Summer's End (24 page)

This time Marc only nodded. He cleared his throat and dabbed at his eyes with his handkerchief as he marched purposefully down the hall. He had to pull himself together, show Pilar that everything would be all right, he would make her better, he would give her his strength. Chantal was forgotten, all that he had in his mind was his little girl.

The door was ajar, and he glanced inside. The room seemed to be filled with machines. There were two nurses, one in a sterile, green operating-room suit and the other in white. Their eyes searched his face. Soundlessly, he stepped inside.

“I am her father.” The whispered words had a ring of authority, and they both nodded as his eyes swept the room. He instantly found her, dwarfed by the bed and the tubes and the monitors that jumped with precision at her every breath. For a moment he felt a chill seize him as he looked at her face. She was a very pale gray and she looked like no one he knew, until he stepped closer and recognized the distorted features of his child. The tubes and the pain and the bandages had almost totally changed her, but it was his Pilar. He watched her for a long moment as she lay there with her eyes closed, and on silent feet he came nearer and ever so delicately reached out and touched her hand. The hand stirred only slightly. She opened her eyes. But there was no smile, and only the faintest look of recognition.

“Pilar,
ma chérie, c’est Papa.
” He had to fight back tears. He said nothing more, he only stood there, staring at her, holding her hand, and watching until once again she closed the brilliant blue eyes. He felt as though all the air in the room had been sucked away, it was so difficult to think and see and breathe. How could this happen? How? And to his child? He felt his knees tremble, and for a moment he thought he would be sick, but he went on standing, watching, and touching the pale little hand. Even her nails were a strange mottled color, she was barely getting enough air. But he stood there, and he stood there, never moving, never speaking, only watching his child.

Silently, from her seat in the corner, Deanna watched him. She had said nothing when he entered the room, and he hadn’t seen her, concealed as she was by the mammoth machines.

It was almost twenty minutes later when at last he found the familiar face and those eyes … watching him with a look of despair. He looked surprised when he saw her, as though he didn’t understand. Why had she said nothing? Why did she just sit there? When had she come? Or was it simply that she was in shock? She looked ravaged, almost as pale as Pilar.

“Deanna. …” It was the merest whisper.

Her eyes never left his face. “Hello, Marc.”

He nodded and let his gaze drift back to Pilar. “When did you get here?”

“At five o’clock.”

“You’ve been here all night?”

“Yes.”

“Any change?”

There was silence. Marc looked at her again, the question repeated in his eyes.

“She seems to be a little worse. I went out for a little while, earlier … I had to … I went to your mother’s house to drop off my bag. I was only gone for about two hours, and … and when I came back, she seemed to be having a great deal of trouble breathing. Kirschmann was here then. He said that if she’s not better in a few hours, they’ll want to operate again.” She sighed and lowered her eyes. It was as though she had lost them both in those two hours. Pilar and Marc.

“I just got in.”

Liar. You didn’t. You got in two hours ago.
Where did you go?
But Deanna said nothing at all.

They stayed that way for almost an hour, until finally the nurse asked them to step outside, just for a few minutes; there were some dressings that had to be changed. Slowly Deanna stood up and left the room. Marc had hung back for a moment, reluctant to leave his child. Deanna’s mind wandered back to the scene at the airport. It was suddenly all so strange. She hadn’t seen him in two months, yet they had barely said hello. She couldn’t play the game of the happy reunion. Suddenly it was too late. But he wasn’t playing it either, or perhaps he was just too distraught over Pilar.

She wandered down the hall, solemnly, her head bowed, thinking of bits of prayers she had known as a child. She had no time now to waste on Marc; all her energies had to be spent on Pilar. She heard his steps just behind her, but she didn’t turn; she merely kept walking, foot after foot after foot, down the hall until she reached the end, and stood staring blankly out a window with only a view of a nearby wall. She could see him standing behind her as she gazed at the reflection in the glass.

“Deanna, can I help?” He sounded tired, subdued. She shook her head slowly. “I don’t know what to say.” His voice caught as he began to cry. “I was wrong to give her the … to….”

“It doesn’t matter now. You did it. It’s done. It could have happened in any of ten thousand ways. She had an accident, Marc. What difference does it make now whose fault the accident was, who gave her the motorcycle, who….” Deanna’s own voice was shaky.

“
Mon Dieu.
…” She watched him drop his face into his hands and then she saw him straighten and heard him take a deep breath. “My God, if only she’ll come out of it all right. What if she can’t walk?”

“Then we’ll teach her to live the best way she can. That’s what we owe her now. Our love, our help, our support, in whatever she has to face….”
If only we get that chance.
For the first time in almost twenty years, Deanna felt a hideous wave of terror. …
What if?

Deanna felt his hands on her shoulders, then he turned her slowly around. His eyes were the eyes of Pilar, and his face was that of a very old, tired man.

“Will you ever forgive me?”

“For what?” Her voice was distant and cold.

“For this. For what I’ve done to our child. For not listening to you when I should have. For—”

“I came to pick you up at the airport tonight, Marc.”

Something in her eyes told him that she had died, and he felt something inside him freeze. “You must have just missed me.” But there was a question in his voice. He searched her face.

“No. I left. I… it explained a great deal to me, Marc. I should have known. A long time ago. But I didn’t.” She smiled a tiny smile, then shrugged. “I suppose I’ve been a fool. And may I congratulate you. She looks not only pretty, but young.” There was bitterness as well as sorrow in her voice.

“Deanna,” the hands on her shoulders tightened, “you’re coming to some very strange conclusions. I don’t think you understand.” But it all sounded lame. He was too tired and upset to come up with a worthwhile story. He felt his life coming down around his ears. “It was a nerve-racking flight, and this has been an incredible day, you know that yourself. The young lady and I began to talk and really—”

“Marc, stop. I don’t want to hear it.” She simply knew. That was all. And she didn’t want reassurances in the form of lies. “Please. Not tonight.”

“Deanna….” But he couldn’t go on. Another time he might have been able to, but not then. He simply couldn’t concoct an appropriate tale. “Please.” He turned away then; he couldn’t look at the pain in her eyes. “It really isn’t what you think.” But he hated himself for the words. It was what she thought, every bit of it. And now he felt traitorous, denying Chantal. Whichever way he turned, he was damned now. “It isn’t.”

“It is, Marc. It was as clear as day. Nothing you could tell me now would change that. Nothing would take away what I saw, what I felt, what I knew.” It had been like an arrow, straight to her heart. “You must have thought me very stupid for all these years.”

“What makes you think it has been years?”
Dammit
, how did she know?

“The way you moved together, the way you walked, the way she looked at you. It’s difficult to achieve that kind of ease in a very short time. You looked more married with her than you ever did with me.” But suddenly she wondered. Hadn’t she looked just as married with Ben? And in a very short time. Still, as she had ridden back from the airport that evening, she had known—the absences, the distance, the constant trips, the phone number in Paris that appeared too often on their bill, the few odd stories that had never quite fit. And tonight, the look in his eyes. If it hadn’t been that girl, it had been someone. For years. She was sure.

“What do you want me to say?” He faced her again.

“Nothing. There is nothing left to say.”

“Are you telling me it’s over? That you’d leave me because you saw me at the airport with a girl? But that’s insane. Deanna, you’re mad.”

“Am I? Are we so happy together? Do you enjoy my company, Marc? Do you long to come home when you’re away? Or is it that we have a deep and meaningful relationship, that we respect each other’s needs and virtues and feelings? Maybe it’s that we’re so blissfully happy with each other, after all these years—”

“Maybe it’s that I still love you.” As he said it, his eyes filled with tears, and she turned her head.

“It doesn’t matter if you do.” It was too late now. They had each gone their separate ways.

“What are you saying, Deanna?” He was suddenly gray.

“I’m not entirely sure. First let’s get through this with Pilar. After that we can talk about us.”

“We’ll make it. I know we will.” He looked at her with determination, and she felt fatigue wash over her like a wave of cement.

“What makes you think so? Why should we make it?”

“Because I want to.” But he didn’t sound totally sure.

“Really? Why? Because you like having a wife as well as a mistress? I can hardly blame you. That must be a very cozy arrangement. Where does she live, Marc? Over here? That must work out perfectly.” And that was why he hadn’t wanted her to join him on the trip to Greece.

“Deanna, stop it!” He reached out and grabbed her arm, but she pulled away.

“Leave me alone.” For the first time in her life, she hated him, what he was, what he did to her, and all that he didn’t understand, and for one painful, blinding moment she found herself longing for Ben. But was Marc really so bad? Was she any different, any better? Her mind was in a whirl. “I don’t want to discuss this with you tonight. We have enough on our minds. We can discuss it when Pilar is out of the woods.”

He nodded, relieved. He needed time. He had to think. He’d find the right words to say. He would set things right.

Almost at that instant the nurse beckoned to them both from down the hall, and their own problems were forgotten as they hurried toward her.

“Is there any change?” Marc was the first to ask.

“No. But she’s awake. And she’s asking for both of you. Why don’t you talk to her a little, but be careful not to wear her out. She needs the little strength that she has.”

Deanna noticed a subtle change in Pilar as they entered the room. Her color was no better, but her eyes seemed more alive. They seemed to wander nervously from one face to another, looking for someone, searching, darting here and there.

“Hello, sweetheart. We’re right here. Papa’s here now too.” Deanna stood very close to her and ever so gently stroked her hand. When she closed her eyes, she could imagine that Pilar was still a very small child.

“That… feels … nice….” Pilar’s gaze drifted to her father and she tried to smile, but her breathing was labored and she closed her eyes from time to time. “Hi, Papa. … How … was … Greece?” She seemed much more aware of current events than she had been earlier, and suddenly she also seemed more restless. “I’m … thirsty….”

Deanna glanced at the nurse, who shook her head and made a sign with her finger: “No.”

“Water?”

“In a little while, sweetheart.” Deanna went on talking in a soothing voice while Marc stood near her, agonized. He seemed to have lost his power to speak, and Deanna could see from his full eyes and trembling lip that he was waging a constant battle with tears.

“
Ça va?”
At last he had spoken, and again Pilar tried to smile.

She nodded gently.
“Ça va.”
But how could anything be O.K. in the condition that she was in? Then, as though she understood what she was going through, she looked pointedly at him and fought to find the words. “I … was going … much too fast. … My fault, Papa … not yours….” She closed her eyes and squeezed Deanna’s hand. “I’m sorry.”

The tears now ran freely down Marc’s face. Quietly he turned away. Pilar’s eyes remained closed.

“Don’t worry, darling. It doesn’t matter whose fault. But your mother was right.” He glanced at Deanna.

“Mommy…?” Her voice seemed to be growing weaker.

“Shh. Don’t talk.…”

“Remember the little playhouse I used to have … in the garden? I keep dreaming … of that… and my little dog. Augustin.”

He had been a funny little terrier, Deanna remembered, who had been replaced by a pug, and then a cat, and then a bird, until finally there were no more pets. Marc-Edouard did not like animals in his house.

“Where … did you send … Augustin?” They had given him to a family in the country.