by Flora Lanoux
And I do. I tell him about my abusive father and my alcoholic mother, about the beatings, the bruises, the pain, and the scars, how I felt, what I saw, what I heard.
Shaken, he says, “A man who beats a woman or a child is a coward. You did not deserve that, Rachel. No one deserves that.”
Searching his face, I say, “Do you think people can love each other forever? I mean, do you think that a person might stop loving someone else because of something they’ve done?”
“It depends on the people, but I would not want to go through this life without believing that people can love each other forever. If someone does something they are not proud of, there is always forgiveness. I had a favorite story when I was young that my grandmother often read to me. May I tell it to you?”
“Of course.”
“The story was called Felix, you are no longer small. It was about some cats who lived in a country field, where they had to go to work and go to school. As a kitten, Felix was very small and many of the field animals terrorized him as he walked to school. The funny thing was, even though Felix grew very big, very much bigger than the other cats, and even though the field animals no longer terrorized him, he stayed very frightened of everyone. He never made friends and would walk very far to avoid seeing any of the other animals. It was only when his mother found a large piece of a mirror and asked him to look at himself that he realized he was no longer small, and that no one could hurt him. That was the day he stopped being afraid.
“Rachel, you will never be in a position where someone can hurt you like that again, so you don’t need to be afraid anymore.”
And for the first time, I cry; I cry for who I was, and for what I almost became.
By the time Jean Paul drives me back to the hotel, it’s after one o’clock. Standing outside my hotel room, he asks me to meet him at his workplace for lunch the next day. As he kisses my cheek, he says, “It takes many angels to make up for one devil.”
Chapter 22
Late Monday morning, I walk from my hotel to the university and wait for Jean Paul in the forecourt of the building where he works. At noon, he comes out of the building.
“Hello, Rachel,” he says, playfully putting an arm around me. “Let’s go for a walk.”
Things are different between us now; easier.
After strolling through the campus grounds, we stop for sandwiches at a cafeteria and then make our way to Jean Paul’s workplace, where familiar chemical smells trigger memories of my university days. Jean Paul gives me a tour of his department, introduces me to colleagues, and then takes me to his office, which is very homey, with comfy chairs and lots of photos and paintings on the walls. Seeing a stack of emails clipped to the side of his computer monitor, I recognize them as mine.
When our time together comes to an end, Jean Paul walks with me outdoors.
“We should make some plans,” he says.
It’s going to be a busy week for us both, so we decide to meet on Wednesday.
Hugging me, he says, “I miss you already.”
When I get back to the hotel, Lou Ann is already there. I have to insist that she not help me with my luggage.
The instant I hop into her truck, she says, “So how’d that Jean Paul thing work out?”
I laugh. “We’re going to give it a go.”
“Just what I wanted to hear. Of course, my nephew will be crushed.”
Tuesday and Wednesday turn into a blur of clinic visits, farm calls, surgeries, and a couple of late night calls. I’m either out of shape or having a delayed jet lag reaction because it’s all I can do to finish my shifts. I’m beginning to feel like a wimpy city vet. During a break on Wednesday, I call Jean Paul.
“Unless you want to watch me sleep,” I tell him, “I think we’d better push our plans to Saturday.”
“As nice as that would be, I think I should wait until the weekend to see you.”
It’s a different life in Texas than I’m used to. More outdoorsy. On Saturday, Jean Paul drives us to Huntsville State Park, an hour away, and we go on a long hike. On Sunday, he drives us to the same park, bringing along two bikes. On the return part of our bike ride, I get my first taste of a Texas downpour. The sky suddenly darkens, several bolts of lightning light up the sky, and ominous rumbles of thunder reverberate all around us. In minutes, we’re surrounded by torrential rain and huge puddles.
“Will you be okay?” Jean Paul asks, pulling up beside me.
“I’m way more than okay,” I tell him. “I love thunderstorms.” They are my only happy family memory; my singular inheritance. My mother passed down her love of thunderstorms to her children, ignoring criticism and threats from neighbors for doing so. When there was a thunder and lightning storm, she would dress us in our bathing suits and send us running outside.
Filled with happiness, I drop my bike and start running through the rain and puddles, waving my arms in the air and screaming like a crazy person. After a few moments, Jean Paul joins me.
Later, as we’re strapping our bikes to the car in the pouring rain, Jean Paul turns to me. “Thank you, Rachel.”
“For what?”
“For showing me how to live.”
As Jean Paul drives me to Lou Ann’s place, strong wind gusts jostle the car and huge drops of rain ricochet off the hood.
Jean Paul laughs. “Do you not think storms are one of life’s last great adventures?”
When we get to Lou Ann’s place, it’s almost impossible to run the short distance from Jean Paul’s car to my apartment. The wind gusts are impressive, and the pounding rain makes it hard to see. The only illumination comes from lightning. When we finally make it inside, I find the sudden quiet unsettling.
Standing in the entryway, Jean Paul takes my hands. “I’m worried about something, Rachel. I have been unable to postpone a business trip to California. It means that I will be gone for eleven days. I’ll be leaving in eight days, on a Monday.”
His words make me feel a sharp loneliness. “I’ll miss you,” I tell him.
Gently, he kisses me. Pulling away, he says, “I’d better go.”
Before leaving, he makes plans to see me on Wednesday night.
At lunchtime on Wednesday, as I’m in my apartment eating lunch, someone knocks on my door. It’s Lou Ann.
“Rachel, I’m in pain.”
A person would have to know Lou Ann to realize the seriousness of what she’s just said.
“I’ll take you to the hospital,” I tell her.
“Take me to St. Joseph’s, Rach.”
Before we leave, I phone Joe at a farm an hour away.
At the hospital, Lou Ann is seen to right away. By the time Joe show up, she’s lying on a bed in the emergency ward. Knowing how Lou Ann hates a fuss, he saunters over and casually asks, “What’s up, Lou?”
“A bloody nuisance. Kinked ureter. They want me to try bed rest, warm baths, and some meds to see if it’ll get better on its own. If it doesn’t, there are a couple of things we can try.” She rolls her eyes. “I’ve got to stick around here for a bit to see how it goes. There’s no sense in you guys hanging around. You might as well take off for the clinic. I’ll call when I have news.”
Joe smiles at his wife and shakes his head. “Not this time, Lou. You don’t get your way this time. I’m staying.”
“But there’s clinic tonight,” she says.
I stand up. “That’s what I’m here for.”
“But it’s supposed to be your night off,” she says.
“Geez, Lou Ann, I’m not that shallow. I’ll just call Jean Paul to change our plans; then I’ll take off for the clinic.”
When Jean Paul hears what’s happened, he offers to help.
“Pardon?” I ask.
“I am a qualified vet, Rachel,” he says, his voice filled with amusement.
How strange. I’ve never thought of him that way.
“I’ll meet you at the clinic around six o’clock,” he says.
The night is crazy, bu
t Jean Paul and I have a lot of fun. When the last client has gone and the cleaning is done, we drop onto the clinic sofa.
“I’m one hell of a date,” I tell him.
He turns to me. “Yes, you are.”
The moment his lips touch mine, a rush of sensation passes through me that is so overpowering it robs me of breath. Drowning in the most blissful feelings, I hold on to Jean Paul as his lips explore mine. Wanting more, I lean into him, but freeze when I hear a car pull into the driveway. Laughing, Jean Paul pulls away. Seconds later, Joe walks in, and we get to our feet.
“Hi,” Joe says, smiling. “You must be Jean Paul.” He crosses the room to shake hands. “Can’t thank you guys enough for helping us out.”
“A pleasure,” Jean Paul says.
“What’s up, Joe?” I ask.
“Well, Lou Ann started feeling better, but they want her to stay overnight. I’d like to go back in the morning. Are you still okay for the morning shift, Rachel?”
“Of course.”
“Thanks. I really appreciate it. I’m pretty whacked, so I think I’ll go home and crash.”
After Joe leaves, Jean Paul and I get ready to go. Before taking off, Jean Paul says, “Will you call me when you get some news?”
“As soon as I hear anything.”
In the morning, Lou Ann is a lot better. By lunchtime, she’s back home in her own bed doing just as the doctor ordered, which doesn’t bother her half as much as I thought it would.
Thursday and Friday fly by. Joe is relieved when I offer to take the Saturday morning shift. Although Lou Ann continues to improve, worry has tired him out. Jean Paul has said that he’ll help.
After Saturday clinic, when Jean Paul and I are having lunch at a restaurant near the clinic, he asks me how I like working at a country practice.
“Well, I’m not all that confident with the farm work yet, but I think I could really like it. I’m probably more suited to small animal work.”
“Have you ever thought about doing research?”
“Yeah, but I don’t think I’d have the patience for it.”
He laughs. “Yes, at times it can be tedious. And you would probably miss the animals and the people.”
“I probably would.”
Since we both need a nap, Jean Paul goes to his place. Dropping me off at my place, he makes plans to pick me up after dinner to see a French film about a modern-day Jesus born in Montreal.
Later that night, when Jean Paul arrives to pick me up, I have the feeling that I’ve never known any person as well as I know him.
The movie is a real mind bender. Walking out of the theatre, Jean Paul falls silent. As we make our way to his car, he says, “I’m not very religious, Rachel.”
Smiling, I say, “I’m a recovering Catholic myself, so I’m pretty bitter about the whole religion thing.”
My answer seems to mean a lot to him.
“I have read much about religion,” he says, “and I do believe in an energy source that has created us, that people have a soul, and that there were real people called Muhammad, Jesus, and Buddha, but I do not believe in a religion written and created by man.”
He opens the car door for me, and I slip inside. When we’re on the road, I say, “I read a lot about religion when I was trying to find out why any god would let bad things happen.”
“Did you find an answer?”
“I did. I read a book by a rabbi who explained the Jewish faith’s reasoning for why bad things happen to good people. He said that Jewish people don’t think it’s because a person has sinned, like the Catholics, or that they’re being punished for a bad deed in a previous life, or that it’s karma, they just think it’s bloody bad luck. I really like that.”
Jean Paul laughs. “So do I.”
Both tired, we decide to call it an early night, and Jean Paul drives me back to my place.
In the morning, when I phone Jean Paul, he’s packing for his trip. His flight leaves at seven the following morning. He makes plans to pick me up after lunch to take me sightseeing.
After an afternoon spent lazily driving along country roads, Jean Paul and I end up at Le Provençal for dinner. As we walk in, I find myself slipping back in time to the first day Jean Paul and I met. Martin, who is standing in the exact same spot as he was that first day, adds to the effect.
“Allô, Jean Paul. Allô, Rachelle,” he says, kissing our cheeks. “Venez. Venez.”
Since Jean Paul and I are both feeling nostalgic, we eat dinner abstractedly. Martin is the one who keeps the evening going. A lifetime has gone by since Jean Paul and I met, and I can’t imagine my life ever returning to the way it was before I met him.
In the middle of telling me about his California plans, Jean Paul reaches across the table for my hands and says, “I’m going to miss you, Rachel. I’m going to miss you very much.”
I smile. “I guess that’s the only nice thing about people going away.”
Chapter 23
Since Jean Paul has been away, he has taken to calling me every night. Every few days, I’ve been going to his apartment to water his plants and to check that everything is okay. Work remains hectic. Thankfully, Lou Ann is almost back to her old self. Joe and I have convinced her to cut down on her workload and to do the less strenuous jobs.
The night before Jean Paul is due home, he phones me. “Rachel, would you mind waiting for me at my apartment instead of the airport?” he asks, sounding a little ragged.
“Sure. Are you feeling okay?”
“I haven’t been able to sleep.”
Jean Paul’s flight was due to arrive at nine but it has been delayed by two hours. I’ve spent the night in his living room sitting in the dark looking out into the night. At midnight, as I’m in the kitchen getting something to eat, I hear noises at the door. Going to investigate, I nearly collide with Jean Paul as he rounds the kitchen door.
“It’s so dark, I thought you weren’t here,” he says, and then kisses me desperately. Sliding his hands to my waist, he says, “Rachel, I do not think I could endure it if you leave me tonight.”
“I don’t want to leave you,” I tell him.
Taking my hand, he leads me through the darkness to his bedroom. Standing by his bed, he skims his lips along my cheeks ... the angle of my chin. Slowly, he lifts my blouse and gently kisses my neck. I feel the faintest breeze as my blouse falls to the floor.
Kissing him, I disappear. Drunk on the nectar of his sweet lips, I have to drag myself away. Needing to touch him, I skim my hands along his shoulders, his chest, and get lost in the sound of his breathing, which is harsh and rapid. With ease, I slip his shirt over his head.
Groaning, Jean Paul grabs me and presses his heated lips against mine with such hunger that I find it hard to breathe. As his tongue intimately, thoroughly, relentlessly, explores me, I cry out. Moaning harshly, he pulls away. “I need to go slowly, Rachel. I want to remember every moment.”
With gentle fingers, he slides the thin satin straps from my shoulders. Reaching behind, he undoes the clasp on my lacy bra. As the lace slips to the floor, Jean Paul closes his eyes and rasps, “Rachelle, ta beauté m’accable.” Your beauty overwhelms me.
His words rob me of breath.
Skimming his hands down to my hips, Jean Paul pulls me to him. Feeling how much he needs me, my whole body bursts into flames. As my heart races, I feel pulse points everywhere: my lips, hands, mouth. Aching for Jean Paul, I press open-mouthed, moist kisses over his face, neck, chest, and abdomen. As I skim my lips lower, Jean Paul groans and pulls me back up to him. Nuzzling my neck, he says, “Tu es une merveille de douceur, ma belle.” You are a wonder of sweetness, my beautiful one. As he slips his tongue past my lips, his fingers lower the zipper on my pants, and the soft fabric slides to the floor.
Wanting to taste him, I kiss his chest, running my tongue over skin as I undo his belt ... the button of his pants ... his zipper. Kneeling, I lower his pants ... pausing to kiss the swollen ridge bulging through his brie
fs. Jean Paul arches back, grabbing my shoulders to steady himself. “Rachelle…tu vas me detruire,” he groans. You will destroy me.
In a quick move, he lifts me up, and tips me onto the bed. Coming down over me, he kneels between my legs, and a deep clawing need swells up inside me. Looking at Jean Paul, I see his chest rise and fall … his nostrils flare … his skin flush. Taking his time, he slides my silk briefs down my legs.
Lowering his head, he shockingly kisses me in my most intimate place, making me cry out. Exploring me with the moist tip of his tongue, he sends lightning bolts of pleasure soaring through me. “Jean Paul!” I cry, frantically grabbing the sheets. As he probes deeper, my whole body tenses and I arch back, unsure if I can withstand the sweet torment he’s subjecting me to. I can’t breathe, my skin is too tight, my chest can’t expand. Holding onto my hips, Jean Paul slowly tortures me. There’s so much pleasure, so much ecstasy, I can’t stop myself from writhing. As I feel myself close to breaking, Jean Paul slows his kisses and pulls away. “Forgive me, Rachel,” he rasps. “I’m selfish. I don’t want you to fly without me.”
Lowering his head, he trails kisses from my abdomen to my breasts. Taking a tender tip into his mouth, he causes a rush of erotic sensation all through my body. As his mouth flicks and sucks my taut flesh, I wonder if it’s possible to die from ecstasy, bliss, divine rapture. When I cry out, Jean Paul kisses his way to my face. “Faire l’amour avec toi, je me perds dans un univers sans limites,” he breathes against my cheek. Making love to you, I get lost in an endless universe.
I stroke his face. “Well, I think it’s my turn to taste that universe,” I tell him, and push him onto his back. Jean Paul laughs, and I can feel his pure joy. But as I straddle him, deeper passions take over. Slowly, I kiss my way to his abdomen. Slipping my fingers in the waistband of his briefs, I slide them down his legs, my breath catching when I see the size of him. As I touch him, he groans and grabs my hand. “Non, Rachel, c’est trop.” No, Rachel, it’s too much. Using my free hand, I loosen his grip. “Just a little kiss…” I whisper. Groaning, he drops his hand. As my head lowers, I feel his whole body tense. Slowly, I kiss the long hard shaft of him, but the instant I touch him, overwhelming emotions I’ve never felt before come roaring to life. Quickly, hungrily, I take him into my mouth, causing him to let out a cry so primal -- so raw -- so loud -- that the room resounds with it.