Twice in a Lifetime

by Rachel Ann Nunes

  Rebekka struggled to a sitting position to defend herself, but before she could utter a word the doctor continued, “I bet you’ve been sick and you might be for a few more weeks—or even longer. But no matter what, you must eat. The baby will be growing at a tremendous rate in the second trimester and he or she will need a lot of nutrition.”

  “Okay,” Rebekka managed past the tumult of other responses in her head: Excuse me, but my husband’s dead. It’s hard to eat when your life is gone. I didn’t know I’d be pushing my baby’s stroller to the cemetery to see my husband.

  The doctor met André’s gaze. “I do have a few patients who don’t gain much during the first trimester, but losing weight is a serious no-no. If she doesn’t start gaining weight or if she’s so ill that she can’t eat, we may need to try vitamin B shots, an IV, or another alternative. Don’t let her skip meals no matter how sick she may be.”

  “I won’t,” André promised with such seriousness that Rebekka felt a sudden crazy urge to laugh and to yell, “He’s not my husband. Ha! I fooled you!”

  “I’m feeling better in the mornings now,” she said instead.

  Dr. Samain nodded, making the overhead light dance across his shiny dark hair. Rebekka wondered if he used an oil to achieve such luster. “Nevertheless,” Dr. Samain continued, “I’d like you to come in next week or at least call to let me know how you’re doing. There’s no reason not to give you something to help you through the sickness part.” He paused. “If that’s indeed what’s causing the weight loss.”

  “I haven’t felt much like eating,” she admitted. “But I’m really trying now.”

  The doctor cocked his head, eyes seeming to delve into things she’d rather keep hidden. Rebekka’s breath came more rapidly, and the familiar pain leapt to her chest. If she didn’t leave the room soon she would burst into tears.

  André stepped closer and put a casual arm around her shoulder. From her seated position on the examination table, Rebekka came to his chest. She was glad she didn’t have to look into his eyes but could simply absorb his strength.

  “We’ve had a recent tragedy in our family,” André explained. “I think that, more than anything, is what has been responsible for Rebekka’s weight loss. But she’s doing all right. We all are. And we are all very excited about this baby. Is it possible to hear the heartbeat?”

  “Oh, of course. That’s next.” Dr. Samain pulled out a device from the wall as Rebekka lay back down on the table. This time he exposed a bit of her stomach. “Hmm, let’s see. In just a minute we should . . . Maybe a little further over here. There! Do you hear it?”

  Rebekka did. The sound reverberated from hidden speakers in the walls. Thump, thump, thump. She closed her eyes and let the sound flood through her. My baby! . . . Marc, do you hear that? It’s our baby! Thump, thump, thump. Her own heart still raced, seeming to beat in tune with the rapid beat of her baby’s heart. An unidentifiable emotion surged into Rebekka’s chest, like nothing she’d ever experienced. My baby. Mine! I love him so much already. Then she smiled. Or her.

  She opened her eyes and found André watching her. He smiled without speaking, and she felt he understood exactly what she was feeling. A tear fell from her eye, but it was a happy tear, this time. She grabbed his hand and squeezed a thank-you for his presence.

  The doctor let them listen for another moment before withdrawing the wand. “Well,” he said, “that’s a pretty strong beat. After we talk next week we can schedule an ultrasound. Would you like that?

  Rebekka nodded. “I’d like to know if it’s a boy or girl.”

  “We’ll be able to check out a lot of the baby’s systems that way—heart, lungs, the works. If nothing else, it gives peace of mind.”

  Rebekka accepted André’s help up from the table, though she scarcely needed it now. Her soul still sang to the beat of her baby’s life. Thump, thump, thump. How wonderful the sound. How utterly mundane, and yet how unique.

  In the car, Rebekka watched André’s profile as he negotiated the narrow, crowded streets. He really didn’t look all that much like Marc when she thought about it. Sure, there was a family resemblance, and both were good-looking, but Marc had been thinner, more rugged, and André was broader, stronger-looking, and more . . . determined? There was something in the set of his jaw that told her he would do the right thing no matter the cost to himself. For some reason this almost made Rebekka angry. André was a wonderful man—he deserved to be happy. He certainly shouldn’t be wasting his life watching over his brother’s widow.

  “André,” she began, “thanks. I mean, for coming. It helped. But I don’t want you to feel you have to come next time or anything. I’ll be able to handle it. Or I could bring someone from my family.”

  He was silent for such a long moment that Rebekka wondered if he’d heard. Then he said, “Rebekka, I wanted to be here today. If you don’t want me to come in the future, just say so. I won’t stick my nose in where I’m not wanted.” His eyes turned toward her briefly, their expression hidden by his sunglasses.

  “It’s not that. Boy, you are so exasperating!”

  He gave a dry chuckle. “Nice to see the color back in your face. But hey, keep in mind that if you decide to bring your brother or your parents with you to the doctor, you’re going to have to tell them about the baby first.”

  He was right, and for now that wasn’t an option. Soon, but not yet.

  “Now where are we going to eat lunch?” André asked.

  His tone dared her to refuse him, but she smiled. “Somewhere very expensive. I’m in the mood to be pampered.”

  In the end he did take her to an expensive restaurant, but the smell of the gourmet food make her stomach queasy, so instead, they opted for take-out sandwiches from the small café next door. Rebekka savored the delicious fresh bread.

  “I think I practically live on bread and milk, you know,” she said with a sigh. “But not rye anymore. I hope I still like it when I’m no longer pregnant.”

  “You will,” André assured her, managing both his sandwich and the steering wheel with ease.

  When they arrived at her building, André didn’t come up to her apartment, which Rebekka supposed was just as well. They had to get back to work. Yet Rebekka found she dreaded being alone, and she almost asked him to stay. Almost. Then she remembered the way he’d held her that morning and how comforting it had been.

  Better to be alone. She had to depend on herself now.

  In the kitchen, she found a surprise: a huge vase of mixed flowers. André! she thought. How thoughtful. She picked up the phone to call him. He hadn’t arrived at work yet, and she didn’t have his cell number memorized, so she left a message instead. “Thanks for the flowers,” she said. “They’re beautiful.”

  After she hung up, she spied a card, tucked way down among the flowers. Eagerly, she opened it. André had never written her a note before.

  Hi Rebekka!

  Looking forward to seeing you this weekend.

  Love, Samuel

  So it hadn’t been André at all, but Samuel. He must have called this morning from America to have the flowers delivered. Rebekka didn’t know what was more embarrassing, her message to André or that she believed he’d brought them. Why would he be bringing her flowers anyway? It wasn’t as though he felt romantically toward her.

  Did that mean Samuel had romantic intentions?

  I hope not, she thought. It’d be one more thing to deal with.

  Shaking her head, Rebekka headed for the bedroom. She was too tired to dwell on her volatile feelings a minute longer. Whoever said that being a teenager was like being on an emotional roller coaster has never been pregnant, she thought. This is much worse.

  “Come on, baby,” she whispered. “Let’s take a nap.” With a hand on her stomach, Rebekka lay on her side and slept.

  Chapter Eleven

  On Wednesday morning Rebekka felt better than she had in months. For breakfast she was even able to take a few bites of the exoti
c cheeses Raoul had bought her.

  “Good,” he said, downing the contents of his glass in one long drink. “I was beginning to think you were sick.”

  “Actually, I’m feeling really good today.”

  “All ready to meet Benny-the-baby-seller?”

  “Sure.” Rebekka flushed. André would be at the hotel that afternoon, posing as her husband. By now he would have received her message thanking him for the flowers he hadn’t sent. Normally, she would have laughed such awkwardness away. Why couldn’t she now?

  Another thing to blame on pregnancy hormones, she thought.

  Still, a little emotional discomfort was nothing compared to finding baby Nadia. She would do her part, André or no André.

  “Noon, sharp. You won’t forget?”

  Rebekka set her cheese on the counter near where she was standing and placed her hands on her brother’s shoulders, staring into his anxious face. “This is my niece we’re talking about. Besides you, I want her back more than anyone.”

  “A baby in the family—can you imagine that?”

  “Yes.” Rebekka’s voice was soft.

  “Mom’s already started buying outfits.” Raoul sighed. “Anyway, we’re sure it won’t be dangerous today, but you never know. If you see a weapon of any kind, get out of there.”

  “What about the police?”

  “They know what we’re doing, or at least our PI has a contact there who knows. He helped bug the room and install hidden cameras. Once we have any kind of proof that this Benny is involved in anything illegal, they’re prepared to jump right on it. But don’t worry about any of that. Just try to get the guy to show you the baby. Or at least commit to it. When he does commit, or if he asks you for money, that will prove to the police he’s a person of interest in Nadia’s disappearance.”

  Rebekka took a photograph of baby Nadia from the pile of copies Raoul had laid on the table. “What does the PI say? Does he think she’ll be there? Do you?”

  Raoul’s face became bleak. “I hope so because every day that passes is one more day we’re apart. One more day that she grows up without me.”

  Neither voiced the fact that even if Benny had a baby to sell, it might not be Nadia.

  “I’ll do my best, Raoul,” Rebekka told him.

  “I know. I’ll be with our investigator in his van outside.”

  Rebekka waited until Raoul left for work before leaving the apartment on her own. She didn’t want to be questioned about what she planned to do this morning. With a scarf over her auburn hair, dark sunglasses, and her long coat and gloves, she felt relatively unrecognizable. The October air was brisk and the light bright, so her attire wouldn’t attract attention, but it could serve as a form of disguise for any unwanted eyes.

  When she arrived in the run-down neighborhood, she checked the paper twice to make sure she had the right address. According to Raoul, this was the apartment building Desirée had lived in until she disappeared after telling him about Nadia. It was not a pretty sight. Trash littered the streets and piled in gaping holes in the cobblestone walk. Rebekka saw a diaper among the debris, and a sanitary pad, as well as other unmentionable and unrecognizable items. The surrounding buildings were covered with graffiti and nearly every window was broken. She shivered, though not from the cold. She was intensely glad for the light and that she hadn’t been foolish enough to come here after dark. How had Desirée kept Nadia safe in such a place?

  “Hey, baby,” crowed a young boy from his seat on the broken cement steps leading into Desirée’s apartment building. Rebekka thought he couldn’t be more than twelve. As he spoke, he stopped bouncing a small rubber ball against the cement in front of him and gave her a deliberate once-over, winking in a way that far belied his age.

  Rebekka bit back the retort on the edge of her tongue. This might look like a little boy bouncing a rubber ball, but what do you bet he’s got a knife in his pocket?

  “Hello,” Rebekka replied, deliberately making her voice flat and expressionless. “I’m looking for Desirée. You know where she’s at?”

  “What’s it worth to you?” He held out his hand and rubbed his fingers together.

  Rebekka played out several scenarios in her mind before answering. If she offered him money, how could she guarantee that he would answer? He might take her money and run. Or he might call in a gang of his little friends and take all her money.

  She sat by him on the steps, carefully staying at arms’ length. He had started bouncing his ball again, but she could tell he was waiting for her reply. “What’s it worth to me?” she repeated with a sigh. “Nothing, really. I just . . .” What the heck, this works with men my own age . . . She removed her glasses and used the open, earnest look Marc had always been unable to refuse. “You see, she’s a friend of mine, and I really, really, need to see her. But I don’t have any money.” She smiled at him and waited.

  He stared at her, blinking in surprise. “Well, I . . .” He missed his ball but she leaned forward and caught it in her fist. “I don’t know where she’s at. I . . . wish I did.”

  “Well, another friend of ours is the person I’m really looking for.” Rebekka bounced the ball to him across the step.

  He nodded knowingly. “The blonde, I bet. Lana. They were always hanging out together.”

  “Did Lana watch the baby?”

  “Don’t know. The baby was kind of cute, though. I watched her once or twice myself. Desirée paid me pretty good.”

  “Did you tell the police that?” she asked.

  The boy’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “I don’t talk to no cops. You ain’t a cop are you?” He tensed his hand around the ball, perhaps getting ready to throw it at her.

  “No. I’m just interested. There’s a big market for babies—if you get what I mean.”

  “Yeah, yeah.” He nodded and bounced the ball back to her. She caught it and rolled it around her palms a few times while she thought up the next question.

  “Lana around? I mean, I could talk to her about it.”

  “Ain’t seen her for at least a week. Cops might ’ave picked her up, though. She drinks a lot.”

  Rebekka sighed. For all she knew, Lana might not even be the friend who had watched Nadia. If she was, she certainly wouldn’t be hanging around waiting to get caught for selling someone’s baby. At least Rebekka had a name to go on.

  “Maybe someone else has seen her,” Rebekka said. “Is there an apartment manager?”

  The boy snorted. “Nobody cares about these places, so long’s the rent’s paid. Last time the water went out, took ’em five days to get it on again. We’re lucky when we have hot water.”

  Rebekka threw him the ball and stood, replacing her dark glasses again. “Thanks.” She paused, thinking that he suddenly looked young and defenseless sitting there. “Where’s your mom?”

  He shrugged. “Workin’.”

  “Don’t you go to school?”

  He made a face at her and jumped to his feet. “You better not be a cop. We don’t need no one poking their nose in ’round here. Leave if you know what’s good for you.” With those final words, he ran down the street and disappeared into one of the numerous doorways.

  Rebekka forced herself to turn back to Desirée’s building. Nadia was what mattered now, and the most important thing was for Rebekka to find out everything she could and get out of here.

  She walked up the crumbling steps and through the broken outside door. The lobby was a mess. There was a layer of grit over the marble floor and an old tire stood against the wall beneath the rusty mailboxes. A battered bike lay beside it and an old broom teetered atop, as though someone had once toyed with the notion of sweeping the place. Cigarette butts sprinkled here and there, but Rebekka was relieved to see no used needles or other drug paraphernalia. Nor did the place smell like urine, though it was far from the flower freshener smell of her own lobby.

  She studied the mailboxes. There were names, some unreadable, but none of them looked familiar. Fortunate
ly it was a small building—less than a third the size of hers—and there was nothing for it but to knock on all eight apartments. Given the dread these people had of the police, maybe she could discover something the authorities had overlooked. Raoul had obviously believed the same thing, which was why he had come here, and she wasn’t going to be discouraged by his failure. On her mission she had learned that the sister missionaries were able to get into many places that were closed to the elders. Of course she wasn’t a missionary anymore, and she was quite alone. Maybe coming here wasn’t such a good idea.

  She climbed the steps to the top floor. Another thing she’d learned on her mission was that it was always easier to start at the top and go down each flight as she finished knocking the entire floor. As if gravity was in her favor, or something. Of course, most of the buildings in the areas where she’d served had elevators, and this building didn’t sport even a broken one.

  There wasn’t a light in the stairway either, but large windows on each landing gave her plenty of illumination. All the windows were broken and taped or missing the glass entirely, and she glimpsed out at the neighborhood each time she passed, hoping to catch some sight of Desirée.

  No one responded in the first apartment. In the second, an unshaven, barrel-chested man in boxers and a tank top answered, his eyes heavy with sleep—or perhaps hung over from a night of drinking.

  “What’dya want?” he barked. Then he seemed to become aware that she was not just a stranger, but a young one of the female variety, and he straightened up, smiling at her. Rebekka wished she weren’t so frightened.

  “I’m looking for Lana,” she said. “Or Desirée. Do you know where I can find them?”

  He rubbed the graying whiskers on his cheeks. “Don’t know either of them. But I’ve only been here a couple days. This place belongs to a buddy of mine, who’s out of town working. Might be home today or tomorrow. You could wait.” He opened the door wider.

  Rebekka shook her head and stepped back.

  “It’s okay,” the man said. “A lot of people crash here. Come on in. Don’t cost a thing.”