This Time Forever

by Rachel Ann Nunes

  “What about that lady? I mean her car had hardly a dent, but I think she wants me to pay.”

  Damon set his jaw firmly. “If she contacts us, I’ll deal with her.” If the accident was in large part this woman’s fault as Tanner had indicated, he wasn’t going to let her push his son around.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  It was Wednesday night, and Marc Perrault didn’t feel well. He stretched out on his bed in his quiet apartment and stared at the ceiling. He wasn’t sick exactly, as the doctor had assured him today; he just wasn’t himself.

  Everyone in the family had noticed his disquiet, and at the family dinner on Monday, two days earlier, they’d all been full of advice. His twin, Josette, teased him about having a mid-life crisis. Ridiculous. He was only thirty-four. Zack, Josette’s husband, suggested that Marc write in his journal—as if that sage piece of advice was the answer to the problems of the world. His brother André told him he was bored and needed new challenges, which he could begin immediately by watching André’s two daughters for an entire weekend. Right. His other sister, Marie-Thérèse, said bluntly that he needed to find a wife. Her husband Mathieu proposed a vacation.

  Even his grandfather and two grandmothers had suggestions, like doing more church work, eating more vegetables, and getting more exercise. It was enough to make him crazy.

  After his father, Jean-Marc, had advised him to search his soul, Marc found himself grateful that his younger brother, Louis-Géralde, was serving his mandatory time in the French army and couldn’t add his counsel to the growing din. Of course, it would be just my luck that Louis-Géralde is probably the one person who has the answer, Marc thought.

  Besides the absent Louis-Géralde, his mother was the only family member who hadn’t offered advice of any kind. Ariana had simply regarded him mutely from her seat across the table. When he’d slipped away to the living room to ponder his problem in private, she’d quietly followed and sat with him on the couch.

  “I just feel strange,” he told her. She touched his hand, held it as she had when he was little. Marc leaned against her, enjoying the comfort.

  “You feel normal to me,” she said softly. There was no amusement in her voice, but a small smile played on her lips. Marc grinned in spite of himself.

  She hugged him. “That’s better.”

  In the dim lamplight, Marc noticed that she was a beautiful woman. Her figure wasn’t as thin as it had been in her youth, but she was active and supple. Her thick, dark brown hair was cut short and showed no signs of gray. He wondered if she dyed it, and thought she probably did, since his father’s hair now had generous streaks of gray. Ariana’s real beauty was in her face. Each curve, each line showed years of laughter, sorrow, and great joy. Real character. She was a woman who had lived and loved and served. Remembering the trials she had overcome in her life always gave Marc a sense of wonder. And also a hunger to have achieved such a triumph himself.

  To be sure, he’d experienced trials, but nothing severe since his kidney transplant at age fifteen. Sometimes he felt that his life had ended there, that he hadn’t moved on or really lived since.

  “Maybe I’m sick,” he suggested to his mother in the quiet of the living room. Perhaps this dark feeling looming over him was related to his transplant. The kidney had already lasted nearly twenty of the thirty years the doctor had predicted in a best-case scenario. There might be something wrong.

  Ariana’s dark eyes showed concern. “You’d better make an appointment with your doctor.”

  Marc leapt to his feet and began pacing, glad they were alone. “I’ll do it tomorrow.” He could hear the others in the kitchen playing a board game. Usually he would have been with them, probably winning, except for Monopoly, which Mathieu seemed to win every time. The man loved buying hotels and property, even if he had to go into debt on his older holdings to do it. He joked that it was the only borrowing his wife permitted.

  Marc stared out the window into the dark night. Five stories below, he could see a few pedestrians walking along the street. “It’s quiet out there,” he said to lighten the silence.

  Ariana followed his gaze. “It usually is on Monday night. Not much going on, even in the pubs.”

  A burst of laughter came from the other room.

  “It even seems a little quieter in there,” Ariana said. “I liked it when Rebekka and Raoul would join us for our family dinners. Especially Rebekka. I miss her.”

  Marc suddenly wanted to cry. He didn’t know why it affected him so deeply that his mother missed Rebekka. He would have to write Rebekka another e-mail and tell her. Maybe then she would stop this foolishness about her employer, and return to France where she belonged.

  But didn’t she belong with a man who loved her?

  Now, Marc sat up and sighed, pushing away the memories of Monday night. He was surprised to find tears on his cheeks. Drat! He had to get to the bottom of this malady now and get on with his life.

  Let’s see . . . There wasn’t too much wrong with him. He couldn’t eat, he couldn’t sleep, and his mind wandered at work—but those things were nothing new. He had experienced all of these emotions before, when he had first realized that he was in love with Danielle and that she was out of his reach forever.

  Danielle. Usually, when he thought of her, he could stave off any depression. Even though he could only love her from afar, just seeing her was enough; even hearing her velvet voice was enough. But he had just come from Raoul’s, and Danielle had been there. They had talked for exactly one hour. Why hadn’t that satisfied him?

  With another long sigh, he rose to his feet and walked down the hall and into the bathroom. He splashed water on his face, obliterating the tears. Then he stared at himself. You’re thirty-four years old, he thought, and what do you have to show for it? His engineering firm didn’t matter; he had realized that. So what did?

  His reflection showed a brown-eyed, dark-haired man who could pass for much younger. Not many lines—none of the rich experience that had given his mother’s face such character.

  I’ve had a few trials, he thought in his own defense. He had served a faithful church mission, which had taught him many things. He’d watched his little sister die when she was only sixteen, and had learned even more. What else? What else had he lived through or done that meant anything? Oh, yes: even before any of the other experiences, he had saved Danielle’s life and fallen in love with her.

  Why did everything always come back to that?

  He walked back down the hall like a man in a dream, pausing at the door to his office. The computer stared blankly back at him. He could write to Rebekka. Maybe talking to her would help.

  But she might write back and tell him she had kissed her boss again, or that she was engaged.

  He sat at the computer and put his head in his hands, fighting the impulse to sob out his frustrations. He just had to think it out, decide what was wrong and fix it. He closed his eyes. There had to be a way . . .

  Marc heard a voice. A voice like soft velvet, caressing his body, running over him like warm water in the shower. For a moment, he was completely happy, reveling in the silky feel of the voice, of the love that surrounded his entire being.

  The next thing he knew, his face hit the desk and he was wide awake. “Danielle,” he whispered against the growing ache in his chest.

  But he knew it wasn’t Danielle whose voice he’d heard. The voice belonged to Rebekka.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Mickelle was absolutely furious. She couldn’t remember when she had been so completely angry. She gave the fender another push with her booted feet and slid out from under the car. If only she could get the fender to bend enough so the wheel wouldn’t scrape when she turned left!

  She’d found out that her uninsured motorist coverage obligated her insurance company to pay for her repairs, since the driver of the other vehicle had been uninsured. At first this had relieved her, but then she’d discovered that the repairs would cost six hundred dollars,
and her deductible was five hundred. That meant Mickelle would have to come up with the first five hundred dollars by herself. It was money she didn’t have. Money they needed for food and other necessities.

  A panic attack came upon her so suddenly that she sank back to the cement near the tire, closing her eyes and trying to focus on her breathing. In. Out. In. Out. Her heart pounded in her breast, and she was afraid to open her eyes. Any stimulation would only make it worse. She heard an odd sound, an agonized whimpering, and realized it was coming from her own lips. Clamping them together, she breathed slowly until the symptoms began to ease.

  When she’d recovered enough, she glanced at her watch. Bryan would be home any minute now, and then Jeremy, who planned to walk home with the neighbor children. They were safe, she reminded herself, and that was the important thing. Her parents, or any of her siblings, would give her the money to fix the car if she asked.

  She knew she wouldn’t ask. Not yet. Her pride was already wounded and beaten; somehow, she would find a way out of this herself. Perhaps then she could find some reason to drag herself out of bed each day.

  She hurried inside and called the number on the sheet she had exchanged with Tanner Wolfe. The boy himself answered. “Is your father home?” she asked after identifying herself.

  “No. He’s gone. He’s never home.” The boy’s voice was matter-of-fact.

  Mickelle felt her anger dissipating. The poor, lonely child! “When can I talk to him?”

  “Tonight maybe. He’s working really hard.”

  “Look, you’re a nice kid,” Mickelle said, “and I know you didn’t mean to cause the accident. But my car needs to be fixed.”

  “You’ll have to talk with my dad.”

  “All right.” She hesitated. “Are you home alone? I mean, is there anyone with you?”

  “We have a nanny, but she’s not home right now.”

  Mickelle wondered where the nanny had been the day before, when she was supposed to be taking care of him. “I’m sorry about your mom. I really am.”

  “That’s okay.”

  “It must be hard.”

  “Yeah.”

  Mickelle wanted to say something else. She wanted to make everything all right, but she couldn’t bring back his mom, and she still needed her car to be fixed. “I’ll call later,” she said.

  The boy grunted.

  “Uh, Tanner?” she said before he could hang up. “I want you to know that I understand. I know what it’s like to lose someone you love. And I also know what it’s like to cause an accident. It happened to me when I was young, and I thought it was the end of the world. But soon it’ll be just a memory—once we get it all straightened out.”

  The boy was silent, and Mickelle felt like an idiot. Then he said, “Thanks.” It was just one word, but she was listening so hard that it spoke volumes. Instinctively, she knew he was grateful for her understanding.

  All at once, she wanted to tell him that if he needed to go somewhere, to call her and she would drive him. That if his sister needed a ride home from school, she could help. But he was a stranger and a child, and her offer wasn’t appropriate.

  “Goodbye.” The boy hung up before she could deliberate any longer.

  Mickelle called the boy’s house twice more that evening. Once no one answered, and once she talked again with Tanner. Thursday night she tried to call a fourth time, but the line was busy. On Friday evening, still no one answered. “I bet they have caller ID,” Bryan volunteered. Mickelle gritted her teeth.

  * * * * *

  Rebekka was having fun. Working with Damon and Samuel for most of the day instead of baby-sitting was rewarding. No longer did she have to worry about what she said around Tanner, or try to elicit sullen responses from Belle.

  Samuel was a large part of her enjoyment, and she realized she would miss him when he returned to Cincinnati. He wasn’t a member of her faith, but she could tell he was a religious man. Whoever had raised him had done a very good job.

  “My parents,” he said when she asked on Friday afternoon. They sat alone in the meeting room, which doubled as a break room, eating a late lunch. “They just celebrated their fiftieth wedding anniversary.”

  “Are they religious?”

  “Actually, yes. Active Catholics. Great people. They raised me with good values.”

  “Do you attend church?”

  “When I can.” His eyes met hers, and he added quietly, “I believe in the role of religion, if that’s what you mean. What about your family?”

  She told him about her parents and about Raoul, who hadn’t e-mailed her since the night of his engagement.

  “Aren’t you leaving someone out?” His voice was gentle and understanding.

  She met the green eyes that seemed to stare at her so compassionately. “There was a very dear friend of mine whom I’ve sort of had a crush on since I was five.”

  He whistled. “That’s a long time to have a crush.”

  “Like I said, we were friends. It was hard to leave him.”

  “So why did you?”

  She didn’t reply right away, but he waited patiently. “Marc is a lot older than I am. I’m more like his sister than anything else.” She thought of her mother. “Or perhaps he sees himself as my father. I don’t know.”

  Samuel sat back in his chair, his eyes twinkling. “Ah, that explains it.”

  She gathered up the remains of her sandwich and stuffed them into the empty lunch container Damon’s cook had given them. The sandwiches had been too dry, but at least they hadn’t been that horrible five-way chili. After tasting it earlier in the week, she didn’t see how anyone as nice as Samuel could stand the dish. “Explains what?”

  “Why you like Damon so much.”

  Rebekka bristled. “He’s a nice man.”

  “I know he’s a nice man.” Samuel leaned forward and grabbed her hand unexpectedly. His warmth surged through her. “But he’s old. I mean, you’re so young and beautiful. So full of excitement. Damon’s so much more conservative and . . . well, I admire his business sense . . . but—” A look of sheer frustration filled Samuel’s face. “I guess the truth is, I’m jealous. There, now you know.”

  Rebekka didn’t know what to say.

  “Look,” he continued, “I’m not saying that you don’t like Damon for the great guy he is, but could it be that you see in him a lot of what you saw in your friend—Marc, wasn’t it?”

  She nodded dumbly. This possibility had crossed her mind more than a few times, and it bothered her more than she was willing to admit to anyone. “Maybe.”

  Samuel rose, still holding her hand. “I have to fly back to Cincinnati tomorrow—I’ve already stayed longer than I was supposed to. Would you like to go out to dinner with me tonight?” For a moment, he didn’t look like a tough CEO, but an eager young boy.

  Rebekka wished she didn’t have to let him down. “I can’t. I really would like to, but I have plans already.”

  His grin vanished. “That’s okay. I understand.” He paused. “But I’ll be back next week, you know.”

  She knew he could easily send someone instead of making the trip himself. He would be coming to see her. “We could go out then.”

  The grin on his face reemerged like the sun from behind a cloud. “Okay, Rebekka. Next week it is.”

  Damon walked into the room. “Am I interrupting?” he asked, eyeing their linked hands. He rubbed his jaw with his fingers as he spoke.

  Rebekka pulled her hand away from Samuel’s. “No.” She glanced at her watch, searching for an explanation. “Oh, look at the time! I have to pick up Belle at school. I’d better hurry.”

  “Mrs. Mertz said she’d watch Belle for us tonight,” Damon said. “What time are we leaving for our dinner?”

  Rebekka felt her face color slightly. She didn’t dare glance at Samuel for fear he’d be watching her. Was she attracted to Damon because he reminded her of Marc? Samuel seemed to think so.

  Nonsense. They didn’t look anyth
ing alike.

  She smiled at Damon, realizing that she still didn’t know where she was going to take him. “Sixty-thirty. Now, if you gentlemen will excuse me?” She took a few steps toward the door.

  “May I go with you to get Belle?” Samuel asked. “I’m finished here, and I’d like to come along for the ride. Besides, Belle likes me.”

  Rebekka could hear the grin in his voice, though he kept his face straight. “By all means.” She motioned to the door. From the corner of her eye she saw Damon grimace, but there was nothing she could do to reassure him when she didn’t know how she felt about Samuel. He was so tall and smart and good-looking. What would it be like to be kissed by him?

  As if reading her thoughts, Samuel put an arm around her when they were out of Damon’s sight, once again making her skin tingle. “I can’t wait until next week.”

  * * * * *

  They arrived five minutes before school let out. “So, do you do a lot of traveling?” Rebekka asked as they waited in the car for Belle.

  “Yes. I travel quite a bit. I don’t need to, really. I employ people I trust and who are very qualified, but I enjoy moving around and meeting new people. Besides, most of my top executives are married, and they don’t like to be away from their families so much.”

  “So you go instead.”

  “I have to make a lot of decisions anyway, and it’s always easier for me if I can get a feel of things myself.”

  “Do you make a lot of business decisions because of your feelings?” Rebekka found that a fascinating concept. All the men in her life had displayed strong business acumen—her father, Marc, Damon, and now Samuel. She was curious as to how they worked inside, and what her fascination with them might say about her.

  “It’s more of a gut instinct.” Samuel made a fist and held it to his stomach. “Perhaps like what you Mormons call inspiration.”

  Marc had told her many times of feeling inspired in his business dealings. She had figured it was the Holy Ghost prompting him, but how did Samuel feel it? And Damon hadn’t been a member long, yet every business he touched—even before he was baptized—had turned to gold. Perhaps the Father isn’t looking so much at the religion as He is the man. Of course that didn’t explain evil men who became rich every day. We are all born with talents, she reminded herself. We are all children of God, even if we choose another path. Like her father. Rebekka sighed.