In the top drawer of the other nightstand she found a set of scriptures and began to read. The noise of the doorbell caused her to abruptly set the book down, realizing she hadn’t understood a thing she had read. No wonder I’m so confused, she told herself. I don’t pay attention.
She jumped from the bed and began to pace in front of it, for the first time noticing how small the room was with all the new furniture Desirée and Raoul had purchased after their marriage. Maybe he should have agreed to move, she thought. Or maybe they should have bought less furniture.
She heard voices in the kitchen and recognized not only André’s voice, but also Marc’s. Of course he would come, too. They are both Raoul’s friends . . . and business partners. For the first time the full impact of what the brothers meant to each other hit her. They loved one another deeply, and she was coming between them. No matter what decision she made, life would never be the same for anyone ever again. For an intense moment, she longed for their childhood, where love meant tweaking ponytails and skating in the street.
Rebekka listened in utter stillness as the murmur of the men’s voices rose and fell. Her chest swelled with the familiarity of them until her heart nearly burst with longing. Within minutes, she heard them leave, and she tiptoed into the kitchen, expecting to find Raoul there alone. Instead he’d left a note, scribbled hastily.
Gone to the office to get some stuff done. Don’t worry. See you tomorrow.
The note was generic enough that the others would think it was for Desirée if they had seen it, but Rebekka knew Raoul meant it for her.
Gone to the office indeed, she thought with disgust. She remembered too well how Raoul had sent André to work the day after Claire’s funeral. Now it seemed André and Marc were returning the favor. What is it about guys and work? She didn’t admit, at least not in words, that she would love to go into her own office at her parents’ apartment and work—anything to take her mind off the confusion in her heart.
“It’s your own fault,” she chided herself, retreating back to the bedroom. She picked up her scriptures and read until finally falling asleep.
Chapter Thirty-One
On Monday, Marie-Thérèse accepted Josette’s invitation to eat lunch out. At twelve-thirty they left three-year-old Stephen happily playing with Ariana and drove to a nearby restaurant. “I just can’t stand staying at home,” Josette confessed when they were seated. “I feel so restless.”
“That’s because you’re sick of being pregnant and you want the baby to come.”
Josette sighed. “Yeah, I guess. You know, I never really knew what ‘endure to the end’ meant until now. I mean, I love my kids and wouldn’t trade any of them for anything in the world, but some days all the work is so overwhelming and endless that I want to run away and hide. I sometimes think about all the things I could do if I didn’t have so many kids.”
“Like me?” the words escaped before Marie-Thérèse could stop them.
Josette regarded her silently. “Maybe.” Her eyes became imploring. “Don’t hate me. I know these are my hormones talking, but I sometimes wonder why you even want another child.”
Marie-Thérèse couldn’t be offended at her sister’s apparent earnestness. “I’ll tell you how you would feel if you didn’t have all the boys. You’d wander around the house wishing you did.”
“Not me. I’d clean the floor or go shopping.”
“That’s because you have the kids and know what it’s like not to be able to do those things. When they grow up, I’ve no doubt that you’ll clean and go shopping, but you’ll appreciate the time only because of where you’ve been.”
“Actually, I think I’d rather do more interior decorating.” In conjunction with her husband’s real estate job, Josette often helped new owners decorate their homes. Marie-Thérèse knew she enjoyed it thoroughly—and missed it when she couldn’t take the time.
“Yeah, but the point is, I know you. You and Zack decided you wanted a lot of kids and you had them. Now you know what it’s like. If you didn’t have them, you’d always wonder.”
Josette stared at her solemnly. “Like you.”
“Like me.” Marie-Thérèse leaned back in her chair, not wanting any more of the gourmet sandwich she had ordered. “Although, I always knew I couldn’t handle a lot of kids. I do want just one more. A little girl, I think.”
Josette leaned forward. “Could that be because of Larissa?”
“Probably.” Marie-Thérèse sighed. “She grew up too fast. Do you know that yesterday she told me she wanted to bleach the brown from her hair and dye it blue?”
“I bet Mathieu loved that.”
Marie-Thérèse snorted. “He told her that she most certainly could do it—after she turned eighteen and moved out. Larissa, of course, yelled that she couldn’t wait until she turned eighteen and that the minute she did, she would be out of here. And she’d get her blue hair.”
“Well, we weren’t much older than that when we left home.”
“Two or three years makes a lot of difference. Besides, we left to go to BYU.”
“Yeah, and I had you.” Josette’s eyes were far away. “If I hadn’t, I think Mom and Dad would have preferred to chain me to the bed.”
“Not a bad solution,” Marie-Thérèse said lightly. “I just hope Larissa’s path won’t be too hard. I pray every night for something to wake her up—something that won’t be permanently damaging.” She grimaced. “I guess I want it both ways.”
Josette placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. “You’re a mother—of course you want that for your daughter.”
Her comments brought a question to Marie-Thérèse’s mind. “How do you feel not having a daughter?”
Josette shrugged. “It used to bother me a great deal, but now it’s okay. I don’t want to go through another pregnancy, and I see all the problems you’ve had with Larissa. I guess I’m pretty content.” She gave a low laugh. “I’ve always been good with boys anyway.”
“You got that right.” Marie-Thérèse threw her napkin onto the table. “You about ready?”
Josette nodded, coming awkwardly to her feet. “Maybe I should take Larissa out to lunch again. Although I don’t know if anything I said the last time helped.”
“You tried. That’s all I could ask.”
“And we’ll keep trying.”
“Mom said she had plans for Stephen all afternoon,” Josette said when they reached the car. “That means I’ve got nothing to do.”
“I thought you had floors to clean.”
Josette laughed and punched her playfully on the shoulder. “I’m too big to do any cleaning right now. Some women get the nesting instinct when they’re close to delivery, but I get the fleeing one. I want to be anywhere but cooped up at home. Besides, I have a lady coming in today to help out. So if you don’t mind, I’ll tag along home with you so that I can stay out of her way while she cleans.”
“Oh, I don’t mind.” It’ll save me from my own thoughts, Marie-Thérèse added silently. She unlocked her car door for Josette.
“Do you really think Rebekka and Marc won’t get married?” Josette asked. “Mom said she didn’t see her or Raoul at church yesterday. And Marc said he hadn’t talked to Rebekka yet, but that Raoul had promised she’d call.”
“She probably just has the prewedding jitters,” Marie-Thérèse answered. “I bet she’ll come around.” She hoped it was true.
When they arrived at her apartment, Marie-Thérèse checked her answering machine as she always did. The light was blinking, signaling a new message. She poked at the play-back button.
“Hello. This is the secretary at your son’s school. He’s had an allergic response to something. A bee, I think. He’s with the nurse now. Can you come down as soon as possible? We’ll call your husband’s number too, to see what you want us to do. Thanks, and good-bye.”
Abruptly, Marie-Thérèse felt a heavy substance form in her stomach, as though the sandwich she had eaten had petrified inside.
She wanted to run away. Instead, she snatched up the phone and dialed the geological department at the firm where Mathieu worked. His message service answered, and she hung up in frustration.
She explained the situation quickly to Josette. “Let’s just go down there,” her sister said. “I can call Mom and everyone else on the way to see if they’ve heard anything. Thank heaven Zack made me charge this stupid cell phone since he’s so worried I’ll go into labor at any minute.”
“Okay.” Marie-Thérèse seized her purse, trying to subdue her fears. The message the nurse left hadn’t sounded too threatening, and Brandon was forever coming down with something. Surely the school would take care of it. She forced a nervous laugh. “You’d think with all the times I’ve had to take him to the doctor for one reason or another that I’d have grown used to it.”
“It’s like labor,” Josette agreed. “You forget how hard the pains are until they begin. Although I have to admit, my births have been relatively easy compared to most.”
And I had to have double epidurals, Marie-Thérèse thought. As they left the apartment, for some reason she thought of Claire.
* * *
Marie-Thérèse was in a nightmare from which she couldn’t awake. They had arrived at Brandon’s school only to find that the nurse had called for an ambulance, which had taken him to the hospital.
“He’d gone into anaphylactic shock,” she explained. “He began to swell and could barely breathe. I gave him a shot of epinephrine to delay the reaction but . . .” She let the sentence dangle.
Marie-Thérèse gripped her sister’s arm. “We have to get to the hospital. I have to be there for him.”
“Mom!” Marie-Thérèse turned to see Larissa running in the school corridor toward her. “They told me what happened! Where is he?” Her eyes searched the area frantically for Brandon.
Marie-Thérèse felt numb and couldn’t make herself move to comfort her daughter. She blinked relief for her dry eyes, wondering why her body wouldn’t respond to the brain signals she was sending.
Josette put her arms around Larissa. “He’s at the hospital. We’re going there now.”
Without asking permission from either her teachers or her mother, Larissa followed them to the car. She has a right to be here, Marie-Thérèse thought.
Once at the hospital, Josette continued to call family, while Marie-Thérèse and Larissa waited to talk to the doctor. Time ticked slowly, interminably by, and all the while Marie-Thérèse’s fear grew. At last the doctor came to see them. “The nurse at your son’s school saved his life,” he began.
“Then he’s okay?” Josette said quickly.
“Well, yes and no.”
“What do you mean?” Marie-Thérèse felt dizzy from holding her breath.
The doctor frowned apologetically. “Your son had a severe allergic reaction to some food he ingested—strawberries and kiwi to be exact. Apparently, he had fruit salad for a snack. Strawberries and kiwis come from the same family, and apparently he got too much. Now that the swelling has gone down he can breathe fine, but he hasn’t regained consciousness. We are still unsure if that’s because the lack of oxygen damaged his brain, or if the damage occurred when he fell and hit his head on the cement when he collapsed on the school grounds. We don’t really know.”
“He’s in a coma?” whispered Marie-Thérèse.
“Yes, he is. Most likely he will awake, but there’s always the chance that he won’t. I’ve called in a specialist who’s with him right now, but when he’s done, you can go in to see . . .”
Marie-Thérèse stopped listening. The numbness she had felt at the school had vanished, replaced by a piercing agony. After all these years, the thing she had so dreaded was happening.
“The men will be here soon to give him a blessing,” Josette told her when the doctor had gone. “Mathieu arrived at the school shortly after we did and they directed him here. Come on, let’s sit down. Brandon’ll be fine.”
Rage enveloped Marie-Thérèse. She wanted to lash out, to hurt someone as badly as she was hurting inside. “Don’t you see?” she nearly screamed, knowing that she was on the edge of hysterics. It didn’t matter—nothing mattered but Brandon. “Pauline said that something was going to happen to him before she died! Don’t you remember? She said that she was going to watch over him until he could be with me. Don’t you remember that? This is what she was talking about—Brandon’s going to die!”
“No!” Josette put a firm hand on either shoulder. “That’s not what she meant! I remember it well. I wrote it down in my journal. She said ‘Your little boy is going to be just fine. I’ll help look after him until he gets to you.’ That’s what’s she said. ‘Until he gets to you.’ And we agreed long ago that it’s because she knew that when you were carrying him, you and Mathieu would have problems with money, and that you wouldn’t want to be pregnant—that you would resent it because you didn’t know how you could manage to feed another mouth. And that later you’d worry how your rejection would affect him. That’s what Pauline was talking about. And she told you not to worry about it. She meant to take care of him until he was born—that’s all.”
“What if that’s not what she meant?” Marie-Thérèse demanded, squashing the hope that hurt more terribly than the pain. “What if she meant now? That she’d watch over Brandon until I died and could be with him?”
“We felt the Spirit when we first talked about this,” Josette insisted. “We both did—all those years ago. You knew he’d be okay and not be affected by your rejection when you were pregnant. And he wasn’t, not one bit. Brandon’s a wonderful boy.”
Marie-Thérèse shook off her sister’s hands. “What if she meant then and now! So many spiritual things are directed at more than one circumstance—look at the scriptures.”
“Well?” there was a flare of anger in Josette’s eyes. “Then he’ll be okay now, too.”
Marie-Thérèse faced her with equal anger. “But people are okay when they’re dead! Aren’t they? Aren’t my mom and dad and my sister Pauline okay? Of course they are. Well, I don’t want to lose my son to that kind of ‘okayness.’ I’ve lost too many already!” Marie-Thérèse began to sob bitterly.
Josette’s mouth rounded to an O, and she tried once again to comfort Marie-Thérèse. But Marie-Thérèse backed away. “Don’t touch me!”
She ran. Away from the loving sister who had been blessed with so much; away from the rebellious daughter who didn’t love her; away from her faithful Brandon, who would now get his wish to see what it was like to be dead.
Inside the bathroom, Marie-Thérèse paced in a stall, tears running freely down her cheeks. No! No! her heart moaned over and over. Time passed, but for Marie-Thérèse there was nothing but the bathroom stall and her silent pleas. She closed her eyes and let the agony consume her.
“Mom?” Larissa’s voice came, tremulous and frightened. “Mom, are you here?” After several loud sniffs, she added. “I see your shoes. I know you’re there.”
Marie-Thérèse had stopped pacing at the sound of the voice and now she opened her eyes. With distaste, she noticed that the previous occupant of the stall had not only been messy, but had neglected to flush the toilet. She burst from the stall, feeling ill.
“He’s going to be okay,” Larissa said tentatively, but there was a question in her voice.
Marie-Thérèse didn’t reply, but put her arms around her daughter and held her, enjoying the life that pulsed in her gangly body. Larissa clung to her, tears wetting her young face. “Dad’s here,” she said softly.
They emerged from the bathroom and found Mathieu waiting for them. Marie-Thérèse released Larissa and fell into his arms. “Our little boy,” she whispered. “He’s dying.”
“That’s not what the doctor said. We need to have hope.” There was no reproach in Mathieu’s voice, but Marie-Thérèse became even more despondent.
“What will we do if he dies?”
“We go on.”
“I don’t know how
,” she replied wearily, pulling away from her husband and the comfort he offered. “I’ve done it so many times. I can’t do it again. I can’t lose him.”
Larissa made a rude noise in her throat, and her face suddenly flamed with hurt. “Maybe if he died, you’d finally pay some attention to me! Isn’t that a stupid thought? Like it would ever happen. You’ve always loved him more than me. Just because you didn’t want him when you were pregnant with him and you were afraid he’d grow up to be a mass murderer or something. You try to make it up to him, but you can’t so instead you love him more.”
“Where did you hear that?” Marie-Thérèse demanded, horrified. She’d been so careful with the secret.
“I heard you talking about it with Aunt Josette today, and about a million times over the years.” Larissa’s chin lifted. “Well, what about me, Mother? When does anyone start caring about me? With my rotten luck Brandon really will die and you’ll cry about it the rest of your life. And I’ll pay for it. This really stinks!”
Mathieu’s face turned thunderous. Marie-Thérèse had seen him angry before, but never so completely. “That’s quite enough, Miss Smarty Pants!” he said tightly, almost viciously. “You had better get some respect and get it fast. I’m through putting up with your antics. Through! You are our daughter and you’re going to start showing us the respect we deserve. Think about others for a change, instead of yourself!”
“You always take her side!” Larissa shouted. “Always!”
“I’m not always on her side,” Mathieu said, his color deepening. “Was I on her side when I let you go to that concert with your friends? Was I on her side when I agreed that you should be allowed to cut your hair? What about when I said I didn’t think you should have to share a room with the new baby? A dozen instances come to mind when we’ve both been more than fair with you, but it’s over. As of today, I’m laying down the law. You will obey and pay respect or else!”
Larissa stared at her father in surprise which quickly gave way to anger. “I hate you!” she said venomously. “I hate you both! You can have your precious Brandon—I’m leaving!”
Ties That Bind Page 28