Raoul hugged her tight. “I won’t.”
Rebekka clung to him for a moment, squeezing her eyes shut so hard they hurt and a tear slipped from the corner. She pulled back and searched her brother’s tanned features. His obvious reluctance to let her go mirrored her own reluctance to leave him. Over the years they had occasionally fought, but they’d always been friends.
Her father and brother took her suitcases down to the waiting taxi. “If you need anything—money, whatever—let me know,” Philippe said. He hugged her briefly, and then Danielle flung her arms around her, sobbing as she had when Rebekka left to be a missionary.
Rebekka gently extracted herself from her mother’s embrace. She ducked into the taxi, pulling the door shut, and waved as the driver started away from the curb. I love you, she mouthed.
She had expected to cry for the first half of the taxi ride, and then use the remaining time to compose herself before she arrived at the airport and embarked on her new life. But as soon as her family was out of sight, thoughts of Marc filled her mind. Then she couldn’t cry because she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction—even if he would never know.
She watched the familiar sights of Paris stream past the taxi. So many places reminded her of Marc. What would he say about her impulsive move? Would he miss her at all? Would he find some other excuse to visit her mother, or would he worship her from afar until he died a lonely, ignominious death?
Rebekka swallowed the bitterness in her mouth and lifted her jaw firmly. She would not think about him.
* * * * *
Marc picked up his younger brother, André, outside his apartment. On the first-floor balcony, André’s wife and two little girls waved goodbye. “I’ll be home for lunch,” André called to Claire.
The tiny, dark-haired woman smiled. “I won’t hold you to that, dear. But try to be home before dinner.”
As André blew her a kiss, Marc felt a twinge of envy rise in his chest. Thoughts of Danielle came to him, as they always did when he saw couples in love. Of course, Danielle wasn’t aware of his feelings and never would be.
“Is Raoul coming?” André asked.
“Yes, we’ll pick him up last.”
“I hope he’s awake,” André said. “Ever since he met Desirée, he’s been a little distracted.”
“A little!” Marc snorted. “The other day when we went out to lunch, I caught him just about ready to cut his steak with a pen. And he tipped over his water twice!”
André threw back his head and laughed. “That sounds like Raoul. I’ll bet he marries her.”
Marc sobered instantly. “I hope he does.”
André regarded him for a moment without speaking. “So, have you seen Rebekka lately?”
Marc shook his head, glad for the change of subject. “No. I think she must be mad at me, though I don’t know what I did.”
“Maybe she’s got a boyfriend.”
It was an idea Marc hadn’t considered. “I guess that could be it. But I think she would have told me, don’t you?”
“Well, she’s my friend too, and she hasn’t told me anything.”
“Maybe you could call her.” Marc tapped the steering wheel with his fingers. “That way you could find out what’s going on.”
“I don’t think Claire would appreciate it. She knows I used to have a crush on Rebekka.”
Marc raised his eyebrows. “You did? I never knew that.”
“It’s true.”
“But she’s so young. You’re what, seven years older than she is?”
“It wasn’t the age that was a problem,” André said. “Seven years, ten years—it doesn’t matter. She never looked twice at me.”
“Maybe you never let her know how you felt.” For some reason he couldn’t define, Marc was beginning to find this conversation uncomfortable.
“She was always too tied up with . . . and then I met Claire. Oh, never mind. Let’s just ask Raoul what’s wrong with her. But I bet she’s got a boyfriend. It’s bound to happen to everyone sometime.”
“It can’t be a boyfriend.”
André’s voice took on a teasing note. “You’re just jealous because she decided not to wait for you anymore.”
“Oh, right.” Marc rolled his eyes. “Rebekka hasn’t had a crush on me since she was fourteen. She grew out of that a long time ago. We’re just friends.”
André smirked. “That’s what you think.”
Marc made a rude, smacking noise with his lips. “You’re just upset that you weren’t her idol.”
“You got me there,” André said with a laugh. “Thank heavens Claire loves me. And the girls. I haven’t got what it takes to endure unrequited love.”
Marc frowned at the sudden pain the words brought to his heart. “No one has what it takes for that.”
André peered at him. “Thank heaven that’s not your problem, either. Think of it this way: now that Rebekka isn’t taking up so much of your time, you can find a wife. You’re not getting any younger.”
André’s words were light, but Marc grimaced. “Don’t start with me. I hear enough of that from Josette. She’s constantly on my case.”
“Older sisters are like that.”
“She’s only a few minutes older. That hardly qualifies her as—”
“Look, there’s Raoul outside waiting for us,” André interrupted when they turned onto the next street. “No, he’s going back inside. His parents are with him. Didn’t you tell him we were coming? Honk so he’ll see us.”
“He knows we’re coming.” Marc gave a short blast on his horn, just in case. With the ease of long habit, his eyes went to Danielle, drinking in her beauty. He wished he could talk to her, even if it was only about the weather.
Raoul turned and held up a finger, signaling them to wait. He briefly conversed with his parents, kissed them on their cheeks three times, and sprinted toward Marc’s car. He slid into the backseat. “I didn’t realize it was time for you guys to pick me up. So are they expecting us? Do we need to stop at the office first?”
“I don’t.” Marc noticed that Raoul didn’t explain why he had been outside so early. Well, a man’s business is his own. He was dying to ask about Rebekka but didn’t want to appear too anxious. Maybe André would bring it up.
But André and Raoul were talking about Desirée, Raoul’s new girlfriend. “She’s taking lessons from the missionaries,” Raoul was saying. “I’ve never prayed so hard in my life. I don’t know what I’ll do if she doesn’t accept the gospel. I’m crazy about her.”
“What if she doesn’t?” André asked.
Raoul’s brows drew together. “She has to. I’m not giving up on her.”
Marc stopped at a red light. “Like your mother has never given up on your father.” The others looked at him, and Marc was relieved when the light turned green so he could busy himself with driving.
“Yeah,” Raoul said. “She’s a pretty neat person, my mother.”
Marc felt his friend’s eyes boring into the back of his head, and he wondered if Raoul had guessed his secret. The only one to whom he had ever confided his unwanted feelings for Danielle had been Brionney Fields, now Brionney Hergarter, and only because she’d already figured it out. No one in his family knew; he was almost certain of it. He’d learned to be careful over the years. He’d even almost become engaged to a woman once, but in the end, he’d let her go because he couldn’t love her as she deserved to be loved.
Only one woman had come close to making him forget Danielle, and that was Brionney. He still regretted letting her return to America. Over time, he was certain his love for her would have grown and overcome his feelings for Danielle. He should have gone after her.
Marc pushed the thoughts aside, unwilling to relive the memories they evoked. “So what’s up with Rebekka? Why won’t she return my calls? She’s not still sick, is she?”
From the corner of his eye, he saw Raoul shake his head. “Rebekka’s fine,” he replied. “So, has the cement arrived?”
/>
Marc blinked twice at the quick change of subject. What was his friend hiding? Being one of the senior partners in the engineering firm had taught him a lot about people, and he sensed there was something Raoul was not telling him.
“I’m a little concerned about Rebekka. Does she,” Marc took a deep breath, “have a new boyfriend or something?”
“No-o-o.” Raoul elongated the word as though to give himself time to think.
André swiveled in his seat. “Then speak up, man. Why is Rebekka mad at Marc?”
“She’s not . . .well, not exactly.”
Marc felt an odd panic swell in his breast. “You can’t deny that she’s been avoiding me,” he said, his throat constricting.
“Well, no. I mean, yes . . . I don’t know.” Raoul looked miserable.
Marc held his breath and slowly let it out as he turned onto the freeway. “Look, Raoul, what’s going on? Rebekka and I’ve been friends since she was a child. If she’s in some kind of trouble, I’d like to help.”
Raoul glanced nervously at his watch. “I guess it’s okay to tell you now. I mean, she had to be there at eight-thirty, and it’s after that now.”
“She had to be where?” Marc was feeling angrier and more confused by the moment.
“At the airport. She’s going to Utah—well, actually, Alaska first and then to Utah.”
Marc swallowed hard. “She’s taking a trip?”
“Not a trip, exactly. She’s going to live there. For a time, anyway. She’s going to be a nanny until she can start teaching French or something.”
Marc’s jaw dropped. He wondered if he was hearing right. Why would Rebekka leave France without telling him? Why would she leave France at all? She’d never said anything about wanting a change.
André glanced at Marc and then back to Raoul. “She left without saying goodbye?”
Raoul brightened. “She left a letter for Marc.” He made a face. “Nothing for you, André. Sorry.”
“Story of my life,” André mumbled good-naturedly.
Marc ignored his brother. “Let me see it,” he demanded. Raoul thrust the letter under his nose. Eagerly, Marc ripped it open.
“Careful of that car!” André’s voice rose to a squeak as Marc braked to avoid hitting the car in front of them. “Do you have to read it now?”
Marc didn’t bother to reply. There was no place to pull over, so he scanned the letter as he drove.
Dear Marc,
I’m sorry for leaving without telling you. It’s just that Brionney’s come up with an offer I can’t refuse. I’m not content with my life as it is, so I have to go and find what it is I’m missing. I’m sure you’ll agree that I must follow my dreams. I’m going to Anchorage, Alaska first, and then on to Utah. I don’t know where I’ll be staying yet, but I’ll send you an e-mail soon.
Take care,
Rebekka
“Marc, watch out for that—” André sighed with relief when Marc switched lanes just in time.
Marc dropped the letter in disgust. It told him nothing of why she was going, nothing of what he had done to provoke her mistrust. There’d been a time when Rebekka had shared everything with him. What had gone wrong?
André retrieved the note and read it quickly. “Good for her.”
Marc’s jaw tightened. “How long have you known?” he questioned Raoul.
“Wednesday, I think it was. But she first talked to Brionney a week or two ago. It was that day you went to the street meeting with the church youth.”
That had been the last time Marc had seen Rebekka. He felt numb at the unbelievable fact of her departure. They were friends—no, closer than friends. She was like a little sister to him. In fact, she’d taken the place in his life that had been vacated by his real-life sisters: Pauline, who’d been ripped from him by death, and Marie-Thérèse and his twin Josette, who had both deserted him by marriage.
He thought hard to see if she’d given a clue to the reason for her departure, but wrack his brain as he might, he couldn’t think of a single thing. Her words and actions up until the day of the street meeting had been normal, though he did admit that Rebekka’s actions had often remained a mystery to him. Was that why he so enjoyed her company?
The more he thought about it, the angrier he became. She owed their longstanding friendship more than a flimsy little note. “What time does her plane leave?”
“What?”
“You said eight-thirty, but was that the time she had to be there, or the time the plane took off?”
“What’s the difference?”
Marc forced his voice to sound patient. “For foreign flights, you have to check in at least an hour early. Maybe two.”
“I don’t know.”
Marc took his eyes from the road and glanced briefly at his friend. “What time did she leave your apartment?” He held his breath as Raoul answered.
“About fifteen minutes before you came. She went by taxi. I offered to take her, but she didn’t want to make a scene at the airport.”
Marc smiled grimly. There was still time! They were going in the right direction; perhaps he could make it to the airport before her flight. She might think she could get away with a brush-off, but he would prove her wrong. He deserved an answer. He jerked the wheel, taking them to the next exit.
“Where are you going?” André asked.
“The airport.”
Raoul leaned forward, and Marc caught a glimpse of his pale face. “You can’t do that! I promised her I wouldn’t tell you until she was in the air.”
Marc felt like cursing, but managed to hold back his emotions. “Why’d you do a dumb thing like that?”
André cleared his throat. “I’m sure she had a good reason for not saying goodbye in person.” Then he added, somewhat mockingly, “It’s not as if you’re her boyfriend or anything.”
“No, but . . .” Marc felt angrier and more upset than he had in years, and he didn’t know who to blame. Rebekka? Yes, she was at fault. They were friends, but she was treating him like a casual acquaintance. He wished her well, he really did, but he needed some sort of an explanation.
Ignoring the others, he sped toward his destination, hoping he was in time. When he arrived outside the airport, he tossed the keys to André and bolted from the car, heedless that he had stopped in a no-parking zone. André would take care of the car.
“Wait!” Raoul shouted after him. “She’s going to land first in a place called Cincinnati, Ohio. Or something.”
Marc put the information in his mind and kept running. He only knew that he had to get to Rebekka before her flight left. His eyes searched up and down the ticket counters and around the lobby, but she was nowhere to be seen. He searched for a TV monitor and found a flight leaving for Cincinnati at ten-fifteen. That must be the one! When he tried to pass through to the gate, they wouldn’t let him. “This is the way to the foreign gates,” said a security guard. “Only ticketed passengers beyond this point.” Marc explained the situation briefly, but the man still refused to let him through.
“Couldn’t you at least let me . . . Look, I’ll leave you my identification.”
“I’m sorry, but it’s against the rules.”
Marc was beginning to feel desperate. “Please! There’s got to be some way!”
“I could page her.”
“Okay.”
While the man spoke on the phone, Marc paced. Time was racing by, and soon Rebekka would be gone. He glanced at the ticket counter. Perhaps he could buy a ticket to Cincinnati. But no, his passport was at home, and he didn’t have any of the visas that might be necessary. He had submitted his visa application papers so he could attend an engineering convention in New York at the end of October, but that did him little good now.
Then he saw Rebekka, and his heart seemed to drop to his stomach. She was coming from the ladies’ rest room just outside the security gate, carrying her purse and a small flight bag. She wore a black suit dress that fit her curves perfectly and set off h
er dark auburn locks. For a moment he watched her, not knowing what to say now that he’d found her. He’d planned to demand a reason for why she’d been avoiding him, to somehow get her to see that her rash behavior wasn’t normal, but now he realized André was right. As much as he didn’t agree with it, he had no say in her decision.
“Rebekka,” he called.
She looked up, and her white face paled further. She glanced once toward the security guards that blocked the way to the foreign gates, as though she might escape behind them. Marc was utterly confused. Why would she run away from him?
“Weren’t you even going to say goodbye?” He tried to keep the hurt from his voice, but feared it came through anyway.
She didn’t meet his steady gaze, but stared at his left ear. “There wasn’t time,” she said a bit breathlessly. “I’ve been busy. I was going to write.”
“Why are you going?”
Now her gray eyes met his fleetingly, looking large in her oval face, and Marc felt an odd sense of déjà-vu. Where had he seen those eyes before? They were Rebekka’s, of course, and yet . . .
“I have to go, Marc.”
“Why?” he pressed. “If it’s some guy, just tell me.”
She looked relieved. “Yes, it’s a guy. I have to get away.”
“Do you need me to talk to him? I can make sure he doesn’t bother you.”
“Playing the big brother again?” Her laugh sounded strained. “I have Raoul, remember?” She stared down at her black square-heeled leather pumps. “No, I don’t need you to talk to him. It won’t do any good.”
He knew her well enough to see that her mind was made up, and he had no choice but to let her go. “I’m going to miss you.”
“I’ll miss you, too.”
He hugged her, but her flight bag fell between them, making the contact unsatisfactory. The fragrance of her thick auburn hair filled his nose, arousing unfamiliar sensations within him. When he drew away, there were tears on her pale and the sight made him want to hug her again.
He tried to smile. “Be happy.”
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