Authors: Rachel Ann Nunes
Mickelle stood. “We should be going, too.”
“If you’ll wait, I’ll walk you out,” Damon said, peering into the oven.
“I’ll show her,” Rebekka volunteered.
“At least take some cookies.” Damon piled some on two paper plates and handed one to each of them.
Mickelle said goodbye to Tanner and Belle, who were busy eating cookies. Damon walked with them as far as the front door, where they put on their shoes. Rebekka retrieved flat teal sandals from the closet behind the door.
Bryan and Jeremy took the plate of chocolate chip cookies from Mickelle and ran to the Snail. As delicious as they were, Mickelle knew they would eat them all before they arrived home.
“Thank you for the cookies,” Damon said.
Mickelle inclined her head, aware of Rebekka’s eyes upon her. “You, too.”
“See you tomorrow,” Rebekka said in her silky voice. She leaned forward and gave Damon a kiss on the cheek. Mickelle wondered whether that was her French upbringing or a show of proprietorship. Not that it mattered, since Mickelle had no designs on Damon in the first place.
“Dad, the cookies!” Belle’s voice came from the kitchen.
Damon hurried away, and Mickelle found herself on the wrap-around porch with Rebekka. A few gray clouds had covered the sun, but the air was still warm and inviting.
“Nice meeting you,” Mickelle said, starting for the stairs.
“You, too.” Rebekka hesitated. “Uh, Mrs. Hansen . . .”
“Mickelle.”
Rebekka acknowledged the correction with a nod of her head. “Thank you for agreeing to watch Belle. She’s a special child, and I love her a lot, but we need a little time apart. What I mean is, sometimes she’s a handful, and I’m glad she seems to really like you. With two boys of your own, I think you’ll be good for her.”
The sincerity of the other woman was evident, and for the first time, Mickelle saw a little of what Brionney must respect in this French woman. While she didn’t want to remain their nanny, Rebekka obviously cared about Belle. About the whole family.
“I’m looking forward to watching Belle,” Mickelle answered. “It’ll be nice having a little girl around, after having only the boys.”
“I thought so, too.” Rebekka’s velvety voice was barely a whisper, but Mickelle heard.
“About Belle,” Mickelle began, almost against her own volition, wanting to help but not knowing if it was her place.
Rebekka’s eyes narrowed. “It’s okay, I know she doesn’t like me. That’s one reason Damon is trying a new sitter.”
“He’s a great father.”
“I know that.” Rebekka spoke somewhat defensively, as though she felt challenged by Mickelle’s comment.
“Of course you do.” But how could Rebekka really know or appreciate Damon’s relationship with his children? She had nothing with which to compare it. At least nothing close to her, if what Brionney had told Mickelle about Rebekka’s life held true.
“You’re a lucky woman,” Mickelle continued, forcing her voice to be light. “I hope things work out between you two.” Before she changed her mind, she rushed on. “But what I was trying to say . . . I mean, about Belle. I’ve been thinking a lot about her relationship with you these past few days, and I may have an idea that might make a difference.” She paused, seeing that Rebekka was listening. “You play the piano, right? Did you know that Belle would like to play?”
The anger that had been growing in Rebekka’s expression faded with the last sentence. “Belle?” she asked thoughtfully.
“She told me she listens to you play. She sits on the stairs where she can’t be seen.”
Rebekka looked at Mickelle but stare right through her. “The other day when she broke her arm, she asked me to play for her. And sometimes . . . I’ve felt someone listening.”
“She seems to have a knack for playing. I only know a little, and I’ve showed her some things. She picks out the notes easily. I told Damon she should have lessons when her arm heals. Maybe you could be the one to give them to her.”
Rebekka’s smile was warm. “There’s a lot she could learn, even with a broken arm.” Her hand briefly touched Mickelle’s arm. “Thank you. When Damon told me about you, I was really worried. Brionney said you were great, but I thought . . . a widow, you know, with children . . .”
“You thought I’d want him for myself.”
Rebekka flushed, but the color only made her more beautiful. “I don’t know what I thought. Please forgive me.”
Mickelle smiled. “Don’t give it a second thought.” She glanced toward the Snail. “Well, goodbye.”
“Goodbye,” Rebekka repeated.
Mickelle watched Rebekka duck inside her car and then walked to her gold station wagon, where the boys were still eating cookies heartily.
“These are really good, Mom,” Jeremy said. “Aren’t they, Bryan?”
“They’re all right.” While the reply wasn’t enthusiastic, Mickelle noticed that Bryan ate as many cookies as Jeremy.
Mickelle drove home, thinking of her conversation with Rebekka and feeling melancholy. Damon was a good father, and if he weren’t so rich and involved with Rebekka, and if she weren’t still grieving for Riley, maybe . . .
A light rain began. Smiling, Mickelle turned on her new wipers.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Early Monday morning, Marc gave his mother a hug at the airport in Paris. André watched them with a slight smirk on his face. Marc ignored him.
“Try not to be gone long,” Ariana said. “Remember that Louis-Géralde gets home next week. He’ll only be here two weeks before he’s off again. You’ll want to see him before he goes.”
Marc was glad his mother had reminded him. Thoughts of Rebekka had blotted out all else. Louis-Géralde was returning from serving a year in the French army, and shortly thereafter would be leaving to serve a church mission. “Mom, I’ll be back in time. I just need a little vacation. It’ll be good seeing Brionney again after all this time, and a few other old friends.”
“And Rebekka,” Ariana said. A smile graced her lips, but Marc pretended not to notice. He hadn’t told them he was going to see Rebekka, couldn’t bring himself to admit aloud how much he missed her, and how he had tortured himself for the past forty-eight hours since his decision to go to America. Tortured himself by imagining her in the arms of her employer. What would she say if she knew how he felt about her? And how
did
he feel, anyway? He didn’t dwell on that aspect. It would be too painful to admit his feelings if she didn’t return them.
André slapped him on the back. “Have fun.”
“You can take care of the company all right, can’t you?”
André grinned and shook his head in mock disgust. “Been doing it since May anyway.” His brown eyes gleamed.
“What?”
“Never mind. I’ll keep Perrault and Massoni Engineering and Architecture running. Take as long as you need.”
“Thank you.” Marc shouldered his flight bag. He had already checked the rest of his luggage, and now needed to continue through the security checkpoint alone.
Ariana’s gentle touch on his arm stopped him. She looked into his eyes. “Marc, you’re a smart man. You’ve obtained an education, you and André have started a successful architecture and engineering firm, and you’ve made your father and me proud by the way you’ve lived your life.” Her hand moved to his chest. “But now I want you to listen to your heart. Sometimes—just sometimes—the mind can be too logical.”
She kissed him twice on each cheek and gave him another hug before walking away, followed by André. Marc stared after them for a long moment, pondering the meaning of her words.
The flight to America was tedious. Marc spent half the time angry at Rebekka and the other half wondering what on earth he was doing. He hadn’t told anyone in America that he was coming, and unlike his twin Josette, who was fluent in both English and Portuguese, French was the only language he felt comfortable using. How was he going to find a place to sleep? He’d learned a lot of English in school and from his American friends, but it was quite another thing to put his few words to a real test like this. He began to have misgivings about his brash decision. Should he have called Rebekka first?
She might have said no.
It’s a free country,
he countered,
or so they’re always saying. I can visit if I please.
What if Rebekka was happy with the life she had chosen? He would not interfere with that—no, her happiness came before his crazy emotions. If she was happy with her choice, he would return to France alone.
Alone.
He knew that leaving her would be the hardest thing he had ever done.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Mickelle enjoyed her time with Belle as they waited to leave for her doctor’s appointment. They read together, practiced notes on the piano, and talked about the roses in the curio cabinet. Mickelle was amazed at the little girl’s vocabulary and the extent of her knowledge. She never stopped talking and asking questions, which sometimes Mickelle couldn’t answer.
When it was time to drive to the doctor’s office, Mickelle was actually relieved. Obviously, she would have to get a few project books from the library to keep Belle occupied after school. While she was at it, she would include some reading books on unusual subjects, as Belle’s mind seemed to hunger for knowledge far above her typical age level.
“Daddy says he might come if he has time,” Belle said as they exited the Mercedes. “But he said he might not make it. Can we call him if he doesn’t come?” She turned a hopeful face toward Mickelle.
“I have an idea you might like.” Mickelle held the glass door open for Belle. “After we’re finished, we can stop by his office. That way, he can be the first to sign your cast.”
“I don’t have a marker.”
Mickelle pulled a small package out of her purse. “Yes, you do.”
Belle hugged her. “You’re the best, you know? You have the best ideas.”
In less than an hour, they were on their way to Orem to see Damon. Belle had chosen a pink cast that went from the base of her fingers to an inch past her elbow.
“So how do you like it?” Mickelle asked.
“It’s nice.” She frowned and added, “But my arm hurts some.”
“That’s because they moved it around when they put the cast on. It should feel better again by tomorrow.”
“Good, because I don’t think I can go to school with it hurting so much.”
“Don’t worry. Let’s give it a few hours while we see your dad and eat lunch. Then if you don’t feel better, maybe we can stop by the school and get your homework and take it home.”
Belle’s face brightened. “Could we really? And can I show them my cast?”
“Sure. But that’s only if it’s still hurting, okay? Otherwise, you can stay with your class.” Mickelle felt a little odd as she made the promise. So strange to be making decisions for a child who wasn’t her own.
As they drove into the parking lot, Mickelle’s stomach began to churn. She told herself they were here so Belle could see Damon, but a part of her wondered if they couldn’t have waited. Who really wanted to see him more—Belle or Mickelle?
A young, dark-haired receptionist with pale brown eyes was in the small lobby behind a modest desk. “May I help you?” she greeted them. Then she noticed Belle. “Oh, Belle, it’s you.”
“Hi, Juliet.”
“Hey, you got your cast. Your dad told me you broke your arm. Can I sign it?”
“Yes, but only after Daddy does. That’s why we’re here. Mickelle says it’s probably dry enough now. Can we see Daddy, or is he in a meeting?”
“Actually, I think he just got out. Let me check.” Juliet’s gaze flickered over Mickelle. “I can tell you’re Brionney’s sister. You look a lot like her. Of course, you’re thinner and your hair’s a darker blond, but your eyes are exactly like hers. I always envied her eyes.” Juliet stood as she talked. “I’ll just be a moment. Have a seat while I get Damon. My phone system’s on the blink this morning. Only the outside lines seem to be working.”
In a breath, she was gone. Belle wandered to a couch against the wall. “I like Juliet,” she commented. “She’s going to get married soon, I think.”
Mickelle had no sooner sat on the couch than Damon appeared. “Hi,” he said brightly.
Belle jumped off the couch. “Finally!”
“How’d it go?”
Mickelle had the feeling that his cheerfulness covered underlying worry. “Everything’s fine,” she assured him. “Well, Belle is having a little pain, but we’re here because you get to be the first to sign the cast.”
The creases in Damon’s forehead eased. He knelt down to look Belle in the eye. “What an honor! I’d love to be the first to sign your cast, ma Belle.”
The little girl held out her package of marking pens. “You can pick whatever color you like.” She hesitated before adding, “The blue is my favorite.”
“Then I’ll use that one.” Damon scrawled his name boldly on the pink fiberglass. “There, that ought to do it.” He put his arms around Belle. “Now, what’s this about your arm hurting?”
“Mickelle says it’s because they moved it around so much. She says if I don’t feel good, we can just go to school to get my homework. Isn’t that neat, Daddy? I can still show my cast, but I won’t have to go to school.”
“It sounds like Mickelle knows what she’s doing,” Damon said. Mickelle was relieved that he agreed with her decision. “Thank you for coming.” He smiled, and her knees felt suddenly weak.
I came for Belle,
she thought, but her heart belied the words.
“That red looks nice on you,” he said.
Mickelle had worn blue jeans and a crimson thermal shirt that had matched her happy mood this morning. She wondered if Damon noticed that it was the first time he had ever seen her in anything but black or gray.
Without warning, Rebekka appeared in the lobby. “Hello, everybody. Juliet told me you were all here.”
“I got my cast.” Belle held up her arm. “See?”
Rebekka approached to take a closer look. She looked both professional and beautiful in her dark green suit jacket and skirt. Next to the auburn-haired beauty, Mickelle felt grubby.