He had taken Claire to the doctor, too, and she had died.
With Dr. Samain’s reassurances, André’s terror subsided. He even began feeling sheepish at his violent reaction. But the idea of losing Rebekka was not something he could endure. No one should have to experience that pain twice in a lifetime.
No wonder he didn’t want to leave her.
After explaining what had happened to Raoul, André kissed Rebekka’s cheek and arose from the sofa, trying not to show his hurt when she flinched slightly as though his touch burned her flesh.
“See you later,” he said.
“Thank you.” She looked in his direction, but her gaze didn’t quite focus. There was a lost air about her that ate into his heart. He wanted to hold her, to comfort her, to assure her Marc’s baby would be all right. But she wouldn’t permit it. He hated knowing that if he reached out to her, she would gently but firmly push him away.
Yet there was something between them, and he was determined to wake those emotions, to cause them to burn with the same intensity he felt. Maybe then she would allow herself to feel love again.
Raoul walked with André to the door. “I’ll take care of her,” Raoul said. “Thanks for being there today.” His expression was compassionate, and André knew he understood at least some of how he felt.
“Samuel, does he call much?” André asked, not knowing why he tortured himself.
Raoul thought about it. “Actually, no. I’ve never seen her talk to him since he came to visit. But the time difference—they may talk during the day while I’m at work.”
“What about the phone bill? A lot of long distance calls?”
Raoul shrugged. “She takes care of the bills and lets me know how much to pay for my share. I tried to pay her rent for my room, too, but she won’t let me because the apartment is paid for.” He hesitated. “I’m sorry, André. I wish things could be different.”
“Me, too. Call me if you need me, okay?”
“I will.”
André hated leaving Rebekka that way, but she didn’t seem to want him to stay—or perhaps she didn’t know what she wanted. He held on to that hope.
“Come on, Daddy,” called the girls, already in the hall holding the elevator for him.
“Coming.”
One thing for sure, he was going to be at her doctor’s appointment next week, with or without an invitation.
Chapter Twenty-Two
On Wednesday afternoon Marie-Thérèse sat in her new rocking chair in her new apartment, holding a sleeping Raquel against her chest, listening to her delicate breath, and smelling her fresh baby scent. The baby had gained six pounds over the last month and was outgrowing many of her clothes.
No longer the undernourished child that had come into their home, Celisse had also gained weight, and her cheeks were filling out. Her bowel problem was well under control and the few accidents she did have didn’t bother Marie-Thérèse. There were lingering health and emotional problems, of course, and many visits to the doctor, but Celisse was settling in remarkably well. She still went under the table occasionally during the day, or under the crib in the room she now shared with Raquel, but she hid less frequently.
Though having the girls live with them had been every bit as hard as Marie-Thérèse had expected—or worse—she didn’t regret the decision. For the love and the rewards had been returned more than tenfold. Each day she thanked the Lord for the girls and prayed they would become available for adoption. She couldn’t imagine life without them—long days filled with boring order and no little arms around her neck.
The recent move to the new apartment had helped family relations considerably—especially where Larissa was concerned. While she still didn’t make any overtures toward Celisse or the baby, she seemed content with her new room and the bathroom she only had to share with Brandon. She hadn’t complained in days and her grades, if not exceptional, had held steady.
As always, Brandon adored the little girls, and they loved him right back. If he was home, he was playing with them. Marie-Thérèse knew he liked them more than his blood sister.
Marie-Thérèse laid Raquel in her crib and headed into the kitchen where she had left Celisse to finish her late afternoon snack. “Raquel sleep?” Celisse asked.
“Yes. Sound asleep. It was way past her nap time, but we had fun at the park, didn’t we?”
Celisse nodded. “I love park.” While Celisse’s speech improved daily, she still had a tendency to leave a few words out.
“We’ll go again soon. How about after we see the doctor on Friday? That’s only two days away.”
“Doctor?” asked Celisse.
You know that lady doctor you really like, the one we’ve been going to each week.”
“She nice,” Celisse said solemnly.
“Yes, she is,” Marie-Thérèse agreed.
This visit would be pivotal, the doctor believed, because Celisse seemed to trust them more each session, and finally they had scheduled several tests that would determine whether Celisse would need surgery to fix the physical damage inflicted on her. The tests would be uncomfortable and personal, but they felt Celisse understood the necessity and would not feel threatened. Marie-Thérèse prayed for everything to go well.
She set out two additional plates and glasses on the table. Larissa and Brandon had stopped at the library on their way home from school, but they would be home any minute. She knew they’d enjoy the banana bread she’d made this morning, and it would keep them from being hungry until they had dinner in a few hours.
The slamming of the apartment door showed she had timed her actions perfectly. She went to meet them—Brandon with his typical full body hug, and Larissa with her more reserved shoulder squeeze and peck on the cheek.
“I have bread for you,” she said, pointing to the slices on the table.
“Yippee!” Brandon lunged forward and grabbed three pieces and put them on his plate. Then he filled his glass to the brim with juice since he was allergic to milk.
Larissa rolled her eyes. “Keep eating like that and you’ll get fat.”
“No, I won’t,” Brandon said through a mouthful of bread. “I burn off a lot. Besides, I’m a guy. We like to be a little big.” He made a face for Celisse, and she giggled.
Larissa slid a small slice of banana bread onto her plate. “Don’t blame me—I warned you. I know some girls who used to not worry, and now it’s costing them to get rid of the weight.”
Marie-Thérèse put her hands on her hips. “Since when did you begin to worry about your weight? It seems that’s all you’ve talked about the past few weeks—since we moved here, in fact. But you’re tall and thin—exactly like I was at your age, and I don’t have a problem.”
Larissa sniffed. “I know. But a girl has to be careful.” She stood and went to the refrigerator, pulling out a jug of cold water and pouring herself a glass.
Marie-Thérèse followed her daughter. “You’re beautiful exactly as you are.” This new preoccupation with weight, along with a few other comments Larissa had made, was beginning to add up. “And if you were overweight, we’d talk about it. I’d plan special dinners to help you, and we’d exercise. But I’m sure you know that making yourself throw up is not healthy, and using diet pills you can get at the pharmacy is just as bad. Either of those options are dangerous and have serious side-effects. You do know that, don’t you?”
Her daughter held up her free hand. “Okay, okay. I was thinking about using the pills. A few of my friends do, but I didn’t know they were dangerous. I haven’t used any—I promise.”
Marie-Thérèse sighed with relief. “If you ever do have a weight problem, we’ll tackle it together, but taking drugs is out of the question. There’s no easy fix for weight loss—or anything else. You know my birth mother died because she contracted HIV while doing drugs, and that because of her, my father and sister died, too.”
Larissa’s face instantly lost its aggrieved expression. “Okay, Mom. I understand.”
>
Marie-Thérèse believed her but made a vow to search her room later just in case. Her daughter’s privacy had limits, and drugs—including over the counter diet pills—were one of those limits.
“Brandon, Brandon, Brandon!” Celisse yelled, bursting in on their conversation. “Brandon!”
Marie-Thérèse heard the stress in her voice and glanced at the child, whose blue eyes were wide with fear. “What’s wrong, honey?” Celisse pointed, and Marie-Thérèse followed the motion. To her horror, Brandon was lying face-down on the table, his face red as he struggled for breath.
She leapt to the cupboard where she kept the medicine the doctor had given her for such occurrences, though he’d not had such a severe allergic reaction since the strawberry incident which had almost taken his life three years ago.
“Steady, Brandon,” she said, after administering the spray into his mouth. “I’m here. Don’t worry. Just breathe slowly. Nothing’s going to happen. Just take it easy. The medicine will work very soon.”
But it didn’t. He lay in her arms struggling for each breath and becoming more agitated with every moment.
“Larissa, call the ambulance,” Marie-Thérèse directed. “Hurry!”
With fumbling fingers Larissa dialed the number, while Celisse watched anxiously. The fear in the room was so palpable, Marie-Thérèse could feel it like a weight on her shoulders.
“Tell them Brandon’s having an allergic reaction and that I need help,” Marie-Thérèse directed.
Larissa followed her instructions, voice shaking, but clear. “They’re coming, Mom. They said they’ll be here in a minute. They want to know what you gave him.”
Marie-Thérèse tossed her the spray, and Larissa spelled the name of the drug. Then she said, “They say it’s okay to give him another dose. But no more.”
Marie-Thérèse shot more spray into Brandon’s mouth. He still struggled for breath, but it didn’t worsen. “I’m here,” Marie-Thérèse said over and over. “Everything is going to be fine.” In her heart she sent up a plea to her Heavenly Father.
At last the ambulance arrived and Larissa let them into the apartment. They lowered Brandon onto a stretcher, strapped oxygen over his mouth, and took his vital signs. Almost immediately, they were ready to transport.
Marie-Thérèse was not about to let him out of her sight. “I’m going with them,” she told Larissa. “Call your dad at work and let him know what’s going on. Tell him to call our doctor—he’ll know how to treat Brandon when we get to the hospital, or at least tell the emergency room doctor his history.”
“Okay,” Larissa agreed. Her gaze swung to Celisse. “What about her and Raquel?”
Fury rose in Marie-Thérèse’s heart. “Stop being so selfish! They are your sisters and you’re going to stay with them while I take care of Brandon. And don’t you dare do anything less than your best! If I learn you’ve been rude or unkind . . .” She trailed off and turned to Celisse. “Don’t worry, sweetie. I’ll be back very soon. Everything will be just fine. The doctors will take care of Brandon, and Larissa will take care of you.” With a last warning glance at Larissa, Marie-Thérèse followed the ambulance workers from the apartment.
* * *
Larissa blankly watched her mother leave, wondering if her brother would be all right or if this time he would die. No, she thought. That can’t happen. Mom won’t let it. Besides, they can always put a tube down his throat, can’t they?
Brandon had almost died the last time, and it had been a very big scare, but one Larissa now thought of with fondness, because that was when she’d realized how much her mother really loved her. It was also the first time her prayers had been answered.
Larissa stood by the kitchen door for a long time before she remembered to call her dad. Her voice wasn’t even shaking when she told him what happened. “He’ll be fine, Dad,” she said. “He has to be.”
“I know, baby, but I’m going down there anyway. I’ll call you the minute I know anything.”
“Thanks.”
Larissa sat down at the table and tried to eat her banana bread. But the mouthful wouldn’t go down—not because she was worried about getting fat, but because couldn’t stop thinking about Brandon. What if this time things didn’t work out? With Celisse and Raquel around, Mom didn’t need Brandon like she used to. Maybe now that her mother was content, Brandon wouldn’t be missed so much. Maybe that meant God would allow him to die.
Sudden anger burned in the pit of her stomach. If only those stupid little girls hadn’t come! She hated them both. Of course her mother loved them—probably as much as she loved Larissa.
With growing resentment, she recalled her mother’s stern face as she told her to watch Celisse and Raquel. They’d promised not to make her baby-sit, but here she was. I knew it was only a matter of time until they forced me to tend them.
Well, Brandon is sick, her more reasonable side told her, but she didn’t want to consider excuses. Better to focus on the anger she felt toward her mother for going back on her promise. For making her watch that annoying little food vacuum who consumed everything in sight.
Speaking of which . . . Larissa looked around but Celisse was nowhere. Where could she be? Had she gone after their mother?
I don’t care, she thought. But visions filled her mind—of Celisse alone in the street. Or Celisse stuck in the elevator or in the stairwell. Would she be crying?
Larissa flew to the apartment door and swung it wide open before her common sense kicked in. Her mother had left with the ambulance workers and she would have made sure the door was shut tight behind them. Celisse couldn’t open it alone. Besides, she had been at the table eating banana bread, and Larissa would have noticed if she’d walked past.
Larissa retraced her steps to the kitchen. Celisse wasn’t at the table but she was huddled under it—a place Larissa hadn’t seen her go for at least two weeks. Her arms were wrapped around her knees which were drawn to her little chest, and her head was hunched over them as she tried to curl herself into the smallest ball possible.
Like she doesn’t want to be seen, Larissa thought. Like she’s trying to hide.
Aloud she said, “Come out of there, Celisse. Brandon’s going to be fine. Come on.”
Celisse didn’t move.
“Come out and finish your bread,” Larissa said in the same loud, firm voice her mother used when she expected to be obeyed.
Celisse didn’t lift her head, but her shoulders began to shake and a quiet sob escape from somewhere under the mass of brown hair.
“Oh, come on,” Larissa coaxed, dropping the pretense of maintaining control. “Stop crying for heaven’s sake!” Then she felt guilty because Celisse’s sobs grew louder and she curled herself even tighter than before.
Larissa watched her for a minute, wondering what to do. She could just walk away, but leaving Celisse alone crying under the table brought back the images of her outside in the street or in the elevator. Or in her birth mother’s house, hiding from a would-be abuser.
An unfamiliar tenderness came into Larissa’s heart. What must Celisse be feeling? Was she scared? Was she afraid for Brandon, afraid she was being abandoned . . . or was she afraid of Larissa?
Larissa knelt on the hard ceramic tile and inched her way under the table. “It’s okay, Celisse. Really. I promise. I’m your”—Larissa swallowed hard—“sister, and I wouldn’t lie to you. I wouldn’t.” She reached out to Celisse, who kept herself tightly wrapped in her protective ball. Larissa picked her up and held her on her lap, surprised at how little the child weighed. “There, there, Celisse,” she murmured, stroking her sweet-smelling hair. “It’s going to be okay. I promise.”
Celisse made no reply, but her sobs ceased. Larissa kept smoothing her hair and murmuring reassurances. After a few minutes, Celisse became pliant in her arms as she relaxed her hold on her knees. Then she began to cry again softly. “Brandon, Brandon, Brandon,” she wailed softly in a voice that held terrible pain.
“I
know.” Larissa’s own tears spilled over. “I’m scared too, but we have to believe everything’s okay. Any minute now, Mom’s going to call and tell us. Those people will help Brandon—that’s their job.” Larissa held Celisse even tighter, rocking her small body back and forth.
“Brandon, Brandon, Brandon,” moaned Celisse.
One of Larissa’s tears dropped into Celisse’s hair. “Shhhh. It’s okay. I’m here. Larissa’s here.”
Celisse gradually stopped crying, but she clung to Larissa like she’d seen the baby monkeys do to their mothers at the zoo last week. Larissa’s heart was full of emotions she couldn’t name.
She remembered her father telling her that love was not like a chocolate they had to share, but something that increased even as they gave it away. He had promised there would be enough to go around. Larissa hadn’t believed him. She had known that everything they gave to Celisse and Raquel would mean less for her. But all at once she understood what her father was saying. They loved her every bit as much as they ever had—it was only part of their time that was focused elsewhere. And Larissa had never imagined that her mother was telling the truth about the additional love Celisse would bring into her life.
It’s love, she thought. This feeling is love. I love Celisse! And I don’t want to ever see her hurting.
Suddenly Larissa’s tears weren’t for Brandon or for her own frustrations, but for Celisse and the relationship they had almost missed. She held onto Celisse as tightly as the small girl clung to her.
“I’m here, Celisse,” she whispered. “I know I’ve been mean and rude and stuff. I’m so sorry. I’m going to be better from now on, I promise. I’m going to be the big sister you deserve. Nobody’s going to hurt you again—especially not me.” How much of her words Celisse understood didn’t really matter. Larissa felt her hug, and it was enough.
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