This Time Forever (43 page)

Damon nodded, hoping he understood the man’s heavily accented question. “Yes. And I think she feels the same way. But she’s scared.” He glanced at Brionney. “She’s been hurt before.”

Marc dragged his hand through his hair. “She told me that before she leave France. I did not know she and this French man were so serious. I never met him.”

Brionney’s head swiveled from one man to the other. “What are you talking about?” she asked Marc finally. “Because I’m really lost. I don’t think we’re talking about the same thing.”

* * * * *

Marc hadn’t meant to eavesdrop on Damon and Brionney’s conversation, but even so had lingered a little too long in the hall. He heard the passion in Damon’s voice, and all the hurt and anguish that had fallen over him since seeing Rebekka that morning returned without mercy.

“I am talking of Rebekka,” Marc said now in answer to Brionney’s question. He didn’t want to help Damon, but his loyalty to Rebekka forced him to continue. He wanted her to find happiness. “She told me when she leave France that she leave because of a man.” He met Damon’s gaze. “I am glad she found you. Do not let what is wrong get in the way of love. She deserves . . .” He searched for the words. “She deserves to be happy.”

Damon’s face grew more puzzled. “Rebekka? We were talking about Brionney’s sister, Kelle.”

Marc felt anger leap to life in his heart. “Does Rebekka know you are seeing another woman?”

“I told her this morning. She was a little disappointed but didn’t seem that upset. We haven’t even been out on a date yet.”

The information was coming in all wrong. Marc wondered if he needed to go back to his room and sleep a few more hours. “I thought Rebekka was in love with you. She told me she . . .” Marc was genuinely confused. “She let me think . . .”

“You need to talk to Rebekka,” Brionney said gently. “There must be a misunderstanding.”

A misunderstanding!
Marc had never been more happy to be so confused. Rebekka didn’t love Damon!—or at least so he said. That meant there was still a chance.

“When she come home?” he asked Brionney.

Brionney glanced at the clock. “Any minute now.”

“Uh, no, she won’t.” Damon appeared decidedly uncomfortable.

“What do you say?” Marc demanded.

“She left when I did, but she was on her way to the airport. To Cincinnati. She was driving herself and going to leave her car in parking at the airport.”

Marc glared at him.

“For work,” Damon added, but he said it as though there was something more.

Brionney heard it, too. “Damon, what aren’t you telling us?”

“The company we work with there . . . well, the owner really likes Rebekka. We had quite a talk this morning, and then again this afternoon after Rebekka agreed to go to Cincinnati. He was relieved to know that Rebekka and I aren’t involved. He has a pretty romantic few days planned for her—showing her the countryside, taking her to meet his parents, that sort of thing. I don’t know if we’ll even be able to get in contact with her.” Damon hesitated, as though trying to read Marc’s soul. “What’s more, I think Rebekka’s attracted to him, but since we had planned to go out, it sort of stifled her feelings. I was a bit upset with Samuel at the time, but now that she’s free, I don’t have the right . . .” His eyes met Marc’s in sudden understanding. “She is free, isn’t she?”

Marc felt as though he’d been punched in the stomach. For a moment, he wanted to smash his fist into Damon’s earnest face. Samuel. He had heard the name earlier today. Rebekka had mentioned him, hadn’t she? He struggled to breathe evenly, to remain calm.

“Well, good luck,” Damon said. “I have to get my kids . . . and talk to Kelle.”

Brionney waited until Damon had left, and then she said in French, “I don’t believe Rebekka would go without saying goodbye to me. And she’d have to pack some things.”

But Marc could believe it. She had left before without saying goodbye. Or tried to. Did she hate him so much that she had to leave before he could tell her how he felt?

Brionney had disappeared down the stairs leading to the basement, and now returned with an envelope, her face pale. “She’s gone. She really is. She must have come for her clothes while I was out this afternoon. There’s a note. It’s in French.” Brionney read it before handing it to Marc.

Brionney,

Sorry for leaving without saying goodbye. I got called away suddenly for work. But to tell you the truth, I’ve been thinking about accepting Samuel’s offer—in more ways than one. I need a new start, and he’s a good man. Perhaps one day he’ll even come to know the gospel. I’ll let you know what happens. Please tell Marc I’m sorry I had to leave. You’ll understand why, Brionney, but he won’t. He hasn’t all these years.

Rebekka

What did she mean? The message tore into Marc more than anything that had gone before, but it didn’t make sense. Why couldn’t she make sense? Were all women so confusing, or was it only Rebekka? They had been friends for many years, perhaps best friends, and he had come all this way to make sure she was happy. Yet she didn’t have the courtesy or the guts to tell him the truth about anything.

“You’ve got to go after her,” Brionney said. “You’ve come this far, and she has to know how you feel. Before she goes to Samuel. Before it’s too late.”

Marc forced his gaze away from Rebekka’s handwriting, wondering what Brionney had seen in his heart when he wasn’t even sure what he felt. “I can’t. I want her to be happy. If this is what she wants—”

Brionney looked as though she would explode. “She wants to be with you! That’s all she’s ever wanted since she was five years old! You’re the one who’s been too blind to see that the crush she had on you as a kid is much more than that now. She loves you! I know she does.
You’re
the reason she left France, not some other guy. And you’re going to lose her forever if you don’t go after her.”

Marc’s head ached and tears gathered in his eyes, stinging like salt from the ocean. “As I lost you.”

Brionney inclined her head. “I wanted you to come after me when I left France. I really did—at least for a time. But we didn’t love each other like that, not really. Rebekka’s different; she loves you with the kind of love I have for Jesse.” Brionney placed her hands on her hips, and now there was a hint of anger in her blue eyes. “The question is, what do you feel for her? And before you answer that, maybe you ought to ask yourself why you’ve come to see her. Why are you here, Marc? You didn’t love me enough to come after me, but you’re here because of Rebekka. Something about your feelings for her has finally got you moving. What is it?”

Stunned, Marc sank onto a stool by the bar. “It’s been her all this time, hasn’t it?” Tears squeezed out of the corners of his eyes. “These feelings aren’t new. She’s the reason I’ve never married all these years. Why didn’t I see it?” He hit his chest. “I love her like I’ve never loved anyone . . . not even Danielle.” There, he had finally said the words aloud. He moaned and dropped his head into his hands. “What am I going to do?” Panic filled his heart. He had to get to Rebekka. He had to tell her the truth about why he had come to America. He had to tell her—

Marc leapt to his feet. “How do I get to the airport? Your friend said she was just leaving. Maybe I can get there in time. Maybe it’s not too late. I have to at least try.”

Tears shimmered in Brionney’s eyes. “It’s easy if you know the way, but if you don’t you could get off on the wrong exit. I could take you if—Jesse should have been home by now. He’s already fifteen minutes—” She broke off as she heard a rumbling noise. “Yes! That’s the garage door. Jesse’s home.” She grabbed her purse from the counter and ran toward the door. Marc was only a few steps behind.

They passed Jesse in the garage, climbing out of his truck. “We have an emergency,” Brionney said quickly. “We have to get to the airport. The girls are next door, and the boys should be waking up any minute. For dinner we’ll have to eat leftovers—it’s been a rather busy day.” She gave her husband a quick kiss on the mouth. “I’ll be home as soon as I can.”

“Be careful.” Jesse said. “Call me on your cell if you need anything.”

Brionney drove her van while Marc stared anxiously at the road in front of them. He wished he could drive to alleviate his nervous tension, but he recognized the need of having a driver who knew the road. Every second counted. He was accustomed to delegation—he had founded a whole corporation by delegating—but this was different. This was his life—his eternity. He found it hard to delegate his future to a friend, even one as trusted as Brionney.

His need for Rebekka was so profound, so alive and absolute. How had he not understood how much she meant to him until it was almost too late?

Dear God,
he prayed,
don’t let it be too late.

Brionney tossed him the cell phone and asked him to dial a number. “I need to find out what flight she’s on,” she explained. “Juliet will know. She works at our company. She should be home now, but I know the number. She sometimes stays with the kids for me.”

Marc dialed the number and returned the phone to Brionney. “Hi, Juliet, it’s Brionney. Thank heaven you answered! Look, I need to know Rebekka’s flight information.”

Marc knew it might already be too late, but he also knew she could have stopped somewhere after work. It was possible her plane didn’t leave until . . .

“Six forty-five? Okay, give me the airline and gate number. You don’t? Okay, just the airline then. We can find the gate number when we get there and have her paged.”

Marc’s watch read three minutes after six. They had forty-two minutes. He looked at Brionney anxiously as she disconnected the call.

“We have enough time—barely,” she said. “If the traffic’s not too bad.”

Marc began to pray with his entire being.

That was when he noticed the child sitting in a mud puddle that reached to the right edge of the road in front of them. Because of the distance, he couldn’t tell if the toddler was a boy or a girl, but it couldn’t be older than a year or two. The traffic wasn’t going fast, but there were enough cars to pose a real danger to such a small child. Where was its mother?

As they approached, he saw that the child had pale skin and wore only a long T-shirt that had once been white, but was now speckled with mud. Marc craned his head, looking all around, hoping to see someone coming for the mud-caked toddler. He saw nothing but a row of faceless houses. The child began to crawl around in the mud, splashing with innocent delight. Any moment now, he expected Brionney to see the child and stop, but she was concentrating on the car in front of her, as though contemplating an opportunity to pass the car in front of them.

They sped past the mud puddle, with Marc still searching for the mother. His conscience protested leaving the child behind, each moment crawling closer to the pavement on the street.
It’s not my problem. I have to get to Rebekka.

But he couldn’t live with that. What if the child ended up in the street? What if some young hot-blooded teen tried to pass illegally on the right side? The child might not be seen until it was too late.

“Brionney, stop,” he choked out in hoarse French. “There’s a baby back there, and it’s nearly in the road. We have to stop.”

Her eyes flicked to the mirror and grew wide. “Oh, my gosh!” She pulled over at once. Together they left the van and ran back toward the child.

As Marc fished the smiling little boy out of the messy puddle, his heart filled with an agonizing emotion he could not name.
I’m sorry, Rebekka. I’m so sorry.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

After leaving work, Rebekka stopped briefly at the Hansen residence. She’d gotten the address from Damon earlier when they had discussed her trip to Cincinnati, saying that she wanted to tell Belle goodbye. That was part of it, to be sure. But she also wanted to see Mickelle.

Belle herself opened the door. “Rebekka!” she said with a wide smile.

“Hi, Belle. Wow! Look at all those signatures on your cast. I bet your whole class signed it.”

“All except Tristian. He’s gone on vacation to Disneyland.”

“He’ll have to sign it later, I suppose. I’m sure he won’t stay in California for six weeks.” Rebekka took a deep breath and hurried on. “Hey, you know what? I came by to tell you that I have to go out of town for a little while.”

Belle’s forehead scrunched, and her amber eyes, so like her father’s, were suddenly cool. “You’re going back to France?”

Rebekka’s heart ached as she knelt in front of the child. “No honey, honest. I’m going to Cincinnati to work on your dad’s program.”

“Will you call me?” Belle’s eyes became calculating.

“I promise.” Rebekka put her hand on Belle’s arm. “Don’t worry. We are friends for life.”

Belle smiled, her eyes once again warm. “Kelle—that’s what Daddy calls her—isn’t that cool? It rhymes with my name. Kelle, Belle. Anyway, Kelle made a cake for our after-school snack. Want to come and have a piece? We still have some left. We couldn’t eat it all, or we’d ruin our dinner.”

“Who is it?” Mickelle came from the kitchen, her eyes widening in surprise as she saw Rebekka. “Hello. Why . . . uh, what brings you here?”

“I have to go out of town for a few days,” Rebekka replied, straightening to meet the taller woman’s eyes.
Or maybe forever.
“I wanted to say goodbye to Belle.”

“That’s nice, isn’t it, Belle?” Mickelle said warmly.

Rebekka didn’t wonder that Mickelle was so friendly. She would be, too, if her competition stepped out of the way. Then again, Rebekka never really had been competition since she and Damon had never progressed beyond friendship.

“I also came to talk with you.” Rebekka glanced meaningfully at Belle.

Mickelle touched Belle’s shoulder. “Will you go see what the boys are doing outside? If they want to play soccer, tell them I’ll be out in a minute so the teams will be even.”

“Okay.” Belle left immediately, holding her cast to her chest. Rebekka had never seen her so docile.