This Time Forever

by Rachel Ann Nunes

  She left Brionney and drove back to Damon’s in the bronze four-door Nissan Altima GLE she had purchased upon arriving in Utah. The lights were out in Belle’s room, though it was only eight, and Damon and Tanner were nowhere in sight. The house felt too large and empty.

  Rebekka went to her room, where she’d set up her laptop on a new desk Damon had purchased for her. She checked her e-mail, and found one from her brother and three more from other friends. None from Marc.

  She read the e-mail from Raoul.

  Dear Rebekka,

  I miss you. I wish you were here to share this wonderful, incredible, unequalled night of all nights to be remembered forever. Desirée has agreed to marry me! My feet hardly touch the ground, I’m so happy. So ecstatically and completely happy. There has never been a man more happy than I on the whole entire earth!

  She can’t be baptized until she’s away from her parents, so I’m not pushing it. But she promises she will go into the waters of baptism after we are wed. I’m willing to wait if that is what it takes.

  You will come back to France for my wedding, won’t you? It won’t be until the spring. I hate the idea of a long engagement, but will endure it if doing so makes my future in-laws happy.

  I know you will be happy for me. I only wish that you also could find someone who is worthy of your affections.

  Your loving brother,

  Raoul

  Rebekka felt a mixture of gladness and melancholy. She typed a quick response.

  Raoul, I am so happy for you. I hope all your dreams come true. I will most certainly come for the wedding. I would not give up hope of her being baptized first, however. It could be more difficult for you and for her later.

  Here, things are the same. The little minx still hates me and her brother the opposite. I haven’t seen much of the father, though I am working myself up to asking him to dinner or something. I am attracted to him quite a bit.

  I’m going to look for another job, I think. I don’t know if I’m cut out for this. I miss translating. Or perhaps I’ll teach.

  I love you,

  Rebekka

  She clicked on the send and receive button, knowing her brother would get the e-mail when he awoke, since it was the middle of the night for him. To her surprise, another e-mail came in, this one from Marc. What was he doing writing to her when he should be asleep?

  Her heart began a familiar erratic pounding. Rebekka had two separate impulses, as she always did when seeing his name in her e-mail inbox. She wanted to delete it immediately to spare herself further pain, and she wanted to devour it with her eyes while she imagined his face and his touch. Each communication with him was bittersweet.

  Sighing, she clicked on the message.

  Hi, Rebekka. How are you? Are you ready to come home yet? Everything is pretty much the same here. The bridge is nearly finished and we’re on to another project.

  For some reason I couldn’t sleep, so I decided to write to you. You’re probably not home but out having fun. Raoul told me you date a lot. I haven’t been dating, but that’s nothing new. I guess I’m tired of trying to find someone who lives up to my ideals.

  “You mean someone who lives up to your vision of my mother,” she said uncharitably. She was grateful Raoul had told him she was dating, even though it wasn’t true.

  Anyway, I feel at a strange point in my life. I wish you were here to talk to about it. I don’t know what direction to go. It’s like I’m lost, you know? I feel stupid saying this to you, because you have always known what you want and haven’t let anything stand in your way. I’ve always admired that in you. I don’t like to admit it, but sometimes I feel like I go with the flow too much. That I let other people determine my destiny, so to speak.

  I guess that’s because I don’t know what I want. My problem is nothing so serious as doubting the truthfulness of the gospel—I know it’s true—but more a doubting that I’ve done any good in the universe. My company designs and builds safe bridges, roads, and even buildings, but does anyone really care? Someone else could build them just as well. I make a lot of money, but I have no one to spend it on.

  I would laugh at myself and these notions if you were here. Think of how we used to go skating down by the river—could you imagine us doing it now? People would stare at us, two adults acting like children. But you wouldn’t care, and neither would I if we did it together.

  When are you coming home? At least you’re not going to marry some American and stay there forever. We’ve agreed how hard that’s been for Zack and Josette. You’ve got your head on straight—which is more than I can say for myself. Rebekka, what should I be when I grow up?

  Don’t laugh too much at me when you read this, though I know it’s funny. Sometimes I feel closer to you when I can write this way. But I still wish you were here.

  Take care,

  Marc

  Rebekka didn’t know what to say to this. Apparently, Marc was doing some soul-searching. It was what she had always wanted. But wasn’t it too late for them?

  Yes, of course it was too late. Because no matter how he changed, he didn’t love her. At once, uncontrollable hurt and anger consumed her. She typed a response, wanting to hurt him as his blindness had hurt her.

  Hello Marc,

  I, too, am at a changing point in my life, so I understand what you are going through to some extent. I’ve discovered that Americans aren’t half bad. My boss is very nice. Very nice, if you get the idea. I think I wouldn’t mind staying here forever.

  Then guilt at her deception provoked a sliver of compassion.

  I think you need to decide what you want in life, Marc, and go for it with your whole heart. Only you can make things happen. At the end of your life, you don’t want to look back with regrets. Time shouldn’t be wasted.

  Love,

  Rebekka

  She didn’t send the message, not wanting to seem eager. She could do that later tonight, or when she checked her mail in the morning. He can wait. Like I’ve been doing for nineteen years.

  Feeling restless, Rebekka made her way down the sweeping front staircase that led into the two-story entryway outside the sitting room. Adjoining the sitting room was the music room, where a full-sized concert grand piano stood like a silent friend. Neither Damon nor his children played the piano, and in her first weeks with the family, she had wondered at their owning such an exquisite piece. She had quickly overcome her awe, and now practiced daily as she had on her baby grand at home.

  She ran her fingers lightly over the keys. The piano was a handmade Steinway, with dark wood and intricate inlays, and a sound so rich and pure that tears came to her eyes each time she played. She thought that if she’d owned such a fine piece while growing up, she might never have studied anything other than music.

  Compelled, she propped opened the large lid and sat on the padded mahogany bench. She began to play from memory, using the soft pedal to be sure she didn’t awaken anyone. First she played a little Bach, followed by Mozart, and then something more personal—a simple melody she’d composed for Marc six years ago, meant for their wedding day. It didn’t have words, but her heart soared as she played, feeling her love as she had on the day she’d first written it.

  He had never heard it. He never would.

  She stopped playing abruptly, hitting a stray key that sounded awkward and discordant in comparison to the rest of the music.

  “Don’t stop,” a gentle voice protested.

  Rebekka’s head jerked around. “Damon!”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t think you’d notice my being here. I didn’t want to interrupt. It was beautiful.”

  “Did I wake you?” she returned anxiously. “I didn’t mean to.”

  He approached, smiling. “Oh, no. I hadn’t gone to bed yet, and besides, you were playing so softly that I wouldn’t have been able to hear in my room. How do you do that, anyway?”

  “This pedal.” Rebekka showed him.

  “Ah. The mystery solved.”

/>   She wondered that he could know so little of the piano. “Do you play at all?”

  “No.” But he sat on the bench beside her. “Actually, I can play ‘Chopsticks.’” He played the notes slowly, missing occasionally, and then stopped and looked at her sheepishly.

  She laughed, feeling comfortable and more than a little tingly at his closeness. “There’s more, you know.” She played it for him, adding several variations to make it more interesting, and glancing up occasionally to see his expression. His eyes were wide with surprise, and the yellow light from the overhead chandelier made them look more amber than usual.

  “I didn’t know ‘Chopsticks’ could sound like that,” he said when she finished. “You have quite a talent.”

  “A hobby,” she corrected. “What I’m really good at is languages.”

  “I can believe that.” He clicked his tongue. “What I can’t believe is that with so much talent you agreed to stay with my children.”

  “I needed to get away. You pay well. And your children are basically very good.”

  The rugged, angular lines of his face increased as he grimaced slightly. “I’m sorry about how Belle’s been acting. I don’t know what’s gotten into her.”

  She sighed, still keenly aware of his closeness. “I see her attitude toward me hasn’t escaped you.”

  “I guess I’m pretty observant when it comes to my children—usually, anyway. Don’t feel too bad. I think she’ll come out of it.”

  “Have you had any luck finding a replacement for me?” She felt odd saying it, and hurried to add, “I mean, I’m not anxious to leave or anything. I really do like it here. But I won’t be able to stay forever.”

  He gave her an apologetic grin. “To tell you the truth, I haven’t even begun looking. I meant to take out an ad or something, but I’ve been working on finding another software company to help us spread our business to other countries. We thought we might try it ourselves, but if I could buy or make a deal with another company who already has a foot in the door, it might be easier and we could grow . . . But you don’t want to hear about that.”

  “It’s interesting,” Rebekka said eagerly. She turned slightly on the bench, and her knee accidentally brushed his. He didn’t move away.

  “Well, we need to find just the right company. One that has a strong background and reputation so there’s a measure of trust involved in hospital software.” Damon spread his fingers, moving his hands over the piano keys as though searching. “That takes time.”

  “I see what you—” Rebekka abruptly remembered the plane trip from France. She snapped her fingers. “Hey, I may know someone who can help you. I met him on the plane on the way over. Samuel something. I have his card in my room. He owns a software company and does business overseas. He practically offered me a job in translating.”

  “You’re not bailing out on me, are you?” The way he said it, she knew he was joking.

  She laughed. “Yes, eventually. So you’d better find a replacement. But don’t worry, I’ll stay as long as I’m needed.” Even if Belle hates me.

  “I’d love to talk to this guy,” Damon said, standing. “If he made an impression on you, he must be something.”

  Rebekka flushed as she gazed up at him. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

  “It was meant as one.”

  She studied his face, trying to see if there was something behind the words, but she saw only honesty and friendship. As though I’m his little sister, she thought. She knew the look only too well. What’s wrong with me, that the men I’m attracted to can’t see me as a woman?

  She ran her hands once more over the piano keys before she shut the keyboard lid and rose from the bench.

  “My wife used to do that before she would leave the piano,” he said suddenly, staring at the piano as though someone still sat there.

  “She played?” Rebekka asked as she lowered the top lid to keep the dust out of the piano’s interior. The wood was heavy and she thought he might help her, but he was lost in his reverie. “I mean, I wondered if . . . since none of the rest of you seemed to play . . .”

  He made a strangled sound that bit into Rebekka’s heart. “I guess it must seem funny, us having a grand piano when nobody plays.” He continued to stare at the Steinway. “But it’s not too odd. Many people I know have them for looks, or for guests.”

  A rather expensive knickknack, Rebekka thought.

  “Charlotte did play.” His voice had taken on a rough note that conveyed a deep tenderness. “We had another piano, though, that she mostly used. I bought her this one right before she became pregnant with Belle. Charlotte had been diagnosed with cancer—that was the first time she was diagnosed with it. I wanted to cheer her up. It’s one of only a hundred made—of this style—and even back then it cost over a hundred thousand. She loved it so much. She went into remission shortly after. I sometimes wonder if the piano didn’t help with her recovery.”

  “It brings good memories, then.”

  He met her eyes for the first time since he had started talking about his wife. “Yes, it really does. Hearing you play does, too. Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.” Growing uncomfortable under his continuing gaze, she added, “I can get you that man’s card, if you like.”

  He followed her up the main staircase to her room and waited in the doorway while she rummaged through her purse. “Here it is.” She crossed the room and handed the rumpled card to him. His hand felt warm against hers, but for some reason she shivered. Damon looked at the card and stuck it in the pocket of his pale green button-down shirt.

  Rebekka could feel his closeness, and her need for companionship seemed more intense than she could bear. The words from Marc’s e-mail came back to her: “. . . you have always known what you want and haven’t let anything stand in your way.” Without thinking, she moved closer to Damon and fixed her eyes on his.

  “Damon, I—I’d like to get to know you better,” she said, and held her breath for his reaction.

  His face wore a puzzled expression that quickly turned into acute embarrassment. Rebekka felt herself cringe inside, as she always did when Marc hadn’t responded to her hints.

  “I—I didn’t know . . . I always thought of you as so much y— . . . I mean, I’m flattered. Really.” He stopped talking and searched her face for a long moment before continuing. “You’re very beautiful, Rebekka, but I’m so much older.”

  Rebekka took an even breath. “I’m not a child, Damon. I still mean what I said.”

  His face showed amazement and disbelief as Rebekka closed the final step between them. She could smell his aftershave, and even the trace of detergent in his shirt. His eyes didn’t leave hers. Watching him carefully, she kissed him.

  She had meant it to be a brief kiss, something that perhaps two friends—she and Marc?—might exchange, but she wasn’t prepared for the celerity and fervency of his response. His lips pressed hard against hers, filled with thinly disguised passion . . . searching . . . searching . . .

  She pulled away, her eyes wide. There was a need in his face, a need she felt strongly echoed in her own heart. “You . . .” She wanted to say that she understood about losing a loved one, about wanting to be with another person who cared about you. Yet how could her feelings compare to the loneliness he must feel at having lost his wife, the beloved mother of his children?

  Damon leaned against the doorframe, watching her with half-veiled eyes. “Rebekka.” His voice was warm. “I’m still flattered. And surprised, mostly at myself. You see, there is this woman in Anchorage—on Kodiak Island, actually—and I love her. She’s the first woman I’ve ever cared about since Char—Charlotte—died. But she loves her husband, and I want them to be happy. She’s the real reason I left Alaska.” He chuckled in self-deprecation. “I was prepared to be the martyr, you know, the sufferer of an unrequited love. I guess I even reveled in the whole idea a bit. But you have shown me something tonight.” He took her hand, smiling. “You have s
hown me that the world is a beautiful place with wonderful surprises. Thank you.”

  He pulled her forward a few inches and kissed her chastely on the lips, a kiss that held none of the vibrancy of their first encounter but was much more appropriate given their level of involvement. His blond moustache tickled her skin. “I would enjoy getting to know you better, too, Rebekka.”

  She smiled, trying to digest all the information he’d given her. He was a man with a twice-broken heart, but he wasn’t afraid to accept an opportunity to search for love again. If only Marc—

  “Good.” She winked at him. “I’ll let you take me to dinner tomorrow.”

  His grin grew wider. “It’s a deal. But it’ll have to be next Friday, because I promised Belle I’d take her to the movies tomorrow.”

  “Okay. Next Friday, then.”

  “Do you want to choose the place, or shall I?” His eyes seemed to sparkle with enjoyment.

  She accepted the unvoiced challenge. “I’ll choose.”

  He released his grip on her hand, and Rebekka took a few steps into her room. Damon flashed her another grin. “Until tomorrow.”

  She watched him walk down the hall, headed toward the far wing of the house where he and Belle had their rooms. The silence without him was almost deafening, although she was accustomed to being alone at night. Tanner slept in the basement, where the new cook and the maid had their quarters. Damon had refused to let him stay in the empty room near Rebekka, for which she had been very thankful.

  Why, then, did she feel so alone now?

  She brought a hand to her lips, recalling their first kiss and wondering at the intensity of it. “I need to tell Brionney not to set him up with her sister,” she murmured aloud.