They each ordered several pastries and then settled around a small table. As they ate, nothing about her parents or the baby came up, and Larissa began to relax.
“Aunt Josette,” she asked, thinking back to her conversation with Brandon. “What kind of friends did you have when you were young?”
Aunt Josette’s smiled wavered. “Oh, honey, I knew you’d ask me that one day, but I’m not sure I want to answer.”
“Why?”
“I made some huge mistakes.” She smiled grimly. “Then again, if you really want to know, maybe I should tell you.”
Larissa stuffed the last bite of her second pastry into her mouth. “I do.”
“I wasn’t anything like I am now. I was young and pretty—”
“You still are!”
Aunt Josette reached over and squeezed her hand. “Thank you. But I was much prettier then. I had even longer hair, and best of all, I had a really good figure.” She patted her stomach and they both laughed. “All I really cared about then was having fun, you know? My mother would talk about the choices I was making, and I’d just tune her out. What did I care about eternity? That was so far off.”
Larissa felt that way a lot. Sometimes she thought her parents were so busy living for tomorrow that they forgot all about the present. They certainly couldn’t remember what it was like to be young.
“My mother also taught me that I had the right to demand respect from boys, but I didn’t understand that either. I liked to live fast and dangerously. I stayed out late, dated people I shouldn’t, and wore clothes that were way too immodest. I thought I was invulnerable to everything. All my mother’s warnings meant nothing.”
Larissa put her hands under the table and pulled down the hem of her skirt a bit. Her mother had told her it was too short, but she had sneaked it out of the house today under her long coat. “What happened?”
“I went to college in America. To Brigham Young University, actually. My parents practically forced me to go. There I continued to have my fun. It was the only important thing in the world. Then I met a guy who was fast and dangerous and good-looking. He had a lot of money, and treated me well—until one night when we were alone.” She sighed and her forehead wrinkled. “Then he tried to rape me. Said I owed him. He beat me up pretty badly, but luckily your mom and dad had been looking for me. They found me just in time and called the police.”
Larissa felt an ugly pit form in her stomach. How could someone have done such a thing to her beautiful aunt? “He was just one guy.”
“Yeah, but he was the type I went out with. Not all of them would have done what he did, but none could have taken me to the temple like Zack. None of them treated me like a princess.”
Larissa shrugged. “I’m not really into guys anyway.” She thought of Neven and blushed.
“Well, I guess I wanted to tell you this so that you’d understand that I barely escaped. The worst part was that it all happened because I made a lot of bad choices. I had my priorities all wrong, and everyone could see it but me.”
Now Larissa knew where this was going. “You think the same thing about me, don’t you? That I’m making bad choices.”
Her aunt shook her head. “Honey, I don’t know. I just see that you’re miserable and your mother is worried.”
“It’s because she wants a baby.”
“And you don’t?”
Larissa looked away from the compassion in her aunt’s eyes. “She just wants another perfect little Brandon.” I’m not good enough. Tears began in her eyes and she hoped her aunt couldn’t see.
“Your mother loves you.”
Staring at her hands in her lap, Larissa said, “What if I didn’t believe? What if I think the gospel and its rules are stupid?”
“Then I’d say it was time for you to do some soul-searching. It’s not going to be easy, but it must be done.” Aunt Josette paused for a moment and then added, “Larissa, I want you to do one thing for me. I want you to remember that I know the gospel is true, and that you can lean on my testimony until you develop your own.”
Larissa shrugged and stood, still avoiding her aunt’s stare. “I’d better get back to school now. Thanks for lunch.”
As they walked to the car, Aunt Josette put her arm around Larissa. “I love you no matter what. Remember that, too.”
Then you’re the only one, thought Larissa.
Aunt Josette let her off in front of the school. For a long time Larissa stared after her, thinking about everything she had said. She felt on the verge of understanding something very important, but it flitted away when she heard a loud whistle behind her.
“Hey, where ya been?” Jolie called. “We’ve been looking for you all over.”
Larissa glanced once more in the direction of her aunt’s car, and then went to join her friends.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
On a Friday, ten days after his transplant, Marc left the hospital. Though his parents had wanted him to stay at their place, he had insisted upon returning to his own apartment. Rebekka picked him up, looking more beautiful than ever. He marveled at his good fortune. Health and Rebekka—what more could he possibly want?
“I can’t stay long,” Rebekka said as she carried his small suitcase into his apartment. He reached to help her, but she playfully slapped his hand away. “No lifting for you for at least another five weeks,” she reminded him. “Besides, it’s not heavy.”
“Why can’t you stay?” Marc followed her to the bedroom where she opened the suitcase and began removing the contents. He studied the room, drinking in the furnishings—bed, dresser with mirror, armoire, bedside table, pictures and wall hangings, and a small new television set and stand next to the French doors leading to his bedroom balcony. Everything besides the TV looked familiar but strangely new. He had expected some of Rebekka’s things to be mixed in with his in preparation for their marriage but saw nothing that hinted of her presence. He glanced at her and found her staring out the window.
“Rebekka?”
She started, her gaze coming back into focus. “I’m sorry, did you say something?”
“Why aren’t you staying?”
“I have to do the translation for Damon and Jesse. I’m supposed to have it done by Monday.” For the past week, Rebekka had been working again for Hospital’s Choice, Inc., the company she had been employed with in Utah. Marc had understood her decision to continue working, though he had missed her presence in the hospital. She’s not avoiding me, he had told himself repeatedly in his boredom. He had tried to focus on his books, but there were only so many novels a person could read without a break.
Rebekka returned to the kitchen. He followed her, feeling the ache where his clothes chafed at the light bandage covering his incision. The kidney itself worked wonderfully, but the aching and itching of the healing wound sometimes drove him to distraction.
“I bought you a new plant,” she said, pointing to the windowsill. “See? So you won’t be lonely.”
“Did André bring some stuff over from my office?” He regretted the words once he’d said them.
Rebekka paled. “He better not have. I bought you a ton of books and movies. You’re supposed to take it easy.” She clenched her fists and glared at him.
Marc laughed, gathering her rigid body into his arms. “Don’t be mad. I will read and watch every one, I promise.” He scattered little kisses over her left cheek and ear until her smile reappeared and her body relaxed.
“Now,” he said, releasing her. “What about our wedding?”
Rebekka backed away, her face even more pale than before.
“What’s wrong?” he asked with a sense of dread. All at once, he realized that he and Rebekka hadn’t talked about marriage for over a week. Why was that?
“Nothing’s wrong. I—you’re too weak.”
He took a step toward her. “I’m fine, and I can prove it.” He took her hands in his, pulling her close for a tender kiss. Rebekka responded with equal emotion, but after a wh
ile she jerked away, her eyes half-closed, masking her inner feelings.
“Rebekka, tell me what’s wrong. I know you’re upset about something.”
Her eyes looked panicked as she glanced around the room. “Marc, I really have to go.”
“But it’s Saturday. No one works on Saturday.”
“You always did,” she said with a wry grimace. “Don’t worry—we’ll talk about this later.”
He released her. “Okay.”
She gave him an unsatisfactory peck on the cheek and flitted out the door.
Marc slumped into a kitchen chair and shook his head in frustration. He knew Rebekka well enough to know that something wasn’t right. When had it started? A week ago?
Yes, he had first noticed her strange behavior a week ago, when she had gone back to work for the American company, Hospital’s Choice, Inc. Marc frowned. He knew that Samuel What’s-His-Name from Cincinnati was still connected to the overseas marketing of the company. He had been in love with Rebekka when she had been in America, and she had been attracted to him as well. Had Samuel come back into the picture? Did Rebekka still have feelings for him?
The thought disturbed him more than he was willing to admit. He and Rebekka had finally come together—he couldn’t bear to lose her now. The nagging pain in his side from his wound diminished with the possibility of losing Rebekka.
How could he find out?
What if she actually loved the other guy?
I would have to let her go.
The thought was ridiculous. He was allowing his imagination to run away with him. He and Rebekka were in love and would be married. Her lack of enthusiasm stemmed from worry over her job. She was simply anxious to finish, much like he himself itched to get back into things at his company.
Work. The word came like an invitation to his mind, and he arose and walked purposefully down the hall. In his home office, he immediately saw that André was as good as his word. Piles of papers and reports had been laid out on the desk in order of importance.
Marc spent the next hour familiarizing himself with the happenings of the firm since his collapse near the river. He was happy to see that André and Raoul had kept everything under control, though there would be plenty to keep them all busy in the upcoming months—including several new construction projects they had bid on and won.
After only an hour he was thoroughly exhausted. Remembering his promise to both Rebekka and the doctor, he left his office, went to his bedroom, and popped in a video. Before the credits were over, he was asleep.
* * *
Rebekka knew she should tell Marc that she was having doubts about their relationship, but every time her mouth opened to do so, her love for him sealed her utterance. How could she hurt him when she wanted to marry him?
The problem was that André inspired similar feelings in her heart, and despite the long prayers she sent up to the Lord, she couldn’t find direction. She felt that her Heavenly Father considered both men worthy companions and that she would have to decide what to do on her own.
Well, duh . . .
Rebekka felt like an idiot. How did she come to be in this situation? She felt so guilty and dishonest that she found it difficult to look Marc in the eye.
Paralyzed by indecision and a dreadful fear of making the wrong choice—not to mention hurting those she loved—Rebekka threw herself into her freelance work for Hospital’s Choice to avoid thinking about the problem. She didn’t lie about having deadlines, but no one knew they were self-imposed, since Damon and Jesse weren’t aware of the time and effort involved in translating English to French. They trusted her to be fair with both her time frame and her billing.
Well, she was honest in the billing, but the time frame was drastically underestimated, which was why she wasn’t going to make it on time. It’s all the medical terms I’m having to research, she thought. She was working on translating the manuals for the hospital software the company had written and had told them the first fourth of the largest manual would be finished by Monday. Not a chance.
The software was successful in over three dozen American hospitals, with more becoming interested every day. With their affiliate company, Corban International, Hospital’s Choice planned to market the same program in Europe the following year. That was where she came in. Many terms would be left in the universal English, but much more needed translating. It was hard, grueling work, even with the helpful translation software, and every minute Rebekka, who had always considered herself fluent in both languages, found more words she didn’t know—in French as well as in English. Already she had placed ten phone calls to a member of the ward who was training to be a doctor. After the fifth time she offered him a consulting wage, dependent upon approval from America.
Now at her parents’ apartment, she worked for as long as she could in Raoul’s old room—recently converted into her office—until she was almost in tears. Then she gave a quick call to Damon Wolfe. “I can’t finish by Monday,” she told him bluntly in English.
“Take a few more days.”
“I’ll need at least two weeks to do a perfect job, maybe three. Then two or three months for the rest of the manual.”
“That’s fine, Bekka.” He was silent for a minute. “Look, quite frankly, I figured you didn’t give yourself enough time, so I’m not surprised at the delay. Translating is even more work than actually writing a manual from what I hear. But I do know you’re the best one for the job, and I’d much rather you take a little more time to ensure it’s done well. I want to know all the hours you work. Every single one.”
“I will, but don’t be surprised at the bill,” she said, mentally calculating that she had already worked eighty hours in one week.
He gave a low laugh. “I’ve got more money than I know what to do with. I might as well give it to someone who actually works as hard as I do.”
“I don’t know about that.”
“I do. I’ve seen you. Who else would give herself five weeks to translate an entire manual that took us a year to write?” There was another long pause, and then he said quietly, “Bekka, are you all right? Your fiancé hasn’t had a relapse, has he?”
“No,” she replied, her voice quavering. “Everything’s fine.”
“I don’t believe you. Look, take some time off, starting right now. Go see Marc, or do whatever and don’t even think about translating another word until Monday. Got it? This is Saturday, for crying out loud. Take a break.”
The relief Rebekka felt was so great she almost couldn’t speak. “Okay. I will.”
She had no sooner hung up the phone than it rang again. Warily, Rebekka picked it up. Was it André? Marc? The tension flooded back into her body.
“Hello, Rebekka?” a female voice said. “This is Josette. Look, we thought we’d arrange a quick get-together tonight to celebrate Marc’s recovery. Think he can make it?”
“I’m not sure. He’s not here.”
“That’s odd. I called his apartment and there’s no answer. I figured you two would be together.”
Rebekka’s heart started beating erratically, and her breath caught in her throat. “I had to work,” she said. “But he’s probably asleep. Or maybe he went somewhere. Why don’t I run over there and check?”
“Okay. I’ll keep calling the others.” Josette’s voice plainly showed her worry. “Everything’s probably fine, but I’m so emotional when I’m pregnant. If anything happens to Marc after all this, I’ll kill him!” Sniffing loudly, she bid good-bye.
Rebekka ran out of her office and nearly collided with her mother in the hall. “Sorry, Mom.”
“Have you seen your father?”
“Not since this morning.”
Danielle looked puzzled. “He said he had to meet with someone this afternoon, but he hasn’t gotten back. We were supposed to go shopping and then out to eat.”
“He’s just been delayed again.” Rebekka smiled apologetically. “Look, Mom, I have to run. I’m worried about Marc.”
>
Her mother didn’t answer but had already gone through the kitchen to the balcony. Rebekka grabbed her coat and ran out the door. Down in the underground parking lot, she quickly started her car. She often walked the three blocks to Marc’s, but now she was in a hurry.
Half a block from her house, she saw a strange sight. Her father was parked on the side of the street, and two missionaries from her church climbing from his car. Rebekka quickly parked in the open place behind him and bounced out of her car. “Dad,” she said, tapping on his window.
He looked over at her, surprised, and then at the missionaries’ backs. He rolled down the window. “Hi, honey. What are you doing?”
“I might ask you the same thing. You’re late and Mom’s worried.”
His face became contrite. “I should have called.”
Rebekka took a step toward her vehicle, but curiosity overcame her. “What on earth were you doing with the missionaries?” She remembered vividly the day he had prayed with her. Had he finally seen the light? He had attended church twice in a row, and her mother had high hopes that he would be going tomorrow as well. Rebekka had wanted to talk with him about his change, but she’d been too wrapped up in her own problems.
“They needed a ride,” he said blithely. “They had a meeting planned with someone in that building over there.”
“Oh.” Her hopes were dashed. Still, the odd coincidence merited more investigation. “How did you run into them?”
“What is this, the Inquisition? I called them. I wanted to talk to them about that young boy in your ward. There’s something about him.”
Rebekka was disappointed, but she tried not to show it. “Well, Mom’s waiting for you, and I need to go.”
She kissed her father’s cheeks before returning to her car. Once inside, she pulled into the street and hit the gas, the passing buildings becoming a haze in her hurry to get to Marc.
I shouldn’t have stopped to talk to Father, she berated herself. What had she been thinking to leave Marc alone on his first day out of the hospital? What if he had started bleeding internally or had some delayed side effect from the surgery? She would never forgive herself.
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