Gift of the Black Virgin

by Serena Janes

  Chapter Seven

  The week of the wedding flew by so quickly that Jo could scarcely believe she was Mrs. Lucian LaPlante when she woke up the morning after the ceremony in a beautiful hotel room overlooking the Blue Mediterranean. Luc had been lucky enough to get a room in a perfect location in the little town of Vernazza in Italy’s Cinque Terre. It was only going to be a three-day honeymoon, but she didn’t mind.

  She held up her left hand and admired her new wedding ring. The plain band went perfectly with her engagement ring. Simple, elegant, and hers. Now she was Mrs. Lucien LaPlante, something she would never have dreamed possible six months ago. She remembered how privileged she’d felt when she first learned that Luc wanted her as much as she wanted him. That was back in Rocamadour, where night after night they’d made eyes at each other over the crowded dining table until she almost went mad from frustration.

  Stretching her body in the big bed, she reveled in the pull of her well-rested muscles. After the chaos of the ceremony and the reception the day before, both she and Luc had been too tired to make love. Tonight they would make up for it, she knew.

  Everything had gone smoothly. Her mother had arrived a few days earlier, with Julie and her family. There was plenty of room in the upstairs bedrooms to house them so Jo had lots of help arranging the furniture, the flowers, and preparing for the caterers. She was right about Luc sweeping her mother off her feet. Sharon Clifford had simpered and giggled and flirted like a girl with her new son-in-law. Jo and Julie enjoyed watching their mother come out of her shell.

  And then there was Julie. Julie knew that Luc was attractive—she’d seen the photos—but Jo hadn’t expected her sister to blush the way she did when she introduced him. It seemed all three Clifford women liked the same type. And Luc absolutely loved all the attention.

  But perhaps the biggest surprise on Jo’s wedding day had to do with Brenda.

  Brenda called the night before the wedding to tell Jo that she and her date had arrived at their hotel. Considering how far they’d travelled, Jo invited them to the casual family dinner she and Luc had prepared at the house.

  Although Jo grew nervous while she waited for her friend to show up, as soon as she saw her she relaxed. Brenda looked wonderful. And at her side was Celeste, one of the magazine’s freelance contributors. Jo knew Celeste only slightly, and certainly hadn’t known she was gay. But here she was, holding onto Brenda’s arm, beaming at everyone, thrilled to be in France.

  Jo hugged them both in welcome, really happy to see Brenda looking so much better than the last time she’d seen her. She was animated and happy, her old self, really. After the meal was cleared away she managed to get Jo alone on the patio.

  “Nice place you’ve got here,” Brenda said, looking around the property. It did look pretty, Jo thought. She and Daniel had tied white gauze bows on all the low-hanging tree branches and Luc had wrapped white fairy lights around the balustrade. The light from several hundred tiny bulbs was just beginning to glow as the sun sank into the blue and gold sea.

  Jo looked at Brenda warily but couldn’t see any sign of the usual sharpness in her face. She took a sip of her champagne. “Thank you. I’m very lucky.”

  “So what d’you think, Joey? Isn’t she lovely?” Brenda asked, changing the subject.

  “Of course. But when did it happen?”

  “Only a few weeks ago. She came by the office to discuss some problems she was having with a piece, then asked if I wanted to go for a drink.

  “One drink led to another, and you know…Soon it was the bare knuckle round and I confessed my thing with you. Then she confessed she’d always had a thing for me, but didn’t think I’d be interested. Too shy, you know?”

  Jo nodded enthusiastically. “Then?”

  “You don’t get to hear all the gory details, sweetie. Just that it was great and we’re happy together, and I’m sorry for being such a jerk.”

  Jo hugged her friend, “I’m so glad you’re here, Bren. And I’m so, so happy that you’re happy. I just couldn’t do it for you. You know that, don’t you?”

  “Yeah,” Brenda said, hugging Jo hard, spilling the contents of her glass. “It’s time for both of us to move on.” She pushed Jo away a little so she could look at her face. “So you’re going to marry the hunk.”

  “I am.”

  “And it’s really what you want?”

  “More than anything.”

  “Then I wish you the very best, Jo. I mean it.”

  “Thanks, Bren. I know you do.”

  “And you know that video I threatened you with?”

  Jo nodded.

  “It’s gone. Erased. You don’t have to worry about it.”

  Jo laughed. “That’s too bad! Luc was really looking forward to seeing it.”

  “You told him?”

  “Of course.”

  “And he was okay with it.”

  “He was.”

  “Fucking men!” Brenda said, smiling as the two friends walked back into the noisy room arm-in-arm.

  Luc gave Jo her Christmas present when they got back from their mini-honeymoon in Italy. Excited, she unwrapped the square flat parcel to find a small painting of the Black Virgin. Jo smiled as she looked into the figure’s knowing black eyes, feeling a tingle of communion. As long as she loved Luc she was going to be a member of the Virgin’s Cult.

  “Luc! Where did you find this? It’s lovely!”

  “In Nice. Down at the flea market by the marina. I think I was lucky. It’s probably not very old, but its a good copy, isn’t it?”

  “It is,” she said, inspecting the back. “Thank you. I love it!” She guessed it was at least a hundred years old. “I’m going to hang it above our bed, okay? Maybe it will make me fruitful so we can multiply,” she said with a laugh.

  Things settled down after the excitement of the wedding. The winter weather was mild, and Luc continued to ride his motorcycle into town so Jo could use the SUV to look at properties. She’d found a real estate agent who wasn’t too annoying, and once or twice a week he’d come up with another listing for her to view.

  Daniel spent weekends with his father and new step-mother, and Jo found that she looked forward to his visits. He proved to be a patient language teacher, and Jo was certain her French was improving bit by bit. Daniel was also quite useful at the farmers’ market and in the grocery store, able to advise Jo on many of the finer points of shopping for French food. For a kid, he was surprisingly opinionated about wine.

  Even the dogs seemed to be relaxing a little. Instead of trying to rip out each other’s throats, they now seemed content to just bark, growl and strut circles around each other whenever they happened to meet.

  Everything was finally working out the way it should, Jo thought. She was adapting. And she’d even stopped feeling like their rental home was possessed by spirits. Or, if it was, she now knew they were not malevolent ones.

  She’d stopped her oral contraceptives and the time was ripe for her and Luc to conceive their first child. All she had to do was let Luc do his thing. Then eventually something would stick, and she’d take over from there.

  Ah yes. Life is good.

  In mid January a cold snap threatened to lower temperatures below the freezing point. Jo didn’t want Luc tearing up icy roads on his bike, so she stayed home with Sammy during the week and Luc took the car.

  But then her realtor called, excited about a new listing. It was perfect, he said. If they liked it, they needed to get in there and make an offer before it was listed. He scheduled her a viewing for the next day.

  A slight frost had dusted the roads overnight, but Luc insisted he would be fine on the bike. He’d take it slow, he promised, kissing Jo goodbye early that morning. She didn’t have a good feeling about sending him off like that. Not only was it cold, a strong wind had sprung up.

  But as soon as he was gone, her mind turned to the photocopied property listing in her hand.

  It was a twenty hectare piece of la
nd, with a four bedroom family home built sometime in the nineteen seventies. It had a good view, an established walnut orchard, and several outbuildings. Professionally landscaped. Lots of upgrades. It looked perfect.

  The realtor was already at the front door of the house when she drove up an hour later. He let her inside and she explored every room, taking pictures with her smart phone all along the way. She was impressed with the house, but wasn’t sure about the land. Luc would need to take a look at it right away. She called him.

  There was no answer.

  That’s funny. He always answers. Maybe he’s in an important meeting, or something.

  A few minutes later, she called again.

  Still no answer.

  She began to feel uncomfortable, and had to apologize to the realtor, who was getting a little agitated at the delay.

  Then she tried Amos, one of Luc’s colleagues.

  “Um, hello Amos? It’s Joanna LaPlante calling. Have you seen Luc this morning?”

  “No. I haven’t. I don’t think he’s come in yet.”

  Jo felt her stomach fall as soon as her brain made sense of the words.

  “Is anything wrong, Joannna?”

  “Uh, no. No. Could you please get him to call me if you see him. Thanks so much.”

  She ended the call, feeling nauseous.

  It took another half hour for Jo to learn that Luc had skidded into a delivery van just outside his office. It was no one’s fault, a police officer told a sobbing Joanna as she pushed past him to the emergency ward of the Centre Hospitalier de Cahors.

  One look at the team of medical professionals surrounding Luc’s bed and she felt her knees buckle. But strong arms grabbed her and propped her back up on her feet. She heard a babble of voices saying it was alright, just a break, he was in no danger. Pulling away from whomever was holding her, she stumbled to the bed and saw her husband, his face white and drawn, eyes closed.

  “Madame LaPlante?” a kindly but officious voice asked. “We’re just waiting for the X-rays and then we will take him into surgery. It’s the lower right leg. His bike fell on it. He was in a lot of pain but he’s been sedated.”

  Jo looked up at a face she didn’t recognize, and mumbled something.

  “He was very lucky, Madame LaPlante. But he’ll be fine. Don’t worry.”

  While her husband was in surgery, Jo was paralyzed by guilt.

  It’s all my fault! If only I hadn’t run out to view that property. If only I hadn’t been so hot to buy a house in the first place. What the hell was my hurry anyway?

  She paced the waiting room, berating herself for her impatience. Her greed.

  What’s wrong with me? Don’t I already have everything I could have ever hoped for? Why do I always want more, more, more?

  She needed to talk to someone. For a moment, she thought of calling Anna. But then she knew Anna was likely wrist-deep in some patient’s mouth. She couldn’t expect a dentist to just walk out on her appointments.

  She tried her sister, in Seattle, but there was no answer.

  Then Jo thought of her friend Rose. She dialed Rose’s number, but it went straight to voicemail.

  Alone, afraid, wracked by guilt, and angry at herself, she wished a dozen times that she could replay the day. Roll the clock back to the moment she opened her sleepy eyes and felt her husband’s sweet breath on the back of her neck. Smelled his warm skin, turned to kiss him and tasted his lips. Shivered slightly as she heard his low voice saying, “Good morning, Mon amore. Did you sleep well?”

  Instead, she’d caused him to go out onto icy January roads on a heavy touring bike. It was a recipe for disaster, she knew. Her face grew hot with shame every time she thought of it.

  After an interminable wait, Luc’s doctor finally appeared and introduced himself. Luc would be fine, he said. A few scrapes, one quite deep along the side of this thigh, but no head injury. The bad news was that his tibia and fibula were both badly broken. It took the surgeon a long time, and several bits of hardware, to piece the bones back together.

  “He will be off his feet for several weeks, I’m afraid,” the doctor continued. “I want to keep him in for a few days, but you can probably take him home the day after tomorrow. Then it will be bed rest for a few more days. After that, limited movement. Will there be someone at home to look after him?”

  “Yes. Me,” Jo said meekly.

  “Tres bien. I’ll make sure you receive all the supplies you’ll need and literature outlining his method of treatment. Good day.”

  With that, the doctor turned on his heel and walked away, leaving Jo with a head swimming with details.

  “When can I see him?” she called out. But it was too late.

  Jo had never looked after for an invalid before. Sick people frightened her. But life happens, and she found herself, two days later, wheeling her drugged husband out to the car to take him home. His entire lower leg was in a cast, the thigh encased in bandages. The bike slid after it fell on him, dragging him along the pavement.

  Luckily, his helmet and the thick leather of his jacket prevented any more damage. It could have been so much worse, Jo said to Luc’s father when she’d called him the night before.

  Anna met them at the spooky house and between the two of them they managed to maneuver the patient inside to the makeshift bedroom Jo had set up on the ground floor. Single-handedly she’d wrestled Daniel’s bed down the stairs and placed it in front of the fireplace. There was no way Luc would be able to get up and down the stairs to their bedroom. He was barely cooperative, too heavily sedated to do much more than allow the women prop up his leg and tuck the blankets around him.

  After Anna left, Jo felt bereft and overwhelmed. The responsibility seemed enormous. Once she made sure Luc was comfortable enough—with just the right number of blankets and pillows, his leg elevated to the proper height—she asked if he wanted something to drink. She had to ask him twice, shaking his shoulder gently the second time.

  “No,” he said, without opening his eyes.

  “Are you sure? The doctor says it’s very important that you keep hydrated. It will help the healing…”

  “Just leave me alone, will you please?” He lay flat on his back, motionless.

  Stung, Jo retreated into the kitchen. He’d never spoken to her like that before. It was as shocking to her as the fact her big strong bull of a husband was an invalid.

  But it’s just the drugs talking. And the pain. I’m going to have to get used to this…

  She boiled some water and made herself a cup of tea, then sat down and began to study the sheets of instructions to make sure she knew exactly what she had to do—and when. His medications, his fluid intake, his food. How to change his bandages and clean his wounds, watch for signs of infection.

  The nurses at the hospital had been very good, answering all her questions and supplying her with clean bandages, antibacterial soap, and a metal urinal. The urinal made Jo extremely uncomfortable. Looking at it, more than anything else, hit home the fact that Luc was going to be a lot more helpless than he could tolerate. He was bound to be angry, once his pain lessened.

  And who could blame him for being angry at me? It’s my fault.

  A few hot tears of self pity dripped onto the kitchen table where she sat hunched over her mug of tea. As soon as she saw them she pulled herself up.

  Stop it! This isn’t about you. Get out there and nurse that wonderful man until he’s as good as new. And never, ever whine about it.

  The first few days were rough. Jo found that she couldn’t sleep upstairs while Luc was alone on the ground floor. She thought she kept hearing his voice, and she worried he might fall out of the narrow bed. So she moved her bedding down to the lumpy sofa. Neither of them got much sleep.

  He was a terrible patient, he actually admitted on the third day, letting a slight smile flicker across his face. He complained about having to lie still. He was too cold, then he was too hot, and he didn’t want to read or watch television. He
also wouldn’t drink the prescribed juices or teas. He wanted coffee.

  “No, sweetheart. The instructions say quite plainly no caffeinated beverages.”

  “I’d kill for a glass of wine.”

  “No alcohol,” she primly read off the list.

  “Well what the fuck can I have?”

  “Everything else—water, herbal teas, fruit juices, milk.”

  “If you think I’m going to lie here for a month without having a drink, you’re out of your mind.”

  Jo looked at him carefully. His eyes were closed but she’d detected playfulness in his voice. “We’ll just have to find something else for you to do, won’t we?” She leaned over and kissed his forehead.”

  Then she handed him a bottle of apple juice. “Drink it, or else I’ll hide your pills.”

  It got to be quite an amusing little game—and it was just about the only one they played these days. Every four hours he was permitted another painkiller, a type of synthetic narcotic. For the first hour after he swallowed it, he would be in a semi-blissful state, and completely unavailable to Jo. Then the next two hours were good. He would interact with her almost normally. But the good times were invariably followed by the last hour—always a challenge for him to get through without being a complete prick.

  Jo understood. She quickly learned the pattern, and so their days were divided into four-hour increments. She soon knew when to leave him alone, when she had a chance of getting him to eat and drink, and when to bite her tongue at his harsh words.

  Fortunately for Jo, the first week was punctuated by plenty of visits. Most of Luc’s friends dropped by, as did a few of his colleagues. Rose and Robert came once for lunch, and Rose stopped in regularly for a cup of tea, always laden with fresh eggs and winter vegetables.

  But, still, playing nursemaid twenty-four seven was hard on Jo.