Twice in a Lifetime

by Rachel Ann Nunes

  “Maybe I needed to hear someone else say it.”

  André put his hand on his brother’s shoulder. “I would do anything for you and Rebekka. Anything. That’s a promise. For now, just make every moment count. Make every day better than the last. Never go to bed fighting. Isn’t that all you can do?”

  Marc nodded. “Yeah. Thanks. It’s just that life is so good right now. So very good.”

  André drew away. “I’m glad, Marc.” He meant every word. He didn’t even mind that his brother’s happiness made his own life seem stark by contrast.

  Now, almost a year later, André understood that his brother’s quest for answers that day was what had led him to discover how André had felt about Rebekka before their marriage. He must have also realized that she had once shared a portion of those feelings—however slightly or briefly. Yet Marc certainly hadn’t calculated how much his death would have affected Rebekka, or that she would be carrying his child. Or that her feelings for André had died long ago.

  Could a cold spark burst once again into flame?

  André sighed and glanced toward the large family portrait he kept on the wall. It was the last one he and Claire had taken with the girls before she had died. He still talked to her, but today her smile seemed more enigmatic than usual. No help there. So he wondered silently how Marc had really felt when he’d first learned that André had harbored undeclared feelings for Rebekka. Had he been angry? Had he been shocked? Had he wanted to punch him?

  Probably all of the above.

  But Marc had also trusted him. He must have known that Rebekka loved him more deeply than she had ever cared for André.

  I love her too, Marc, he thought. But should he tell her? If he did, what would she say?

  André rang his secretary. “Would you reschedule my appointment with the architectural crew? I have somewhere to go tonight and I need time to shave and get ready.”

  If Rebekka’s American friend was going to be there tonight, he had better look his best.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Rebekka was surprised to find Detective Francom walking up to her apartment building Friday afternoon as she arrived from the corner bakery with a fresh loaf of bread for lunch. “Hello, Detective,” she called.

  He turned around, smiling, the silver in his hair accentuated by the weak sunlight overhead. “Ah, Madame Perrault, I was in the neighborhood and thought I’d drop by to see you. I have some news for you and your brother.”

  “My brother isn’t home.”

  “He’s not available at work, either. I called.”

  “Would you like to come up?”

  “Thank you. It will take only a few minutes.”

  “Well, I’m about to eat—in my condition it’s about all I do. I’m forced to eat, or I get sick. Will you join me?”

  “Perhaps something to drink—nothing alcoholic as I’m on duty.”

  That was good since she didn’t have anything alcoholic.

  She made the detective some hot chocolate before settling at the table with her own bland sandwich and a mug of warm milk. He seemed lost in his thoughts, and she waited impatiently. She had plenty to do that afternoon. “You said you had news?”

  “Yes. The baby you saw was positively identified as being the child of that deceased girl—thanks in large part to those prints you got us. Even with that news, Benny wouldn’t tell us where she was, but we got a tip from his neighbor and found the baby.”

  “That’s great.”

  “Needless to say, the grandparents are ecstatic, though it certainly won’t bring their daughter back.”

  “Did Benny have anything to do with the girl’s death?”

  “I don’t think so. It was a drug overdose, plain and simple. But she was underage and he knew it. He was selling her baby illegally.”

  “Do you think she purposely did it because of the baby?”

  He set his mug on the table. “You mean, take too many drugs?”

  “Yes. Maybe she felt guilty at giving her up. Or having her in the first place.”

  “Probably. We’ll never know. At least the baby will be all right. I think they’re good parents. Some kids, no matter how much you teach them, don’t listen.”

  Rebekka thought of Desirée. Her parents weren’t members of her church, but for all Rebekka knew they could be decent people—despite their disapproval of Desirée’s marriage to Raoul.

  Her hand went to her stomach where her own baby grew. How grateful I am for the gospel to help me raise you. But would it be enough? How could she do it without Marc? She wondered if André ever felt a similar inadequacy without Claire. Maybe she should ask.

  The room had gone too silent, and Rebekka forced herself to remember the police detective’s presence. “So, have you heard anything about Nadia?” The investigator Raoul had hired still had no new leads.

  His hand cupped his mug and lifted it again. “No,” he said before taking a swallow. “Actually that’s what I came to tell you. This morning Lana remembered possibly dropping Nadia off at a friend’s. She thought that since the woman already had a child—or children, we’re not sure—she would be a good choice as a sitter.”

  Rebekka leaned forward eagerly, her meal forgotten. “Was she there?”

  Detective Francom frowned. “Well, that’s the thing. Lana still doesn’t remember which friend. She began making a list of people she knows who have children—the list is surprisingly long—but then she experienced some pretty strong withdrawal symptoms and we had to hospitalize her. It’s anybody’s guess as to if she’ll remember the right person.”

  Rebekka’s hopes dwindled again. “But it’s good news that the woman had children, right?”

  He grimaced. “One would think so, but when you’re in that kind of lifestyle—I don’t know. We’re checking out a few leads, and we’ll let you know the minute we find out anything.”

  “I wonder when this will all end.” Rebekka propped her elbows on the counter and let her chin drop to her hands.

  “Shouldn’t be long now.”

  She wished he would leave so she could lie down. Her head had begun pounding already and there was still that family party to get through tonight. Should she tell them about Marc’s baby? She wasn’t sure she was ready to share the news just yet.

  “We’ve put the bit about the baby’s birthmark on the wire,” the detective said. “It might just be the link we need.”

  She managed a smile. “And I thought you weren’t really interested in that.”

  “I’m sorry if it came out that way.” His forefinger traced the lip of his empty mug. “Sometimes I come across a bit brusque. I was grateful you called with the information.”

  Rebekka pushed back her chair. “Well, I appreciate you coming by, but I’m sure you have more important things to do.”

  He stood up at the same time she did. “Thanks for the hot chocolate, Madame Perrault.”

  She walked him to the door. “Goodbye, Detective.”

  “You have a good day. If you hear from your sister-in-law, give me a call.”

  * * *

  The ringing phone pulled Rebekka from a deep sleep where Benny-the-baby-seller ran after her waving his fake American passport and trying to kidnap her baby. She awoke with a start, her heart pounding furiously.

  She moaned and grabbed for the portable phone which was ringing somewhere on the floor. “Hello?”

  “Hi beautiful!” came a cheerful voice.

  “Huh?” Rebekka lay back on the bed and tried to shake the fog from her brain. “André?”

  “Wrong—it’s Samuel. Don’t tell me you forgot I was coming in tonight.”

  She sat up. “Oh, hello. No, I didn’t forget. And thank you for the flowers. I meant to call, but I just . . . life’s been pretty hectic lately.”

  “That’s okay. You can make it up to me my letting me take you to dinner. Your choice of restaurants.”

  “Are you in town already? I thought you weren’t coming in until later this eveni
ng.”

  “I was able to get an earlier flight. Just arrived at my hotel, in fact. So what will it be, black tie or casual?”

  “Anything would be—oh, wait! They’re having a family party tonight, and I’m invited.” She raked her hair back from her face. “Since I thought you were coming in later, I’d planned to leave the party early. I wouldn’t have agreed to go at all, but . . . well, Marc’s family has been so good to me over the years. We’re really close.”

  “Well, I’m disappointed, of course, but there’s always tomorrow.”

  “You can come with me—if you don’t mind. I’m sure they won’t. And my brother-in-law, Zack will be glad to see an American, especially someone who’s taller than he is.”

  “Yeah, that gets noticed here a lot.”

  “Then you’ll come?”

  “You sure they won’t throw me out?” His voice was only half-teasing. “I mean that’s your husband’s family were talking about. Won’t they see me as the enemy?”

  “Of course not.” Except maybe André, she added silently. “They will be very gracious, I promise. And we’ll leave early. The food is likely to be wonderful—and free, too.”

  “Hey, I’m there then. What time shall I pick you up? I’ve rented a car.”

  “I’ll pick you up. I’ve seen you Americans drive here, and it’s not a pretty sight. Except for Zack. Now he could give us lessons.”

  “If I weren’t so manly, I’d take offense at that,” Samuel said, laughing.

  “Or if you weren’t so accustomed to chauffeurs, you mean.”

  “That, too.” He was silent a moment before adding, “Ah, Rebekka, I’ve missed you. I really have.”

  Rebekka couldn’t say the same thing and remain truthful, but despite her determination not to feel anything, she realized she was very much looking forward to seeing Samuel. “I’ll see you tonight then.”

  “What time?”

  She looked at the clock on the wall opposite the bed, the elaborately carved one Marc had given her for their first anniversary. He’d wanted her to put it in the sitting room, but she had preferred keeping it where she could lie in bed and watch the black hands tick out each second. Not that she’d had much free time back then to watch. Now with her morning sickness, she’d been spending way too much time staring at that clock.

  “Rebekka? Are you there?”

  “Sorry. I was checking the time. I didn’t realize it was so late. I’ll pick you up at six-thirty, okay? That’ll give me an hour and a half to get ready and find your hotel.”

  “I’ll meet you in the lobby. But make it a little earlier, if you can, and we’ll share a drink there first, to catch up on old times before we go to your get-together.”

  “I’ll try.” Rebekka said goodbye and hung up, already wondering what she was going to wear. While she hadn’t gained back all the weight she’d lost, she had gained two pounds since her doctor’s appointment—a large amount for three days—and it all seemed to have gone right to her abdomen. When she examined herself in the mirror, she couldn’t see any difference in her stomach, but with her hand she felt a rounded lump there and it was beginning to bother her to wear anything remotely snug—especially if it had an elastic waist.

  She tried on several outfits just to be sure, but every time she put on something that even remotely emphasized her figure, she kept imagining it squishing the baby. She knew the idea was illogical but couldn’t put it out of her head. Most of the clothes that fit her fine in the waist were now uncomfortable because the changes in her body had made the shirts marginally too tight. I don’t want to look like . . . Desirée. The thought was unkind, but Rebekka didn’t repent for it. Nadia’s life was in danger because of her sister-in-law. She sighed. I guess it’s time to buy maternity clothes.

  Finally, she settled on a brown dress with gold buttons down the front and gentle princess seams on the side. A gold jacket embroidered with brown thread completed the ensemble. Not only was brown her best color, but she was comfortable, and no one would ever be able to guess her secret. She brushed her dark auburn hair until it shined and then sprayed it to keep it straight. While her hair wasn’t curly, it did have a tendency to wave and tonight she wanted to look her best. She had let herself wallow in despair for too long; it was far time she took control. Feeling confident, Rebekka grabbed her purse and headed for the car.

  Samuel was waiting in the lobby as promised, looking very tanned and tall. His sandy blonde hair was longer than she remembered and his eyes more green. He crossed the room and kissed her cheeks before enveloping her in a hug that took her breath away. “You look exactly the same,” she said, “except your hair is longer on top, isn’t it?”

  He chuckled. “It’s the latest style from Paris, haven’t you heard?” He held her back and studied her for a long moment. “You, on the other hand, look nothing like I remember. You were always beautiful, but now . . .” He shook his head. “Wow!”

  “You old flatterer.” She punched his arm and laughed.

  “Come on. Let’s go to the bar and catch up. Don’t worry. I already made sure they have nonalcoholic choices. What would you like?”

  Usually, she ordered lemonade, but now it gave her heartburn. What she wanted was milk, but he might ask questions if he remembered that she’d never been fond of milk, and she didn’t think she could drink soda. “Orange juice,” she decided. That was something she could still enjoy in small amounts.

  They sat on the swivel stools, laughing and joking, vividly bringing back the months Rebekka had lived in America. They chatted about everything, and Rebekka discovered how much she’d missed conversing so thoroughly in English. She often practiced with Zack and with the American missionaries at church, but this was different. More than a few times she found herself fumbling for words.

  When it was time to leave for the family party, Rebekka was reluctant, but she stood and accepted his proffered arm. “Oh, Samuel, so much has happened since we met. You don’t hold it against me, do you? My marrying Marc?”

  He was silent a lengthy moment, as though thinking deeply about her words. “I believe you have to follow your heart, so I don’t hold it against you any more than you would hold it against me if our positions were reversed. But I am curious—now that your husband has been . . . uh, taken from you so unexpectedly, do you regret your choice? Even just a little bit?” His green eyes watched her intently.

  “No.”

  “Just no. No explanation?”

  How could she explain the trauma of Marc’s kidney transplants, of André’s sweet wife dying, and her ultimate choice between the brothers? No, he didn’t need to know any of that. What was important was that she wouldn’t change her decision for all the time in the world with any other man. Marc was her soul mate. Samuel by comparison had been only a friend, one that she’d considered marrying only because he was a nice guy and she’d wanted a family.

  She gave him a small smile. “I love Marc.”

  “I see.” Was that disappointment in his eyes? Did it matter? He slung his arm over her shoulder. “So, are you going to show me how a native Frenchie drives?” His manner was teasing again, and she felt a rush of gratitude toward him.

  The drive through Paris was uneventful, and they arrived at the Perrault’s apartment building only fifteen minutes late. Rebekka took her time parking, and when she turned off the engine, she made no attempt to open the car door. This would be the first time she had faced the entire Perrault clan at one time since Marc’s funeral. She half-wondered if André had set this up to force her to tell his family about the baby. But she knew him too well to really believe that. Some other announcement would likely be made.

  “What’s wrong?” Samuel asked. “Are you all right? Can I do something for you?”

  She smiled faintly. “Actually, I’m feeling pretty good—better than I have in months. But . . .” She glanced at the looming building. “There’s something I need to tell them, and I don’t know if I’m ready.”

 
He arched a brow. “Oh? Anything I should know about? A move back to the states, perhaps?”

  “Nothing like that, though it’s every bit as drastic.” She let her gaze drop to the steering wheel. “I don’t want to talk about this now, okay? But I’ll tell you later.”

  He nodded. “Okay.”

  Rebekka checked her face in the mirror and said, “I’m ready.”

  “Hey, you’re not facing the enemy, are you? I thought I was the one doing that. Or is there something else you’re not telling me?”

  To her surprise, she laughed. “Oh, no. You’re going to love these people. I guarantee it.”

  * * *

  André wondered why Rebekka was late. Was she sick? Was she staring off into the distance with tears running down her face? After not-so-subtle encouragement, Raoul had called their apartment, but there was no answer. She also didn’t pick up on her cell.

  “She’s probably on her way,” Raoul said from his seat at the long table. The kitchen was large—twice the size of a normal one because the apartment was actually two apartments Jean-Marc and Ariana Perrault had combined years ago when all their children had been at home.

  Josette pushed her six-year-old son’s hand away from a plate of sweet bread. “Maybe she went to have her hair done since her friend is coming in from America.”

  André knew the comment was directed toward him, but he ignored it.

  “By the way, you look nice tonight, André.” Josette batted her eyes at him. “I see you decided to shave after all.”

  André again didn’t take the bait—how could he with all the family listening? “You look particularly radiant yourself, sister dear.” He turned to Zack. “Are you sure you’re not having another baby?” There, that’ll change the conversation.