The Ariana Trilogy

by Rachel Ann Nunes

  “You mean we should shuffle her about? What kind of life is that for a child?” Jean-Marc put his hands on my shoulders and gazed earnestly into my eyes. “I said two things happened when I went to the hospital yesterday. The first was remembering about my father’s death; the second was the strange sensation I had when I placed my hands on the baby’s head to bless her.”

  I tore my gaze away from his. Behind him, I saw the oh-so-cold stone marking my daughter’s grave. I wanted to cry.

  There was a sudden intake of breath. “You felt it too, didn’t you, Ari?” Jean-Marc said, moving into my line of sight. His eyes probed my face. “You felt the connection to the baby. Tell me!”

  Then I knew the truth. It entered my heart like a sword, stabbing deep and bringing excruciating pain. I was afraid to take care of Paulette’s baby not because the other children might contract HIV or because of the additional burden but because I would grow to love her. It would not be just the love of an aunt for a niece but the stronger, more profound love only a mother could feel for her baby. And when the time came, I would have to say good-bye, as I had with Nette. Grief flooded my entire being. How could I watch this new Antoinette die? How could I lose another innocent baby to drugs?

  Jean-Marc’s face was obscured by my tears. “We can do it,” he said softly.

  I nodded mutely, and he held me while I cried. I didn’t know if he completely understood my fear, but there was time enough to explain later. For now, it was enough to know we loved each other and would face the coming tragedies together.

  “Let’s go back to the hospital,” I said. “We need to talk with Paulette before—” I broke off, unable to complete the sentence.

  “Before it’s too late,” Jean-Marc said.

  He rounded up the children while I stepped closer to Nette’s grave. As usual, I ran my hand over her name. The sun still played across the gray stone, and I touched the place where the light danced.

  I gasped. The stone wasn’t cold; it was warm from the sun’s light. Or was it from the Son’s light? Maybe it was the same thing. The Son of God had given life to the whole world, and all light stemmed from Him—from the Light of Christ.

  It was this Light that would sustain me, this Light that would give me the courage to persevere—and to love.

  Chapter Seventeen

  I drove back to the hospital in our car with the twins, while André rode with Jean-Marc in my mother’s car. I wondered idly where my mother was and how she would get home. My nose twitched at the smells of the hospital, but the twins skipped to the elevator, unmindful, where Jean-Marc and André waited. I felt a twinge of guilt as I noticed my little boy sleeping in his father’s arms. He had obviously missed his nap earlier.

  To my surprise, my father was in the ICU waiting room. “I called him to come and get me,” my mother said. “I didn’t know when you would be back.” My father always had use of a company car, and because my mother hated the subway, it was logical for her to call him.

  “Has there been any change?” I asked.

  She shook her head. “Simone and Louise went to ask the doctor if there’s any way Paulette can see the baby. She’s very upset.”

  I knew it was my fault for not being able to give her what she wanted. I sank to the brown floral couch and let my head drop to my hands. “I don’t know if I can handle this,” I muttered. Jean-Marc passed André to my mother and sat beside me, rubbing my back.

  “You can,” my mother said. “The Lord will give you the strength.”

  “We need to fast,” I said. I hadn’t eaten anything since lunch anyway and didn’t feel like I would ever be hungry again.

  “We already are,” my father replied quietly.

  For no reason I could define, his comment made me angry. “You’re fasting? Like you did when you thought we might have the virus?” I glared at him. “That’s great, Father, but when will you realize that even if Paulette does die right now, she’ll be better off than you? When you die, you won’t be anywhere near us because you are too proud to accept the truth. You said no one could change another person, and you were right. I’m tired of trying. Only you can change yourself. So do it! I don’t want you to fast for Paulette, I want you to fast for yourself. You need to know the truth, or we’ll never be an eternal family. You’re the only one who is standing in our way!”

  Hurt and outrage played on his face, but he kept his temper as I hadn’t kept mine. “We’ll take the children home,” he said. “We’ll feed them dinner, and they can have a sleepover.”

  I dropped my gaze and nodded, once more feeling guilt. I shouldn’t have treated my father badly when he was trying so hard to help.

  Jean-Marc clapped him on the back. “Thanks, Géralde. We appreciate it.”

  “You’ll let us know?” my mother said.

  Jean-Marc kissed her cheek. “Of course.”

  We kissed the twins and the still-sleeping André good-bye. As they turned to leave, I hugged my father, trying to make amends. “I love you,” I whispered past the lump in my throat.

  “I know,” he said. “I love you, too.”

  After they left, we tried to see Paulette but weren’t allowed. “The doctor’s with her. We’ll let you know,” the nurse on duty told us.

  The bishop, our home teachers, and several of the ward members, including Marguerite, stopped by, but we sent them home, promising to call when we had more news. We alternately paced the brown carpet or sat on the ugly couches. It was a relief when the elevator opened to reveal Louise and Simone.

  “The baby specialist says she can see the baby,” Simone said. “They’re arrangin’ to roll the incubator into her room.”

  “Luckily, they have Paulette isolated enough so they feel there’s no danger to the baby from the other patients,” Louise added.

  I knew luck had nothing to do with it, but I didn’t feel like speaking.

  “How’s Pierre?” Jean-Marc asked.

  “He seems a little better since you talked with him,” Louise said. “But he’s still pretty angry. He tries to hide it from Paulette, though.”

  “This is harder on him than on anyone,” Jean-Marc said.

  The women nodded at his words. Simone opened her mouth to speak, but the elevator chimed. A second later, Lu-Lu, with Philippe in tow, burst through the double doors.

  “I just got your note!” she said, rushing to where we stood. She hugged each of us. “I came home from work and saw the note. I made Philippe bring me immediately.”

  I glanced at Philippe, whose lank figure leaned nonchalantly against the wall near the elevator. Dressed in a business suit, he stared at his fingernails, as if trying to distance himself from the rest of us.

  “Can I see her?” Lu-Lu asked.

  “Probably in a while,” I said. “The doctor is with her. The nurse won’t let anyone in except Pierre and Marie-Thérèse right now.”

  She nodded. “At least I’m in time to—” She abruptly dropped her head and brought a hand to her face. Her hair tumbled forward and sobs shook her shoulders. Philippe made no move to comfort her.

  “There’s something else we have to tell you,” Louise began. Her voice sounded determined. I turned away as she told Lu-Lu about Pierre’s cancer. I couldn’t bear to see any more pain. I pretended interest in a painting across the room, but I couldn’t shut out the sharp gasp and muffled cries behind me. When Lu-Lu was calmer, I returned to stand beside Jean-Marc.

  Louise hugged her daughter. “It’s going to be all right.”

  “But the baby! Pierre can’t possibly take care of her alone now. What’s going to happen to her?” Lu-Lu hadn’t yet been allowed to see the baby—only parents, grandparents, and siblings were allowed in the ICU nursery—but her concern for her niece was touching.

  “We can take turns,” Simone said. “Together we can do it.”

  “Yes. It’s the only way,” Louise agreed.

  I watched them talking about the baby, feeling as though things were moving in slow motion,
as if in a dream. I knew they meant well, but it wasn’t the only way.

  “I could take her on the weekends,” Lu-Lu was saying. Behind her, Philippe straightened, suddenly interested in what his future wife was saying.

  “You’ll what?” he said, his piercing blue eyes flashing. “Don’t you think we’d better talk about this? Do I have to remind you she is HIV positive? I don’t think you realize what you’re getting into.”

  “I don’t think you realize that she’s family,” Lu-Lu rejoined, accentuating each word. “Family,” she repeated. “I’m not going to desert her.”

  Philippe’s face darkened. “And what about us? I thought we were going to be family.” They glared at each other, fighting a silent battle with their eyes. The rest of us looked away, waiting for what might come next.

  “Maybe it’s time to choose,” Philippe said through gritted teeth. “Do you want me or them?” He flipped his thumb at us, his voice nearly a sneer. “Make your choice.” He shook a finger at her. “I won’t come in second to anyone.”

  Indignant words came boiling to the surface, but I bit them back; this was Lu-Lu’s battle, one she had to wage alone. Those of us who loved her could only watch, lest our actions drive her away from us forever. I saw the same emotions on Louise’s face and in the way my husband’s jaw tightened angrily. I put a restraining hand on his arm.

  “It’s not a question of coming in second.” Lu-Lu’s voice pleaded for understanding. “My family needs me.”

  Philippe’s face seemed to be carved from stone. “I’m leaving,” he said flatly. “Are you coming?”

  Lu-Lu’s pleading turned to anger. “My brother’s wife, my sister, is dying, and I need to stay here.”

  “Forget it, then,” Philippe growled. “Forget it all.” He turned and stomped to the elevator, reminding me of one of the twins in a tantrum. I bit my lip to stop an unbidden smile. Philippe entered the elevator and stared at us defiantly as the door clanged shut.

  Lu-Lu’s emotions transformed again, this time from anger to hurt, and she exploded. “My whole world is falling apart!” she wailed. “Why does everything bad have to happen at once?”

  Louise hugged her daughter. “That’s the way life is sometimes,” she said soberly. Yet across her lips played the trace of a satisfied smile. I knew exactly how she felt; Lu-Lu may not understand it at the moment, but Philippe’s leaving was the one good thing that had happened this night.

  Lu-Lu took a shaky breath and stepped back from her mother. Jean-Marc’s face caught her attention, and to my surprise she gave a short laugh. “You don’t have to fight my battles, brother. I’m not five anymore.”

  Jean-Marc looked taken aback. He grinned somewhat self-consciously as he let his clenched fists relax. “He shouldn’t talk to you like that.”

  Lu-Lu’s smile vanished, but she shook her head as if trying to clear Philippe’s actions from it. “So about the baby,” she said, turning to her mother. “Together we can do it—take care of her.”

  Jean-Marc glanced at me. “What do you think, Ari?” His tone told me he would accept any decision I made.

  All eyes turned on me, waiting. Once again the world slowed and details stood out: the dark stain on the edge of the brown, low-cut carpet; the blinking lights above the elevator as it changed floors; the strained expression on Louise’s face; the wrinkles on Simone’s and the additional hair escaping from her bun; and above all, Jean-Marc’s intense gaze. I shook my head slowly, wondering on some level why it suddenly felt so heavy.

  “Jean-Marc and I will take care of her,” I said. “I’m going to tell Paulette that we’ll take both the girls as our own.” There was a brief silence before the protests began.

  “There ain’t no need to be a martyr,” Simone said.

  “We want to help,” Louise added. “We’re her family, too.”

  “If I am going to be her mother,” I said, “I need to be able to check on her at night, to make sure she’s breathing and covered. I need to have time to grow to love her as my own.” I paused and then added hurriedly, “That doesn’t mean I won’t need your help; I will—probably more than I realize. But it will be as we”—I swallowed hard—“her parents, determine.”

  “We want to offer her a stable life,” Jean-Marc added. “Just as any child has the right to live. That’s all.”

  Louise and Simone were nodding. “Of course,” Lu-Lu said. “Four homes could never be the same as one.”

  I was glad the whole thing was settled. Now I just needed to tell Paulette. I went to talk to the nurse at the desk opposite the door leading to the ICU. She called on the telephone. “Are you Ariana?” I nodded. “You can go back now. But just you. Don’t forget to scrub.”

  I glanced over my shoulder and saw Jean-Marc watching me. “I love you,” he mouthed. I smiled.

  Only Pierre was with Paulette when I entered her room. “Where’s Marie-Thérèse?” I asked.

  “She went with Giselle,” Pierre said. “It was getting a little too much for her in here. Giselle took her on a tour.”

  Paulette looked wretched and uncomfortable, but her eyes were shining. “They’re bringing the baby,” she said. “I’ll get to hold her.” Speaking brought on a bout of coughing, and I cringed inwardly as Pierre tenderly wiped the blood from her mouth. She seemed so weak that I wondered how she would manage holding the baby at all. I opened my mouth to speak but shut it again when the door opened and Dr. Orlan and a nurse entered with the baby.

  “Here she is,” the doctor said. He rolled the portable incubator close to the bed and opened it, lifting the infant out, once more wrapped in the pink blanket. Her bright eyes were open wide, taking in the new environment. Pierre propped Paulette up in bed, and Dr. Orlan laid the baby in the crook of her arm so that most of the tiny body was resting on the bed. It seemed odd to see her outside the ICU nursery, and I was glad the specialist was there in case something went wrong. The doctor and nurse withdrew and stood near the door, where they talked together in low voices.

  “She’s so beautiful,” Paulette murmured, staring down at her daughter. “She looks a lot like you, don’t you think, Pierre?” He nodded but said nothing. I noticed his gaze was fixed on Paulette, not the baby.

  All of a sudden the baby started to cry—thin, wailing little sobs that bit into the heart. Paulette tried to rock her but didn’t have the strength. In a minute, she lay back on the bed exhausted, rivulets of sweat on her forehead. She began to cry quietly. “I can’t help her,” she sobbed. I could only imagine how helpless she felt at being unable to comfort her child. “Help her, Pierre,” she pleaded.

  Pierre reached out for his daughter, moving his hands around awkwardly. After approaching the baby from several directions, he pulled his hands back in frustration. “She’s so tiny, I’m afraid I’ll hurt her. And I’m afraid I’ll pull out her feeding tube. Or the wires.”

  Paulette’s face turned to me. “Ariana?”

  I gently picked up the baby, holding her against my body, careful not to pull on the wires. The crying stopped. I felt the bond between us, as I had the first time I held her. Now I understood what it meant.

  “You never answered my question.” Paulette’s voice was strained. “I have to know.”

  “Of course I’ll take care of them,” I said. “As if they were my own.”

  Relief filled their faces. “They will be yours,” Pierre said, “after I’m gone.” His voice was devoid of feeling.

  I gazed at the baby, aware of the powerful emotions of love and fear. She was so utterly precious, and though there was a certain danger in loving this infant, it didn’t matter. She was already a part of me.

  The doctor and nurse moved restlessly in the background, and I knew they would soon take the baby back to the nursery. I stepped closer to Pierre and placed the infant carefully in his arms. “Jean-Marc and I will fill in for you on earth,” I said, “but never forget you will be her parents for all eternity.” Pierre’s eyes filled with gratitude.

&
nbsp; “Thank you,” Paulette whispered. “You can’t know what this means to me.”

  “I think maybe I do—a little.”

  She smiled, and I could sense a peace about her. In her eyes I saw acceptance, and I knew it stemmed from her great faith in her Savior. She coughed again, and this time the surge of blood fell to the blanket. Her body convulsed, and her eyes closed.

  Pierre uttered a small cry before handing me the baby and turning to stroke his wife’s face. “Paulette, are you okay?” There was no answer.

  Dr. Orlan came to the bed, eyes scanning the monitor next to it. His face was grave. “Paulette? Can you hear me?” Her eyes fluttered open briefly, unseeing, and then closed. He punched the emergency button near the bed. In a few moments a second nurse came into the room. “You’d better call Medard,” he said. She nodded and left. Dr. Orlan motioned to the baby. “We’d better get her back.” The nurse took the baby from me and settled her in the incubator again. I felt a great loss without her. I couldn’t help wondering, if I felt that way, how terrible Paulette must feel to be so far away from her baby.

  As they took the infant away, Dr. Medard, Giselle, and another nurse crowded into the room, all wearing rubber gloves. They examined Paulette, calling out names and numbers I recognized only from TV shows.

  I backed up near the door and out of their way. I was shaking, and my cheeks were wet. Pierre’s face was a mask of agony.

  “She seems to be stable for now,” Dr. Medard said at last, turning a kind face to Pierre. “But she’s unconscious. It’s only a matter of time.” Pierre nodded numbly.

  “There’s nothing you can do here,” the doctor continued. “Why don’t you go home and get some sleep?”

  Pierre shook his head. “I can’t leave her alone. I promised.” He sat down and grabbed Paulette’s limp hand, ignoring Giselle, who was changing the blood-stained blanket.

  “It could be a while.”

  Pierre didn’t appear to hear him. I walked to the bed and stared at Paulette. I expected to see suffering, but her face was calm. Suddenly I could see a glow around her, as if a door to a place filled with light was opening nearby. I glanced around but couldn’t find the source. The others didn’t seem to notice. Paulette breathed on, but the light disappeared.