Ties That Bind

by Rachel Ann Nunes

  “And Rebekka?”

  “I’ve always loved her,” Marc said. “I just didn’t know it. Stupid, huh?” He laughed lightly and looked down at his casual, dark blue slacks. “Once I thought I spent so much time with her because that way I could be with Danielle, but after Rebekka went to America, I learned that it was the other way around. I enjoyed being with Danielle because that meant I would be near Rebekka. It was her all along.” He lifted his gaze, eyes showing his earnestness. “I’m thirty-four years old, André. I’ve dated a long time and I’ve never found anyone like Rebekka. I love her so much it hurts when I think about not being with her. And when we’re together . . . I can’t explain it. I see eternity in her eyes, and I feel it in her arms. I would do anything to make her happy.”

  So would I, André thought.

  “That’s why I couldn’t marry her and die,” added Marc, shaking his head. “But I regret it now. I mean, I can hardly believe that after all this time I may not end up with her.” He propped his elbow on the armrest and let his chin rest on his fist. “I have only myself to blame. I should have married her long ago.” He clenched and unclenched the fist, making his head move up and down. Then he dropped his hand to his lap, and his voice became determined. “But so help me, I won’t just let her slip away without trying. I’m going to fight for her every inch of the way. I love her and I want to spend the rest of my life making her happy, for however long the Lord allows. I know she still loves me, and as long as there’s a chance, I’ll fight for her.”

  “What if she still doesn’t marry you?”

  Marc’s expression was one of pure torture, matching the feeling in André’s chest. “Then I guess I would have to let her go. Her happiness is what is most important.” He paused and said in afterthought. “But I would never marry. There is no one else for me. I know there is for most people, but I think I’ve waited so long that all my chances are used up. I feel it.”

  André believed that his brother was telling the truth as he saw it. Yet there was something else he had to know, one more thing that would reveal Marc’s worthiness of Rebekka. One more thing before André could be sure. He let the silence grow between them before saying almost casually, “Rebekka’s certainly a beautiful woman, but did you ever notice her freckles?”

  A slow smile spread across his brother’s face. “Are you kidding? I love those freckles. She has exactly fourteen, you know—some so faded you can hardly tell they’re there. My favorite is the one just above her lip on the right side.” He laughed in self-deprecation. “You probably haven’t even noticed it, but I even have dreams about that little spot. I guess you can tell that a man’s really gone on a woman when he starts counting her freckles.”

  “I guess so.” To his relief, André didn’t feel pain at the statement, only a calm numbness. “I wish you the best, brother,” he said sincerely. “And I’ll do anything to help you win Rebekka.”

  Marc’s eyes grew wet and he arose from his chair, holding out his hand. His handshake was surprisingly strong. “Thank you, André. I appreciate all your support. I owe my life to you and to Louis-Géralde. I owe you.”

  André shook his head. “I know you’d do the same for me.”

  “I would. Anything you ask, I would give you. Even my life.”

  “Anything?” André tried to make his voice light. “Better be glad I’m not asking for Rebekka, then.”

  Marc cocked his head and said thoughtfully, “As much as I would like to believe otherwise right now, Rebekka’s not mine to give. She’s her own person. But I would trade my happiness for yours, André. If I could give you back Claire—”

  André stood abruptly. “Are we going to find Rebekka or not?”

  “It’s not going to be easy. She was pretty determined.” Marc’s eyes reflected agonized uncertainty.

  “Why don’t we make a few phone calls?”

  “Okay. You go ahead.” Marc gave him a strained smile. “But do it from the kitchen, okay? I’m just going to say a prayer and then I’ll be in.”

  André kept the smile on his face until he was out of his brother’s sight. Now he knew why his mother had asked him to talk with Marc in the hospital that day when he had been so intent upon finding Rebekka, and why she had forced him to stay with Marc in the living room tonight. She had wanted André to understand the depth of his brother’s love for Rebekka. And now he did: Marc loved her without reservation.

  Not like him. André’s feelings were mixed up with what-ifs and a longing for Claire and the family life they had shared. He had feelings for Rebekka that came from a long relationship, but could he promise her that they were anything deeper than friendship? That they didn’t originate from his loneliness or the desire to replace what he’d lost? He couldn’t allow her to gamble on that—or to destroy Marc.

  But it’s her decision. True, but he could make things easier for her.

  When André entered the kitchen, all eyes turned to him, and he knew that his mother had told them the news about Rebekka’s uncertainty. “How’s Marc?” Josette asked.

  “He’ll be all right,” André answered. His mother’s eyes bored into him, but there was nothing he could say in front rest of the family to reassure her.

  “Do you think Rebekka really isn’t going to marry him?” asked Ana.

  André was about to reply, but it was Marc who spoke from the doorway. “Yes, she’s going to marry me,” he said. “After all, she didn’t give me back the ring. Besides, Rebekka and I were always meant to be together. I just need to remind her of that.”

  Once again André felt his mother’s eyes digging into him, but he had nothing to add. He already knew what he had to do.

  Chapter Thirty

  As she drove from the Perraults’ apartment, Rebekka wished she had ignored her parents’ objections and had leased her own apartment upon her return from America. Then she would have somewhere to be alone without worrying about either Marc or André.

  At home she would have to endure her parents’ questions at best, and Marc or André following her at worst. Marc’s apartment was out of the question, as were the homes of all of his siblings. They were too close to the situation and she couldn’t involve them. She had friends, of course, but none with whom she wanted to share her predicament.

  Raoul!

  Yes, she could trust her brother to let her stay with him and to insulate her from the others. She could even face her brother’s silly wife, if only she could have time alone to think.

  Now that she was alone, her desperation had subsided once again into quiet confusion. She recalled with longing the peaceful hours she had spent with Marc earlier in the day, but had little hope of regaining that feeling. Why was she so confused? Over and over in her mind, she replayed her refusal to marry Marc. What must he think of her?

  With a sigh of relief she found a parking space near her brother’s apartment building and rang the outside buzzer to his apartment. There was no answer over the intercom, nor was there a click signaling a release of the doors. Where was he?

  A couple came out of the building, and before the door could shut, Rebekka ducked inside and rode the elevator up the six floors to his apartment. She rang the bell, but there was still no answer. She knocked.

  “Raoul,” she called, knowing it was hopeless, “it’s me, Rebekka.”

  Now I’ll have to go to a hotel.

  Why are you running? a voice inside her head questioned.

  I can’t hurt Marc. I won’t! At least not more than I have already. I need some time.

  She was about to signal the elevator when she heard something in Raoul’s apartment. She rang again and as she did, the door opened. Her brother stood there, his eyes bloodshot and his auburn hair disheveled.

  They stared at each other for a full thirty seconds without speaking before he opened the door wider and ushered her in. She fell into his arms. “I’m so glad you’re here! I was debating whether to stay in your stairwell or go to a hotel.”

  “What is
it?” His face was pasty and he looked as though he hadn’t slept in days.

  “Oh, it’s just awful. I don’t know what to do!” She glanced around the small entryway. “Can we talk alone a minute? I don’t want to disturb Desirée.” Or have her listen in.

  “We’re alone,” Raoul said dully.

  The sadness in her brother face demanded that she ask, “Where’s Desirée? And why didn’t you come to the Perraults tonight? Josette said she talked to Desirée. Did she even tell you about the party?”

  He was silent a full minute, and then said, “She left me. An hour ago.” His eyes rose slowly to meet hers, his face crumpling as he gave into tears. “Two and a half months we were married, and now it’s over.”

  Horrified, Rebekka hugged him tightly. “What happened?”

  The dejection in his voice nearly broke her heart. “Earlier today, I found the jacket she claimed she’d lost in André’s office—at a place she liked to go before we met. A bartender had it. He didn’t know I was her husband, and he told me stories of what she has been up to while I was at work or doing church stuff. Or when I thought she was with friends. Drinking, dancing, flirting—and she’s been unfaithful.” He shuddered and closed his eyes briefly to regain control. “I confronted her after I got home. The stories were all true. She wouldn’t admit to them, but I could see it in her eyes. She knew I didn’t believe her. So she gave me an ultimatum: her or my faith.” Tears leaked from the corners of eyes that begged for understanding. “I turned my back on my beliefs once before when I married her, I realize that, but I won’t—I can’t—deny my faith again.”

  “I’m so sorry.” Rebekka led him to the kitchen and helped him sit in a chair. He looked about the room with unseeing eyes as she stood next to him, a comforting hand on his shoulder.

  “You were right all along, Rebekka. I shouldn’t have let what I wanted right then get in the way of my eternity. I let what I thought she was blind me to reality. I loved her so much that I couldn’t stand another day without having her with me, without being a husband to her. But now I can’t help thinking that if I had waited, and insisted on marrying her in the temple, things might have been different.” He turned into her and let his face burrow into her stomach. “I don’t really blame her. I was foolish, and now I don’t know if she’ll ever gain a testimony. Or come back to me. And I don’t know if I can be happy without her.” He struggled to breathe as sobs wracked his body.

  Rebekka rubbed his back awkwardly. Some of the guilt is mine, she thought. Though she hadn’t been in France when he had eloped, she distinctly remembered the e-mails where she had not warned Raoul against marrying Desirée. She had felt that she couldn’t tell him to wait when he had been so completely in love. After all, their parents had made their marriage work despite their religious differences, and while it was not the best scenario, she had believed it was possible that Raoul and Desirée would do the same. But her heart had known it was wrong; she should have warned him. But would he have listened?

  “I’m so sorry,” she repeated with a sense of failure. “Is there anything I can do?”

  He shook his head and continued to weep.

  For long moments Rebekka comforted her brother until at last there were no tears left. He pulled away from her, his face red and blotchy. Rebekka slumped into the opposite chair.

  “So why did you come tonight?” he asked after a long silence.

  Rebekka blinked in surprise. Wrapped up in her brother’s pain, she had put aside her own dilemma. How trivial her problem now seemed in light of Desirée’s desertion.

  “It’s nothing.”

  “Tell me. You can’t hide it from me. I know something’s wrong.” He sounded more like the old Raoul, the one who hadn’t yet learned of betrayal.

  She knew he would have it out of her one way or the other. “I love Marc, but recently I’ve had feelings for someone else. Well, not feelings so much, but I wonder if I’m making the right choice.”

  His eyes widened in surprise. “Is it that guy in America? Samuel or whatever?”

  “No. I haven’t even talked to him. I’ve been using my boss as a go-between.”

  He lifted a hand in a silent request for her to continue.

  “André,” she said in a low whisper.

  The implications were almost too much for Raoul. His hand fell to the table with a loud smack, and he stared at her in disbelief. “Does André know?”

  “He has an inkling, but he’s certainly not pursuing me or anything.” She looked at him beseechingly. “He was sad and needed a friend when Claire died, and I needed to talk about Marc. I kept wondering what I would do if he died, and there André was saying that he would take care of me—that Marc had asked him to take care of me! And I just started thinking about what a wonderful man he was, and that led to me thinking what might have happened if he had asked me out before my mission, before he met Claire. Don’t you see? It was all so gradual that I didn’t know something was happening before it hit me. We’ve been friends for so long. Good friends—close friends. And now I’m wondering what to do. What if I’m not supposed to marry Marc after all? You know how long I’ve loved him, and I can’t believe I’m even considering not marrying him. But how can I if I’m not absolutely sure? I don’t know what to do—I don’t want to hurt either of them.”

  His head shook in sympathy. “I wish I knew what to tell you. I wish I knew the answer.” He grimaced before continuing more softly, “Although I’m not too sure you’d want to follow any advice I gave you. As you can see, I didn’t do so well myself.”

  Rebekka sniffed twice and wiped the tears from her face. “Maybe I should go back to America.”

  Her brother looked at her quizzically. “Running away isn’t going to solve anything. Marc has proven that he’ll come after you, and André won’t because he loves Marc. So you’ll have found out nothing. No, you need to stay here and sort this out. You owe that to yourself and to them.”

  “I pray and pray but I just feel confusion.”

  “Then when don’t you feel confusion? Think about that. It’s what I’ve been asking myself this past month. I found that in church I don’t feel confused, with you I don’t feel confused, and at work there’s also no confusion. It’s only when I’m with her. So that’s why I let her leave tonight.”

  His words held a great deal of wisdom. “I’ll think on it,” she said as the phone rang, making her jump. Her breath caught in her throat. “I’ll bet it’s them.”

  Raoul picked up his portable phone from the table. “Hello?” he asked, grinding his toe into the green ceramic tile. “Oh . . . hi, André.” Not until she saw the disappointment on Raoul’s face did Rebekka realize that he had hoped the call was from Desirée. Her heart ached with pity. But if his description of Desirée’s behavior was true, how could he begin to want her back?

  “Don’t tell them I’m here!”

  Raoul motioned for her to stay and walked out of the kitchen. Annoyed that she couldn’t hear at least his side of the conversation, she waited tensely for his return. In a few moments Raoul reappeared and tossed the phone onto the table. It slid across the smooth surface toward her, as though begging her to talk to the person on the line. Rebekka clenched her fists. The engagement ring Marc had given her was suddenly heavy on her finger.

  “He already hung up,” Raoul said. “He was calling for Marc. I told him I’d heard from you and that you were all right, but that you didn’t want them to look for you. I said you’d call him and Marc tomorrow.”

  She sighed with relief and unclenched her fists. “Thank you. Though I don’t know what good another day is going to do.”

  Raoul scratched his head in what she recognized as his stalling gesture. There was obviously more he had not told her. “Here’s the bad news,” he said. “André and I got to talking about Desirée. I told him she left, and he said he’d be over in a minute.”

  Rebekka felt the strength drain from her limbs. Her temporary sanctuary had ended. “I’d b
etter get going then. I can’t talk to him, not tonight. Not until I know what I’m going to do.”

  “Wait!” Raoul searched her face, not missing the desperation in her eyes. “It’s just André. He’s not going to force you to talk if you don’t want to do. Besides, you could stay in the bedroom. I’ll go down and move your car so he won’t see it.”

  Rebekka nodded, relieved. “You have an old T-shirt I could wear to bed?”

  “Use whatever you want. Desirée left some stuff—you could use that.”

  “Uh, thanks. One of your shirts will be fine.” She stood and walked to the door leading to the hallway.

  “Rebekka?”

  She stopped. A shadow had crept over his face, and the sadness in his eyes made her want to cry. “Could you take our room?” he asked. “I think I’d rather sleep in the den.”

  “Sure, would you like me to make the couch up for you?”

  “It’s already out. I slept there last night.”

  She wondered how long he and Desirée had slept apart, but didn’t ask. Her brother deserved some privacy. “I’d like to meet Desirée in a dark alley,” she muttered on her way to the room, though it wasn’t really true. For Desirée there would be no rules of fairness or pity. How had she fooled them all with her act? Still, there had been some good in her, something Raoul had loved. Rebekka wondered if she would ever really understand what that was.

  Rebekka sighed as she rummaged through her brother’s tall dresser for a T-shirt that would be long enough to use as a nightgown. None were, so she used an old pair of his sweats for bottoms, pulling the drawstring tight. The entire outfit was rather large on her, but she would be warm. The digital radio clock on the nightstand read only nine o’clock, and she wasn’t tired. Her nerves felt taut, like a guitar strung too tight.

  “I need a book.” She spied a thick romance novel near the clock and began to read, but by the third chapter threw it on the floor where she could pick it up the next morning and toss it in the trash. “Junk. How can she read such garbage? It’s porn, not romance.”