Twice in a Lifetime

by Rachel Ann Nunes

  “Wherever Nadia ends up,” Valerie said, touching his face with her soft hand, “you still saved her life. By being the person you are, Desirée let her live. That’s something—even if you can’t be her father.”

  Raoul felt infinite comfort knowing she spoke the truth. In some way he had contributed to Nadia’s life—more perhaps than even her biological father.

  This thought brought with it another concern. What about the natural father? Would he have some claim to the Nadia? Did Desirée even know who he was?

  Chapter Thirty

  Rebekka spent more than an hour on the phone tracking down Desirée. Her parents gave her the number of a friend where she was supposed to be staying and that friend gave her the number of the bar where Desirée worked. The bartender in turn gave her the name of another employee he thought might know where she was. When Rebekka called there, Desirée herself answered.

  “I need to talk to you right away,” Rebekka said. “It’s urgent.”

  “About Nadia?”

  “Yes, actually. She’s all right, but there are some complications you should know about.”

  “Does Raoul know you’re calling me? Isn’t this something he should deal with?”

  “I know he has custody, but this is something you need to know. And, yes, he knows I’m calling.”

  “Can’t you just tell me?”

  “Please, Desirée, I need to see you. Can you come to my house? I’ve been put on bed rest for medical reasons, and I can’t get around too well.”

  “I have to work at one.”

  “That’s okay. It shouldn’t take long.”

  Rebekka hung up and called André. As she told him what had happened, she realized how much she’d missed him in the brief time that had passed since they’d been together. There was still a tension between them, but both steered clear of any discussion of their future. Rebekka knew it was only a matter of time until he brought it up again . . . and then she would have to disappoint him.

  Why should I have to disappoint him? something inside her asked. He’s right when he says there’s something between us. I do care about him—I love him even. I love the way he looks at me, the way he smiles, the way he takes my hand . . .

  Rebekka shook her head free of the thoughts, dredging up a picture of Marc. He was her husband—she could never forget that fact . . . or him.

  “Do you want me to come over?” André asked.

  Rebekka started from her thoughts. “I don’t think so. From what I remember, Desirée doesn’t like you too well.”

  André chuckled. “Only because I didn’t appreciate her not-too-subtle romantic invitations.”

  “I think she’s changing.”

  “Didn’t you say she’s still working at a bar?”

  “I thought she had decided to find other work, but I guess she didn’t yet.”

  “Just be careful, okay? Call me if you need me. I have to take the girls shopping for clothes today, but I’ll have my cell.”

  “I wish I could come with you. I’d rather shop than face Desirée any time.”

  “There’s always next year.” His voice didn’t hold innuendo, but only a casual statement of fact, and Rebekka marveled at his assurance. How could he know there would be a next year for them?

  “Well, wish me luck,” she said.

  “I’ll call you later.”

  Rebekka didn’t shower as it was becoming increasingly difficult to do so without considerable pain. Instead, she dressed and promised herself a long leisurely bath when her visit with Desirée was over. She felt confused, wondering if what she planned to do was the right thing. Finally, she knelt at her bed—awkwardly and painfully—begging the Lord to help her. Nadia was her first concern, but Desirée, too, was a daughter of God.

  When Desirée arrived, Rebekka was calmer. She still didn’t know in what direction to lead the conversation, but she felt sure the Lord would guide her. “Come on in,” she said to Desirée. “Let’s go into the sitting room where we can be comfortable. Don’t mind me if I hobble behind. And take the chair, would you? I need to lie down on the sofa.”

  Desirée laughed but sounded nervous. “So,” she said when Rebekka was settled, “we’ve got to stop meeting like this.”

  Rebekka forced a smile. “Well, I don’t suppose it will happen too many more times.”

  “What happened to you anyway? What have you got?”

  “I have a large cyst on my ovary. It’s causing a lot of pain.”

  “Can’t they do anything?”

  “They can remove it, but it’s dangerous for the baby. So are the medications to help the pain.” Rebekka sighed. “So I’m waiting. There’s a chance it’ll go away on its own. Or worsen. I have to go in every week to the doctor.”

  Desirée combed back her hair with her hands and smoothed the tight short skirt and white blouse that Rebekka assumed was her barmaid outfit. At least today her makeup was more subdued. “When I was pregnant with Nadia, I quit drinking and all of that. It was hard, but I figured I owed it to her.”

  “You did a good thing. She’s small, but very healthy.”

  “She was born a few weeks early.”

  Rebekka nodded. “Last night, she started crying a lot. Usually Raoul and I can get her calmed down easily, but she wouldn’t hear of it. He took her driving and ended up at Marie-Thérèse’s.”

  “I bet she got her quiet.”

  “That’s right. Nadia’s really attached to Marie-Thérèse and Mathieu, and they to her.”

  Desirée’s brown eyes narrowed. “What are you saying?”

  Rebekka gnawed on the inside of her bottom lip, not knowing how to continue.

  “What?” Desirée demanded. Her insistence made Rebekka wonder if she had suspected all along that Nadia wasn’t Raoul’s. Maybe this was all a game to her.

  The anger Rebekka hadn’t allowed herself to feel bubbled to the surface. Raoul hadn’t asked for anything other than Desirée’s love. He hadn’t made church attendance a requisite to their relationship, he hadn’t forced her to dress a certain way. All he’d asked was for her love and her faithfulness.

  “Raoul is not Nadia’s biological father,” Rebekka said.

  Shock ran over Desirée’s face. “What? But . . . it can’t be . . . I—” She broke off as the full realization of the situation rendered her speechless.

  “Who is the father?” Rebekka shot at her. “And how could you have been so sure it was Raoul if you were involved in another relationship?”

  “I—I . . . There was someone about that time. A foreigner. He was only in town for a few days—I don’t remember his name. We met at a bar. He was nice. Raoul and I had fought, and I was lonely . . .”

  “Don’t make excuses. Just answer my question. Why did you think Raoul was the father?”

  “The man told me he’d had an operation, and I was careful. I’m not stupid.”

  This was too much for Rebekka. “You’re not stupid? You gave up a decent, caring man for someone whose name you don’t even know? Desirée, what were you thinking?”

  “I wasn’t thinking!” Desirée jumped to her feet, her hands fisted at her sides. “I know that now. I was wrong. Wrong! If I had it to do over, I would change it.” She began to cry. “But that doesn’t do my baby any good . . . or Raoul . . . or myself. Oh, I can’t believe this is happening. I’ve held it together thinking that at least I did something for Raoul, that Nadia somehow paid back all the bad things I did to him, but now I don’t have even that.” Desirée collapsed into the chair and began to cry.

  Rebekka stared helplessly as Desirée sobbed out her misery, the suffering on her face unfeigned. She wanted to comfort the other woman, but was frozen to her sofa. There was simply too much self-pity in her words and actions. “Desirée,” she said firmly. “Desirée, look at me.”

  The sniffling ceased. “I don’t know where the man is,” Desirée said. “Besides, I know he had a family. He wouldn’t like a daughter showing up out of nowhere.”

/>   Rebekka’s breath caught in her throat. She hadn’t even thought about Nadia’s biological father wanting her, taking her away from them. “How can you even think that way? We love Nadia—all of us. We’re not about to hand her over to some foreign stranger who cheats on his wife.”

  “I said I don’t know who he is or where he is,” Desirée said. “We couldn’t find him if we tried.”

  Rebekka bit her tongue to stop herself from saying hateful words. How Desirée could have done this to Raoul was beyond her comprehension. No wonder Raoul was reluctant to raise Nadia, to be continually reminded of his wife’s betrayal. He shouldn’t have to suffer the rest of his life for Desirée’s sins—and neither should Nadia.

  “Now we have to decide what to do,” Rebekka said slowly.

  “You said you weren’t willing to give her up. So Raoul can keep her, right?”

  Rebekka swallowed hard. “Is that fair, Desirée? Is it fair for him to endure a daily reminder of your cheating? If Nadia was his daughter, he could find joy in their relationship, but—”

  “He’ll still love her. I know he will.”

  “Yes, but how many times when he looked at her would he remember what you stole from him? That doesn’t seem fair to him or to Nadia. She deserves to be loved without those terrible memories.”

  Desirée shifted on the couch. “He’ll do it. He won’t let her come back to me. I know that much. Besides, our divorce papers say Nadia’s his. It doesn’t say our biological child.”

  Rebekka nearly choked. She’d been holding back that information, but obviously Desirée was accustomed to finding the bottom line.

  “And he could take away the trust fund,” Desirée added.

  “You’re right about all of that. Raoul would fight you for her. He loves her.” Rebekka paused and gathered her courage. It was now or never. “Look, the last time you came to see Nadia, you said you couldn’t be a mother. Do you still feel that way?”

  Desirée looked down at her hands. “I can’t do it,” she said in a whisper. “Not now anyway.”

  “And you don’t want your parents to have her.”

  Desirée considered a moment before shaking her head. “They’re too hard.” She looked into the distance as though staring at something out of Rebekka’s sight. “I wish they hadn’t been so hard.” Her focus returned. “It’s either Raoul or me—and we all know who’ll be the better parent.”

  “There is another option.”

  Desirée looked at her blankly. Then her eyes widened. “You want me to give her to strangers.” She shook her head. “If I could have done that, I would have. But I couldn’t. That’s why I told Raoul when she went missing.”

  “What if they aren’t strangers? What if they gave you updates and sent pictures each year? What if you gave them a letter to give to Nadia when she turns eighteen?” Rebekka sensed Desirée was open to hearing more. “Remember what I was saying about how attached Marie-Thérèse and Mathieu are to Nadia? What about letting them raise her? They love her so much already—they were crushed when they learned they couldn’t adopt her.”

  Desirée ran a finger under first one eye and then the other, wiping away the smeared mascara. “Marie-Thérèse is a little bit of a neat freak, but she was always kind. She never judged me.”

  “Nadia would have siblings who love her, and Raoul and I see the family often. We can make sure everything is going well.” Rebekka twisted slightly on the sofa so she leaned more toward Desirée. “I know it’s been a crazy few months, what with Nadia missing and the divorce and everything, but I can’t help but think that much of what happened with Nadia was meant to be—Nadia going to stay with Celisse and then both of them being taken to Marie-Thérèse before it was discovered they weren’t sisters. Nadia’s crying that night in that stinking apartment saved Celisse’s life. I believe God knew exactly what He was doing and part of that was preparing us all for what would come next. Placing Nadia with Marie-Thérèse and Mathieu would be one of the best things you could do for your daughter . . . and for Raoul.”

  Desirée’s eyes were wet, but the tears didn’t fall. “I do love her.”

  “I know that. That’s why you were willing to give her to Raoul.”

  “He’d make a great father.”

  “He’ll also make a great uncle. You know how close we both are to the Perraults. In fact, she’ll have more aunts and uncles and cousins than she’ll know what to do with in that family.”

  Desirée nodded once, firmly. “Okay. I’ll do it. But I get pictures, and I do want to write a letter. I want her to know that even though I wasn’t ready for her to come, I did love her.”

  “We’ll tell her that every chance we get, but she’ll already know because of the great family you gave her.”

  Desirée nodded, dabbing at her eyes. “Draw up the papers, and I’ll sign them.” She arose. “Don’t worry, I can see myself out.”

  At the door to the sitting room she paused. “Rebekka, can you do one more thing for me? Can you also tell her that I took care of her for the first two months of her life? That I rocked her to sleep and sang her songs? That I . . . bought her a rattle? It said ‘Mommy loves me.’” Her voice broke on the last few words. She took a shuddering breath. “And tell Raoul . . . well, tell him I’m really, really sorry.”

  “I will.”

  Rebekka watched Desirée leave and then cried for a long time for the opportunities lost. But the tears were also for the hope of young Nadia’s life. Then she dried her face and called Raoul at Valerie’s.

  When Rebekka hung up the phone a few minutes later, she marveled at how everything had turned out. There would likely be problems ahead, but at least Nadia would have the family she deserved, and Raoul could go on with his life.

  She sighed. “If only my life could have such a happy ending.”

  Struggling to her feet, she shuffled down the hall to her office to stare at the painting of her and Marc by the Seine River. Since the painting was done at a distance, it wasn’t too difficult to mistake Marc for André; though there was much about them that was different, the family resemblance was strong.

  For the first time Rebekka wondered what would have happened if she hadn’t gone to Marc that day to tell him she loved him. What if she’d chosen to pursue her feelings for André instead? What if choosing differently meant she wouldn’t have had to bury a husband?

  Guilt slammed into her heart. I didn’t mean it, Marc. I loved you—I still love you. And I wouldn’t trade our time together for anything. Forgive me.

  Rebekka left the room, even more firm in her resolve. She would have to give up André—again. And somehow she would have to make him understand why.

  * * *

  Raoul was glad Valerie accompanied him to Marie-Thérèse’s to give her the news about Nadia, though he was disappointed to see her hair pulled back and the neat jeans and sweater replacing the pink pajamas. He preferred the disheveled appearance of earlier; it seemed to create an intimacy between them that he yearned for.

  Could she be feeling the same way? Was he crazy to trust another woman? He thought so, but strangely he did trust Valerie. At work she had never let the company down, and to his knowledge she had always fulfilled her church callings—would she treat their relationship with the same respect? Raoul wasn’t sure he wanted to know. What if . . .

  Stop, he told himself. Tonight will only be your first date. He laughed aloud.

  “What is it?” Valerie asked from the passenger side of his car.

  “I was thinking that later tonight we’ll be going on our first date, and I never kiss on a first date. But this morning we . . .” He let the sentence dangle.

  Her sweet laughter filled him with warmth. “Raoul, we already know each other well enough, but if it makes you feel better, we don’t have to kiss again.”

  “Oh, no you don’t,” he protested, and they laughed together.

  At Marie-Thérèse’s they were met with smiles but also with veiled reluctance. Enough time ha
d passed while Rebekka had been talking to Desirée that the family was gathered around the table for lunch when they arrived. Mathieu was holding the baby, but Marie-Thérèse quickly took her away to hug and kiss her. Raoul could see Marie-Thérèse and the older children blinking away the tears. Little Celisse glared at him with wide, accusing eyes.

  For that alone, he was glad at his news, but seeing Nadia and knowing he had to give her up nearly made him change his mind. He strengthened himself by remembering the night the family had brought Nadia to him, ending the anguish he’d suffered. Could he not show the same courage now that their situation was reversed?

  He didn’t take the baby when Marie-Thérèse offered her. “I don’t know how to begin,” he said. “Well, I might as well just say it: Nadia is not my daughter.”

  Marie-Thérèse gasped, her light brown eyes growing large.

  “I found out after you gave me those papers last night,” he added.

  “The DNA?” asked Mathieu.

  “No, the blood test. Our types don’t match.”

  He briefly ran down the details of the night’s discovery, leaving out his own turmoil. When he began to talk about Desirée and how she’d agreed to allow them to adopt Nadia, tears poured from Marie-Thérèse’s eyes. Brandon jumped up and shouted, twirling Celisse in the air, and Larissa hugged her father, wiping her tears on his T-shirt.

  “I’ll have my lawyer work out the papers,” Raoul said. But the family was too happy to hear the details. They were talking and laughing with one another and cooing baby talk to Nadia. Celisse’s smile changed her entire face, making the blue eyes stand out and causing her cheeks to dimple. Could this be the same serious, malnutritioned child that had first come to the Portiers? They had worked a wonder in her life and no doubt would do the same for Nadia.

  Raoul stopped talking and watched them, experiencing a familiar warmth in his chest—a confirmation that he’d done the right thing. Silently, he walked up to Marie-Thérèse and kissed Nadia, not trusting himself to hold her one last time as her father, knowing he might not be able to let go. He turned to leave.