Once upstairs, Ava closed the door quietly and then whirled around, grabbing two handfuls of Jonathan’s sweater.
“You can’t go away like that again.” She kissed him hard, oblivious of his whiskers and the salty fish smell that radiated from his clothes. He broke the kiss and, with one swift yank, pulled both his sweater and shirt over his head. While alternating kisses and bites down his neck and shoulder, she took advantage of the rip in progress by taking a firm grip of the material and pulling hard; his pants fell effortlessly to the floor. Jonathan let out a slightly shocked gasp as he looked at the pile of cloth around his ankles and lifted his eyes, slowly and deviously.
“One good tear deserves another,” he said as he grabbed hold of the buttoned closures on the back of her dress.
Later, Ava lay facing the window as the very last of the day’s heat shone through on their entangled legs. Jonathan had dozed off, arm securely around her waist, his fuzzy face itching her shoulder. She sighed lazily and thought of how perfectly wonderful life was. There was a light chirping outside the window and the house seemed perfectly still; as if the whole world had stopped. She closed her eyes and all that existed was the intermittent warmth from Jonathan’s breath on her neck and the solid weight of his arm around her middle.
There was one other thing that existed now, but she would wait; let him wake up or maybe let him shave first. She smiled and turned slowly and carefully to face him while trying not to disturb his light sleep. His breathing was long and deep with a slight moan at the end, and, although still asleep, he instinctively drew her close until the soft skin of her stomach met his and then relaxed his arm. She thought to enjoy this particular closeness while she could, grinning again to herself. Her thoughts wandered aimlessly, for how long she wasn’t sure, but she began to grow impatient for him to wake when the room took on the glow of evening dusk. She moved out from under his arm and the cool rush of air replacing her warmth was enough to stir him. He stretched, yawned, and focused his eyes on her with a smile.
“I missed you, too,” he said.
“We better get up. Your parents will be wondering where we are.”
“I’m sure they have a vague idea.” He swung his legs over the edge of the bed. “Personally, I’d like to stay here the rest of the evening.” He flopped back on the bed and lightly bit her thigh. “I’d say we still have three more days of catching up,” he said. “But I’m starving. However, if I weren’t . . . .” His sarcastically threatening look made her laugh.
“Jonathan, wait.”
He stopped mid-movement and lay his head back down on her thigh. “What, love?”
It was now or never and hardly the way she imagined, but she had discovered that very few things ended up unfolding the way they’re envisioned. These last six months had taught her the finer art of elasticity, and she went with it. She reached for his hand as she spoke.
“Do you still want to try? For a baby, I mean?”
“Yes. And I’ll give it another go as soon as I get some food,” he said, smiling and squeezing her hand.
“You don’t have to,” she blurted out. His face fell, serious and afraid.
“Have you changed your mind?” he asked quietly.
“No.” She placed his hand upon her stomach. “So much for it taking a few months . . . .”
He lifted his head slowly. “You mean?”
“Yes. Apparently you’re as fertile as you are charming.” He stared, astonished, attempting to speak but couldn’t seem to get out more than two words at a time, none of which made sense when strung together. It was an accomplishment when he managed to crawl beside her carefully as if she were suddenly made of glass and look her in the eyes.
“Are you sure?”
“Your mother took me into town yesterday and I saw the doctor. Looks like the beginning of December,” she said, smiling and plucked at the whiskers on his stunned face, amused at his oblivion.
“I just didn’t expect it to happen so soon,” he said before quickly adding, “but I’m happy . . . very happy.” He lay back with his arm on his forehead.
A knock on their bedroom door pulled him from joyous stupor, and they scrambled for bed covers, bursting into giggles and shushing each other loudly. When they were finally covered sufficiently, Jonathan called out, “Come in.”
Ava ducked under the covers, mortified. Of course, his mother knew full well what they had been doing all this time, but for anyone to see them lying in bed with trampled sheets and mussed hair was too embarrassing for Ava.
“Jonathan, there’s . . . someone here to see you.” Her voice was odd, Ava noticed; maybe she wasn’t feeling well. “I think it best if you get dressed and come downstairs.”
“Hey, did you hear the good news, Grandma? Of course, you did, you took her. Isn’t it great?”
“It is, Jonathan. I’m happy for you.” Ava couldn’t see her expression, brows furrowed, and lips tight with worry. She raised the tone of her voice the best she could, but still something strained.
He waited until she closed the door to speak. “I’ll bet that’s someone about the article in the paper, meaning more business, but that’s a good thing.” He slipped on a pair of pants, and Ava dug in the closet for a dress. “She wouldn’t see it that way, though. How was she while I was gone?”
“A nervous wreck. She tried to hide it, of course.” She buttoned up the front bodice of the dress and tied the waist strings around her back. “Your father didn’t like it too much either.” Jonathan pulled on his shoes.
“Well, more business means we can speed up plans to move out.”
Ava followed Jonathan down the steps, grinning at her flat stomach and feeling grateful it would be some time yet before she looked and felt like Arianna. She tried to imagine what it would be like to be unable to see her feet. She hadn’t noticed that Jonathan stopped abruptly on the last stair. She smashed into him, grabbed his sweater to keep her balance, and stared dumbly at his back.
“Oh, no,” he whispered, doom touching both syllables. He turned suddenly, seemingly to run back upstairs, but froze. It wasn’t fear, exactly, on his face; violent discomfort distorting his mouth, anxiety filling his eyes as if he had just witnessed some great catastrophe. For a moment, it looked as if he were drowning, unable to breathe, run, or escape.
One glance over his shoulder told Ava why. Ruth stood in the living room, prim and polite, empathizing Jonathan’s shock.
Realizing no escape, Jonathan turned around but couldn’t make his legs work. Ava walked around him slowly, eying Ruth cautiously. Pregnant or not, she was suddenly very ready to physically kick this woman out, hopefully retaining a handful or two of hair in the process. The intensity of rage that built up so quickly against Ruth disrupting her blissfully perfect afternoon surprised her; rage so intense that she completely overlooked the fact that if Ruth was here, Victor knew their whereabouts as well.
She stole a glance at Jonathan, thinking he would have said something by now. Jonathan’s eyes were fixed–but not on Ruth. Ava followed the trail his eyes burned and landed on a woman who was standing in Ruth’s shadow; a woman of pale complexion and thick, raven-black hair, which was arranged beneath a red hat adorned with beads and feathers. She wore a red, velvet dress made of such intricacy that it would have been sufficient to wear to call upon royalty. For a moment, Ava thought she might actually be royalty judging from her attire and the way she held herself.
Ava spoke first. “What are you doing here, Ruth?” she demanded. “I thought I made it clear–”
“I’m sorry for the disruption. I have nothing to say, no reason to be here except to escort an acquaintance, who has a matter to discuss with Jonathan,” Ruth spoke slowly and clearly, the rehearsed words Victor had instructed her to say.
“What acquaintance? What matter?” Ava asked suspiciously. Jonathan took an unsteady step forward and held Ava tightly to his side, partially for show of loyalty and partially for support. The royal stepped out from Ruth’s sha
dow.
“Ava . . . .” He paused to pray the next three words wouldn’t destroy everything he had fought to reclaim with his wife. “This is Elyse.”
If Jonathan spoke further, Ava never heard it. Wind suddenly knocked out of her, she recoiled from him as shock replaced fury in her chest; her mouth hung open, her stomach queasy.
The royal’s face remained unchanged and simply watched her as she quickly went through the expected emotions. She muttered something unintelligible and anguished to Jonathan, and his face acknowledged it painfully, silently. Her eyes returned to the royal and disturbing images ran through her mind at lightning speed; flashes of sweat and skin and lust on hot, Parisian nights, the two of them entangled. She felt pitiful and repulsive in her plain, cotton dress and bare feet as she stared stupidly at Elyse. Suddenly enraged again, she turned to Jonathan and shook her head side-to-side.
“Ava, please,” he implored, although he had no idea what he was begging of her. In less than as many minutes, she slipped into a third head-spinning emotion and recalled every empty, lonely feeling and every frustrating day of silent insecurity during that horrible time in the tenement when Jonathan was lost to her, and he read that fear in her eyes.
He finally confronted Elyse. “Why are you here?” He pulled Ava back to his side, rigid as she was.
“I understand my presence upsets you,” Elyse spoke directly to Ava rather than Jonathan. Ava, jolted from numbness by her French accent, stared at her, unwilling to speak. “I would not be here now if it were not a matter of life and death.”
“Whose life?” Jonathan asked.
“And whose death?” Ava stared pointedly at Ruth when she spoke.
“Mine,” Elyse said quietly. “Please sit. There is much I must say to you.” Elyse moved to the smaller sofa and sat down with regal elegance. Ruth sat next to her as if a supportive friend. Jonathan reluctantly crossed the room, pulling Ava behind him. They sat close on the sofa, and he held her hand in both of his in another show of loyalty. His parents stood inside the kitchen out of view but very much within earshot.
Elyse coughed daintily at first then produced her handkerchief as she wretched with violent spasms. Ava realized she was grimacing as she watched Elyse cough and gag uncontrollably. When she regained composure, she didn’t hesitate to explain herself.
“I’m dying,” she said frankly and without emotion. “Tuberculosis, aided by other illnesses common to my profession,” she offered.
“Why is that any of our concern?” Ava asked coldly. Now in close proximity to her, Ava could see the yellow tinge to the whites of her eyes and a sore on the corner of her mouth, which heavy makeup could not completely conceal.
“There is no way to say this but to say it, Jonathan.” Ava’s blood boiled when she said his name, the way it rolled off her French tongue with lovely elegance.
“Please just say what you have to say and leave. I’d like to get back to my evening with my wife.”
The royal sat up a little straighter, and her eyes locked onto his. “I did not get rid of it. He lives, he breathes, just over there,” she said quietly, nodding toward the door, “waiting in the car.”
Jonathan suddenly went pale and the thought crossed his mind that he might be sick. He slumped with a hard exhalation and unconsciously let go of Ava’s hand.
Elyse looked down and whispered, “I should have told you, I know.”
Ava needed one moment more than Jonathan to put the pieces of Elyse’s words together; then blazed again so quickly through anger, shock, and fear that it was barely noticeable. She stared at the floor, numb with disbelief, waiting for Jonathan to speak.
“Why now?” Jonathan croaked. “Why come to me now? I have no money. I lost everything. I can’t offer you what I could then.”
“I know. I am not here for money.”
“Then why come here?”
“He is my heart. I love him so.” She paused, batting her eyes, fighting tears. “Aside from me, he has no one on this earth. My family has rejected him as a bastard. And me as well for the life I lead. When I die, he will be alone. To be raised in an orphanage; dirty, hungry and beaten, I cannot bear the thought of this,” she said and a tear slipped down her porcelain cheek. She sniffled and her voice was more pleading now. “He has your blood, your eyes, and your name. I mean to give him to you. To finish what I cannot. To see him become a man. Try . . . to love him.”
Ava, too shocked to speak, stared at Jonathan’s hanging head for several minutes. Ruth slipped out unnoticed by everyone, and returned holding the small boy’s hand. Ava stared at him as he passed in front of her as if he were an abomination. He walked straight to his mother and mumbled something in French. She turned him around to face Jonathan. She stroked the side of his head as she spoke and looked on the verge of tears.
“Mon chere. Il s'agit de votre papa.”
The little boy, no more than five, stepped hesitantly but curiously toward Jonathan, still slumped with his head in his hands.
“Is nice to meet you,” the little boy squeaked with a heavy accent of his own, holding out his hand in trained politeness. Jonathan ever so slowly raised his head and took a sharp, jagged breath when he saw his own eyes staring back at him. His black hair was straight with the slightest curl at the ends, perfectly groomed, and he smiled slowly and cautiously at Jonathan. “My name is Jean.”
“Hello,” Jonathan whispered and touched the child’s chubby, dimpled hand.
“Excuse me,” Ava said and rushed into the kitchen. Margaret was there, stunned but not nearly affected to the degree that Ava was. She held her hair while Ava vomited in the garbage bin.
“Elyse, I don’t know what you expect.”
“I told you. To do what I cannot; to save him from a horrendous life in an orphanage. Take him, please?”
Jonathan’s eyes flickered back to Jean’s wide eyes, and his heart lurched despite his shock. He knew of the orphanages. He had made donations frequently, although he doubted any of the money benefited the poor children who survived there. How could he condemn this child, his child, to that life? He looked toward the kitchen and heard Ava wretch again. How could he not? This was killing Ava. It would take months to get back to the place they were, if it was possible at all. And what of the baby, if it holds, he thought grimly. Such a huge upset. He prayed the shock wouldn’t cause her to lose it. He felt torn over the most painful decision of his life.
“Jonathan, I do not have much time. I want to be in Paris when I–”
He nodded numbly and silently to Elyse and then to Jean, having made his decision.
“Thank you. I will leave right away,” she whispered, glancing in the direction Ava had run.
She spoke with Jean quietly as Jonathan rose and walked blindly past his parents and pulled Ava from her stooping position over the garbage. He held her close, cradling her head and whispered, “I’m so sorry.”
Her nausea passed and she didn’t cry but held him as he fought quiet tears full of fear and regret. He held her so tightly she could scarcely breathe.
“Everything will work out, everything will be fine,” he said quietly a few moments later. He wiped his eyes. “I swear, Ava. Everything will be just like it was, please believe me, please don’t hate me.” She tried to muster compassion over the shock. The deafening silence in the house told her the unwelcome guests had gone, and she felt relief it was over.
“I don’t hate you,” she said quietly. “But I do need to lie down.”
Jean was standing in the front doorway, his little hand held up mid-air as he watched the car pull away with his mother in it. He turned slowly to Jonathan. His round face was pained, making a great effort to be a strong, little man like his mother requested. He held out an envelope to Jonathan. “My mother asked me to give this to you,” he said, trying desperately not to cry. He turned; head slightly bowed and sat on the couch, staring into his lap.
The letter contained lists of his favorite foods, sports, radio shows, his birth
date, and other tidbits of knowledge Elyse thought it necessary for his father to know. Tutored since the age of two, he was fluent in three languages. Ava stared at the boy, realizing Jonathan had made the decision to keep him without her. It was a done deal and the abomination was now theirs to care for. Her face was blank and her eyes were cold as she eyed them both.
“How could you?” she whispered.
He reached for her, begging, “Ava, I just couldn’t . . . you don’t know what those places are like. Ava, please.”
“How could you do this…decide this…without me?” If she weren’t numb from shock and angry from betrayal, she would have been sobbing. “A living, breathing tribute. A bond stronger than those of wedding vows.”
His words were thrown back at him like a knife, and they tore through his chest, ripping a gaping hole in his heart. She turned to the stairs and left him to bleed.
After a few stunned and aching moments, Jonathan retreated to the kitchen and sank into a chair. His father joined him silently. His mother stood behind him, her hands on her son’s shoulders. He felt like he should apologize, explain, beg forgiveness, anything. But when he opened his mouth, he asked for what he needed the most.
“Please go get Aryl.”
Aryl walked through the darkened living room and into the kitchen. Jonathan sat, head resting on folded arms. Aryl spun a chair around and rested his arms on the ridge of the back.
“What happened?” his voice was serious with concern, knowing Jonathan would never call for him like this unless it was a near disaster. Jonathan’s arms moved slightly, his sleeve shifted and Aryl caught sight of the faint, white scar. “What happened, Jon?” he demanded.
Jonathan lifted his head. He was still bearded and his eyes were bloodshot. “My whole world just blew up,” he spoke quietly with a hint of disbelief, holding up his hands as if in surrender. “Again.”
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