Revenge of the Black Virgin

by Serena Janes

  “Me too.”

  Feeling a little more hopeful, Jo went back to her desk and stared down at the mess. Then, shuffling through some mail, she got the shock of her life. It was an envelope addressed to her. From France.

  Almost swooning, she picked it up and flopped into her chair. It took her a moment to decode the sender’s name and address.

  A. LaPlante.

  Not L. LaPlante.

  Hands shaking, she carefully opened it, her eyes jumping to the signature first.

  Anna LaPlante.

  Her stomach clenched in fear.

  Isn’t that Luc’s wife? Or ex-wife?

  Heart in her throat, she scanned the brief letter, written in longhand.

  Dear Joanna,

  Please forgive this intrusion, but I must be bold and take the initiative here.

  My name is Anna, and I am the former wife of Lucien. I believe that Luc has told you about me, and our son.

  I also believe that you are the reason he finally removed his wedding band. It is true that we have been divorced for some time. And I understand that he explained to you his reasons for wearing the ring long past that date.

  The reason I am writing has to do with that ring, in some small way. When I saw it was gone, I knew that he must be serious about you. With a little prodding, he told me what had happened between the two of you.

  Of course, it is not my business. But I want you to know that he suffers the loss of you, and our son suffers as a result.

  Again, please excuse my presumption, but I want to help. He is hurt, I know, and too proud to contact you. I cannot presume to know your feelings, but would it inconvenience you too much to contact him? His unanswered questions torment him. He needs closure, and our son needs his father back.

  I only hope this letter is not going to offend you.

  I have listed his contact numbers at the bottom of this page.

  Sincerely,

  Anna LaPlante

  PS: Luc does not know I have written to you. You need not tell him. It’s up to you.

  Tears running down her face, Jo sat motionless. She found she couldn’t think. Finally the sounds of her noisy co-workers barging back into the office dragged her back into the present. She blotted her face and blew her nose. Then she checked the date of the letter’s postmark.

  Two weeks ago. Just as I was getting ready to leave for Spain. But what about Luc? Where was he two weeks ago?

  Then she remembered the blonde sitting on the back of his bike.

  And if he’s so goddamned hurt, what the hell was he doing with her?

  A flush of shame spread across her face when she realized she’d been with Danny at the time. She was being hypocritical.

  She took out a sheet of paper and began writing.

  Dear Luc….

  Chapter Twelve

  Traveling hadn’t pushed Joanna out of Luc’s mind, but he wasn’t surprised. He knew himself, and he knew that any attempt at diversion was futile. Everywhere he went he carried Joanna along as if it had been her, not Hilda, sitting behind him on the bike. But by the time he got home he found new reasons to obsess over the botched affair—thanks to his ex-wife and Canada Post.

  On his first morning back at work he was sorting through the in-box on his desk when an envelope leaped out at him, causing him to fall backwards into his seat, his heart contracting painfully.

  It was from Canada. With Joanna’s name and a return address in Vancouver, dated weeks earlier.

  Bewildered, he couldn’t bring himself to open it right away. He placed it on the desk in front of him, and just stared at it. He’d never seen Joanna’s handwriting before. He wondered what he could read in it.

  Once he realized the script could tell him nothing, he carefully opened the envelope, aware of her dried saliva on the gum. He didn’t realize he was holding his breath until he’d finished reading the few lines inside.

  Dear Luc:

  I expect you will never be able to forgive me, but I can’t rest until I try and explain myself. Please let me.

  First, I meant every word I ever said to you. I loved you then, and I love you still. That has not changed.

  Second, I know I did a terrible thing by leaving you like I did. It was possibly the cruelest thing I have ever done. My excuse will not be enough, but you need to know that my father died of a heart attack while we were in Rocamadour. He was the world to me, and James knew this. That is why he came to France to take me home, and that is why I let him.

  I was too shocked to think for myself, so I let James think for me. It was wrong of me, I know. And I will pay the price of that bad decision for the rest of my life.

  I want to say only one more thing. If you can ever find it in your heart to forgive me, my heart is open to you.

  Every day I suffer regret for what I have done. Please please please understand.

  With all my love,

  Joanna

  PS: As you can see, I live in Canada now.

  Luc folded the letter with shaking hands, told his supervisor he was ill, and left the building. His first response was to talk to Anna, but she was at work. Instead he went home, changed into his sweats and went for a long run.

  After showering he re-read the letter six times, as if each re-reading would make it more real. He carefully copied Joanna’s email and home addresses onto a separate sheet of paper and then he went to see Anna.

  As he watched her read the letter, he wasn’t sure what he should do. Or how he should feel. He just knew he needed help. But after he asked Anna a few pointed questions, he began to understand what his ex-wife had done for him. She’d taken the liberty of writing to Joanna while he was away, trying to forget about her.

  At first he was furious. But when he looked into Anna’s kind, troubled eyes, his anger dissolved. She just wanted him to be happy, he realized.

  “You have to go to her,” Anna said.

  “Why should I?”

  “She loves you.”

  “Not good enough,” he said, remembering the hurt he’d suffered at her hands these last few months.

  “And you love her. I know you do,” Anna insisted. “You love her in a way I always wished you could love me,” she added, dropping her head to hide the tears that were threatening to overflow.

  Luc got up and hugged her tightly, kissing the top of her head.

  She’s right, he realized with a stab of guilt. As always. “I’m so sorry, Anna. You’re a most amazing woman and you know that I do love you. But I have to have her or I’ll go mad.”

  And now that it was clear Joanna felt the same way, it was his turn to act.

  He would go to Canada to see her. He needed to put this affair to rest, one way or the other.

  * * * *

  Ten days later. Vancouver, Canada.

  Jo’s hands shook as she gripped the steering wheel and pushed her foot down on the accelerator.

  He’s actually here. With me, in my car. I can’t believe it.

  Luckily she was a conscientious driver. Otherwise she might have put them into a ditch on the way home from the Vancouver airport—Luc’s silence unnerved her. Driving gave her something to focus on as she felt his large, still body beside her in the Audi.

  She tried to forget that he hadn’t made any move to kiss her. Really kiss her. The way she’d been dreaming of. In fact, since lightly kissing the top of her head he hadn’t made any move to do anything at all except break their embrace and say, in a voice made rough by fatigue, that they should get going. She’d released his lapels, then, and they walked in silence to the parking lot. He stashed his bags in the trunk, got in the car, and buckled his seat belt without another word.

  It was a late September dusk, a slight mist forming over the low, flat land of the Fraser River delta. Venus glowed next to a perfect crescent moon hanging over the North Shore mountains. As she maneuvered through the stream of traffic heading downtown, Jo was struck by the beauty of her adopted city. It had been her home for only a few weeks
, but already she loved it. The only drawback to having transferred up north was that she’d had to leave Sammy behind. He was safely lodged with Jo’s mother, who could use the companionship now that she was widowed.

  “I know you’ve been to Vancouver before,” Jo ventured, glancing quickly at her mute passenger. “But I’m glad you’re getting to see it on a clear night. It’s so pretty when it’s not raining.”

  “It is that,” Luc said, voice flat.

  Jo continued, made bold by love for her new home, and by love for her lover. The French lover she thought she’d never see again. Who had just flown over an ocean to be with her.

  Buy why? He seems completely disengaged. Cold, even.

  “You look tired. Did you sleep on the flight?”

  “Non.”

  “Well, you can go to bed right away, if you want,” she offered hesitantly. “Unless you want something to eat, first.”

  “Maybe,” was all she got. He was rubbing his eyes as he watched traffic whizzing by.

  “I hope you like my place. I was lucky to get it. It’s a sublet of a sweet little penthouse near English Bay. Completely furnished. Wait ‘til you see the views!” Thinking about her apartment made Jo forget about her discomfort for a moment.

  “Look! We can see it from here,” she exclaimed as they crested the Burrard Street Bridge. “The narrow building with the row of blue lights running down the side. Can you see?”

  Luc didn’t respond and she stopped trying. Within a few minutes she was opening her automatic garage door and driving underneath the building. As she watched Luc unload his luggage from the trunk, she heard a woman’s voice calling her.

  “Hi, Joanna? Is that you, dear? Do you think you could help me for a moment, please?”

  It was her neighbor, Louise, who lived in the opposite penthouse unit. Middle-aged and a spinster, Louise had befriended Jo in a good way when the younger woman moved in.

  She saw that Louise was just getting back from a shopping trip to Ikea. The back of her SUV was loaded with flat, heavy-looking cardboard boxes.

  “I’m so sorry to bother you, but I’m afraid I’ve bitten off a little more than I can manage, this time. Will you help me get these into the elevator?”

  In a flash Luc was there, holding out his hand. Jo introduced him. “Uh, Louise, this is Luc, who has just arrived from France for a visit.”

  Luc was all gracious manners now. “Bonsoir, Madame. Please allow me. Non, non. You might hurt yourself,” he insisted as he gracefully tipped the flat boxes onto their sides and leaned them against Louise’s car.

  There was nothing for Jo to do but pick up his luggage and follow him as he carried the boxes into the elevator. There was just enough room for all of them and their cargo as Louise inserted her key and pushed the penthouse button.

  While Luc was stacking the boxes in the hallway, Louise caught Jo’s eye. She grinned and mouthed, You’re one lucky girl! Jo smiled and nodded quickly, before Luc could see. Then she went into her bedroom and lifted his wheeled suitcase onto her bureau and put his laptop bag on her bed. She could hear Louise’s voice thanking him and the sound of both doors closing. He was all hers now.

  Lucky girl.

  Gulp.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Luc stood in Jo’s bedroom doorway, his arms hanging loosely at his sides. He was looking at her, but his handsome face was expressionless. He seemed thinner than she remembered. Dark circles hung beneath his eyes. Otherwise he looked good, she thought. Really, really good. Her heart was pounding, and she was finding it hard to swallow. She wanted to take him in her arms, but something in his face stopped her.

  “Uh, I put your bags in here.” She motioned behind her. “Do you want to take a shower?” She had to fight to keep her voice from cracking. “While I make us something to eat?”

  Seeing that he didn’t respond, she stepped closer to him. It took all the power she had not to crush him in an embrace. Instead, she raised her hand to his face, touching his stubbled cheek lightly. He recoiled and, rubbing his jaw with one hand as if he wanted to erase her touch, walked past her to unzip his suitcase. “Yes. I guess need a shave.”

  Her body flushed with heat as if she’d been slapped. But she kept her head and moved away from him. “In there,” she indicated the bathroom door. “I put towels out for you,” she added as she blinked back tears.

  She walked to her closet and touched a hanger. “You can hang your jacket in here. I made some space for your things, if you’d like,” she explained before turning and leaving him to it. She’d be damned if she’d let him see her cry.

  This is not how it’s supposed to be!

  But Jo didn’t know what to expect. Nothing would be like it was before. She knew that. But it could still be good. Couldn’t it? Her imagination had failed her completely every time she thought of seeing him again. On her turf, this time. With the home court advantage.

  She walked into the living room, hands shaking, and took off her sweater and scarf and again smoothed the snug-fitting little knit dress she had so carefully chosen for this special day. The fabric hugged her curves perfectly, the rows of tiny ruffles running along the hem emphasizing her round little hips and ass. The color was just right for fall—all bronzes and ochres and golds. Short, but not sleazy, and sleeveless now, without her sweater, the dress bared enough skin to tempt any man, she knew.

  But he hasn’t even looked at me! I could be wearing a sack!

  Afraid, Jo turned on some music, then stood in front of the speakers blinking away tears and rubbing her arms. She didn’t know how to feel, or what to do. She glanced at the make-shift shrine she’d set up in the corner. That morning she’d removed the bandana and all but one of the photos of Luc. That, and the picture of the Black Virgin. She looked at the Virgin’s black stare and asked her out loud, “Now what? Tell me what to do.”

  But the mute face told her nothing. She was on her own. It was then that she remembered the wine.

  A drink wouldn’t hurt.

  She’d chosen a Malbec from the Okanagan Valley—she wanted everything she served tonight to be from British Columbia. It would be fitting, she thought, given the amount of French food and wine she’d packed away when she was in the Dordogne. She filled a glass and drank.

  Not bad. Not great, but not bad.

  Then she went to the fridge and took out the smoked salmon. She put it on a tray alongside a glass dome covering a selection of cheeses sitting at room temperature. She emptied a box of crackers into a bowl, removed the plastic wrap from a dish of pickled asparagus, and took another drink of wine. A longer one.

  The alcohol pulsed along her limbs, relaxing them as it moved. She began to cut a crusty loaf into pieces. A blues tune helped distract her jumbled thoughts.

  “I see you’ve started without me.”

  Jo jumped in her skin, almost cutting her finger with the bread knife. Luc was standing right behind her. She hadn’t heard him at all, but suddenly she could feel his hot breath on her neck. She could smell fresh soap. Her knees weakened and she found she couldn’t move.

  Clearing her throat, she said, “I did. Sorry. Here. Let me pour you a…”

  “Not now, Joanna. This isn’t the time for drinking,” he said, voice low, as he slowly lifted the hair from the back of her neck, his warm knuckles grazing her skin. He moved his face closer. He breathed in deeply. “Ah! Your scent. It’s almost worth crossing an ocean,” he exhaled, “and a continent, just to be able to smell your neck.”

  His words caused a wave of relief to wash over her rigid body. She held her breath, standing perfectly still. He breathed in again, then exhaled slowly, his hot breath on her neck warming her into excitement.

  Passion swept through her so quickly that she didn’t know what she was doing. She fell backwards into him, rubbing her shoulders into his hard chest.

  Immediately he pushed her away.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” he demanded as he grabbed her and spun her around to face
him, holding her at arms’ length. She saw his hair was still wet, pushed behind his ears, and he hadn’t shaved. He was wearing a black T-shirt. Dark hair, dark stubble, dark eyes looking down at her. She opened her mouth to speak but couldn’t, overcome by a rush of desire compounded by fear.

  “I didn’t come all this way just to fuck you!” he hissed down at her. “I came here to talk,” he added as he grabbed her wrists and forced her arms over her head. He roughly pushed her up against the fridge, holding her tightly with both hands.

  Confused, she just stared at him. But she was also aroused. Standing with her back against a hard surface, with nowhere to go, reminded her of that other time. Their first time, in the hotel room at Rocamadour. That was when she fell, believing she’d been granted permission by the Black Virgin to indulge her basest desires for a total stranger. She felt her insides quiver, her knees buckle.

  But this was different. Now he was hurting her. This wasn’t what she had in mind at all when she envisioned being with Luc again. He was scaring her, when all she wanted was to offer herself up like a platter of food.

  “Talk?” she managed to squeak out. She was panting. His strength, his height and the way he smelled—the way he looked—worked together to make her stupid with lust. She almost fell forward but he jerked her wrists more tightly above her head.

  He bent his head to her ear, and whispered, “Talk, yes. I’m going to tell you what you’ve done to me. And then maybe I’ll let you try and tell me why you ran away like you did. I need to know, you see. My sweet Joanna. I need to understand why you hurt me.”

  He took one hand from her wrists, still managing to hold them fast with the other one, and lifted her chin. His dark eyes looked forcefully into hers. “And maybe, sweet Joanna, just maybe, if I can accept what you tell me, I’ll stay awhile.”