Chapter Sixteen

The café was alive with business. The older ladies had already gone home, but my oldest daughters and Annette handled the rush with the exuberance of youth. I passed them with a smile and a wave. I noticed that young Kenny was in the line, and both Marie-Thérèse and Josette were working feverishly to be the one to help him.

The kitchen was loaded with cakes my mother had baked earlier, frosted with the yellow-orange mixture. “They’re a hit,” Annette said. “We’ve used up several already.” It seems my mother had found an interest and an outlet at last—one that didn’t involve my father.

Through the open office door, I could see Jean-Marc and Pauline. My daughter flung herself at me for a hug, as if it had been a week since we had last spoken instead of only that morning. “Oh, Mom, I missed you!”

Joy cut through the sadness of the day. “I love you too, Pauline.” Sometimes it seemed that she had been born simply to love us. Behind her, Jean-Marc smiled.

“Come and eat with Dad,” she said. “I want to go out and wait for André.”

“He’s not here?”

“Josette said he stayed after school to hang out.” He had been doing that a lot lately since the children changed schools, though it wasn’t something we allowed without reason. We would have to talk with him again.

Pauline chattered on. “I have a talk in Primary on Sunday, and he said he’d help me write it.” André was a year and a half her senior, and she was in the habit of having him help with schoolwork, but she had usually asked me to help with Church talks.

“Do you want me to find a story for you?” I volunteered. “I’m not too busy.”

“No,” she said, picking up a stack of Church magazines from the desk. “I think it’s something André needs to do.”

How keen her insight! André did need this link to the Lord. Anything we tried seemed to fail or bounce off the invisible wall he had built around himself. On our order, he went to church each Sunday, though reluctantly and with a bad attitude. In class, he either disrupted or stared sullenly out the window. Twice we’d found him in the halls. I consoled myself by thinking that at least he hadn’t been smoking, but I knew he could hide that fact if he wanted.

“Good idea,” I said. Pauline flashed me her merry grin and danced away.

I sank onto a chair, feeling Jean-Marc’s eyes on me. “How’d it go?”

Frowning and shaking my head, I reached for one of the meat cakes on a plate sitting on the desk. “He won’t do it.”

Jean-Marc nodded. “Well, we tried.” I could tell he was relieved.

Frustration made me angry. “You’re glad,” I accused.

“I guess I am, in some way. I don’t want Jacques in our lives.”

I nearly shouted, “And you think I do?” An inner part of me felt surprised at the intense, almost irrational emotion I displayed. “You just can’t get it through your head—can you?—that I only want what’s best for Marc. I don’t care about Jacques—not as a man, anyway.” I stood, accidentally knocking over the chair. “I wish you’d get over your inferiority complex, or your middle-age crisis, or whatever it is that’s bothering you, and just love me.” And I want a part of each and every aspect of your life, I almost added. Even part of the rejection you face each day as you search for work. I could help him deal with that, couldn’t I? But he wouldn’t talk about his failures, not to me.

“Ari, calm down. Let’s talk about this.” His expression was baffled, but there was irritation, even outrage, there as well.

“I just can’t talk to you anymore.”

“Fine.”

We glared at each other, both hurt but not wanting to be the one to back down. I knew I was wrong. We were both wrong. But I didn’t really care whose fault it was; I just wanted things back to normal. Fighting the tears, I stalked out of the office, leaving Jean-Marc alone.

I held in my emotions until later that night after the children went to bed. Then I sobbed quietly in the bathroom, feeling a terrible loneliness surge through my aching heart. Should I say I’m sorry to Jean-Marc? I thought. Sorry for what? a caustic voice inside me replied. Sorry for wanting to improve your son’s life? Maybe even save it? Or sorry for wanting to be a full part of Jean-Marc’s life?

I went to bed, tears dried, but the heartache still all-encompassing. There, I clutched my knees to my chest in the fetal position. Jean-Marc lay on his side of the bed, silent and unmoving. Minutes ticked slowly by. Then he reached out a hand and touched my shoulder. I didn’t respond, and after a long moment he pulled away. I could hear him awake beside me, just out of my reach, hugging his misery to his chest as did I. It was a long time before I finally slept.

The next morning found me cleaning between the cracks on my tiled kitchen floor, a task I had long neglected because of my work at the café. The cleaning fluid seemed unusually pungent, but the scrubbing action gave vent to the remaining frustrations eating at my soul. After we awakened, Jean-Marc and I had talked as if nothing had happened last night, neither caring to bring up the pain again. As a result, the words and feelings we had exchanged still sat like a heavy lump of iron in my stomach, making me feel out of sorts with everyone and everything. I wanted to make up with my husband so that my world could be at peace once more, but I had missed my opportunity.

Jean-Marc had already left, taking André with him to fix the blinds in one of the apartments. The girls had gone to the café, though not to work. We had hired three other people from our ward to take their places on Saturday. We felt the children needed a free day as much as we did, and Saturday usually ended up as such. They found plenty of time during the weekday lulls at the café to finish their homework, leaving Saturday for play. But play to them meant other teenagers, especially boys—but at least they were Mormon ones. So they went to the café, where the youth in our ward hung out. I stayed home, nursing my grief. Marc was in the apartment, too, but had already returned to his room for a nap. Once, he would have been zooming in the basement garage on his roller blades. Perhaps, in time, he would do so again.

The buzzer below rang. Who could it be? I picked myself up off the floor and let my brush drop. I punched the intercom. “Who is it?”

“It’s me, Lu-Lu.”

I buzzed her in, left the apartment door ajar, and went back to my scrubbing. The elevator bell dinged, and Lu-Lu swept in. I stood up to greet her. Her dress was immaculate and set off her slender figure. Glancing down at my own body, I made a commitment to stay away from the pastries at the café. I was still trim, but it seemed middle age was coming to my waist.

“He’s going to leave her,” she announced, tossing her short hair. Its red highlights glinted more overtly than I remembered.

“What!”

“Philippe loves me. He said so. As soon as his wife’s stronger and can take care of herself, he’s going to tell her, and we’re going to get married as we should have eleven years ago.”

My cleaning brush clattered to the ground. “Lu-Lu, think what you’re saying! You know you weren’t supposed to marry Philippe; you’ve said so a million times. And what do you mean, breaking up his marriage? What about Danielle, his wife? What about his children? And he may have changed enough to ask for a blessing when there was nothing else left to do, but that doesn’t mean he’ll marry you in the temple. Lu-Lu, think!”

She had bent to pick up the brush as I spoke, and now she fiddled with it in her hand. “I am thinking. And I love Philippe! I want to be with him. I do believe that we weren’t supposed to marry back then, but who knows why? Maybe I can’t have children, and that’s the only way those little spirits could come to earth.” Her look pleaded for understanding. “Oh, Ariana, I’m so tired of being alone. I know Philippe won’t be able to take me to the temple, but I can’t wait my whole life, can I? I’ve been given this chance with Philippe again, a second chance at love. Can you blame me if I take it?”

Her words screamed out her sincerity, but they also reeked of poor judgment and immaturity. “Coming between a man and wife isn’t right,” I said. “Don’t you see that?”

“They were separating anyway!” she said with more than a little despair. She bent down and began to scrub furiously at the tile where I had left off. “They were. She was going to leave him. Then the accident happened.”

“And Philippe underwent a change. He recognized his errors, or some of them. I understood that he was going to try again with his wife, if given the chance.”

“What are you saying?” Lu-Lu scrubbed harder. That she would risk soiling her dress in this mundane task showed her troubled frame of mind. A detached part of me wondered how I could get her to finish the rest of the floor. I sat on a chair to watch.

“I’m saying you haven’t given them a chance. How do you know Danielle still wants to get rid of him?” With every fiber of my being, I felt my sister-in-law was making a mistake. She had kept herself pure too many years to settle for anything less than an eternal relationship.

Her hands worked violently with the brush on the tile but always in the same spot.

I sighed and knelt down on the tile, placing my hands over hers. “Stop. It’s clean there.”

She glanced down and heaved a shuddering breath. “Ari, what am I going to do?”

“I don’t know. Only you can decide. But if there is something left in their marriage, you have no right to come between them. They are married. That’s sacred, even out of the temple.”

“I need to talk to Danielle,” she said abruptly.

I didn’t know if that was a good idea.

“Then I’ll know how she feels. If she’s just waiting to leave him again, then—”

“And if she’s not?”

“She is! I know it!” She stared at the white tile a full minute before saying in a soft voice, “Will you go with me, Ari?”

“What, me? Right now? Is she even home from the hospital?”

Lu-Lu nodded. “She went home three days ago. She has a temporary nanny to take care of the children and a nurse who comes in daily. But Philippe has a meeting. He won’t be there. It’ll be the perfect opportunity. We’ll say we wanted to see how she was doing.”

“I would like to know,” I said. “Marc keeps asking about her.” I brightened. “Hey, we could take Marc. He’s feeling stronger now, I think. Getting him out of the house might be just what he needs to cheer him up. The doctor won’t let him go to school yet, but this ought to be all right.”

“That would be perfect,” Lu-Lu agreed.

Leaning over, I mopped up some of the dirty residue on the floor.

“Ar-r-i-i-i,” agonized Lu-Lu.

“Well, I can’t just leave it to dry, can I?”

“I’ll clean the whole floor for you later, if we can go now.”

“It’s a deal. And I’ll hold you to it, too. I’ll go change and get Marc. Don’t worry—I’ll be quick.”

I knocked at Marc’s room. “Come in,” he said. He lay on his bed, stomach down, staring at a pair of roller blades on the floor.

“How are you feeling?” I asked. I wondered that the position didn’t hurt his surgery scars.

“Better,” he said. He paused before adding, “How long do you think it’ll be before the doctor says I can go blading?”

“I’m not sure. We’ll have to wait and see.”

He sighed. “I guess it doesn’t really matter. I don’t feel much like going, anyway.” His eyes rose to meet mine. “Will I ever want to go again, do you think? Will I ever be like I was before?”

I bit my lip, wondering what to say. Sitting on his bed, I curled over his body, cradling him and stroking his back as I hadn’t done since he was a child. He was bigger than I was now. He rolled slightly and brought an arm up to circle my neck. “I think you will,” I said, “if you want to. Until then, let’s take it one day at a time.”

He nodded. “Thanks, Mom.”

I straightened. “Aunt Lu-Lu and I thought we’d go see Danielle Massoni. She’s out of the hospital now. How ’bout it? Want to go?”

He sat up, a smile coming back to his face. “Oh, sure. I’d like to go. She’s really pretty, isn’t she?”

I laughed and punched his shoulder. “Typical male.”

A few minutes later, we were ready to leave. But the buzzer at the outside door rang again, and this time Simone was on the other side. “We’ll be right down,” Lu-Lu said. “We’re leaving.”

“No, I’ve got something in my hands. I have to come up,” Simone replied.

We waited, Marc sitting in a chair, Lu-Lu pacing, and me watching the two of them. “Here I am,” Simone called as she entered the apartment carrying a pastry box in her hand.

“What’s this for?” I questioned. “The twins’ birthday isn’t until Wednesday.”

Simone’s thin lips curled in a smile. “It’s not for them. It’s for me.”

“It’s not your birthday.”

“No, but I am celebratin’. Where are the others? I want to tell everybody together.”

“Sorry. They’re at the café.”

Simone’s face drooped. “Oh.” But whatever her secret, it wouldn’t let her stay depressed. “I guess you’ll have to do,” she said. With a flourish and a fairly good imitation of a bugle trumpeting, she threw off the top of the cake box. In bold letters, it read: Congratulations on your wedding!

Lu-Lu’s eyes darted to mine in consternation. In them I read the same question I was asking myself: How did Simone know about Lu-Lu wanting to marry Philippe?

“Frédéric and I are finally gettin’ married,” Simone announced. “So don’t I get some congratulations or somethin’? What is with you two? I thought ya’d be happy. You’ve been tellin’ me for the past year that I ought to marry him.”

“That’s great, Grandma!” Marc said. Lu-Lu and I joined in, perhaps a little too heartily. Simone didn’t seem to notice.

“We’re goin’ to wait until spring, of course, but Frédéric was determined to celebrate my answer now. He bought me this cake. We thought we could have a little party.”

Marc’s eye’s danced almost like before the accident. “We could do it tonight.”

“Sure, we need a party,” I said.

“But right now we’re going to see Danielle Massoni,” Lu-Lu said pointedly.

“That lady Marc saved?” Simone said. “I think I’ll go with you, if ya don’t mind.”

“Sure. Why not?” Lu-Lu said. But she didn’t seem very happy at the added company. “Come on. Let’s go.” She led the way to the elevator and from there to her car, parked out front. Soon we were hurtling through the streets of Paris with a velocity to make the strongest stomach ill. In the backseat Marc and I stared at each other, with me feeling as green as he looked. Simone threw back her head and laughed with glee. Lu-Lu only glared ahead in determination.

Like us, the Massonis lived in a wealthy area of town. The February air was filled with the tantalizing smells coming from a corner bakery. Lu-Lu stopped and bought an assortment of pastries for the Massoni children. We rang the gold buzzer at the outside door, and when we announced ourselves, the door clicked open.

“That was quick,” Marc commented.

“She must want to see us,” Simone said. “Probably to thank you for savin’ her life.”

Marc beamed. “You think?”

It wasn’t Danielle but a teenaged girl with short brown hair who let us in. Behind her in the wide, circular entryway peered the two children we had seen at the hospital, both excited but reserved. “Mommy’s in there,” the little girl said, pointing across the rich rugs scattered across the wooden floor to a door that was half ajar.

We looked at the nanny, and she nodded. “She said for you to go right in. She’s in her bedroom. I’m fixing lunch—will you be staying?”

“I don’t think so.” Lu-Lu spoke at the same time Simone said, “Sure.” The girl frowned in confusion.

“We’ll just stay a while,” I said. “We have other plans for lunch.”

She smiled at me gratefully. “Go on in, then.”

We followed the children into the room. Danielle Massoni sat up in bed, a mound of matching pillows supporting her back. The bed was large, and the pictures and other decorations made it obvious that this was a room shared by a married couple. Lu-Lu’s face tensed with added pain. “I brought the children some pastries,” she said in a wavering voice.

Danielle smiled up at us, her lips full and inviting. Her high cheekbones made her seem young and fragile. Yellowish bruises ran along one cheek and on her forehead, and her left arm sported an ugly scar. “Oh, thank you! Look, children, this can be your dessert. What do you say?”

“Thank you,” the children chimed in sweet, high voices.

“I’m so glad you came!” Danielle said, her voice like soft velvet. “I’ve been telling Philippe that I have to go see you and thank you for what you did for me. I’m so grateful! But he refuses to let me until I’m up and about.” Her beautiful gray eyes rested on Marc. “You’re the boy who saved me in the bombing, aren’t you? How brave you were! I couldn’t believe it when I saw you skating over that train. Until I saw you, I was sure I was going to die! How can I ever thank you?”

“Aw, it was nothin’.” Marc hung his head and looked pleased.

“Not to me, it wasn’t. Nor to my family. If it weren’t for you, my children wouldn’t have a mother!” Danielle wiped away a tear and focused on Lu-Lu. “And don’t I remember you? Yes, you took me to the ambulance. They say if you hadn’t gotten me there so quickly, I would have died before I reached the hospital. What a family you are! I can’t believe that you could help me, not knowing where your own nephew was.” She grabbed Lu-Lu’s hand. “Thank you so much!”

“Uh . . . you’re . . . welcome,” Lu-Lu managed. “It wasn’t just me, though. A man helped me carry you.”

“I didn’t know that,” Danielle said. “I wonder who he was.”

“A man in the bombing,” Lu-Lu murmured. “He lost his wife.”

Danielle’s lovely face fell. “Oh, that’s sad. I hope he’s all right.”

“We never saw him again,” Lu-Lu said. “So we don’t know.”

“We’ll have to pray for him,” Danielle said softly. We stood in silence for a long minute.

“So how are things with you now?” I asked before we could dwell on the sadness any longer.

She smiled at me. “Are you Marc’s mother?”

I nodded. “And Pauline’s. I understand she came to visit you a few times in the hospital after you woke up. I worried that she would be intruding.”

“Oh, never.” Danielle’s sincerity couldn’t be questioned. She was honest and warm, completely unlike the austere woman I had envisioned. “Pauline is like a ray of sunshine. She’s told me all about your family. And about the blessing your husband gave me. It was beautiful.”

“You heard it?” Marc asked in surprise.

Danielle grinned as if a giggle were about to burst from her lips. “No, not really. But Philippe and the children told me.” Her smile dimmed. “You know, that was the first time my husband turned to God for help. I’ve been trying all these years to get him to go to church or something, but he was dead set against it. He wouldn’t even let us talk about such things.” The children had climbed up on the bed on either side of her, both snuggling against her body. She put an arm around each of them. “But I taught them about Jesus,” Danielle continued. “I know He exists and loves us. I used to go to church when I was small, and they told me stories. I still have a Bible, and I read it to the children when Philippe isn’t home.”

“So you and Philippe aren’t getting along?” Lu-Lu asked. Only I seemed to hear the desperation in her voice.

“We weren’t before the accident,” Danielle replied innocently. “We were even separating. But he’s changed now, and I’m so hopeful.” Her eyes seemed luminous in the quiet light of the room. “He doesn’t mind when I talk about Jesus now, and he spends more time with us. And he’s nice. Sometimes he could be so—” She broke off, as if afraid of saying too much.

“You can tell us,” I said, “if you want. We knew Philippe a long time ago. We care about him.” At least Lu-Lu did.

Her smile was back, childlike and engaging. “That’s right. I remember him saying that your husband gave him his first banking job. You must know, then, that his mother died when he was a baby.” I hadn’t known that, but Lu-Lu was nodding. “His father raised him,” Danielle continued. “He was a stern man and very hard on Philippe, not very loving. He never gave him a kind look or a hug. As a result, my husband became angry at everything. He didn’t believe in God, yet at the same time he wanted to somehow punish whoever had taken his mother away.” She sighed. “I’ve never seen anyone so lost. I guess that was what attracted me to him in the first place.” She scanned our faces. “I thought I could fix that. Underneath, he’s really a good person. He’d been married before for about a year, but it didn’t work out. He was pretty bitter about it, but I thought I could fix that, too.

“After we married, Philippe insisted I stay home with the children. He said he didn’t want them growing up without a mother like he did. I’ve loved being home with them, but Philippe and I kept having problems. I didn’t know what to do. He’s a good father, and he loves his children, but the anger wouldn’t leave. So I finally decided I would have to leave to save them.”

There was no doubting that whatever decision Danielle had made before the bombing, she still loved her husband.

“You said things had changed,” Simone prompted.

“Yes. He’s better now.” Her smile lit up her face with unveiled hope. “I think my miraculous recovery is making him understand that there is a God who loves him. And that makes all the difference.”

“I’ve got something to ask you,” Lu-Lu said. There were tears in her eyes and a fatal expression on her pale face. I feared that she might say something to hurt this innocent woman in the bed; but before I could interfere, Lu-Lu rushed on. “I’d like you to come to our church.” Her mouth was open to say more, but no words came out.

“Why, I’d love to!” Danielle said enthusiastically. “Wouldn’t we, children?” They nodded, and the little boy whispered something in her ear. “Yes, I’m sure they’ll have stories about Jesus,” Danielle said. Then she gazed up at Lu-Lu. “Thank you for asking. I was hoping you would. I think we could be friends, if you like.” She shrugged her shoulders in embarrassment. “I mean, with staying at home and all, I don’t get out much. You know, to meet people.”

“I’d like to be your friend,” Lu-Lu said steadily. I was proud of her reaction, though I suspected that inside her dreams were shattered. I felt like crying at her nobility.

“Are you all members of the same church?” Danielle asked.

“Yes, but I wasn’t for a long time,” Simone said. “I had some drug problems to work out, but my family stood by me.”

“I’ve always been curious about religion,” Danielle said. “Sometimes I see those foreign missionaries in the streets with suits and short hair. I almost stopped them once, but I knew Philippe would be angry.”

Marc grinned. “Those are probably our missionaries. We have a lot from America, but a lot from here, too. When I get older, I’m going to go on a mission.” His face darkened, and his voice became very soft. “At least I was. I don’t know if I can, being on dialysis and all.”

It was something I hadn’t thought of. How would his future missionary service be affected if he was tied to a machine every other day for hours on end? Marc’s goal to serve a two-year mission had been an unwavering part of his plans since his childhood; could saving another’s life ruin that hope forever? I wasn’t familiar enough with Church policy to know where they stood on situations like Marc’s.

Danielle frowned, and the room seemed darker because of it. “Oh, I am sorry. If I hadn’t damaged one of my kidneys, I would gladly give it to you!” How cruel fate had been to Marc, letting two chances slide away!

“What’s done is done,” Simone said kindly, though her voice was gruff.

“We have faith that something will come up,” Lu-Lu said. I thought she might be talking about herself as well. She was keeping her emotions under control, but her eyes begged me to help her escape.

Somehow Lu-Lu made it through the rest of the visit, and we returned to my apartment. Simone left, and Marc retired to his room for a rest. Lu-Lu and I sat on the sofa in the living room, and only then did she vent her feelings.

“Why couldn’t she be cold and uncaring?” Lu-Lu sobbed. “Why does she have to be so . . . so innocent and loving? You can see how much she adores Philippe, and he loves her, too. I think I knew it all along.”

“I thought you said he loved you.”

“He did, and I think he does. But he loves her too; I can tell by the way he talks about her. Plus she’s the mother of his children. They can make it together if I let them.”

She buried her head in my shoulder as the children had done when they were small, crying in earnest now. I looked up to see Marc’s worried face in the doorway. I shook my head at him and raised a warning finger for him to keep silent. He nodded and crept away. Lu-Lu cried harder and clung tighter to me. I put my arms around her and simply rocked back and forth with her on the couch, letting her sob out her grief. I didn’t know what else to do for her. As with Marc’s problem, only time could ease this wound.