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.

“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.

I put a hand on Pierre’s shoulder, squeezing it reassuringly. “Shall I stay?”

He shook his head. “I’d like to be alone.”

“Then would you like me to take Marie-Thérèse home?” I asked. He nodded mutely. I squeezed his shoulder once more and then leaned over to kiss Paulette’s white cheek, wishing I could hug her and tell her how much I loved her.

I left the room and walked dejectedly down the hall. I could see Paulette’s laughing face in my mind, but the memories held no comfort. As I reached the door to the waiting room, Giselle caught up with me. Her brown face was wet with tears. “Ariana, it’s going to be all right,” she said. Her fingers on my arm compelled me to stop walking.

“Paulette’s dying,” I stated, facing her. “She may never wake up.”

She nodded. “It was expected. The surprise is that she’s holding on so long.”

My teeth dug into the soft flesh of my lip. “I never told her good-bye.” Could that voice be mine? It sounded like rocks grinding against each other.

“Yes, you did. You told her you would take care of her daughters, didn’t you?” I nodded. Her eyes bore into mine. “Then don’t you see? You did say good-bye. Until she knew they were safe, she couldn’t let go.”

I remembered then that when Paulette first discovered she had AIDS, she had asked me to help her. I had feared she meant helping her to die, and I hadn’t thought I would be capable of such a thing. But in the end, it seemed I had—twice. By helping her understand and accept the AIDS two months ago and then by agreeing today to take her children, I had helped her to die.

“You have been a good friend to her,” Giselle said.

“As she has always tried to be for me.” I paused and then asked softly, “How much longer do you think Paulette will hang on?”

“I think Paulette is already gone,” she said, “or nearly so. Once the light comes—”

“You saw the light?” I asked.

“It’s not the first time. Are you surprised?”

“Yes.”

“Why? Because I’m not baptized? I may not be a member yet, but I was living the gospel before I ever met Paulette, before Marguerite introduced me to those young missionaries.”

I believed her. “Are you saying you are going to be baptized?”

Her smile was serene. “This Sunday. And I’ll be forever grateful to Paulette. If she hadn’t become sick, I might have never found the true church. Her gift to me is most precious.”

“I’d like to come.”

“I appreciate your support.”

I took her hand. “Thank you for everything you’ve done for my friend.”

“You don’t have to thank me. She’s my friend, too.”

We smiled, and then I went through the double doors to the waiting room. Jean-Marc stood near the door with a sleeping Marie-Thérèse in his arms. His suit was wrinkled, but he didn’t seem to mind. He and the others looked up anxiously as I entered. “Well?” Jean-Marc asked. “What’s going on? Giselle came and gave me Marie-Thérèse and then disappeared. Did something happen?”

“Paulette has lost consciousness. It’s just a matter of time now, the doctor says.”

Simone gave a cry and buried her face in her hands. Louise and Lu-Lu tried to comfort her.

“She did get to see the baby,” I said. “And I told her what she wanted to know.”

Jean-Marc closed his eyes, holding tightly to the little girl in his arms. I saw in his face how he wished he could spare her the pain she would have to face, not once but three times, as those closest to her died from AIDS.

I set my jaw resolutely and wiped away my tears. I couldn’t afford to be weak now. I had to take care of Paulette’s daughter first. “Come, let’s go home. She needs to be in bed.”

“I’m stayin’ here,” Simone said. “I want to see my little girl again.”

“We’ll stay with you,” Louise said. “I don’t want to leave Pierre alone, either.”

“What about the drug clinic?” Jean-Marc asked Simone. “I thought you had to go back there.”

Simone shrugged. “I don’t care. It don’t matter.”

“I called and explained,” Louise said. “As long as I am with her, it’s okay. I’m sort of a companion. I’ll take care of her. You two go on home.”

We said good-bye and made our way to the car. As we left the hospital, I felt a ripping sensation in my breast, one that had nothing to do with Paulette. We had left behind the little baby, alone in the hospital, with only the nurses to look after her. Although they were kind, their care could never match that of a mother’s. What if she cried? What if she needed me? Now that I knew she was my responsibility, I felt her absence acutely.

I held my head in my hands and let the tears flood my body, purging it. Jean-Marc pulled over, and we held each other until there were no tears left. Then he held my hand as he drove the rest of the way home. When we arrived, he carried Marie-Thérèse to our apartment. I carried Dolly, who had fallen out of the sleeping child’s arms.

A short time later, we laid Marie-Thérèse on our bed, removed her shoes, and tucked the covers up around her neck. Normally I insisted on the children wearing pajamas, but there were times when clothes were just as good, and this was one of those times. We slept that night with little Marie-Thérèse between us. During the late hours she awoke, crying for her mother. We soothed her the best we could, but only when Jean-Marc gave her Dolly did she finally return to sleep.

Early Thursday morning, Paulette died. Louise called us from the hospital to tell us she had passed away, never again regaining consciousness. Louise sounded old and tired.

“Pierre doesn’t look good,” she said. “I’m afraid for him. He loved her so much.”

“We’ll help him,” I said.

By the time Marie-Thérèse awoke, Pierre had arrived at our apartment. She was at the table eating and wondering aloud when her cousins would be home.

Her eyes brightened when she saw her father. “Are we going to go see Mommy?”

Pierre shook his head. He took her in his arms and held her close. “Remember about the sickness Mommy had? Well, in the night Mommy couldn’t hold on anymore, and she went to live with Jesus.”

Marie-Thérèse cried with heart-wrenching sobs. Pierre cuddled her close for long minutes until they subsided. “Why don’t we go somewhere together? For a walk or something.”

She nodded, her eyes red and swollen. “Can we take our baby?”

“She’s too little to leave the hospital,” Pierre said. “But soon.”

“Can we go see her? She gets so lonely there.”

“No, not now.”

I imagined it was difficult for him to go to the hospital. When my baby died, the place had represented a nightmare.

“I can take you to see her later, if you want,” I said.

Marie-Thérèse didn’t look at me. “Okay,” she mumbled. She laid her head against her father’s chest.

They left, clinging to each other for support. “He’s going to be all right,” Jean-Marc said.

“I hope so.” But tendrils of worry crept up my spine. Pierre’s face was unemotional, as if he had buried any residue of feelings so deep that no one could find them. Paulette had died, and I wondered if part of Pierre, the most vital part, hadn’t gone with her. I prayed I was wrong; Marie-Thérèse and that helpless baby in the hospital needed him now.