The Ariana Trilogy

by Rachel Ann Nunes

  Just before the dinner rush, Jacques, with Paulette in tow, came to see me. For once, my husband’s eyes were clear of drugs, unlike Paulette’s, whose light brown stare was clouded and who moved as if in a dream.

  “I got me a job!” Jacques exclaimed, his beautiful smile transforming his features into those of the man with whom I had fallen in love.

  I ran around the counter to hug him. “That’s great! What will you be doing?”

  “Well, my uncle works for the train station, and he got me a job as a ticket taker. No more heavy lifting for me!” Jacques picked me up and whirled me around somewhat awkwardly.

  I felt my happiness flood back. “I’m so happy, Jacques! I knew you could do it!” Jacques swaggered around a bit, basking in my praise like a small child. He kissed me quickly and turned to leave.

  “I’m going to tell the gang,” he called over his shoulder when he reached the door. His eyes darted to Paulette. “You coming?”

  She shook her head. “Naw. I came to talk to Ariana. Tell them I’ll come by later.” Jacques shrugged and left, whistling happily to himself as he walked out into the cold.

  I took my break in the kitchen, bringing Paulette with me. “I’ve only got a few minutes before the rush starts,” I warned. “Speak fast.”

  Paulette focused her eyes briefly on me, as if trying to remember what she had come to say. “Oh yeah, it was your parents. I saw them outside your father’s bank. They recognized me and asked about you.”

  The knowledge startled me. “Did you tell them about the baby?”

  She shook her head. “No way. I know you don’t want that.”

  “So what did you tell them? How did they look? Did they ask to see me?” My heart beat rapidly as the questions rushed out one after another, with barely a pause in between.

  Paulette closed her eyes for a moment to let the questions sink into her drugged brain. “Let’s see. I told them you had a job at a small but very nice café, that you and Jacques were still desperately in love, and that you weren’t drinking anymore. They asked specifically about that, but I don’t think they believed me. And . . . what else did you want to know?”

  “How did they look?” I prompted.

  “Not good. Older than before—when your brother was—”

  “Did they ask to see me?” I interrupted, not wanting Antoine dragged into the conversation. “Or say that I was welcome there or something?”

  Paulette shook her head. “No.”

  I sighed. I don’t know what I had been expecting. Like me, they were still grieving for Antoine. At least I had new hope in my baby.

  I glanced out to the counter, where people were beginning to line up. “I’ve got to go now, but thanks, Paulette.” We left the kitchen, and I climbed up on my high stool, watching her leave.

  Marguerite was staring at me, and I turned my attention to her, raising my eyebrows questioningly.

  She pointed to the door with her chin. “That one is just about done for,” she said sadly. “She looks like my Michelle the last time I saw her. A few years later, she was dead.” Marguerite turned from me, putting on a mask of happiness for the next customer—but not before I saw the devastating loss in her eyes.

  How horrible to lose your only child like that, I thought. My hand went to where my own little one grew, stretching the skin on my stomach so tightly that I feared it would break. I’ll never let you near drugs, I vowed, setting my jaw firmly. I’ll keep you safe—even if it means keeping you from your own father.

  Wistfully, I turned to my work, masking my thoughts as had Marguerite. Life always went on its speeding course, not caring if one had time to think out the important things.

  * * *

  Jacques kept his job for only a short time. He was fired two weeks before Christmas for fighting on the job—not once but on three different occasions. The company had to pay damages on two of the cases and was taking no more risks with him. His pay for the two weeks had taken care of the rent for one more month, as well as the carpet cleaning I insisted on before the baby came, but I had expected much more.

  Jacques plunged once more into his drunken, drug-filled world, this time with a vengeance. I withdrew from him, despairing of what I could do to save him and myself.

  “What about when the baby comes?” I asked him a couple of days before I was due, a week before Christmas. “I’m not going to be able to work for a while. How will we eat and pay the rent?”

  He turned on me. “This whole baby idea wasn’t mine,” he sneered. “But I did right by marrying you, didn’t I? Leave me alone!” He stalked out, slamming the door behind him.

  Once more I was late for work, making things worse by bursting into tears the minute I walked in the door. Again Marguerite took me into the back, leaving Jules with the customers. “What did he do this time?” she asked almost menacingly, helping me off with my coat and gloves.

  “He got fired, the baby’s coming, the doctor tells me that I won’t be able to work for two or three weeks . . .” The words came out in a rush as I hiccupped and sobbed my way through my problems.

  Marguerite listened sympathetically. When I had calmed somewhat, she said, “Well, your doctor is right. I remember with my Michelle, I was in bed for a week and couldn’t walk without pain for another two. They told me that second babies are better, though, so remember that it shouldn’t be so bad the next time.”

  “The next time?” The idea sounded so ridiculous that I laughed in spite of myself. I had learned a thing or two in the last nine months, and there was no way I was going to have another baby until Jacques straightened out completely.

  Marguerite smiled. “And Ariana, you don’t have to worry about how to pay your rent. You have become very valuable to us. Your friendliness and quickness at filling orders have helped increased business substantially, and we’ve decided to raise your wage. You can also take your vacation with pay earlier, instead of after a year’s work, so you can receive money while on maternity leave. And when you get well, you can bring the baby with you to work. We’ll put a crib in the office where the cot is, and you can come and nurse or take care of him or her anytime you want. Jules and I will help you.”

  I threw my arms around Marguerite. “Oh, thank you! How can I ever repay you?”

  Marguerite sniffed. “You have already become the daughter I lost, and I am very proud of you. I should have told you before this, but . . .” She shrugged as her voice trailed off. We sat in comfortable silence, and then she spoke again.

  “There’s one more thing, Ariana. We have several small, one bedroom apartments above us that are or will soon be vacant. I know you want a better environment for your child, and while our building is old, it is well cared for and the renters very carefully screened. We would offer you a rent as low as your other place if you want to move here, but . . .” She hesitated as if choosing her words carefully, “we wouldn’t accept anyone on drugs.”

  I nodded, knowing that she meant Jacques. “Thank you, Marguerite. I am very grateful to you, and I will think about it, but I do mean to stay with my husband, if I can. I still love him.”

  Marguerite stood up. “I understand that, Ariana,” she said softly. “I simply wanted you to be aware of an alternative if you should come to need it.”

  We went to work, relieving Jules, who was swamped with orders. Together Marguerite and I handled the rush easily, talking naturally with our customers, most of whom we knew by name. Through the afternoon, I felt my stomach tighten and relax as it had been doing for the last week. False labor, they called it, and while it wasn’t really painful, it did give me a sense of what was to come.

  In the late afternoon, I noticed the contractions were coming at regular fifteen-minute intervals. They still seemed no harder or more painful than before, but it drove me to distraction. Could the baby be coming?

  The dinner rush was hectic as usual, and I worked as quickly as possible to take the customers’ orders. During any slowdown, no matter how brief, Margueri
te or I would slip over to the dining area to clear the tables. At first, I didn’t notice that the contractions were coming even closer and more severely, causing me to catch my breath. I thought I was just tired from the long day. Then, all at once, I doubled up in pain near a table I was wiping clean. I sat abruptly on the chair in surprise. I knew without a doubt that I was in real labor. There could be no mistaking it.

  “Marguerite!” I shouted, oblivious to the many curious stares turned my way. My pain and excitement must have been written on my face, because she dropped what she was doing immediately.

  “We’re closing early tonight!” she pronounced, raising her voice. “Ariana’s going to have her baby!” Everyone clapped, and a few regulars crowded around me. Marguerite brought my coat and helped me into it.

  “You take her to the hospital,” Jules said. “I’ll close and see if I can find Jacques before I follow you.” He put his hand on the shoulder of one of the regulars. “Will you take them in your car?” The man nodded, and he and Marguerite helped me out the door into the freezing night air.

  As we left, I noticed someone had already put up the “Closed” sign on the door to the café, with a bigger one beneath that read: “Ariana’s having her baby!” The words brought a lump to my throat and tears to my eyes.

  I remember little of the mad dash through Paris to the hospital, only the pain that seemed to come and go like waves in the ocean. I do remember calling Antoine’s name and my mother’s, but neither was there to help me. Just Marguerite, whose rough hand clasped mine and helped me through the pain.

  When we got to the hospital, I was already fully dilated. The doctor told me I had probably been in labor since the early afternoon yet hadn’t recognized it. He offered me some drugs to dull the pain, though he was doubtful they would take effect before the baby came. Regardless, I refused. There was no way I would allow drugs into my body—Jacques already used more than enough drugs for his whole family.

  I didn’t once think of my husband as I pushed and pushed, feeling that my insides were about to explode. Through it all, Marguerite was a solid rock in my storm. Sometime near the end, Jacques came into the room. His eyes were glazed, and he reeked of alcohol. For an instant I was happy to see him, until I realized that he was mostly unaware of what was happening. When he suddenly leaned over and retched on the floor, I glared at him angrily.

  “Not even for this could you be sober! Get out! I don’t want you here to sully our baby!” Anger flared briefly in his eyes, but he turned and left without uttering a single word.

  Someone cleaned up the mess while I tried to rest between contractions, which were coming more quickly by the moment. Soon I could no longer tell when one ended and the other began.

  “I can see the head now, Ariana,” the doctor said suddenly. “Just a couple more big pushes, and it’ll be out.”

  My labor had already gone on much longer than the doctor had expected, and I was exhausted. Still, I gathered up my scattered energy and pushed for all I was worth. Five more pushes and the head was finally free, followed immediately by the body. Relief flooded through me—never had I known such a wonderful feeling!

  “You have a little girl,” the doctor said, bringing the baby to me. “Healthy and beautiful.”

  I knew as he spoke that I had wanted a girl all along. I hadn’t been able to afford an ultrasound to determine the sex of my child, but in my dreams, the baby had always been a girl. “Oh, my precious Antoinette,” I cooed. “You’re so beautiful! I’ve waited so long for you!”

  “She’s so perfect!” Marguerite exclaimed in awe.

  We sat there looking down in speechless admiration at my baby for long minutes, until the doctor whisked her away for a few tests. I felt a great loss when they took her from me, almost an ache. But before I knew it, she was back again in my arms, and Marguerite was showing me how to nurse her.

  A sudden commotion came from down the hall as Jacques pushed past Jules, who on Marguerite’s instructions was guarding the waiting room door. “It’s my baby too!” he yelled. “And I want to see her!”

  I was afraid of what I would see when he barged his way in, but someone had given him lots of coffee and made him shower and change. There was only a trace of the drugs in his eyes, and not even the smell remained of the alcohol.

  Jacques stared at the baby in amazement. “She’s so tiny, so beautiful,” he whispered reverently. He reached out to glide a finger over Antoinette’s cheek.

  “Would you like to hold her?” I asked, keeping the reluctance from my voice.

  Jacques stared at the baby for a minute before replying. “May I?” I nodded and carefully handed Antoinette to him. As I did, she opened her dark eyes to gaze into her father’s. Wonder spread over his face. Happiness blossomed in my heart as I watched my husband tenderly cuddle our daughter, our little angel from heaven. Sighing, I lay back on the pillows. From the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of Jules hovering outside the room.

  “Jules, come in here and see the baby,” I called. He came eagerly with the same reverence on his face that Jacques had shown.

  After a few minutes, Jacques awkwardly handed the baby back to me. “I think she’s hungry, she’s trying to suck on her fist.” I gratefully took my daughter back into my arms.

  “I didn’t know what it would be like,” Jacques continued, his voice clearly showing amazement. “I had no idea I would feel this way.” He tore his gaze from Antoinette and looked at me earnestly. “I do want to be worthy of her—and you, Ariana. I’ll make good, you’ll see. I’m through with drugs.”

  I knew he was sincere, and I wanted to believe him. But something told me that such a change wouldn’t come easily.

  Chapter Four

  “I got a job!” Jacques exclaimed triumphantly the day before Christmas. Little Nette was six days old. I felt a sense of déjà vu; this was the third time Jacques had said this exact phrase to me since I first met him, once before our marriage and twice since. I wondered how long this job would last.

  I stifled the thought quickly. “That’s great, honey!” I said. “Doing what?”

  “I’m a doorman at that hotel near Notre Dame!”

  I was surprised. “Why, that’s really something! I can’t believe it! How did you do it?”

  He told me in detail, but my thoughts wandered as he spoke. It didn’t matter how he had charmed his way into the job, just that he had gotten it. The week since Nette’s birth had passed in a sea of happiness for me, marred only by the fear that Jacques would not live up to his promise. But each day he had searched diligently for work and then had come home to attend to Nette and me faithfully. I hadn’t seen him drugged up or drinking the whole week, though I had smelled alcohol on his breath a time or two, and I was happy that he seemed to be keeping his promise. I was proud of Jacques and felt all the love I had for my handsome husband brimming to the surface again.

  While I was happy with Jacques and basked in his tender care, I still felt afraid to trust and love him completely. With my precious new baby, I had no such reserves. I delighted in Nette and lavished upon her all the love I felt I hadn’t received from my own mother—all the love I had once cherished only for my twin brother. She was a miracle, and I couldn’t believe the incredible love and awe that glowed in my heart each time I looked at her soft, perfect features. I gave her my whole love as only a mother can. In return, she was a good baby, fussing only when she was hungry or tired.

  I was relieved to have my own body back after being pregnant for so long, though my breasts were sore and cracked from nursing. I shrugged the pain aside, knowing it would not last.

  “How about a party to celebrate my new job?” Jacques suggested, coming to sit with me on our old couch. He had finished a very prolonged explanation of how he convinced the manager at the hotel to hire him, a feat that included showing pictures of me and little Antoinette.

  While I hadn’t been listening closely to his story, I stiffened immediately at the mention of a part
y. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Jacques,” I protested, choosing my words carefully. “The baby is too young to be exposed to all that smoke and excitement.”

  Jacques looked doubtful but still seemed determined to do what was best for his daughter. “Well, maybe you’re right. We can have a party in a few weeks, when she’s older.”

  So we spent a quiet and happy Christmas, cuddling together against the cold outside that seeped in through the thin windows and walls. We bought each other small gifts—a new pair of gloves for me and a wallet for Jacques—and we ate Christmas dinner with Marguerite and Jules. Because of the baby, we all agreed to have dinner on Christmas Day instead of the traditional one at midnight on Christmas Eve. For presents, Marguerite and Jules gave us clothes for Antoinette, and I happily dressed her up in each outfit to model for us while Jules snapped photographs. To my wonder, Jacques was charming and full of fun; even Marguerite was impressed with him.

  The next week sped by quickly. Paulette and Marguerite came to see me often, cooing and cuddling the baby. I loved Marguerite’s visits, but I was always nervous to let Paulette hold Nette. She was more often drugged than not, and I was afraid she would drop the baby. I didn’t let the rest of our gang in the apartment at all, using the sleeping baby and my recovery as an excuse; but the better I became, the harder it was to keep them out. It helped that Jacques worked mostly nights; I simply didn’t answer the door when they came, justifying my actions because of Antoinette.

  When little Nette was two weeks old, I returned to work. I felt good, though I still tired easily. “That’s because you’re nursing,” Marguerite said as she showed me the small crib with wheels that she and Jules had purchased. “See? It rolls. That way if she’s awake, we can roll her into the kitchen to be with Jules while he’s cooking, or even to the counter with us if we’re not too busy. Of course, when she’s a little older we’ll have to block off part of the kitchen and put some blankets down to let her crawl—we can’t have her growing up confined to a crib, you know.”