Magic (15 page)

He walked her to the lobby when she went to work. Her driver was waiting, and he kissed her lightly on the lips.

“I'll call you when I get to London. See you soon,” he said, beaming at her. “In Delhi.”

She waved as the car pulled away, and Dharam walked back into the hotel with a smile and a wave at her. He was a happy man.

When Anya returned to Milan after Fashion Week in Paris, she had worked a lot, had a great time, and her career was taking off again. She had bookings set up in London, New York, Berlin, Paris, and Tokyo in the coming weeks and months. And she was restless in Milan as soon as she got back. She was happy to see Gregorio and the baby, but in a matter of weeks Milan had become a place for her to visit, but not her home.

Gregorio could sense the moment he saw her that she had changed. She was back in her old life, and she didn't belong to him. He tried to talk to her about it, but she denied it whenever he brought it up. But even the baby reacted to her differently and cried whenever Anya held her. The center of Claudia's universe was her father, and Anya felt left out, and complained about how fussy the baby was.

“You need to spend more time with her,” he chided Anya gently. But once home, she was always out, at an exercise class, shopping, or on the phone with her agent and friends somewhere else. She seemed younger again suddenly, and not ready to settle down. She wanted to forget what had happened at the hospital, not grow into motherhood by his side.

All Anya thought about now was fun. She wanted to make up for lost time. She was acting like herself again, the woman he had had the affair with, not the one who had given birth to a daughter and grieved over their infant son who had died. She acted as though Claudia were someone else's baby, and it unnerved her to watch Gregorio with her, bathing or feeding her or taking pictures constantly. It made him seem like less of a man, and she didn't find it sexy. He had been so much more exciting the year before, when their affair started and she got pregnant. She shuddered to think of that now. They both had changed. He had gotten more serious, and she was more anxious to play. And Gregorio was sobered by all he had lost, and had grown deeper from the experiences they had shared.

He walked past his old house sometimes and wondered what Benedetta was doing. He wanted to ring the doorbell and see her, but he didn't have the courage. He knew that she wouldn't want to see him, and even if she did, he had no idea what to say. How did one apologize for dropping an atom bomb on their life? He realized now that he had gone insane when the twins were born, fatherhood had gone to his head, and facing tragedy together had made him delude himself that Anya was more than she was. The only blessing for him was the baby girl he loved holding in his arms. He had fought too hard to save her to lose her now. And Anya couldn't wait to leave Milan to go on her next assignments all over the world. Her personality and her work made it easy for her to escape the responsibilities Gregorio had assumed she would share with him, after he gave up everything for her. But she seemed to have lost interest in building a life and family with him. The depth and substance he had glimpsed fleetingly in her in the hospital in Paris had been a mirage.

The real Anya had come to the fore again, and a week after she returned to Milan, she left for her jobs in London, Paris, and Berlin. And she was only too happy to let Gregorio and the nanny care for their child. She looked relieved when she kissed him goodbye and left, promising to come home soon. But the falseness of the connection they had shared was glaring. Terror and tragedy had formed a powerful bond between them, but it wasn't strong enough to keep them together now.

By the end of October, he had picked up some of the threads of his old life. Two of his friends met him for lunch and felt sorry for him. But everyone else agreed, he had wrought destruction on himself. And he and Anya were invited nowhere as a couple when she was in town. Most of their friends and acquaintances felt compassion for Benedetta, not for him. He was paying a high price for his mistakes, and Anya was seldom there, so he was lonely a lot of the time and came home after work. The bright spot in his life, that always brought him joy, was his baby girl. She was worth it all.

C
hantal's cellphone rang on the last day of October at four
A.M.
She heard it distantly in her sleep and thought of letting it go to voicemail, but with children scattered all over the world, she never dared. Her motherly instincts won out, and she picked it up off the charger, assuming it would probably be a wrong number at that hour, but she couldn't take the chance.

“Yes?” she said sleepily, as Xavier rolled over and opened one eye. And then Chantal sat up in bed and was wide awake. It was a hospital in Berlin, and they told her that her son Eric had had a motorcycle accident. He was alive and conscious, but had broken a leg and an arm and was going into surgery to have a pin put in his hip.

“Oh, my God,” she said, not realizing that she'd said it. “I'll come immediately. May I speak to him?” The nurse said that he was already being prepped for surgery, but he would be out in a few hours. She looked devastated as Xavier sat up next to her, wide awake now too.

“What happened? What's wrong?” He was instantly concerned. He had no children of his own, but now he shared her worry about hers. He considered it part of their joint life.

“Eric had a motorcycle accident,” she said, looking at him with terror in her eyes. “He's alive. They're about to put a pin in his hip. He broke a leg and an arm. Thank God he wasn't killed.” They hadn't mentioned a head injury, but she was sure they would have if he had one. And she knew he wore a sturdy helmet on his bike. “I hate his goddamn motorcycle. He thinks it's bourgeois to own a car. He's got to get rid of it now.” She reached for her cellphone again then, and called Air France. She got a seat on an eight
A.M.
flight to Berlin.

“Do you want me to come with you?” Xavier offered immediately, but she was used to handling emergencies alone. She had been doing it for most of their lives.

“You don't need to do that.” She leaned over to kiss him to thank him. “You have work today.” She knew he had important meetings all week. And Eric was her child, not his.

“Are you sure? I can cancel what I'm doing today. I'd like to be there with you,” he said, and she could see that he meant it, but she didn't want to disrupt his work. “You shouldn't go alone.” They could both guess that Eric would be in the hospital for a while, and need help at home when he got out. And with a broken arm, he couldn't manage crutches for the broken leg.

“I wonder if Annaliese was on the bike with him. I never thought to ask.” She was worried about that too, as she went to pack a bag, and then showered and dressed. Xavier got up when she was in the shower, and made her coffee and a piece of toast, which was normally all she ate for breakfast. It was five-thirty in the morning by then, and she had half an hour before she had to leave. He sat at the breakfast table with her and held her hand.

“Call me if you want me to come,” he said with a look of concern, both for her and her son. “I hate to say it, but I agree with you, motorcycles are just too dangerous. Especially in Germany on the Autobahn, they go at crazy speeds. It's bad enough here. He'll probably hate me for saying it, but you should make him give it up.”

“Hopefully the bike was destroyed, but I won't let him get another one. I'll get him a car.” He couldn't afford one on his own.

“Nothing too bourgeois,” Xavier teased her, and she smiled. It was nice having his support, but she was in full mother mode now, and all she could think of was Eric in surgery. She wanted to get to Berlin, and wondered if she'd be there before he woke up. She was anxious to leave. She picked up the small bag she'd packed with sweaters and jeans, some toiletries, and her makeup, and she was wearing a warm duffle coat in case it was cold. Xavier walked her to the door and put his arms around her.

“I love you. I'll drop everything and come if you want me.”

“How did I get so lucky when I found you?” she asked, smiling at him. The cab Xavier had called was already outside, waiting for her.

“How do you know that wasn't my wish that night at the dinner? To find a beautiful, smart woman to love for the rest of my life?” It made a shiver run down her spine when he said things like that. How could he love her for the rest of his life when she was almost twenty years older? The math didn't add up well. But she didn't challenge him on it now. He kissed her again then, and she ran out the door. It was six in the morning, and he went back to bed, thinking about her and her son. He shuddered imagining how awful it would have been if Eric had died. It didn't bear thinking, and he didn't know if she'd survive it. People did, and she was a strong woman, but he hoped nothing like it would ever happen to her. He loved her and hated to see her in pain, worried about her injured son.

Chantal got to the airport in plenty of time for her flight and was one of the first to board. It took off on time, and she landed in Berlin at nine-thirty, ran through the gate, and got a cab to the hospital. The information desk told her that he was out of surgery and in the recovery room, and what floor the appropriate waiting room was on.

She went to the nurses' station when she got there, and they said that Eric was in stable condition, and he would be in his room at noon. And she thought to ask then if there had been anyone on the motorcycle with him, and they said he had been alone. She called his apartment then, and Annaliese answered. She was in tears and told Chantal that Eric hadn't come home the night before, which wasn't like him, and she was panicked. Chantal realized then that her own name and number were on his emergency papers, and Annaliese had no way of knowing what had happened. No one had notified her.

“He's all right,” Chantal said calmly, trying to reassure the girl. “He had an accident on his motorcycle. He broke a leg and an arm, but he's okay. I'm at the hospital now.” Annaliese cried even harder when she heard the news and lapsed into German, and then reverted to her halting French.

“I thought maybe he was dead,” she said, sounding shaken.

“He's lucky he isn't,” Chantal said with feeling. “He's still in the recovery room after surgery. He won't be in his room for a couple of hours. You can come over to see him later.”

“I have classes today,” she said, upset by the news, but relieved to hear that he was alive. “I can come tonight.”

“He'll be happy to see you,” Chantal said kindly, and hung up. She was standing in the hall waiting for him when they rolled him out of the recovery room, toward a room with three other men. And he looked up at his mother gratefully. She was always there for him, and the others, and always had been. He had known that somehow she would come.

“I'm sorry,” he said to his mother, as she leaned down and kissed his face, still grimy from the accident. They hadn't taken the time to wash his face. They had bigger things to deal with. He had a cast on his arm, and a full cast on his leg. And the doctor she had spoken to while she was waiting said he would be in the hospital for a week. The arm was a clean break, and the cast would be off in a month. The leg would take longer, two or three months. And he had to go to a rehab hospital for therapy until he could get around on his own.

“You should be sorry,” she scolded him. “That motorcycle is history. You can join the rest of the bourgeoisie now and drive a car.” He smiled, and she left him then to go and do battle for a private room for him. And an hour later he was in his own room, and she and a nurse had cleaned him up. They treated him like a child, and he drifted off to sleep after the nurse gave him a shot, and his mother sat beside him, watching him, grateful that he was alive. And then she went down to the cafeteria to get something to eat. She thought about calling Xavier, but didn't want to bother him at the office, and it was a strange, lonely feeling as she went back to Eric's room. She had been doing hospital duty alone for them for more than twenty years. Stitches, sprained ankles, cuts when the boys fell out of trees when they were growing up. Charlotte's emergency appendectomy when she was nine, a kidney stone when Paul was fifteen. She had always been alone in hospital corridors and emergency rooms, worried about them, and faced with the decisions. She was used to it, but as she thought about it now, she realized just how long she'd been doing it and how lucky they'd been this time.

She turned the corner to go back to Eric's room, and as she glanced down the hall, she saw Xavier waiting for her. He looked serious and concerned as he started walking toward her. Tears of relief filled her eyes as she saw him.

“What are you doing here?” She was totally amazed. No one had ever been there for her the way he was.

“I didn't want you to be alone.” He had taken the next flight after hers. “This is more important than what I had to do today. How is he?”

“Pretty groggy. He was in a room with three other guys. I just got him moved to a private room.” Xavier smiled as he put an arm around her.

“Why am I not surprised? Mom to the rescue.”

“That's what mothers are for.” And in his opinion, she was a great one. She had just demonstrated it again when she flew out of bed in Paris and came straight to Berlin.

“Was the girl with him?” he asked her.

“No, she was at the apartment. No one had called her. She thought he'd been killed.”

“Thank God he wasn't,” Xavier said soberly, as Chantal kissed him lightly on the lips and slowly pushed open the door to Eric's room.

“I'll wait for you out here,” Xavier whispered. “I don't want to intrude.”

“At least come in and say hello.” Xavier followed her in reluctantly, but Eric was still sleeping soundly. They went back outside then to sit in the chairs in the hall where they could talk. He had brought a stack of things to read in his briefcase, assuming she'd be busy with her son. She still couldn't believe that Xavier was there for her. She had had no one to share the burdens with for so many years, or the terror when something happened. It always seemed like too much to ask of anyone.

“Why don't I go and check in to the hotel,” he suggested after a while. “I'll come back later.” He had already reserved a room at the Adlon Kempinski in the cab after he landed in Berlin. He had thought of everything.

“How will I ever thank you?” she asked him before he left, and Xavier smiled at her in answer.

“I'll figure out something. We can talk about it tonight.” She laughed and went back into Eric's room, and sat quietly next to his bed.

He slept for the next two hours, and then stirred and smiled when he saw her.

“Hi, Mom…I should call Annaliese. I never got a chance to call her last night.”

“I already did. She's coming tonight after her classes. I'm glad she wasn't on the bike with you.”

“So am I,” he said, trying to move in the bed, which wasn't easy with both casts. Chantal called a nurse, and they changed his position, and his mother left the room when the nurse got him a bedpan. “How soon can I get out of here?” he asked when Chantal got back.

“Not for a while. You've got to go to a rehab hospital after this, until you can manage by yourself. I think that'll be for about a month, and a week here.”

“Shit,” he said, looking glum. “I was working on a show.” But he'd had a hell of a lesson, a valuable one if it kept him off a motorcycle in the future and kept him alive.

“At your age, you'll probably heal pretty quickly. Do you want to come home to Paris while you recuperate?” she asked quickly, and was disappointed when he shook his head.

“I'd rather be here.” By now, this was home. He wanted to be near his friends, his studio, his girlfriend, and his work. “I'll be fine,” he assured her, although he was looking tired and uncomfortable by the time Xavier came back at dinnertime. He came in for a few minutes with Eric's permission, and Eric thanked him for being there for his mother, and then Xavier went down to the cafeteria to get Chantal a sandwich and a piece of fruit. “He's a nice guy,” Eric commented about him. “Did he come with you?” He was curious about him, but he liked what he'd seen so far, and his mother looked happy and comfortable with him.

“No, he came after. It was thoughtful of him.” Eric nodded and smiled at her.

“It's nice to see you with someone, Mom.”

“I'm glad you feel that way.” He was the kindest and most compassionate of her children, and always had been.

“Why should you be alone? We're not.” They each had a significant other, but it had never occurred to them before that she might want one too. And she had never made an issue of it since she hadn't met anyone important to her in years, until Xavier.

He sat in Eric's room with them, while Chantal ate her sandwich and an apple. She and Xavier left when Annaliese came, so the two young people could be alone. Annaliese cried and threw her arms around him, and Eric looked happy to see her, while she berated him for driving like a maniac. Chantal promised to come back in the morning, and they went back to their hotel.

Xavier had reserved a beautiful room for them, and Chantal lay on the bed, exhausted. She had been up, and tense, worried about her son, since four
A.M.

“Oh, my God,” she groaned. “I didn't know how tired I was till I lay down. I'm dead.” He ran a bath for her, and they took a bath together, and then lay in the bed, talking. It made him realize how hard it was for her to have her children live so far away. They were still her children, even though they were grown. And this was the kind of event she dreaded, or worse. And she could no longer be there for their daily joys and sorrows. She had become an outsider in their lives, except for an emergency like this, when she flew to their rescue, but as soon as Eric was back on his feet again, he would be on his own and she would be irrelevant again.

“It's not easy having kids,” Xavier said thoughtfully.