by Flora Lanoux
With childlike innocence, Michelle is fully able to forget the past and move blissfully unencumbered into the future, and I, like a starving person, feast on her words. There have been many times in my life when I reached a spiritual dead end and could not think of anything any god could give me to help me forget my past. Salvation comes in the form of Michelle’s innocently spoken words: when you’re happy, the past doesn’t matter anymore. And gone are the bonds of my fettered past.
Earlier in the day, after going through the security gate at the Texas airport, I looked back at Jean Paul and was overtaken by a troubling thought: Could I forget my past enough to give this man the life he deserves? And the answer is yes. A thousand times yes.
Just after ten o’clock, Michelle drops me off at my apartment. “Call me first thing in the morning,” she says.
I head straight to Myra’s place.
“I’ve missed you something awful,” she says, hugging me. “Come in. Tell me all about it.”
I feed her details, while she feeds me muffins.
“Oh, Rachel, I’m so happy for you. Jean Paul sounds perfect.”
When she sees me wilting, she says, “Oh dear. Time for bed. We’ll catch up tomorrow, when you’ve had some sleep.”
On the way to my apartment, I feel a shiver go up my spine. Unlocking the door, I catch a glimpse of someone walking down the corridor. When I get a proper look at him, I know I’m in trouble. His fists and his teeth are clenched. Dropping my bags, I rush to get into my apartment and lock the door, but I’m too late; he’s pushing on the door. Running like hell, I head towards the dining room, throwing a lamp on the floor to slow him down. But there’s no need to rush. Taking his time, he locks the door and walks towards me. I’m on the far side of the dining room table.
Suddenly, I understand everything. “You broke into the clinic,” I say.
“Why shouldn’t I mess up your life, like you messed up mine?” he says in a deliberate and slow manner. He’s not making any moves towards me.
“What did I do?” I ask. “I was never anything but nice to you.”
He gives a mirthless laugh. “Is that what you call fucking up someone’s life?”
I shake my head. “But I didn’t fuck up anything. Think about what you’re doing. It’s not going to help anything.”
“Isn’t it? I think it will.” He pulls out a hunting knife.
I can’t believe what’s happening. “Please,” I beg him. “I’ll fix things.”
He walks towards the table.
“Tell me what you want,” I say to him.
“I wanted you to leave my family alone, but you just wouldn’t take the hint. Now I want you out of our lives for good.”
When he climbs onto a chair, I run to one end of the table. But he lunges at me and knocks me to the floor, making me hit my head on a chair. There’s blood everywhere. Terrified, I let out a loud scream. He’s hurt and the knife has slipped from his hand. As I scramble to my feet, he grapples for my legs. I kick the knife across the room and run to the front door. As I’m unlocking the door he grabs me by the shoulders, shoves me against the wall, and then pushes his thumbs into my throat. Using all my strength, I ram a palm upwards and into his nose. He cries out and releases his grip on my throat. Freed, I knee him in the stomach, and he bends over. Clenching my hands together, I raise them high and bring them down with all my force across his back. He loses his balance and falls to the floor, but he’s blocking the door. Faint, I run back into the dining room. Slowly, he gets up and staggers towards me. He’s covered in blood, which is pouring from his nose.
“You bitch, you’re going to pay for that,” he says. “You’re all the same. You’re all out to get what you want, no matter what happens to the men.”
As my mind is racing to find a way out, I hear Mike’s voice. “Gordon? What’s going on? What are you doing, son? Oh my God, Rachel. Gordon, what are you doing?”
When Gordon looks at his father, he becomes lost.
“Come here, Gordon,” Mike says, approaching his son. “We’ll work it out. It’ll be okay. Come here.”
Seeing my chance to get away, I run out of the apartment to Myra’s place and bang on her door. Almost instantly, she opens it, and I rush in.
“Rachel, oh my goodness, what’s happened?” she asks.
“Call the police and call for an ambulance, Myra. It’s Gordon, Mike’s son. He attacked me in my apartment. He doesn’t know what he’s doing. Mike’s with him.”
Myra helps me to a chair. Having the sudden sick feeling that I’m going to pass out, I say, “No medications, Myra.”
“What?”
Grabbing her hands and looking into her eyes, I say, “Myra, you’ve got to tell them no medications. I think I’m pregnant.” Then I fall into darkness.
Chapter 25
I’m very sore, and when I try to open my eyes, only one of them opens.
“Rachel!” I hear Michelle say. Now she’s standing over me. “It’s alright, Rachel. You’re at the hospital and you’re going to be alright.” Conspiratorially, she adds, “I’ve told them that Jean Paul’s your husband so things’ll be easier. You know, so they don’t have to call your family, okay?” I’m trying to nod when things go black again.
The next thing I hear is a man’s loud voice nearby. Neither of my eyes wants to open.
“Hi, I’m Dr. Baker. Are you the husband?”
“Yes,” I hear someone say. It’s Jean Paul.
“We think she’s going to be fine. She’s had a nasty concussion, but we’re hopeful things won’t get worse. I understand she came to for a few minutes.”
“Yes,” Michelle answers.
“That’s good. We’ll keep a close eye on her.” There’s some paper rustling. “Oh, yes. Rest assured, we’re not doing anything that would harm the baby.”
“Pardon?” Jean Paul asks.
“We’ve confirmed the pregnancy, and we’re taking the proper precautions. I understand that she thought she was pregnant and had some concerns.”
“Yes,” Michelle answers, “she was worried.”
Just as I’m thinking, “God help me,” somebody takes my hand. A voice says, “Come walk with me,” and I do.
The next thing I’m aware of is sun and something on my arm.
“That’s more like it,” a woman says. “Figures, I just sent your husband away and you wake up. Oh, well, it’ll give us a chance to clean you up.” It’s the nurse.
“My head really hurts.”
“I know. It’s going to be sore for a while. I’ll give you something for it.”
“I can’t move my right leg.”
“Don’t worry, honey. Things’ll get better over the next few days. Just give it some time.”
After sponging my face and arms, she gives me a shot of medication in the behind. As she leaves the room, Michelle walks in.
“Can you believe it, Michelle?” I cry. “It was Gordon; he hated me that much.”
“He didn’t hate you,” she says. “He just hated, and you were there.”
Jean Paul walks the room. “Rachel!” he says, and rushes to hug me. Michelle disappears into the corridor. Sitting on the edge of the bed, Jean Paul takes my hand and says, “I love you with a strength that overpowers me.” After a few seconds, he adds, “Rachel, you are pregnant.”
“I thought I might be.”
“How does it make you feel?”
“Scared.”
“Scared? Why scared?”
“Because I’m afraid I won’t make a good mother. I don’t have any good memories to pass onto my children, and I never learned how to be a good parent.” The truth is as acid as the tears rolling down my face, and I feel faint from the revelation as jumbled catechismal sayings run through my mind: “Violence propagates violence, and the truth shall set you free.”
“Rachel, you are not your parent, you are a totally different person. You will be the same person in motherhood as you are in all of the things you do -- incompar
able. One day, when you see our child, your heart will open itself and all of your love will flow out. You must have faith in yourself. As for the memories, I will give you mine to pass on. You will be a wonderful mother. Please, Rachel, let yourself feel only joy at the possibility.”
“Don’t you think it’s too soon?”
“It is never too soon to receive a gift such as this. Not when you’ve found the right person. Do not be afraid of life, Rachel; embrace it. I will embrace anything with you.”
But my fears are deeply rooted. What if I have a temper with my kids? What if I’m genetically unable to love them? What if ...?
A sudden, sharp pain radiates through my head, and Jean Paul becomes blurry.
“I think I’m going away,” I tell him, my words coming out slurred.
“What do you mean, Rachel?”
“My mother’s here.”
“Your mother?”
“Yes, everyone gets an angel when they die, and she’s my angel.” I’m having trouble breathing.
I feel Jean Paul’s body pressed against mine, his mouth against my ear. “Please, Rachel, don’t leave me. Please don’t leave me. Please, Rachel, don’t leave me.”
I’m falling into a tunnel, a wormhole, and swirling downwards; hospital ringers announce my departure.
“What are you doing, Rachel?” I hear my mother say.
“I’m dying.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know. Yes, I do. Life’s too hard. I’m too tired to go on, Mom.”
“Rachel, you will die if you want to. This is not something for you to play around with. I didn’t have a lot of the things you have in your life, so I chose to be on this side. You’ll have to take a good look at what you have in your life, and then what’s on this side; then you’ll have to decide if you want to live. Rachel, there’s no going back.” She finishes with, “If I were you, I know what I’d do.”
I hear myself scream, “I want to live.” Instantly, I am hurled back into the world and surrounded by shadows, noise, light, and life.
“She’s coming to,” I hear someone say.
“Ms. Wiley, can you hear me?” a woman asks. “Rachel, can you hear me? Tell me if you can hear me.”
“I hear you.”
I am now part of the chaos.
“We’d like you to stick around here with us,” she says.
Later, when the machines and cords are pulled away, I ask the nurse what happened.
“Looks like you may have had a reaction to the medication.”
“I’m so tired.”
“Stay awake for just a minute while I get your husband. He’s had a bit of a scare.” I feel my eyelids closing.
“Rachel?”
I open my eyes. “Jean Paul, I want to live.”
“I’m glad.”
“I need to sleep.”
“I will keep you company.”
The nurse wakes me when the doctor and intern come on their rounds.
“Hello, Ms. Wiley. We’d like to do a few sensory and motor tests if you wouldn’t mind.” They poke, prod, shine lights, and test reflexes. “We’re going to have to keep you for a while longer. You’re having some motor deficits. The swelling in your brain is causing your inability to move your leg. Nothing to worry about yet. These things may clear up on their own over the next few days. In the meantime, there are some tests we’d like to run.”
On Thursday morning, I wake up feeling a lot better. Four timeless days have passed, and I have only one day left of my hospital stay. I am now in a room with three other neuro patients. My motor deficits are improving, and my body is healing nicely. Other than letting the healing process take its natural course, there’s not much else I can do.
Just as Becky, one of my ward mates, is telling me how cute my husband is, Jean Paul walks into the room.
“Hello, Rachel,” he says, kissing me.
“Hello, cutie,” I say, glancing over to Becky. She opens her eyes wide, mortified that I might give her away.
“Rachel, I would like to talk to you about something,” Jean Paul says. “I think I should move here to be with you.”
“Why? I’m getting out tomorrow. I’ll be able to go to Texas soon.”
“Are you sure you want to leave your life here?”
Looking at him, I realize that for the first time in my life I am certain about what I’m doing.
“I’m sure,” I tell him.
By twelve o’clock on Friday, my discharge papers are in order. As Jean Paul and I walk out of the hospital, large wet snowflakes fall around us.
The short trip to my apartment takes all my energy, and I need Jean Paul’s help to get up the stairs. When we get inside, he helps me to my bedroom, takes off my pants, and helps me into bed.
“I will get you a glass of water,” he says.
Alone in the room, I flash back to my mother on a hot summer afternoon when I was ten. Sitting at our kitchen table with a drink in her hand, she said, “I’ve learned one thing in this life, Rachel. Make sure to marry someone who’s kind, who knows what’s important in life, and make sure he’s passionate about life and about you. Then the universe will unfold to you as it should.”
I look at Jean Paul as he walks back to the bedroom, and it’s like looking into the sun. And the past doesn’t matter anymore.
Chapter 26
It was night.
Why then did I feel the sun?
It was dry.
But there was moisture on my tongue.
Since I’ve been in Texas, I wake up amazed by the blueness of the sky and brightness of the sun: no stomach knots.
Once, in another life, I accompanied a friend to a meeting with her divorce lawyer. After the papers were signed, the lawyer looked at my friend, who she knew had been in an abusive marriage, and said, “You’ll have to move away now, at least two hundred miles from your ex-husband; otherwise you’ll never get away from the horror of your marriage. Only those people who move away reclaim their lives.”
Now that I’m living far from where I was raised, I don’t notice what people wear anymore or what kind of dental fillings they have; the person I was always on the lookout for is nowhere around. And motherhood no longer scares me. I feel only joy at the thought of raising our son or daughter and seeing life through a child’s eyes. Having decided to live life with some kind of faith in myself, I’ve come to realize something: I’ll do whatever it takes to end the cycle of abuse. Safe and in my own happy place, it is only now that I can bear to think of my mother with anything resembling fondness. Like how nice she looked in her navy blue sleeveless blouse with the white buttons, her auburn hair just so... And if I could have one last conversation with her at our kitchen table, both of us nursing a drink, I would say, “I’ve learned one thing in this life, Mom. Abuse doesn’t shift your place in the universe, and it doesn’t alter your meaning.”
From the Author
When life gets out of hand and all else fails, why not snuggle up to a romance book?
Other romance novels by Flora Lanoux:
The Italian Billionaire’s Shocking Proposal
The Italian Billionaire’s Ruthless Seduction
The Italian Billionaire’s Nanny Problem
The Billionaire’s Vendetta Marriage
The Billionaire’s Engagement Shock
The Lovelorn Italian Millionaire
The Spaniard’s Patient Love