The Happiest Day

by Sandy Huth

  “I can’t,” she said woodenly. “I feel dead inside. I haven’t felt like this since…since you left me.”

  His eyebrows flew up in surprise. They never talked about their past by mutual agreement. “I’m sorry,” he said carefully. “I didn’t want to hurt you.”

  “It’s all right. It’s in the past, but I’m so scared of feeling that way again. Last time, Theo helped me climb out of my depression, but he’s not here now.”

  “I am and I’m not going to leave you.”

  She looked up at him, at the face of the man she had loved for so many years, and realized that she had never loved him as much as now. His unselfish behavior over the past few weeks touched her heart deeply. “I think I would like it if you read to me,” she said softly, laying her head on his shoulder.

  He opened the book and began reading. She didn’t hear the words, but let his voice run over her like warm, soothing water.

  Once in Moustiers-Sainte-Marie, Peter sought out the local authorities. The chief of police was a pleasant and sympathetic man and expressed his deepest condolences to Rachel.

  “Monsieur Bressler was a fine man,” he said. “He shall be missed.”

  “You…you knew Theo?” Rachel asked, her brows drawing together in confusion. “I mean…I thought he was probably just passing through and had the accident. But, he was a frequent visitor here?”

  The man looked uncomfortable suddenly. “Let me give you directions to the cemetery,” he said in a burst of French and turned away.

  Rachel wandered away to stare out the window of the police station. She could picture Theo driving through this quaint town, pausing to talk to the locals, even take some pictures. She wondered, not for the first time, what his last moments had been like. Had he known he was dying or had it come so suddenly that he had not been aware?

  Peter looked over his shoulder at Rachel, making sure that she was all right. He had been watching her closely since the news of Theo’s death. He wouldn’t be able to bear if something happened to her.

  “Monsieur MacGregor,” the police chief said in a quiet whisper.

  Peter turned back and nodded his gratitude to the man as he took the slip of paper with directions. The man laid a hand on Peter’s arm.

  “Monsieur MacGregor,” he said again. “Madame Bressler, she is a good friend of yours, no?”

  “Yes, she is a very good friend. My best friend,” he added.

  “Then, please take my advice. Let her visit her husband’s resting place, and then take her home. There is nothing for her here.”

  “She intends to have him exhumed. She’s going to take him back to the States and have him buried in her family plot.”

  The man’s face grew tight. “I’m afraid that would be impossible.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “There could be…issues. Trust me, sir. Take her home. Some things are better left alone.”

  Peter stared at the man for a long time then said, “You’d better just tell me. What is it?”

  “Sir…” the man was obviously struggling with a mighty secret.

  “Tell me,” Peter ordered.

  “There is…a lady.”

  “Bressler was with another woman when he died?” Peter shrugged his shoulder. “Rachel never has to know.”

  “The lady was not with him. He was coming to see her and she still lives…here in this town.”

  “What is her name?” Peter asked, intending to keep Rachel away from Bressler’s affair.

  “Martine,” the policeman said softly. “Martine Bressler.”

  Peter drew back a little. “Bressler? I don’t understand.”

  “Monsieur Bressler came here often over the past ten years, you see. He…he had a life here.”

  “And this woman?”

  “He married Martine many years back.”

  Peter threw another look over his shoulder to make sure Rachel was not listening. She seemed lost in her own world, but he still grabbed the man by the elbow and maneuvered him into a back room.

  “What the hell are you talking about? How many years ago did he marry this woman?”

  “Almost nine years,” he admitted.

  “He’s been married to Rachel for almost fifteen. This marriage was invalid.”

  “True,” the man nodded. “Martine is my cousin’s child, so I am aware of the story. He married Martine…she was pregnant with his child.”

  “Oh, God,” Peter breathed. “There’s a child?”

  “There are three now.”

  “Does Martine know about Rachel?”

  “Yes. Theodore admitted the deception some years back. Martine was devastated, of course, but the next time he came to see her and the children, she took him back. She has been willing to live this life because she loved him…and the children loved their father.”

  “She arranged the funeral…and the burial?”

  “She did,” he confirmed. “He is buried in the town cemetery, in my family’s section. Monsieur MacGregor, Madame Bressler does not ever need to know any of this. Let her remember her husband with kindness.”

  Peter was silent for a long moment. “I can try to convince her to leave him here, but I won’t keep anything from her. She deserves to know the truth.”

  The man looked pained. “As you wish,” he conceded. “If there is anything I can do to be of assistance, please do not hesitate to ask.” He gave Peter directions to the cemetery and shook his hand.

  Peter re-entered the main room where Rachel still stood staring out the window, her arms wrapped around her waist. He laid his hand on the small of her back. “Are you ready?”

  She looked up at him, her eyes large and haunted. “I hope he didn’t suffer.”

  “I’m sure he didn’t,” Peter assured her although he had no idea whether he had or not. “I have the directions. The cemetery is just two blocks from here. We can walk if you like.”

  “That would be nice. It looks like a beautiful town.” Peter led her outside and they began walking down the narrow sidewalk. “I wonder why Theo was here. Did that man say that he was a frequent visitor here?”

  “Yes. Apparently he has been coming here for about ten years.”

  “He never mentioned it,” she said, her voice soft. “It’s like he kept it a secret.”

  Peter chose not to answer. The truth would come out soon enough.

  They came across the small town cemetery just a few minutes later and he felt Rachel’s muscle tense. “Are you sure you want to do this, Rae? We could just turn around and go.”

  “No, I have to see him.”

  They opened a small iron gate and entered the cemetery. Theo’s gravesite was easy to spot since the dirt was still fresh. Rachel felt as if she was moving in a dream; her legs felt shaky and her feet dragged as if in cement. There was no headstone yet, just a small wooden cross with the name “Bressler” carved in it. Beautifully simple, it was a symbol of the stark reality that Theo was really gone, never to return. She felt her heart broke cleanly in two.

  “We have to take him home. He needs to be near family.”

  “Why don’t we find an inn or a boarding house and spend the night? We can talk about this.”

  “There’s nothing to talk about. Let’s go back and tell the chief of police that we need to start the process right away. I don’t want him to be here any longer than necessary.”

  “Rae…we need to talk.”

  Rachel didn’t respond to him and he moved to turn her towards him, thinking she was just lost in her own thoughts. She resisted him, though, and he became aware that she was not mired in silent grief; she was staring at a woman on the edge of the cemetery, frozen in place, unable to look away from Rachel and Peter.

  “Excuse me,” Rachel called. “Who are you?” When the woman didn’t answer Rachel took a step toward her. “Who…uh…qui êtes-vous?”

  The woman turned on her heel and began hurrying out of the cemetery, a small bouquet of flowers falling from her hand. Peter re
ached out and grabbed Rachel by the arm. “Rachel, don’t.”

  Rachel tried to pull away but Peter held tight. “Let me go! I want to talk to that woman.”

  “Rachel, stop,” he said firmly. “We need to talk.”

  She turned and looked at him, her eyebrows drawn in a frown. “What is it? Do you know who that woman was?”

  “Yes. Come on, let’s go somewhere and sit down.”

  “No.” Her voice had become strangely calm, her face void of emotion. “Just tell me. Who was she?”

  Peter knew that Rachel would not budge an inch, not when she dug in her heels like this. He sighed. “Her name is Martine.”

  “Theo knew her?”

  “Yes.”

  “They were having an affair,” she said flatly. “I guess I started to figure it out while you were talking to the chief of police and I was staring out the window. Why would he have been here? Why was he known in the town?” She looked over her shoulder at the retreating figure of the woman. “How long?”

  “Ten years.”

  A sharp bark of surprised laughter escaped her. “Oh my God. Ten years? It must have been right after Matthew was born. All that time…he was cheating on me all that time?” Her face was filled with incredulousness. “How could I have been such a fool?”

  “You’re not a fool,” Peter said harshly. “How could you have known? He traveled so much, was gone for such long stretches at a time. There was no way you could have known.”

  “He was so disappointed and angry when I told him about you and me. He was awful towards me. Yet, he knew that he had a mistress here.” She didn’t expect a response from Peter—what was there to say? She looked around at the headstones. “DuPont. Is this her family? Is that her name, Martine DuPont?”

  “Probably.”

  “Can we find her? I want to talk to her.”

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea. You’re upset, you’re in shock, and you’re angry. This isn’t the best time to confront her.”

  “I don’t want to confront her. I just want to know what he meant to her. I want to know if she knew about me.”

  “She knew.”

  Rachel’s eyes narrowed. “How do you know this?”

  “The chief of police is a relative of hers. A few years back, Theo admitted his deception to her.”

  “But she kept seeing him. What kind of woman does that?”

  “There were extenuating circumstances. He said she was hurt but she couldn’t turn him away.”

  “Why not?”

  “There are children.”

  Her legs gave out. She sank down to the ground, surrounded by headstones, and bent her head into her hands. Peter remained standing, looking down at her bowed and battered figure. Long minutes passed and he occasionally heard a sniff from her. It hurt him that she cried as she sat on the ground of a cemetery. He wondered if she could ever recover from this moment, this incredible injury to her heart.

  “How many?” she finally asked.

  “Three.”

  “I need to meet this woman. I want to see the children.”

  “Rae, there is just no point in this. It can only mean further hurt to you and to this woman. Do you really want to involve the children, as well? Let’s just go. Drive out of this town right now and not look back.”

  “Did you ever want to see the men that Blanche slept with?”

  Her words shocked him into silence. The only sound that could be heard was the lonely call of a bird with no answer from its mate. A gentle wind tossed the leaves on the ground and a dark cloud skittered over the sun.

  “In the beginning,” he admitted. “I wanted to know what they had that attracted her. Then, I realized that I was torturing myself. Learn from me…there’s nothing to gain from meeting her.”

  “I can’t go home until I do.” She finally looked up at him. “You can leave if you’d like but I won’t until I meet her.”

  “When I leave, you’ll be with me,” he said firmly. “Let me go find out where she lives.”

  “I’ll wait here.” She watched him leave the cemetery then turned back to the simple cross. “You son of a bitch,” she whispered. “How can you do this to me?” Only silence met her question. “I know I wasn’t the best wife, Theo. I came to you with too much baggage to ever fully belong to you and I think it didn’t take you very long to realize that. Is that why you strayed? Did she belong entirely to you?” Tears prickled the corners of her eyes. “I didn’t deserve this, though. You’re making me question every intimate moment we had together, every conversation we shared. Were you laughing on the inside when I told you that I loved you? Were you picturing her when you were making love to me?” The tears were flowing in earnest now, running down her cheeks and dripping onto her dress, her hands, and the ground. “I hate you so much right now and I hate that I hate you. I hope that someday I don’t hate you, Theo, I really do.” Suddenly tired beyond belief, she lay down on the ground, her wet cheek just inches from the cross.

  That was how Peter found her fifteen minutes later when he returned to the cemetery and he stood next to her, his hand over his aching heart. He wished he could convince her to give up this fool’s errand but if he was honest with himself, there was a selfish component. The pain he felt at watching her suffer was almost unbearable and he just wanted to whisk her away, take her home, and protect her forever.

  “Rae?”

  She sat up slowly, wiping her face. “Did you find out where she lives?”

  “Yes.”

  Rachel stood, shaking out her dress, and running trembling hands through her hair. “Am I a mess?”

  He grinned ruefully and reached out to wipe the tears stains from her face. “I look at you and see that beautiful girl that lay on the beach with me and told me that that was her happiest day ever.”

  “I wish we could go back to that day,” she said huskily.

  “After you meet with Martine and do what you need to do to move on past this…let’s try to find our happiest day again, all right?”

  “Are we allowed to have more than one in our lives?”

  “I say we give a damn good try.” He tilted her face up and kissed her gently on the lips. “You know I love you?”

  She welled up again and she nodded wordlessly.

  “I’ll take you to Martine. I’ll only allow so much pain, though. Keep that in mind.”

  They retrieved their car and drove less than a mile out of town to a small cottage sitting in a cluster of trees. The yard was littered with playthings and a flower garden. It was exactly the type of place that Rachel would have lived in if her path had not been determined by the events of one night almost three decades ago. She got out of the car, her stomach clenching in anxiety. She wondered what the woman on the other side of the front door was feeling.

  Apparently Martine preferred to meet her fears head on, for the door opened and she stood there, her chin lifted defiantly. Martine DuPont was a petite woman but stood with strong lines. Her hair was a plain light brown and her eyes a plain brown, but Rachel saw right away why Theo had been attracted to her. She had strength of spirit that was obvious from first sight.

  “Parlez-vous anglais?” Peter asked smoothly.

  “Yes,” Martine answered. “Please come in.” She opened the door wide and led them into a small front parlor that was crammed with toys and books. A half finished afghan lay in a chair. Martine swept it into a basket hurriedly. “Please excuse the mess.”

  “No apologies necessary,” Peter said. “You didn’t know we were coming.”

  “But I did,” she responded. “When I saw you at the cimetiere I knew you would eventually come here. Please sit.”

  Rachel was staring at the walls. They were covered with Theo’s photographs. She felt her breath coming rapidly and she felt cold. Peter’s steady hand on the back of her neck brought her back to reality. “Rachel, let’s sit here.” He led her to a settee. “I’m not sure introductions are necessary, but Martine, this is Rachel Bress
ler.”

  “You knew he was married?” Rachel asked. Her voice sounded strange to her ears. It was rough and deeper than normal.

  “Not at first. Not until a few years ago.”

  “Did he tell you about his children?”

  “Yes. I know about the children.”

  “You have children by him?”

  “Three. Like you.”

  “How often was he here?”

  “There was no pattern. Sometimes he would stay for a month, sometimes I wouldn’t see him for half a year. He wrote every week, though.”

  Rachel made a sound of pain and Peter squeezed her hand. “Rachel came here to claim Theo’s body and return him home.”

  Martine was silent for a moment. “You have the right to do that, but I won’t lie to you. It would be painful to lose him.”

  Rachel’s eyes were a bit wild as they stared at Martine. “Lose him? You can’t lose something you never had.”

  “I did have him,” Martine argued gently. “Not all the time, not here, but in my heart. I think I was in his, too.”

  “Did he talk to you about me?”

  “When I found out about you, he did.”

  “Did…did he…” She was having trouble finding her voice. “Did he love me?”

  Martine smiled, a bit sadly. “Very much.”

  “Then why?” Rachel hated that she sounded like a child, crying “why” when her favorite toy was taken away.

  “He said that you never truly belonged to him.”

  It was a punch to the gut to hear the words even though she had already thought them in the cemetery. She stood clumsily, dropping her pocketbook. “I have to go. Peter, please…”

  Peter stood rapidly, placing a supportive arm around Rachel. “Thank you,” he said to Martine. “I know this must be a very difficult time for you, as well. If there is anything I can do to help you, please don’t hesitate to contact me.”

  Before Martine could answer, the door flew open and three whirlwinds rushed in. Peter saw the dismay on Martine’s face. “Children, please! We have guests,” she said in rapid French.

  The children froze at the sound of their mother’s distressed voice and turned. Rachel inhaled sharply. Two boys and a girl, all under the age of ten. The girl looked like Martine, but the two boys were almost mirror images of Matthew and Steven at that age. She recalled the day that she realized that Laurie and Geoff resembled each other and the house of cards had began to tumble around her.