The Ariana Trilogy

by Rachel Ann Nunes

  “There’s a story in the scriptures about a man named Nephi,” I began. “He was a good man and obeyed the Lord’s commandments. But two of his older brothers were wicked, and they complained because they thought the Lord’s words, given to them through their prophet father, were difficult to understand. Nephi asked why they hadn’t asked the Lord, as he had done, for understanding, and the brothers said they hadn’t asked because the Lord wouldn’t answer. This makes me assume that perhaps they had tried at some point in their lives and didn’t receive an answer.” My words seemed to strike a chord in Simone, and she listened intently. “Nephi’s response to his brothers was to ask why they did not obey the Lord’s commandments. You see, the Lord will not answer those who have hardened their hearts through sin.”

  “You mean the drugs,” Simone said. “He won’t answer me while I’m doin’ stuff like that.”

  I nearly smiled. Simone had once again proved how agile her mind was. “Well, you know it’s wrong. Your body is a temple, the Lord’s temple, His gift to you. He has commanded us to take care of it. I know that if you obey His commandments and ask Him with your whole heart, He will respond.”

  Her face crumpled. “I can’t do it! I can’t stop. I’ve been tryin’ real hard, but I can’t.”

  “It’s not easy. Drugs are addicting. The Lord knows that. You just need to do your best. It won’t happen overnight.”

  “Paulette quit.”

  “Not alone.”

  “No?”

  “The ward members helped her.”

  “But I thought ya couldn’t join the Church if you was—I mean, why would they help her?”

  “Because she’s a child of God, like you are.”

  “If that’s true, I’ll go to hell anyway ’cause I can’t stop.” She gazed into the canopy of green above us. “I want to believe that Paulette will go to heaven and that I’ll see her again like she says. But even if it’s true, I won’t make it there to be with her ’cause of the drugs.”

  “You’re right.”

  Her eyes flew to mine in surprise. “What?”

  “Not without help. But if you want to, you can beat it.”

  “I do want to! I do!” There was no doubting the fervent emotion in her words.

  “There are programs—” I began.

  “Too expensive.” She dismissed them with a wave of her hand.

  “Not for your family and those who love you. We can help, if you’ll let us.”

  “I can’t let ya do that.”

  “Why? Because you don’t really want to be free?”

  “No, I do! But—”

  I took her hands in mine. “I love Paulette. She’s my best friend, like the sister I never had. To see you freed of drugs would be the greatest gift ever. Can you deny her that joy? Or me?”

  “What if I fail?”

  “If you don’t try, you have already failed.” It was a saying I had heard somewhere, and it seemed to fit.

  Calm determination filled Simone. “I want to do it. Please help me.”

  We walked back to the apartment, and I called a friend from my days working with the Anti-Drug Coalition. The next afternoon Paulette and I checked Simone into a six-month program with constant supervision for the first few weeks and varying stages thereafter. Any setback would return her to constant supervision. If all went well, Simone could gain a work release in two weeks, providing she found a new job; her old one as a barmaid was too tempting. Pierre took care of that, setting her up as a clerk in one of the grocery stores he oversaw.

  “You can do it, Mother,” Paulette encouraged. Her face shone with happiness.

  “I think maybe I can.”

  Before we turned to leave, Paulette pressed a small package into her mother’s hands. I knew it was the Book of Mormon. “Read a chapter a day. It’ll help.” They hugged as well as they could with Paulette’s huge stomach between them, and the glow of their love warmed me.

  “Try First Nephi, chapter fifteen,” I said. “You might recognize the story.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  The next week, Paulette came down with a severe cold. The doctor, fearing another bout of pneumonia and an early delivery, ordered her to bed, and Louise once again took over running her household. But Paulette seemed to be recovering nicely.

  The end of July found me alone in my sitting room, wondering where the days had gone. Lu-Lu’s wedding was to be held in a mere two weeks; we had still found no way to stop it. I sighed and gazed out the window into the dark night. My reflection stared back at me, my eyes seeming to fill my whole face, large and pensive. I glanced hurriedly away.

  It was Monday, and I had hoped Jean-Marc would come home for family night, which I always held after dinner; but he didn’t. I had put the children to bed at their usual time, after reading a Book of Mormon story and singing to them in the dark.

  I missed Jean-Marc. A feeling of melancholy settled over me as I thought about our relationship. How could I reach the part of him that was holding back? And why was he holding back? I needed to ask him, but I was apprehensive of his reaction. I didn’t want him to retreat from me to think things over. Is this how life is supposed to be? I wondered. The burdens seemed much heavier than they should have been. I put my head in my hands and sighed.

  “Mommy?” Marc and Josette stood in the doorway.

  “Is something wrong?” I asked. They nodded and ran to me, burrowing their faces into my body.

  “I’m scared,” Josette said. “The closet was open, and I could see a man in it.”

  “Why didn’t you shut it?” I asked Marc. He shrugged.

  “He was afraid, too.”

  “Was not!”

  “Was too!”

  “That’s enough!” I hugged them both tightly. “I guess I’ll go take care of the man in the closet.”

  Amidst the giggles, I heard someone at the front door.

  “Daddy!” The children ran to the hall and smothered him with chubby arms and wet kisses.

  Jean-Marc smiled wearily but returned their embraces. “What? Still awake? I guess the tiger will have to eat you up. Grrr!”

  They screamed in delight. Now it would take even longer for them to settle down and sleep. But I forced a smile; at least they were able to spend some time with their father. The wrestling continued until Marc hit his head on the coffee table. He screeched in exaggerated agony.

  “Big baby!” Josette taunted.

  “It hurts!”

  Their argument began in earnest, but it was only a shadow of what I faced daily alone. At least now my husband was here to take care of it. He would sit them down and discuss why they shouldn’t argue and how the Lord expected them to act. I turned to face Jean-Marc, but his expression frightened me.

  “Go to bed now!” he said. His face wore an ugly frown. “I have enough problems at work; I can’t deal with this petty bickering!”

  “But I can’t go—” Josette began.

  “Now!”

  “But the closet,” Marc wailed.

  “One, two, three,” Jean-Marc said. Before he had finished counting, the twins were out the door, crying loudly about the monster.

  “What was that all about?” I said stiffly. “You didn’t even listen to them. They’re scared to death because of something they saw in the closet, but you’re so busy being sick of their arguing that you don’t hear them when they really need you!”

  “They were arguing about something stupid,” he said. “I just stopped them.”

  I wondered if he thought I should be grateful. “By yelling at them and not listening? Is that what you want to be to them—someone who comes home at night, just to yell when the mildest of arguments break out?”

  “Mildest?”

  I nodded, and he gave me a sheepish grin. “I’m sorry. I just got angry. Sometimes I forget they’re only four. I’m not with them all day, so I don’t have as much patience as you do.”

  “That’s exactly why you should have more patience,” I retorted.
“You haven’t had to listen to it all day.”

  We stared at each other in silence. “Is something else wrong?” he asked. Beneath his calm exterior, I sensed an odd fear.

  “It’s Monday. Tonight was family night.”

  He slapped his hand against his forehead. “I forgot.”

  That’s what I thought was so strange. His forgetting didn’t go with his character. Something—perhaps fear?—was causing him to act this way.

  “They’re only four,” he said. “It’s not like they really need family night.”

  “Don’t they? Wouldn’t a lesson on fighting come in handy?” I purposely made my voice light. I turned to leave.

  “Where are you going?” he asked.

  “To get the man out of the closet.”

  Jean-Marc followed me to the twins’ dark bedroom, where we found them huddled together on Josette’s bed. Jean-Marc’s face was full of remorse. He strode across the room and swept both children into his arms. “I’m sorry, kids. I didn’t know you had a monster in here.”

  “He’s in the closet.” Marc wrapped his arms around his father in forgiveness, but Josette pouted a few more seconds before giving in.

  I turned on the light and went to open the free-standing closet in the corner. There was nothing in it but clothes. “See? He’s gone.”

  “Your arguing must have scared him away,” Jean-Marc said. The twins laughed.

  “Maybe he heard you come home, Daddy,” Marc said. He scratched his eyebrow. “Why did you miss family night again? We ate cake.”

  Jean-Marc’s eyes met mine. “I don’t know.” His voice seemed puzzled. “I had to work.”

  I shrugged and left him with the twins. There was no telling how long he would stay with them now. He was a good man; he just didn’t know his children well.

  Or know how much I missed him.

  André had slept through the entire commotion. As I kissed his little cheek, I marveled again at how good he was. The compelling desire for another child entered my heart, one with Jean-Marc’s green-brown eyes, but I pushed it away. I couldn’t handle another child, not now.

  An hour later, Jean-Marc came to our room. He undressed quickly and climbed into bed, reaching out his arms for me. I moved closer and curled my body into his. I tried to sleep, but Jean-Marc’s breathing told me he was wide awake.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked.

  “I was thinking about my father,” he said softly. “Why can’t I remember him? All I can recall is his voice, not his face.”

  “What brought this on?”

  He sighed. “Something you said earlier. When I was there, with the twins, it came back to me. I began wondering how they would remember me when they got older.”

  “They’ll remember playing tiger,” I said, trying to cheer him. Whatever had brought this mood, I welcomed it. If change could only begin within, perhaps it had started tonight.

  “I hope so,” he said.

  So did I.

  * * *

  The phone rang in the middle of the night, its tone loud and piercing. Thinking it was the smoke alarm, I jerked to a sitting position. “Wake up, Jean-Marc!” I shook him briefly and ran into the hall before realizing it was only the phone. Dread rose within me. A phone ringing in the night only bode ill for those it reached.

  “Hello?”

  “The baby’s coming now!” Pierre blurted out the instant I spoke. I almost cried with relief. At least no one had been killed in a sudden accident. The baby was early, nearly two months, but the doctor had warned us it might happen. In fact, he had even given Paulette drugs to help the baby’s lungs develop faster in the event of an early birth.

  “Can you come? She wants you here. Louise is staying with Marie-Thérèse.”

  “I’ll be right there!”

  Jean-Marc had appeared in the kitchen. “What’s up?” He trailed after me as I returned to our room and began dressing.

  “The baby’s coming. I’ve got to be there with her.”

  He sat on the bed, watching me sleepily. “How long will you be?”

  “There’s no telling. I’ll call when she’s born.”

  He nodded. I ran a quick hand through my hair. “You look beautiful,” he said.

  I could tell he meant it, but I had no time for sentiment. “Now, please,” I said, holding his gaze with my own. “If the children cry, get up with them. And don’t be upset.” Sometimes he could become annoyed if awakened from a sound sleep. I didn’t blame him exactly because I got angry too, but as parents we had to contain our irritation at things that in twenty years wouldn’t make any difference.

  “Of course,” he said, sounding offended.

  I kissed him and ran out the door.

  I was out of breath when I arrived at the hospital. A nurse made me scrub my hands with a sterile brush and special soap, wrapped me in a white gown, and hustled me into the delivery room before I had a chance to think. They were taking every precaution to prevent germs from infecting the premature baby. Paulette lay on the bed heaving, rivulets of perspiration streaming from her forehead. Pierre held her hand, coaching her. Two doctors and three nurses surrounded the bed. One of the doctors was Medard. Each member of the medical staff wore thick rubber gloves, reaching past the elbow, presumably a safeguard against their becoming infected with HIV. I thought I caught a glimpse of plastic lining under their white coats as well.

  “I’m here, Paulette,” I said.

  “Thank you, Ari.” She reached out her other hand and grasped mine. Then the contraction began again, and her face contorted in pain.

  “Push, Paulette!” the doctor said.

  “Oh, it hurts,” she moaned. “I can’t!”

  Seeing her pain, I remembered the experience all too well. “It’ll be over soon,” I murmured. “And you’ll have your little girl.”

  Paulette glanced at me gratefully. She let go of our hands and grabbed her own legs, bearing down.

  “Good! She’s coming!”

  We watched as the head eased out, and Dr. Medard checked for a cord. “Okay, now push again, Paulette,” he said. With a final effort, the baby was born.

  “You have a girl,” someone said.

  “A girl!” Paulette sighed. We had already known from the ultrasound, but ultrasounds had been known to be wrong.

  I saw only a glimpse of a tiny baby with dark hair before the second doctor picked her up and carried her to the table and equipment at the side of the room. Only a few inches of scrawny legs hung over his cupped hands. How can such a tiny thing be alive at all? I wondered. The doctor set her down, and two of the nurses crowded around him, working quickly. What was wrong? I couldn’t see what they were doing, and it scared me that I couldn’t hear the baby. I wanted to rush over and see for myself what was happening, but Paulette reached out for my hand, squeezing it tightly. At last we heard a tiny cry.

  “Is she all right?” Pierre asked.

  “They’re stabilizing her,” said Dr. Medard. “And cleaning off any blood. Then Dr. Orlan will take her to run more tests since she’s so early.”

  At the words, Dr. Orlan glanced over his shoulder at us. He was part Asian, by the slant of his dark eyes, and it made him seem mysterious in the midst of the more common French features. “She looks good and is breathing well with the oxygen,” he said. “I think she’ll be fine.”

  Paulette sobbed her relief, but apparently not all was right. Dr. Medard had continued to work with Paulette and was now asking the nurse for drugs whose names I didn’t recognize.

  “What’s wrong?” Pierre asked with a hint of hysteria in his voice.

  “She’s hemorrhaging a little, but we’ll get it under control,” Dr. Medard said. It seemed like long minutes until the man heaved a sigh and stepped back from the bed. He looked up at Paulette and Pierre. “It’s stopping now.”

  “We’re taking the baby.” Dr. Orlan looked at Pierre. “You can go with the baby, or you can stay with your wife.”

  Paulette shook her
head. “You go with her, Ariana.”

  I nodded and stood up, but the doctor hesitated. “We usually only let parents come when the babies are so early. It’s important for the baby not to be exposed to too many different people at this stage.”

  Paulette glared at him. “There’s nothing usual about my situation.” “I’ve got AIDS, and my husband is HIV positive. Who do you think is going to raise this child?”

  Pierre nodded. “My sister-in-law is closer than family.”

  Dr. Orlan appeared to make a quick decision. “Okay, then, come on.”

  I followed them as they whisked the baby from the room in a warmer and down the hall to the other side of the floor, opposite the delivery rooms. The doctor and nurses paused to open a door with a sign reading Intensive Care Nursery. The quiet in the room was relieved by the hum and beeping of the equipment, and occasionally one heard soft human voices or a weak baby’s cry. Incubators were spaced at regular intervals; about ten of the forty box-like chambers were empty. The rest held tiny babies, some much smaller than Paulette’s daughter, all watched over by attentive nurses or parents. There were no windows as in the regular nursery, where parents, friends, and family could peer at the babies. They wanted to keep this nursery as germfree as possible, and no windows meant fewer people in the area. The array of equipment and the number of personnel, even this early in the morning, were impressive. I was beginning to appreciate the large and varied nature of this hospital.

  They took the new baby to a corner and continued to work with her, taking all kinds of tests before bathing her, putting on a miniature diaper, and taping on numerous thin wires that connected to nearby monitors. Through it all she whimpered softly, sometimes even crying loudly. I felt my heart go out to her, as any mother’s would at the sound of a newborn’s cry. In between tests, one of the nurses rocked the baby close to her chest. I was grateful she could do for the child what Paulette could not.

  “How is she?” I asked when they seemed to be finished. Even to me, my voice sounded distant.

  “Thanks to the drugs Dr. Medard gave the mother, the baby’s lungs are pretty well developed,” said the doctor. “She seems to be breathing better now. We only had to give her oxygen for a short time, and that’s pretty unusual this early.”