Chapter Twenty

November, one month later

Rebekka tried to pull herself out of bed, but for the past month, she was having a recurring pain in her side that defied all efforts to ignore. With a long sigh, she laid back down on the bed and tried to breathe evenly, willing the pain to go away. She rubbed her ever-growing stomach with her fingers. Is this normal? she wondered. Josette had assured her that the baby didn’t feel any of the aches and pains of pregnancy, but still Rebekka wondered if this torture she felt could be good for her child.

She couldn’t believe how big she was already. While at first she had measured smaller than normal, now her once-flat stomach seemed to stretch even as she watched, and she had gained another eight pounds. “That should make the doctor happy at my next visit,” she mumbled, taking another breath before she tried again to rise from the bed.

At least her morning sickness seemed to be completely gone—despite Josette’s warnings that it could last more than five months. There had been other changes in her life as well. Her eyes no longer slid to the other side of the bed to where Marc used to lie. The pain of his death was at last dimming, and she found that as she concentrated her love on their child, she could laugh again without feeling the heartbreak. She still missed him and figured she always would.

“You’ve got to get working,” she told herself aloud. “It’s Wednesday already and you promised Damon you’d have the chapter five manual updates done by Friday.” Steeling herself against the onslaught of pain, she forced herself from the bed. To her relief, the pain diminished significantly once she was on her feet.

After another of her frequent visits to the bathroom, she wandered into the kitchen, thinking of the work she would do that morning. She found Raoul at the breakfast table with Detective Francom, looking happier than he had all month.

Raoul sprang to his feet. “Rebekka, it’s good news! Desirée’s friend had a breakthrough after her last drug treatments. She thinks she knows where she left Nadia. Detective Francom drove right over there, but no one’s at the apartment. He’s having all the neighbors questioned, and they’re tracking down the building owner to see what records he has on the tenant.”

“That’s wonderful!” Rebekka hugged him.

“Well, don’t celebrate yet,” the detective reminded them, also arising. His eyes seemed to take in every detail of Rebekka’s thick flannel nightgown and white velour robe. Though modest, she knew she must look like a sight. “I hate to put a damper on things, but this woman, whoever she is, has had Nadia for over five weeks and hasn’t reported her abandoned. That’s not a good situation. Not at all. From what the one neighbor I already spoke to told us, I suspect she hasn’t been around for a long time.”

“You think she kidnapped Nadia?” Rebekka asked.

“I’m not jumping to any conclusions. I’m just saying we haven’t found her yet.”

Raoul’s worried look returned. “There are other baby brokers.”

“Exactly,” said Detective Francom. “But this is a solid lead, and we are going to do everything in our power to get your baby in your arms where she should be.”

“Thank you,” Raoul said.

Detective Francom nodded, his gaze swinging back to Rebekka. “And how are you feeling lately?”

She managed a smile. “A little fat. But actually quite well, thank you.”

“That doesn’t stop her from dating a very wealthy and important American business man,” Raoul said. “Well, mostly it’s on the phone, but they’re serious. And he’s not even the one sending all the flowers you see around here. That’s someone else, but Rebekka’s completely involved with her American.”

Rebekka wanted to hit Raoul and deny his words, but that meant she would have to explain the truth about Samuel and André. She wasn’t prepared to do that—yet. Not until she had convinced André to stop his pursuit of her.

So far he showed no signs of desisting. Each and every day since his proposal, he had sent her flowers or potted plants by way of a local florist. She tried to be annoyed when she talked to him, but mostly he made her laugh. He hadn’t tried to kiss her again, however, for which she told herself she was grateful. Never once had he asked about Samuel, and feeling guilty, she didn’t volunteer any lies.

The detective smiled. “Good. A beautiful woman like you needs to go on with her life. He’s a lucky man.”

Rebekka was touched by his kindness. “Thank you.”

He nodded. “I guess I’ll be on my way.”

“I’ll walk you out,” Raoul said. “I need to be going too. I’m visiting my lawyer this morning, and it’s expensive to keep him waiting.”

“I hear you.”

The men left and Rebekka eased herself into one of the vacant chairs, pondering over the idea of finally having Nadia with them. The infant would be three months old now. Would she be upset to leave her caregiver? Please let it be someone loving who has been taking care of her, she prayed.

Her hand massaged her distended stomach. If she was separated from her own baby, she couldn’t imagine what she would do. Next week at her doctor’s appointment, she would have an ultrasound and find out what she was having. It didn’t matter, really, but she wanted a son to carry on the Perrault name. So far only Josette had boys, who had their American father’s last name, and André’s adopted son had kept his original family name out of respect for his natural aunt, André’s deceased wife.

Rebekka was about to get dressed when the buzzer rang. At first she expected André’s usual flower delivery but was surprised to hear Desirée’s voice over the intercom. “Come on up,” she called. A million questions filled her head, not the least of which was whether or not she should call Detective Francom to let him know her sister-in-law had finally shown up. She decided to wait to see what she had to say.

While she waited for her sister-in-law to ride up the elevator, Rebekka hurriedly changed into a rib-knit sweater and skirt set—an outfit from her new maternity wardrobe— and ran a brush through her tangled hair. She reached the door just as the bell rang.

“Come in,” she invited, taking in Desirée’s appearance. The woman looked cold, as though she’d been outside a long time. Rebekka could feel the chill radiating from her as she passed. Desirée wore jeans that were at least two sizes too tight and her white T-shirt showed every one of her ample curves. She had always worn overly snug clothing, but this was worse than Rebekka remembered; Desirée had obviously gained weight since they’d last met. Instead of being carefully made up, though, her pale face was devoid of makeup and her long dark hair hung limply around her shoulders. She looked ten years older than the twenty-five she could claim.

“I know, I look a mess,” Desirée said.

“No, I just . . . you do look different.”

“I can’t seem to care about my appearance anymore. I just sit around and eat and feel miserable.”

“Have a seat.” Rebekka indicated a chair, and Desirée complied.

“I saw Raoul leave. I’ve been waiting out there an hour. I forgot a jacket and it was freezing, but I had to see you.”

Rebekka arose and poured milk in a mug and slipped it into the microwave. “Why?”

“Partly because I wondered about Nadia.”

“They haven’t found her yet.”

“I know.”

Rebekka didn’t ask how she knew. “They did find a lead today. Your friend is still undergoing treatment for drug and alcohol addiction, and she apparently remembered where she left Nadia—or thinks she does.”

Desirée sat up straighter. “Where?”

“The detective didn’t say her name, but I know she has at least one child of her own.”

“That’s good, then.”

Rebekka sighed. “Yeah, except the lady’s missing.”

“Oh.” Desirée’s expression became even more glum.

Rebekka offered her the warm milk, and when she accepted it, began making another for herself. The familiar weakness she always felt after not eating for an extended period of time had begun, and she needed something in her stomach quickly. “Here’s chocolate if you’d like,” she added, handing Desirée the carton.

“I talked to my parents,” Desirée said into the silence that followed. “They told me about the terms of the divorce, and I want to sign.”

“Raoul went to his lawyer’s this morning. You could go over there now and get it over with.”

“Well . . .” Desirée sipped her milk and looked uncertain. Rebekka could never remember seeing her this way. Desirée had always selfishly done exactly what she wanted with no regard to anyone who stood in her way. This uncertainty was out of character—at least for the Desirée Rebekka thought she knew.

“We know about the tickets,” Rebekka told her. “He won’t turn you in.”

Desirée looked momentarily startled. “My parents are going to help me with that.”

“Did you tell them about Nadia?”

She nodded and there was a shimmer of tears in her eyes. “They’re upset that I want to give up custody to Raoul. They’d rather have me live with them and keep her. But I can’t live with them again, and I’m sure not going to let them raise her. I know Raoul will give her the love and . . . the discipline that she needs. It’s the right thing to do.”

Rebekka watched her silently for a moment, her hand going again to her own unborn child. Did Desirée really know that giving up her daughter was right, or was she doing it because she couldn’t be bothered? Had really she begun to understand the importance of discipline, of setting limits? Given Desirée’s history, Rebekka couldn’t be sure if she was acting or being truthful.

“You’re having a baby,” Desirée said.

Rebekka forced her hand away from her stomach. She had thought the habit of stomach-touching odd and embarrassing in other pregnant women, but now she couldn’t help herself. “I’m almost four and a half months.”

“Do you know what it is?”

“Not yet. I’m having an ultrasound soon.”

“That’ll be fun.” Desirée’s attention wandered.

“I’ll go with you if you like,” Rebekka said.

“Where? Oh.” Desirée’s brown eyes focused again on her face. “That’s sort of why I came. My parents gave me money. Told me to get a new outfit—to face the judge about the tickets. If I pay them all, I may get off with only community service, or probation. I hope.”

“It’s possible.”

“And I want to sign the divorce papers, but I don’t want to going looking like this.”

“What do you mean?” Rebekka asked carefully. “Aren’t these the clothes you always wear?”

Desirée rubbed her face. “I’ve gained so much weight, but it’s not just that. I don’t know how to dress. Where to go. I—everything I like makes me look . . .” She gave a little sob. “I want to look nice. Professional. Like you. That’s why I’m here.”

Shock stole Rebekka’s voice. She and Desirée had never been friends, and in fact she had suspected that Desirée hated her. She had certainly mocked Rebekka enough over the past years. Like a playground bully, she thought. An insecure, playground bully.

Yet she couldn’t hold the past over her sister-in-law—not when she looked so earnest and so lost. Was this what Raoul had seen in his wife? Was this why he had tried so long and so hard?

“Okay, I’ll go,” Rebekka said, coming to her feet. “But only if you’ll sign the divorce papers afterward. Raoul needs to go on with his life. Deal?”

Desirée nodded, a tear escaping her left eye. “I should have let him go a long time ago.” She lowered her face to stare at the table. “A part of me thought if I held on, he could make me good. But all I did was cause him pain. Him and Nadia.”

Rebekka sat back down in her chair. “Oh, Desirée. Women can’t depend on others for happiness or for their choices. No one can make us be good or be something we don’t really want to be. We have to do it ourselves. We are responsible for our lives, not anyone else. The change has to begin inside us.”

“It’s not easy, is it?” Desirée asked, meeting Rebekka’s gaze.

“No.” Rebekka’s voice came out a whisper. “But it’s like learning to walk. We put one foot in front of the other and sometimes we fall down. Then we have to get back up.”

“I feel like I fell off a cliff.”

Rebekka smiled, tears gathering in her eyes. “I know that feeling.”

There was a stark, uncomfortable silence and then Desirée said, “I’m sorry about your husband. I really am. He was a good man. He was always nice to me. He gave me money sometimes, you know. Especially when I was pregnant.” She started to cry. “He didn’t know about the baby, of course. I wore clothes to hide it. I couldn’t tell him because I knew he’d tell Raoul. But sometimes—at least before I got too big—I would wait outside work when I knew he’d come by. He always had a kind word for me and would slip me something.”

Rebekka’s tears spilled over onto her cheeks. “That sounds like Marc. Thank you for telling me.”

Desirée let her face fall into her hands, and then down to the table as her fingers raked through her hair. “How can this all be happening?”

“Well, I guess we make our choices and the consequences happen.”

Her head whipped up. “Nadia didn’t make any choice! Your husband didn’t make a choice!”

“I believe we all know about the circumstances we’ll be born into and we agree to them.”

“You think Marc agreed to die?” she asked incredulously. “To leave you alone with his baby?”

Rebekka had never thought of it in those terms before, but her answer came with sureness. “I think he knew, yes, and agreed. In fact, I’m sure of it.” Her tears came in earnest now because Rebekka realized that she, too, must also have agreed in the premortal life to face the test of losing her husband. But had she then any idea what that would entail? Had she really been so strong? “All of us have trials,” she continued, becoming aware that Desirée was waiting for more. “Some are harder than others. But one thing I know is that God loves us and if we do our best, He will help us not only endure, but to be happy.”

“I wish I believed that.”

It was an echo of the words Samuel had spoken to her the last time she had seen him. Was he married now? Had he looked up the missionaries? Or at least become active in his own religion?

“You can.” Rebekka told Desirée. “You’ve lived with my brother long enough to know how. The next step is up to you.”

Desirée nodded silently. Again Rebekka wondered if her attitude was an act or the beginning of real repentance. She prayed that it was, as Raoul had done for so long. Too bad she hadn’t begun her soul-searching before she’d lost Nadia.

“I need to put on a little make-up before we go,” Rebekka said. “And use the bathroom—I spend half my life in the bathroom now. Wait a minute, okay?”

Rebekka hurried, fearing that when she returned Desirée would be gone. But when she finished, Desirée was still waiting at the kitchen table, staring into nothingness.

“I’d better take a few snacks.” Rebekka stuffed a bite of croissant into her mouth. “Want one?”

Desirée accepted the croissant listlessly and watched without speaking as Rebekka packed her purse with rolls, fruit, and a small carton of milk that didn’t require refrigeration. Thus armed, she grabbed her keys and headed for the door.

“We’ll use the subway so we won’t have to find a parking place.” Rebekka knew they would likely end up walking even more if they took her car to the shopping district.

Desirée followed her, still morose and quiet, but as they emerged from the subway, she gradually began to smile and act more alive. Rebekka learned that Desirée’s car had been repossessed, that she was working at a bar and renting a room from a friend on the other side of Paris.

Rebekka chose one of her favorite stores and took Desirée inside. With confidence, Rebekka plucked a few outfits from the racks, held them up to Desirée, discarded a few, and replaced them with others. “These’ll be great,” she said.

Desirée looked doubtful. “They looked rather . . . well, dull. Boring. And they’re much too big. I don’t wear that size.”

“Humor me.” Rebekka pushed her toward the dressing room. First Desirée tried on a double-breasted black pantsuit that emphasized her curves but wasn’t tight. The color slimmed her figure and made her eyes look large in her pale face. “Excellent,” Rebekka said.

“Looks like I’m going to a funeral,” moaned Desirée.

“No, you look powerful. This is a power suit. People will listen to you when you wear it. I know you might feel a little awkward right now, but if you wear it for a bit, you’ll see what I mean. It’ll become the most comfortable thing you own.”

“It does feel good not to have it tight. But I plan to lose these extra pounds.”

“No problem. Look, elastic waist. And you can have the waistline taken in a bit on the jacket. Or you might find it looks even better looser. The one I have I can still fit into and I’m pregnant.”

“You’re not that big.”

“I’m getting there.”

Next Desirée tried on a knit sweater and skirt set like the one Rebekka was wearing. Desirée complained again about the size, but when Rebekka pointed out how much more comfortable it was, she capitulated. Then Desirée tried on a few pair of pants, a column dress with detailed embroidery, three blazers, and a sweater. Several of the choices were definitely not right, and Rebekka had to exchange a few of the sizes, but most of the clothes made Desirée look like a new woman.

“My parents didn’t give me enough money for all this,” Desirée said, frowning. “But I really want it all. Story of my life.”

“You have enough for the black suit and the knit sweater set,” Rebekka said. “And I’ll buy one blazer, the sweater, the brown dress pants, and the black pumps. Because the colors are right, you can mix and match.”

Desirée took her hand. “Thank you, Rebekka.”

Rebekka could feel her sincerity. “Look, Desirée. After we pay, you change into the black suit, okay? Then we’ll go somewhere else and find some accessories.”

At first Desirée walked clumsily and awkwardly in her new outfit, but soon she began to move with greater confidence. Rebekka almost couldn’t believe the difference in both her attitude and demeanor.

They found a pair of inexpensive gold-colored earrings at the next store and a matching necklace. “They will do for jewelry until you can afford real,” Rebekka said. “And do you like this purse? Will it hold everything you need?”

When they finished shopping, they stopped at a café for a snack. A group of men dressed in suits nodded to them as they waited at the counter to place their order. As Rebekka ordered a pastry filled with cooked turkey, Desirée whispered, “Are men always so polite to you?”

“Mostly, yes. I ignore any who aren’t polite.”

As they walked to a table Desirée said, “You know, I bet I could find a better job if I wore this suit.”

“I bet you could.” Rebekka pulled her milk from her purse and opened the lid.

Desirée was silent a long time before speaking again. “I’ve been going to a support group that helps people stop drinking. They tell me I need to quit working at the bar. And that I need new friends.”

“They’re right.”

She sighed. “I know. What I don’t know is if I’m strong enough.”

“You will be,” Rebekka said, drinking her milk. “Hurry up and finish. I know just the thing to put you in a good mood.”

They walked a short distance along the cobbled walk near the Seine River. The Eiffel Tower rose in the background and every so often they saw tourists snapping pictures. This had been one of Rebekka and Marc’s favorite places to haunt since childhood. She always loved the vitality here, and was grateful the memories didn’t bring her pain today. Instead, peace filled her soul.

“Where are we going?” Desirée also seemed more relaxed.

“Let me surprise you.”

Rebekka took Desirée to a hair salon. It wasn’t the place she normally had her hair done since she knew they booked days in advance, but she had heard many recommendations about the quality and timeliness of this salon. To her relief, the lady at the front desk was able to work Desirée in for a cut and a facial. “Go easy on the hairspray,” Rebekka told the stylist. “And the makeup—we’re trying for a professional look here.”

“Of course,” the man said. “She is no barmaid, eh? You can tell by her clothes.”

Rebekka stifled a smile. “Exactly.”

“And for the Madame?”

“Another day perhaps. We have an appointment soon.”

While they worked on Desirée, Rebekka looked up Raoul’s lawyer in the phone book. “I’m bringing Desirée down to sign the papers in about an hour,” she told him. “We may not have another chance, so I hope that’s okay.”

“We’ll work it in. Should I call Raoul? He doesn’t really need to be here, but maybe he’ll want to be.”

Rebekka hesitated. If Raoul saw the change in Desirée would it make a difference? Or was this change a pretense? Desirée had fooled them all before—and her brother repeatedly. If a real change was beginning, what did it mean for Nadia? Raoul said it was over between him and Desirée, that there had been too much hurt and deception between them.

“No,” she said slowly. “I’ll call him myself and see what he wants to do.”

She dialed Raoul’s direct line, and Valerie’s face kept coming to mind. What had Raoul even seen in Desirée? Yes, she had an undeniable appeal to men, that was true, but in everything else she came up short. Unless Raoul had glimpsed the Desirée she’d seen today. I still don’t know if this is the real woman. Then again, maybe losing Nadia has helped her . . . I hope.

“Hello?”

“Hi, it’s Rebekka.”

“Did Detective Francom call?” Raoul asked eagerly.

“No. Something else. Look, I’m with Desirée.”

“You are? Where? Will she sign the papers?”

“Slow down. Let me explain. She came to the apartment this morning, and we’ve been talking a lot. We’re about to go see your lawyer. She wants to sign.”

“Does she realized that custody of Nadia goes to me?”

“Yes. Her parents want Nadia, but she knows she belongs with you.”

“Thank heaven!” He heaved a great sigh.

“Raoul?”

“What? What’s wrong?”

Rebekka bit the inside of her bottom lip, wondering how she could pose the question. “About Desirée. Are you sure it’s over? What if she were to change tomorrow?”

There was such a long silence that Rebekka wondered if he’d hung up. “Raoul? Are you there?”

“For three years I’ve prayed every night. I’ve given her every leeway—even when she cheated on me. Over and over, I’ve forgiven her and reconciled with her, and every time she has laughed in my face as she goes back to her . . . ways. But I can’t do it again. I forgive her for cheating on me, I even forgive her for hiding Nadia, but the love I had for her is gone. There’s simply nothing—nothing that isn’t tainted by her unfaithfulness. We have no spiritual experiences to bind us, or any kind of a real marriage. What little of her heart she gave to me, she also gave to a hundred other guys.”

Raoul stopped for a breath. “I have to do what I feel is best for myself and my child, and Desirée isn’t a part of that. I wish it had ended differently. If she does change, I hope she can find someone who cares for her as much as I did. But I never should have married her. All the signs were there, but I was too caught up to see them. So the answer is no. It would make no difference if Desirée changed, even if we could prove it was for real, which I don’t believe for a second.”

“Okay. I’ll take her over now. You don’t need to be there. In fact, it’s probably better that you aren’t.”

“Thanks, sis. Call me when it’s over, okay?”

“I will.”

Rebekka hung up the phone, feeling both sad and relieved.

The haircut and wash did wonders for Desirée. Rebekka was surprised to see that she’d chosen a short, sleek look which did wonders for her image. “I told him to do what he thought best,” Desirée confessed.

“Do you like it?”

She glanced in one of the huge mirrors by the cash register. “Yes, I really do.”

Because the shooting pain in her side had returned and walking was painful, Rebekka hailed a cab to drive them to the attorney’s office. She shrugged off Desirée’s concerns. “Just pregnancy related. Probably because of the extra weight I’m carrying.”

Before signing the divorce papers, Desirée seemed nervous again. “Are you sure about this?” Rebekka felt forced to say, despite her loyalty to Raoul.

Desirée nodded. “More than I’ve been about anything. My marriage is over. I knew it the month after we were married. I was no good for him.”

“You could have been,” Rebekka said quietly. “And whatever happened between you, you deserve to be happy.”

“But I didn’t choose it, did I?” There was obvious bitterness in Desirée’s voice. “I appreciate what you’re saying, Rebekka. I really do. But you and I both know Raoul is out of my life forever. I blew it. Now I finally do want to change, but I don’t trust myself enough to believe I’ll really do it.”

“Yes, you can. You need to believe it’s possible.”

Desirée’s eyes filled with tears. “I hope you’re right.” She signed the documents in all the right places as the attorney looked dispassionately on. Afterward, he told her the court would contact her when the divorce was final.

A short time later in the lobby of the building, Desirée kissed Rebekka’s cheek, whispered her thanks, and headed for the door. “Wait, how can I reach you?” Rebekka asked.

“I’ll call,” Desirée promised. “Or you can leave a message with my parents if you find Nadia. As soon as I clear up the ticket mess, I’ll go in and see the police. I don’t know what I can do to help, but I’ll try.”

Rebekka watched her go, feeling suddenly melancholy. Would Desirée make progress? Or would she continue to drown herself in alcohol and her addictive lifestyle in order to block out the reality of her failed marriage and her daughter’s disappearance?

Exhaustion and frustration fell over Rebekka, but she didn’t begrudge the time or money she’d spent on Desirée. In fact, she was grateful Desirée had reminded her that she had chosen to come to earth and marry Marc, even knowing they would face this trial. Like Desirée, she must choose how to live the rest of her life—and whether or not she would be happy.

She signaled another a taxi, digging her hand into her side. Next week at her appointment she would ask the doctor about this pain.