“Well, I think we could help. Let’s have dinner tomorrow night and invite them. Maybe you can talk some sense into him.”
“Are you sure you’re up to that?”
She leaned forward. “André, I’m fine. Now let’s forget about Marc and Rebekka and enjoy ourselves. I hope you like curry chicken.”
* * *
On Friday evening Claire checked the pot simmering on her gas stove. She enjoyed cooking for guests and knew she was good at it as well. She also knew that her creative talent with food developed during her growing up years. As a poor child living with her mother and younger sister, she had learned to make almost anything palatable to avoid the empty feeling in her stomach and the hungry look in her sister’s eyes. There hadn’t been much to work with back then. Not like now.
Involuntarily, Claire shivered. The memories of her sparse childhood were not the most pleasant. All her immediate family had long since died, with the exception of an older brother, Basil, who had left France when she was a toddler, and for all she knew he was dead as well.
The Perrault family was hers now, and she loved them fiercely—most especially André. She had been very blessed. First the gospel had come into her life and then André. He was every bit as courageous and good as the heroes she had dreamed of as a young girl.
She smiled at the memories of how they had met. André had visited her congregation in Strasbourg where she had been baptized six months earlier. He had walked into the building, strong and handsome, but looking a little lost.
“May I help you?” she had asked.
“I’m looking for . . .” He stopped and stared at her, as if seeing her for the first time.
“Are you visiting?” she prompted.
He continued to stare. “I’m here to make a bid on a project. But I think—” He broke off. “Are you married?”
The question took her by surprise. “No, I’m not.”
“Good,” he replied, “because I think you are the most beautiful woman I have ever met.”
Claire had never considered herself beautiful, certainly not in the way that other women were beautiful, but in that moment, she knew André spoke the truth. Maybe it was her new testimony glowing in her heart, or maybe her thin, pinched features had filled out with the food the sisters at church had shared with her and her mother as they grieved the sudden death of her young sister. Whatever the cause, Claire knew André wasn’t simply trying to impress her. In fact, he looked more than a little embarrassed by his own boldness, though he didn’t take back the words.
They had stayed together at church the rest of the day, and when he left her that night on her mother’s porch he said, “I’ve waited a long time to find you, Claire. I’ll be back.”
She hadn’t believed him but had held the promise in her heart. André, always a man of his word, had returned. At first she told herself his visits to Strasbourg were because of his engineering firm, and that she was a merely a distraction—but she was already so much in love with him that it didn’t matter. When her mother died and she faced her terrible, lonely grief, he had begged her to marry him and go with him to Paris. She accepted his offer, living with his parents until she could marry André. He had been twenty-four years old then, and she only eighteen. The day they were married for eternity was the happiest of her life.
“Mom,” said Ana, interrupting Claire’s reverie. “Can I help you?”
“Sure, sweetie.”
“Me, too!” said Marée.
Claire set the girls to washing lettuce in the sink. With her tender beef cooked to perfection on the stove she would also serve boiled potatoes and a fresh lettuce and tomato salad topped with purple onions, salt, and olive oil dressing. André loved purple onions. She hummed to herself, smiling as the girls ran the green lettuce leaves under the cold water, giggling in delight as the water splashed over their hands and occasionally onto their faces.
When André arrived home from work, Claire met him in the entryway, leaving the girls busy in the kitchen. She wiped her hands on her apron. “Good, you’re home.”
“Smells great,” he said, sniffing in appreciation. Wrapping his arms around her, he kissed her mouth until she was dizzy, and then made a trail of kisses down her neck. She shivered, loving him so much her heart was full.
He put an arm around her and they walked together into the kitchen. The girls turned from the sink shouting, “Daddy, Daddy, we’re helping! Look!” Scrambling down from their chairs, they hurled themselves toward him.
André picked them both up, one under each arm, and sailed around the room. Ana and Marée flailed their arms and legs, pretending they had wings. Then André collapsed in a chair and brought the girls onto his lap, submitting to their eager, smothering kisses.
Claire laughed at their fun, happy with the knowledge that he was a devoted father, although at times she thought he was much too easy on them. By their age she had learned to make full meals and clean the house. Her smile faded. She had also learned to wait on her ill mother, a thing she had done until the day she died.
My daughters won’t have to go through that . . . I’m well now. Death won’t touch them—not yet. No, they wouldn’t have to see their father smoke himself into a carcinogenic grave, or watch a little sister die from the flu. Claire prayed daily that they would never experience that kind of pain. She would do everything she could to make their childhood happy.
André tickled the girls into submission and came to her side. “Okay, what do I do next?” he asked, removing her apron.
She grabbed it from him. “Oh, no you don’t. This is my dinner and you’re not going to mess it up.”
“I can at least set the table.” He drew her to him in a quick embrace.
“All right. But in the dining room. Tonight is special. And I want four extra settings, not just two.”
André studied her. “Who else is coming?”
“It’s a surprise.” She kissed him and pushed him gently toward the door. “Hurry up, now. They’ll be here soon.”
“Okay, but this is such a big job, I’m going to need some helpers.” The girls jumped up and down with excitement. Once again, André tucked them under his arms and they “flew” out of the kitchen.
Claire turned back to her meat, its juices bubbling fragrantly on the stove. She tasted it. Perfect.
Just like André. Oh, he was stubborn, and sometimes he worked too hard, but he was special, and she was the most fortunate woman in the world.
* * *
Rebekka sat with Marc on the edge of his bed as he bent down to tie his shoes. At that moment she wondered if she should have agreed to go to Claire’s at all. Marc had slept badly the night before, and although she and Ariana had made him stay in bed nearly the entire day, she still didn’t think he appeared well enough to go out.
“I’m fine,” he insisted, still bent over. “Besides, we have to eat, right? And André said Claire was really looking forward to having us over.”
“Yes, but I know he’s worried about her overexerting herself.”
“You’re worried about me, you mean.” He gazed at her with a grin, and his eyes seemed to sparkle with a little of their old life. “Claire has recovered perfectly.”
“So what if I am worried about you?” Tears came to her eyes and she impatiently blinked them away.
Marc was suddenly contrite. He slid toward her, pulling her close. “I’m sorry. I wish you didn’t have to go through this with me. I wish . . .” He leaned in for a gentle kiss. Although she typically would have mocked him for avoiding the subject, Rebekka found that today she was content to let the matter rest.
A gentle coughing brought them apart. From the open doorway Jean-Marc watched them with an indulgent smile. “You know, that rule we had about never having a friend of the opposite sex in your bedroom while you were growing up was in place for a good reason.”
“The door wasn’t shut,” Marc pointed out as he held Rebekka more firmly. “You are welcome to stand there and w
atch us kiss anytime.” To prove his point Marc kissed her again, but Rebekka turned her head so that his lips found her cheek.
“We were just leaving,” she said, knowing her face was red. She eased out of Marc’s grasp.
“I thought you were trying to talk me out of not going,” Marc teased.
Jean-Marc laughed. “Are you sure you want to marry him?”
“Daaaad,” Marc said. “It took me long enough to convince her as it was.”
Right. All of two minutes, Rebekka thought.
Jean-Marc placed his hand on Rebekka’s shoulder. “Rebekka, I don’t know that I’ve had a chance to tell you how grateful I am for what you’ve agreed to do for Marc.”
“Maybe do,” Marc put in.
Jean-Marc looked at him steadily. “Son, when I found out I couldn’t be your first donor, it just about tore me apart. Don’t let your own fears get in the way of Rebekka’s opportunity to do this for you.”
Marc frowned, as though he hadn’t thought of her offer in that light before. She prayed silently that he would understand how much it meant to her . . . and agree to allow her to go through with it.
“We’d better get going,” Marc said to Rebekka. “We’ll be late.”
Rebekka shared a sympathetic smile with his father before following her fiancé out the door.
In the car Marc was silent, and Rebekka was glad she had insisted on driving so that she could pretend to be occupied. If Marc had been feeling better they would have walked the short distance to avoid searching for a parking place. Though Andre’s building had an underground garage for residents, many of the nearby edifices did not offer such a luxury and at night the streets were usually lined with parked cars.
Marc’s hand stole to her knee, squeezing softly. She placed her hand over his, allowing the tension to trickle from her body.
When they arrived at André and Claire’s, they were greeted first by Marc’s enthusiastic nieces, and then more sedately by their parents, who were dressed up more than usual for a home-cooked meal. Claire looked especially radiant and healthy. Her unusual blue-green eyes were bright and her dark hair smoothly coifed. She wore a blue, floor-length column dress with a matching duster that fluttered about her like short wings.
The two women hugged. “I’m so happy for you, Rebekka,” Claire murmured. “I can’t believe you and Marc . . . it’s so wonderful.”
“Isn’t it?” Rebekka grinned. “You look great, Claire! Thank you for having us over.” She glanced at Marc, who was tickling his nieces to a chorus of delighted screams. She lowered her voice. “Maybe you two can help me talk some sense into him.”
André glanced at his wife with a knowing smile that said, “What did I tell you?”
“So I take it he’s still balking about your donating the kidney,” Claire said.
“Yes, and look at him. The doctor told him today they would have to either transplant or try dialysis again next week. If he doesn’t agree to let me donate soon your mother will call Louis-Géralde’s mission president. There simply isn’t any more time.” She tried to clear the catch in her voice. “I’m really afraid. He looks so terrible, and he’s so weak.”
“It’ll be okay,” André said. “I’ll talk to him.”
The buzzer rang again and Claire flitted to the door to let the new visitor into the apartment building, her movements graceful and quick, like a small bird. André’s eyes followed his wife. “She has a surprise planned, you know.”
“A surprise? For whom?”
“I don’t know.” He grinned at her, looking a lot like Marc in his healthier days. “Claire is always full of surprises. I guess we’ll see.”
Absently, Rebekka searched for Marc, who was now reading a book to the girls on the couch. She was glad to see he wasn’t overdoing the uncle act. In the past he had played tiger with them, a game his father had begun when he was little. How long would it be before he would play that game with their own children?
Rebekka sighed with longing. The life she had dreamed of was within reach. If only Marc would listen to reason.
“Rebekka, look who’s here,” trilled Claire’s high, clear voice from the hall.
She had forgotten Claire’s surprise and belatedly wondered who had arrived. As she turned, someone hugged her. “Raoul!” she squealed. “Oh, Raoul!” She wrapped her arms around her brother. “I’ve missed you so much! It’s wonderful to see you!” The last time she’d seen her older brother was on the morning she’d left for America five months earlier. Two weeks ago, the day before she had returned to Paris, he had e-mailed her to announce that he and his fiancée had eloped.
As she held her brother Rebekka searched out their hostess, who watched them contentedly. “Claire, this is the best surprise ever!” She hugged Raoul more tightly.
Over Raoul’s shoulder Rebekka saw a ravishing young woman with long dark hair and heavily made-up brown eyes. She was short, only a few centimeters taller than Claire, but her tall heels brought her to Rebekka’s height. She was dressed in a sleeveless black tunic with a tasteful stand-up collar and button-front closure. The princess cut was certainly stylish and showed her curvaceous figure to advantage, though the hemline was a little too revealing for Rebekka’s tastes. Rebekka herself was wearing a fitted, short-sleeved blazer and matching pants because of the increasingly cold evenings, but her brother’s new wife apparently didn’t allow the weather to dictate her choice of clothes.
Raoul broke away from Rebekka and reached for the woman’s hand. “This, of course, is my wife, Desirée.”
“Hello,” Rebekka said, smiling. “It’s nice to see you . . . again. We did meet briefly once before, do you remember?” She embraced the other woman without waiting for a reply. “Welcome to the family.”
Desirée smiled. “Thank you.”
“So . . .” Marc came from behind Rebekka. He slapped Raoul on the back. “Just got back from your honeymoon, did you?”
Raoul grinned and his gray eyes shone. “That’s right.” He put an arm around Desirée. “It’s official now. She’s stuck with me.”
Everyone laughed.
“Well, have you heard about us?” Marc pulled Rebekka into his arms. “We’re getting married, too.”
Raoul’s gaze flew to Rebekka’s, asking for confirmation. She nodded. “You would have known if you were checking your e-mail. Marc followed me to America—but I’m sure you heard at least that much before you went off—and he asked me to marry him. I said yes.”
Her brother hugged her. “I didn’t think he had it in him.” There were tears in Raoul’s eyes, and Rebekka knew why. He had known for years how much she loved Marc and how she had despaired of ever having him.
“We went to the Riviera for our honeymoon,” Desirée inserted into the lull that followed. “We would have stayed longer, but Raoul was anxious to get back to work.”
Marc winked at Raoul. “He’d better be—we might fire him. Or find another partner.”
“Don’t worry, I’m back,” Raoul said. “But I might be taking more time off than usual.”
“We all might,” André said, his expression becoming serious. “Did Claire tell you about Marc’s kidney?”
Raoul’s eyes widened as he shook his head, and his dark auburn hair, cut slightly long on top, waved with the movement. “What happened?”
André led them into the sitting room and began recounting the story quickly. Marc spoke little, but when he did Rebekka noticed that he underplayed the gravity of the situation.
“I’m going to give him one of my kidneys,” Rebekka said. She glanced at Marc. “I mean, we’re praying about it, aren’t we, honey?”
He clutched her hand. “Yes,” he said shortly.
There was a short, uncomfortable silence, and then Desirée said, “You know, I believe it’s a full ten degrees warmer down south than it is here.”
“Are you cold, dear?” Raoul began to remove his off-white blazer. “Here, take my jacket.”
His wife watched him
for a second as she contemplated his offer. “No, I’m not cold. I’m simply commenting.” She smiled. “Besides, that color is all wrong for my outfit.”
Raoul slipped his arm back inside the blazer. “If you’re sure.”
“I am. Thanks.” She snuggled next to him on the couch.
“Well, dinner’s ready,” Claire announced. “If I can just get a few volunteers to carry things to the dining room.”
Rebekka, Marc, and André followed Claire into the kitchen, and in a few minutes the feast was ready. André asked for a blessing on the food and they began to serve themselves.
“This is delicious,” Rebekka said, tasting the meat. “I could never make something like this.”
“Oh, it’s easy.” Claire shrugged, but her face was bright. “I’ll give you the recipe.”
“I’m not good in the kitchen either,” said Desirée. “I tell Raoul that we’re going to have to hire a cook or something.” She laughed and the others laughed with her. Desirée batted her eyes, enjoying the attention.
“So now that you’re back, will you be at church on Sunday?” Marc asked Raoul. “Isn’t it your time to go up?” The three partners had a long-standing agreement to take turns bearing their testimonies on fast Sunday. What began as a challenge had remained as a testimony builder.
“I’ll be there,” Raoul said. “I want to show off my new bride.”
Desirée blanched. “But honey, you know I’m going apartment hunting with my parents on Sunday.”
“You’re moving?” Rebekka felt a keen disappointment. It wasn’t easy to find apartments within their congregation’s boundaries, and she didn’t want to be separated from her brother so soon, especially since he’d married a woman who wasn’t baptized.
“We’re not moving,” Raoul said. “Desirée’s just helping her parents.”
Desirée’s expression revealed that was not really what she had in mind, but she didn’t contradict Raoul openly.
“Don’t worry, honey,” Raoul said to her. “My father won’t be there Sunday, so there’s no chance of a run-in with him.” For an instant, there was a deep sadness in his eyes, and Rebekka keenly felt his regret at his estrangement from their father.
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