Pascale will be here on Monday. I don’t think Larissa will change before then.” She looked back over her shoulder. “Or me.”

  “What does that mean?” Mathieu came after her.

  “Please, not now.” Marie-Thérèse dipped her head toward Celisse. There was no telling how much of their conversation she understood.

  “Okay, but this isn’t finished.”

  Marie-Thérèse recognized his determination, but hers was stronger. No matter what Mathieu said, she was not going to become further involved with Celisse and her sister. From the experiences shared by other infertile couples, she had learned that the foster care program was even more dangerous emotionally than adoption. Marie-Thérèse wasn’t going to be a part of it.

  Brandon and Larissa were already at the kitchen table, filling their plates with food.

  “Hey, you guys, wait for us,” Mathieu said.

  “We are.” Brandon poured himself a full cup of juice. “We haven’t said prayer yet.”

  Larissa glanced in Marie-Thérèse’s direction, but didn’t meet her eyes—a sure sign she was feeling guilty for yesterday’s outburst. Maybe Mathieu’s talk had made her sorry for Celisse. But all she said was, “We don’t have enough chairs.”

  “That’s all right, Celisse can have mine,” Mathieu said.

  Marie-Thérèse set the child down on it, but she immediately jumped off and scrambled under the table, huddling against the wall. She was dangerously close both to Larissa’s and Brandon’s feet since the table wasn’t very large.

  “Oh brother,” Larissa said, rolling her eyes.

  Brandon peered under the table. “Hey, Celisse, you don’t have to go down there.”

  Celisse backed away from him so fast that she crashed into Larissa’s legs. Larissa’s face grew angry, and she kicked her away—not hard, but in obvious annoyance.

  “Don’t.” Mathieu pointed his finger at Larissa, his voice low and calm but deadly serious. “Remember what I told you last night. This child has had enough people abuse her. She won’t get abuse of any kind from anyone in this family. Now apologize this instant.”

  Larissa’s face drained of color. She scooted her chair back from the table
and squatted down a foot from Celisse. “Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to push you away. It just surprised me. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

  Marie-Thérèse had thought Larissa’s paleness was because she was angry at Mathieu, and humiliated by the forced apology, but her daughter’s voice was sincere. Whatever else Larissa might want, hurting Celisse was not something she’d planned.

  “Hey, I know,” Brandon said. “We can all eat under the table. Well, at least partly. We won’t fit, but we can sit on the floor and our plates can be under the table. Don’t worry, Celisse, I’ll stay far away from you.”

  “Great idea.” Mathieu set the baby in her car seat and began pulling things from the table.

  Marie-Thérèse grabbed a plate for Celisse. “Here, honey. I bet you like strawberries. I don’t usually even have these in the house since Brandon’s allergic to them, but they’re very good. And how about grapes?” She put some on a plate. “Now something to drink. Would you prefer milk or juice? That’s okay, you don’t have to say. You can have both, although I hope it doesn’t give you a stomach ache. Let’s put a little chocolate in your milk for good measure—I’ve never known a kid who doesn’t like chocolate milk.”

  In minutes everyone was seated on the floor, except Larissa who still sat in her chair, which was pushed far back from the table. She stared at them as if they had all gone crazy.

  “I’ll offer the prayer,” Mathieu said. He did so and everyone except Celisse and Larissa began to eat. After watching them for a few minutes, Celisse picked up a strawberry and a handful of grapes. She shoved the food down quickly, almost without chewing, getting in as much as possible with each motion.

  Larissa slowly filled her plate before asking, “May I be excused to eat in my room? I have some homework I need to do.”

  Marie-Thérèse wanted to say no, but she also wanted to give her daughter as much space as she needed. Glancing at Mathieu, she nodded.

  “That’s fine, Larissa,” he said. “If you need any help, let us know.”

  “Okay.” Larissa went from the room.

  Mathieu made a face at Marie-Thérèse. “You think she really has homework?”

  “One can only hope. I’ll look in on her la—”

  “Hey look, Mom,” Brandon interrupted. “Celisse took a strawberry I put on her plate! Maybe she’s going to like me after all.” His face radiated happiness.

  Marie-Thérèse smiled. In two more days that will hardly matter, she thought.

  Celisse ate everything on her plate and drank second and then third helpings of the chocolate milk. Brandon made a game of putting more tidbits on her plate, and his grin grew every time she ate his offering.

  When everyone had their fill, Marie-Thérèse said as she always did after meals, “Plates in the sink, and the table—I mean the floor—needs to be cleared.” Brandon and Mathieu started working while she sat down near Celisse. “Are you finished?” Celisse handed her the plate. “Good. You want to hang onto that bread? Go right ahead. You can keep it until you’re hungry again, though I can give you more whenever you want.”

  She felt the child’s somber eyes on her as she helped with the breakfast clean up. Soon the kitchen was back to normal. “I’m going to take a shower,” Mathieu said, giving her a kiss.

  “Right now? I wanted to try to give Celisse a bath—if she’ll let me.” Not for the first time, she found herself wishing for more than one bathroom.

  “I can wait. Brandon and I’ll take the baby and watch a little sports or whatever else is on TV. Unless you need help.”

  “I think I’d better go this one alone. She doesn’t seem comfortable around you yet.”

  “Hey, we gotta give this baby a name,” Brandon said, picking up the infant. “I mean, calling her baby is weird.”

  “She has a name,” Marie-Thérèse said. “We just don’t know what it is.”

  “What’s it gonna hurt? I just want to call her something instead of baby.”

  “A name would be nice,” Mathieu agreed.

  Brandon grinned, recognizing success. “How about Raquel? There’s a nice girl at school named that.”

  “I like it.” Mathieu slapped him on the back.

  Marie-Thérèse said nothing as they left the room. They shouldn’t be naming the baby as if she were theirs to name. Pascale might call today with her proper name. Regardless, on Monday the point will be moot.

  With a heavy sigh, Marie-Thérèse knelt again next to the table. “Well, Celisse, at least we know your name.”

  Celisse’s blue eyes stared at her steadily without expression.

  Marie-Thérèse wished she could take away her pain. It seemed like only yesterday she had been the same age and suffering over the death of her birth mother and the resulting despair of her birth father. There were so many varied emotions in a traumatized child—how could they be identified and dealt with? Marie-Thérèse was grateful she’d had her aunt and uncle—who later adopted her—to help her through the crisis; Celisse had no one. Obviously her mother had done nothing to protect her.

  “I know you probably miss your mom,” Marie-Thérèse said, reaching for Celisse. “Kids always do . . . despite . . . Well, I’m going to do my best for you. Come on, now. Come with me.” She wasn’t sure if it was her imagination, or if Celisse came more readily this time. Was her body less stiff? Her face less stern?

  Marie-Thérèse carried her down the hall and into the bathroom. Celisse appeared abruptly terrified as she shut the door. Marie-Thérèse hugged her. “Celisse, nothing is going to hurt you. Don’t worry, honey. I won’t let anything happen to you. I promise.”

  Celisse said nothing but clung to Marie-Thérèse stiffly.

  Sitting on the edge of the bath with Celisse on her lap, Marie-Thérèse began filling the tub. It wasn’t a large jetted tub like the one Josette had installed in her bathroom during her last pregnancy, but it had always served their family well, and it was especially great for small children. When Larissa and Brandon had been young, bathing together had been a highlight of their day . . . and hers.

  When the tub was half filled, Marie-Thérèse stood Celisse on the floor and began slowly undressing her. This time the child didn’t resist, although her body remained rigid. Her underwear was stained with feces as though she didn’t know how to wipe herself properly. Marie-Thérèse glanced at Celisse and saw that she was trembling, her eyes wide with fear.

  “That’s okay,” Marie-Thérèse said. “We’ll just teach you how to clean that next time. It’s not important.”

  When Marie-Thérèse reached out to her to put her in the tub, Celisse began to cry and shake more violently. “What’s wrong, honey? The water’s warm, I promise. Look, feel it.” Marie-Thérèse had heard of some parents washing their children with scalding or freezing water as a punishment for potty-training accidents. She herself had been tempted to do so with Larissa but had never given in. Once or twice, though, she had lost control and spanked a three-year-old Larissa for messing in her pants and hiding behind the door. Marie-Thérèse had felt guilty for days afterward and decided she needed to find a better way. The lesson was a difficult one to learn—nothing with Larissa had ever been easy.

  Had any of this happened to Celisse, and perhaps repeatedly? Maybe they would never know.

  Gingerly she placed Celisse into the water. The child clung to her hands, tears falling from her eyes.

  “That’s okay, honey, I’m not leaving. We’re just going to wash off some of this dirt. Don’t worry. It shouldn’t hurt.”

  Pascale had told her that Celisse had been sexually abused and had become upset when the doctor tried to examine her, but Marie-Thérèse wasn’t prepared for the marks and lesions she now saw on Celisse’s thighs and all over her frail body. Who could do such a thing to a child? She wept with Celisse as she gently helped her sit.

  “Does that sting?” she asked. As usual, there was no reply, but the water didn’t seem to be causing the child additional pain. Abruptly, Celisse let go of
Marie-Thérèse and folded her arms as if she were cold. Her tears stopped but her small frame still shook with occasional silent sobs.

  “I know what you need. Some toys. I don’t know what experience you’ve had with water, but here we have fun with it.” Marie-Thérèse was reluctant to leave Celisse so she called out, “Larissa! Larissa. Come here, quickly!” Larissa’s room was next to the bathroom and she should hear her plea, whereas Mathieu and Brandon wouldn’t likely hear her over the television.

  Larissa came into the bathroom as Marie-Thérèse was soaping a soft washcloth and carefully cleaning Celisse’s back. “Did you call me?”

  Marie-Thérèse glanced around. “Yes, could you get a few toys for her?”

  “Which ones?”

  “It doesn’t matter. Something that can go into the water. Just pick from the basket of toys everyone brought.”

  “Okay.”

  Marie-Thérèse spied something on Celisse’s hip that looked like a swollen purple pimple without a head, and was larger than an adult thumb. What could it be? She would have to ask Pascale what the doctor had said when he had examined her. Hopefully, it was only a bug bite of some kind and would go away. Celisse winced as she washed it, though Marie-Thérèse rubbed ever-so-softly. “Just getting clean,” she murmured in a soothing voice. “I’m trying to be very careful so it won’t hurt, but we need to get you clean. Don’t worry. I’m not going to be too picky about how clean.”

  Larissa returned to the bathroom with an armload of toys. “How about these?”

  “Good. Let’s just put them all in.”

  Celisse stared, her remaining sobs ceasing instantly.

  “She thinks we’re crazy,” Larissa said.

  “I bet a lot of things we do seem odd to her.”

  They were silent for a long time, and then Larissa whispered, “I really am sorry about this morning. I didn’t mean to hurt her.” Her voice choked. “I just . . . it was a reaction. Mom, how could someone hurt her that way? She’s so little.”

  Marie-Thérèse met her daughter’s tearful eyes. “I don’t know. I just don’t know.”