Chapter Six

“Any luck at all?” Rebekka asked her brother on Saturday night when he arrived at her apartment.

Raoul shook his head. “Like an idiot, I got angry and ran Desirée out before I could get any real information, and despite all day banging our heads together, the police haven’t been able to help me. They won’t issue any kind of an alert because they aren’t convinced there really is baby, or that she’s been kidnapped. They think Desirée might be trying to get money from me. They did promise to go out to her apartment building to ask questions, but all we have to go on is that Desirée gave Nadia to someone there, and that she and this so-called friend both know a guy who is rumored to do illegal adoptions—someone called Benny. Problem is, the people who live in her building are not very stable. They’re mostly druggies. They come and go for weeks at a time, and sometimes there’s a whole bunch of people who don’t live there camping out for parties and the like. The police are interviewing the people they can find right now, and I went over and showed Nadia’s picture to everyone I could with no result. I don’t know—it’s discouraging.” He slumped to the sofa and laid his head on the backrest.

“At least you and Dad have that investigator looking. Maybe he’ll find something.” Sitting on the sofa next to him, Rebekka rested her hand on his arm. She toyed with the idea of telling him about her own baby but couldn’t find the words, not yet. Her dream for Marc’s child was too personal to share with even her big brother. Besides, she didn’t want to exult in her relative good fortune when he was in such turmoil. There would be plenty of time to tell him later.

“It’s so incredible,” Raoul said, giving his head a sudden shake. “I have a child—a daughter! I’ve stared at her picture so long that I feel like I’d know her if I saw her. But then I think that’s stupid. The photo is so worn and Mother says babies change a lot in the first little while.”

“Still. It’s possible.”

“But I could just as well pass her on the street and not know her.”

“We can’t think about that.”

“You’re right. What I need is to concentrate on finding her.” Raoul jumped to his feet and began pacing.

“What can you do? I’m willing to help, if I can.”

“I don’t want to burden you. You’ve had enough trials lately.”

Rebekka swallowed a lump in her throat. “Marc’s dead. There’s nothing I can do about that. And though even saying it feels as if I’m tearing out my heart, I have to go on. Your little girl is my niece, and I’d like to help. Isn’t there something I can do? I can talk to Desirée once we find her.”

Abruptly, Raoul sat in the stuffed chair opposite Rebekka. “The investigator we hired did come up with an idea for finding Nadia. I wasn’t sure we should try it, but after hitting a dead end with the police, I’m thinking it might be the only way.” Raoul leaned forward eagerly, elbows on his knees, hands together. “He said maybe we could try to adopt through this Benny character, once we find him. You know, pose as a couple who want a baby, and try to make our criteria for a baby closely match Nadia. We might find her that way.”

“I’ll be glad to help. But if Benny is Desirée’s friend, won’t he know you? I mean, she must have a picture of you around somewhere. Or maybe he’s seen you with her.”

He frowned. “She left most of the pictures at our apartment, but we’ve gotten back together so many times, he might have seen me with her. Besides, I’ve been there asking questions—someone might remember.”

“André could do it.” Rebekka regretted the words the minute they came from her mouth. She needed to see less of André at this point, not more. She needed to depend on herself. “Or Zack or Mathieu,” she added.

“Yeah, that would work. It would be more realistic since you and I have a fairly strong family resemblance.”

“You are very good looking,” she said, keeping a straight face.

He caught her hand. “I think that’s the first joke you’ve made since . . . Oh, Rebekka, sometimes this world is so much harder than I expected. But we’ll get through it, won’t we? Together, I mean.”

Rebekka blinked through her tears. “Yes, of course. And the sooner you move in, the better.”

“But what about Nadia?”

“I’d love to have her here, too. I bet Mother would be willing to pitch in while we’re working. You know how much she’s wanted a grandchild. One of Josette’s boys or Brandon could watch her after school if needed. Since I’m working from home, I can supervise.”

“What about when your translating job ends? I mean, you’ve been freelancing for them since you came back from America.”

“I’m not worried about that. There will always be new manual editions. Or I can always find another company to work for. Besides, I inherited Marc’s stock. I’m one-third owner in your company now, remember?”

There was a painful silence during which Raoul rubbed her hand. Then he said, “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate your letting me come to stay here, Rebekka. I really can’t be at my apartment anymore. I’ve realized the past few days that I only stayed there out of hope. But I’m finally ready to move on—especially after learning about Nadia. Desirée and I are finished for good. I was a little worried, though, about coming here with a baby. I didn’t know if you . . .” With his free hand he scratched his head in his customary stalling gesture. “Well, let’s just say that today I’ve been considering going to Mom’s instead.”

Rebekka felt suddenly panicked. At times during the past month she’d wanted desperately to be alone, but now she was afraid of that very thing. “I guess you could if you feel that’s best.”

“Not really. I just didn’t want to make trouble for you. I’d rather come here since you’re still willing.”

Rebekka gave an internal sigh of relief. “It’s decided then. You move in with me and we’ll find Nadia together.”

“I’ll let you know about the fake adoption stuff, but right now I’d better get back to my apartment and see what’s going on. I left poor Valerie—you remember Valerie, don’t you?—cleaning and packing this morning when I went to the police station. Some of the other office personnel joined her this afternoon. They’ve probably gone home by now, but if they haven’t, I’d like to take them to grab a bite to eat before I head back to meet the investigator. Want to come?”

“Thanks, but no. I’m really tired. Another time, okay? Besides, Mother said she was going to stop by tonight. You know, checking up on me.”

“We’ll do it another time then—a celebration dinner when we find Nadia.” His face turned bleak. “Where do you think she is now? Does she have enough to eat? Is someone holding her and taking care of her? When I think of her so helpless and tiny . . .” He moaned and raked his hands through his hair. “These are going to be the roughest days I’ve ever endured. I thought it was bad before with Desirée, but now—” He stood and swiftly bent to kiss her cheek. “I’d better get going.”

She walked with him to the door. “We’ll find her.”

“I know.” He gave her a smile that was only a hint of his usual.

Shutting the door, she walked slowly, gingerly, to the kitchen. She’d begun to walk everywhere like that lately when she was alone, like a seasick sailor on a boat. Riffling through the cupboards, she found a banana and a pack of salted cashews. Probably not the best dinner, but it’s what appeals to me. At least it should kill this craving for salt. I guess I need to buy some dried beef.

She’d just settled down on the sofa in her living room to eat and to do a little translating work on her laptop when the doorbell rang. Taking a handful of nuts, she went to answer the door.

“André,” she said, “what a surprise. What’s up?” She didn’t add how nice it was to see him. Better to keep things casual.

“I came to see how you were.”

“I’m fine. Much better than yesterday.”

“Well, it should get better from here on out. As long as you eat frequently.”

“Shouldn’t you be with Thierry? I know how you look forward to his time off.”

“He’s with the girls—took them to a movie. I’m meeting up with them later.”

“Oh . . . well . . . so, come in, I guess.” She backed up and motioned with her hand, staying well away from him in case he decided to kiss her cheeks in greeting. At the thought, her face burned.

“I saw Raoul in the lobby. He told me what’s going on.”

“It’s a shame about what happened with Nadia, but we’ll find her.”

“I said I’d help with the black market adoption thing. We figured it would require less work if you and I posed as the couple since we both have the same last name already.”

She nodded. “I didn’t even think of that.”

“Well, they’ll probably check ID. So what are you up to tonight?”

“Just doing a little work in the living room.”

“Have you eaten?”

“I’m working on it.” She showed him the nuts. “They say these have the right kind of fat.”

“You need it.”

Silence fell as they stood in the entryway. Rebekka imagined huge walls between them, but for the life of her she didn’t know what was causing the barriers. When André had called briefly the previous evening to check up on her, they had talked without reservation.

“So how’s Marie-Thérèse doing with those children?” she asked.

“Good, I guess. It’s a really sad situation. The older child will need a lot of love and care if she’s ever to have a normal life. But then, kids do have a tendency to rebound quickly. Even those who are severely abused or neglected. Look at Thierry—he’s a prime example.”

“What about the baby?”

André lifted his right shoulder slightly. “Seems perfectly fine to me. Josette said she was too quiet. Doesn’t let out a peep unless she’s really hungry. She’s a darling child, though. The girls went crazy over her.” He hesitated. “Uh, Rebekka, I’ve been thinking.”

She didn’t like the seriousness of his voice. “Should we sit down?” She started forward, but he grabbed her hand, the one holding the oily cashews.

“You didn’t tell anyone about your baby, did you?”

“No. And I can’t now. Not with Raoul’s daughter missing.” She lifted her chin. “It’s my decision.”

His brow furrowed. “But they deserve to know—especially my parents. Marc’s their son. It will mean a lot to them to know he’ll have a child.”

She tore away from him, leaving the cashews in his hand. “Don’t you think I know that? But as you also pointed out yesterday, I could lose this baby. I wouldn’t want to get their hopes up for nothing.” It was an excuse, and she knew he wasn’t fooled.

“André,” she said more softly, “look, I’ll tell them all soon. I just need a little more time alone for me and Marc’s child, my husband’s child. As soon as I tell everyone, it’s going to be a shared thing, and rightly so, but I need this time for just me and the baby. You can understand that a little, can’t you?”

He nodded reluctantly. “There is something else I’ve been wanting to talk to you about.” He rolled the cashews around in his hand.

“What else could there possibly be?”

“I think we should get married.”

Her heart slammed inside her chest. “Get—what? Of all the crazy things to say! André, what on earth are you thinking?”

The muscles in his cheek rippled, as though he clenched his teeth while deciding what to say. “Marc wanted me to take care of you,” he responded at last with a voice that was calm and reasonable. “And your baby needs a father. We get along, the girls love you—so why not? We can view it as a type of business relationship—for the good of all.”

“André, we don’t live in Biblical times. A man doesn’t marry his brother’s wife anymore and go on as though nothing ever happened.”

“Well, maybe they should. At least the woman would be cared for. Reminds me of the early times in the church where men would marry several widows to take care of them.”

“I don’t need a man to take care of me.” She walked away from him and then back again, pacing like a caged animal. Her heart was still pounding furiously, and emotions welled up in her breast, although she could not completely identify all of them. Outrage, most certainly. Exasperation, too. Frustration? Maybe. A wish that she could accept such a rash proposal? No, never that. Or could it actually . . . No! But there was a hint of tenderness in her heart for André, though decidedly overwhelmed by her immense yearning for Marc.

She whirled on André, noticing how attractive he was, how thick his hair, how broad his shoulders, how earnest his expression. “Why not? Why not, you ask? Because it’s crazy! People get married because they love each other, not because of a dying wish. And not because of a baby. Never for business.”

“But Marc—”

“Is dead!” She took a deep breath and forced a calmness she didn’t feel. “Look, I loved Marc—you know that—and I will never marry again.”

Now he stared at her. She could tell there was something he wanted to say, and finally, it came, sounding forced: “You’re right. Of course, you’re right. People should marry for love. I just didn’t want you to have to go through this alone.”

“I’m not going to.” Rebekka felt oddly deflated. The discussion was too much, too unexpected. “I need to get some rest, so if you’ll excuse me . . .”

“Rebekka, wait.”

She stopped, gazing into his dark, kind eyes and terribly handsome face, trying to hold back the tears that seemed to come of their own volition. “Yes?”

“Once before Marc . . . You and I . . . we cared for each other.”

She swallowed hard. “You were mourning Claire, and I was scared of losing Marc during his kidney transplant. Remember? That’s what we decided.”

“I don’t know if I remember it that way.”

“How do you remember it?”

His right shoulder rose in his unique half-shrug.

“Well, I married Marc,” she said slowly and softly.

His face became abruptly rigid. “So you did.” Without another word, he turned on his heel and strode for the door.

After it had shut behind him, Rebekka stared at it for long minutes. What had he meant with his sterile proposal? For a brief flash she remembered quite another André, a man who had stared at her with love and tenderness in his eyes.

It wasn’t love, she thought. He was missing his wife, that’s all. And I had always loved him as a friend. It was nothing more.

What she couldn’t reason out was why his suggestion of a marriage of convenience had made her feel so dreadful.

* * *

André stalked angrily from Rebekka’s apartment. He was stupid to have thought she would accept his idea. Stupid to think that he could walk so easily into her life when she was still mourning her husband. As he waited for the elevator, he let off a few punches into the air, working off some of his hurt. Why hadn’t he been patient as his mother had suggested?

Once in the street, he climbed into his car and sat completely still. His emotions teetered inside, though, threatening to overwhelm him. A car passed and André scowled in the sudden bright lights. As the lights faded, his fury and hurt slowly dwindled.

Of course she didn’t accept me, he thought. What was I thinking? That I could make up for Marc’s death in just one sentence?

Yet it hadn’t been just a sentence; he was willing to commit the rest of his life. Still, Marc had been gone only two months, and he should have allowed her more time to heal. While he had been busy recognizing his love for her these past months, she had been struggling to survive her husband’s passing. Yes, he missed Marc and mourned his death, but he had the girls and Thierry so the pain was not nearly as intense as what Rebekka endured.

I’m an idiot! If only my emotions didn’t keep getting in the way.

She did feel something for me once. I know she did. Had he done the right thing three years ago by stepping aside? The question had tortured him for the past two days.

What else could he have done? For love of his brother and Rebekka, he had kept his peace and lived with his choice.

And now?

He wanted to be with Rebekka, to help her through her pregnancy and to be a father to her child and a husband to her. But he’d seen the repugnance in her eyes, the impossibility of her letting him into her life. His dream would never come to fruition.

What should I do?

Marc had said to watch over her, and André was determined to fulfill that promise. One way or the other, he would see that she was happy—even if it meant losing her again.

At home he dialed his sister’s number. “Hi, Josette. Look, I need your sister-in-law’s number in America. Well, I actually need the number of Rebekka’s boss from her. No, I can’t ask Rebekka, and don’t ask me any questions right now, okay? We’ll talk about it later.” He jotted down the number. “Oh, and please don’t tell Rebekka. I don’t want her to know—at least not yet. Thanks.”

Feeling more unhappy than he’d felt since Claire’s death, André placed the first call to America. The second would be even harder.