1929 (57 page)

He whispered in Ava’s ear as he held her
close. “You didn’t happen to make that other pair of pants, did
you?”

He pulled away and turned around to reveal
the poorest patch job ever attempted to a split seam. She doubled
over in laughter at the still-gaping hole, which revealed gray
undergarments between the rough zigzags of poorly made
stitches.

“You poor thing,” she said between bursts of
giggles. “I have them upstairs. C’mon.” She led him away and he
waved to his mother as he passed the garden patch, her shoulders
and face slumped in obvious relief at the sight of him.

Once upstairs, Ava closed the door quietly
and then whirled around, grabbing two handfuls of Jonathan’s
sweater.

“You can’t go away like that again.” She
kissed him hard, oblivious of his whiskers and the salty fish smell
that radiated from his clothes. He broke the kiss and, with one
swift yank, pulled both his sweater and shirt over his head. While
alternating kisses and bites down his neck and shoulder, she took
advantage of the rip in progress by taking a firm grip of the
material and pulling hard; his pants fell effortlessly to the
floor. Jonathan let out a slightly shocked gasp as he looked at the
pile of cloth around his ankles and lifted his eyes, slowly and
deviously.

“One good tear deserves another,” he said as
he grabbed hold of the buttoned closures on the back of her
dress.

Later, Ava lay facing the window as the very
last of the day’s heat shone through on their entangled legs.
Jonathan had dozed off, arm securely around her waist, his fuzzy
face itching her shoulder. She sighed lazily and thought of how
perfectly wonderful life was. There was a light chirping outside
the window and the house seemed perfectly still; as if the whole
world had stopped. She closed her eyes and all that existed was the
intermittent warmth from Jonathan’s breath on her neck and the
solid weight of his arm around her middle.

There was one other thing that existed now,
but she would wait; let him wake up or maybe let him shave first.
She smiled and turned slowly and carefully to face him while trying
not to disturb his light sleep. His breathing was long and deep
with a slight moan at the end, and, although still asleep, he
instinctively drew her close until the soft skin of her stomach met
his and then relaxed his arm. She thought to enjoy this particular
closeness while she could, grinning again to herself. Her thoughts
wandered aimlessly, for how long she wasn’t sure, but she began to
grow impatient for him to wake when the room took on the glow of
evening dusk. She moved out from under his arm and the cool rush of
air replacing her warmth was enough to stir him. He stretched,
yawned, and focused his eyes on her with a smile.

“I missed you, too,” he said.

“We better get up. Your parents will be
wondering where we are.”

“I’m sure they have a vague idea.” He swung
his legs over the edge of the bed. “Personally, I’d like to stay
here the rest of the evening.” He flopped back on the bed and
lightly bit her thigh. “I’d say we still have three more days of
catching up,” he said. “But I’m starving. However, if I weren’t . .
. .” His sarcastically threatening look made her laugh.

“Jonathan, wait.”

He stopped mid-movement and lay his head back
down on her thigh. “What, love?”

It was now or never and hardly the way she
imagined, but she had discovered that very few things ended up
unfolding the way they’re envisioned. These last six months had
taught her the finer art of elasticity, and she went with it. She
reached for his hand as she spoke.

“Do you still want to try? For a baby, I
mean?”

“Yes. And I’ll give it another go as soon as
I get some food,” he said, smiling and squeezing her hand.

“You don’t have to,” she blurted out. His
face fell, serious and afraid.

“Have you changed your mind?” he asked
quietly.

“No.” She placed his hand upon her stomach.
“So much for it taking a few months . . . .”

He lifted his head slowly. “You mean?”

“Yes. Apparently you’re as fertile as you are
charming.” He stared, astonished, attempting to speak but couldn’t
seem to get out more than two words at a time, none of which made
sense when strung together. It was an accomplishment when he
managed to crawl beside her carefully as if she were suddenly made
of glass and look her in the eyes.

“Are you sure?”

“Your mother took me into town yesterday and
I saw the doctor. Looks like the beginning of December,” she said,
smiling and plucked at the whiskers on his stunned face, amused at
his oblivion.

“I just didn’t expect it to happen so soon,”
he said before quickly adding, “but I’m happy . . . very happy.” He
lay back with his arm on his forehead.

A knock on their bedroom door pulled him from
joyous stupor, and they scrambled for bed covers, bursting into
giggles and shushing each other loudly. When they were finally
covered sufficiently, Jonathan called out, “Come in.”

Ava ducked under the covers, mortified. Of
course, his mother knew full well what they had been doing all this
time, but for anyone to see them lying in bed with trampled sheets
and mussed hair was too embarrassing for Ava.

“Jonathan, there’s . . . someone here to see
you.” Her voice was odd, Ava noticed; maybe she wasn’t feeling
well. “I think it best if you get dressed and come downstairs.”

“Hey, did you hear the good news, Grandma? Of
course, you did, you took her. Isn’t it great?”

“It is, Jonathan. I’m happy for you.” Ava
couldn’t see her expression, brows furrowed, and lips tight with
worry. She raised the tone of her voice the best she could, but
still something strained.

He waited until she closed the door to speak.
“I’ll bet that’s someone about the article in the paper, meaning
more business, but that’s a good thing.” He slipped on a pair of
pants, and Ava dug in the closet for a dress. “She wouldn’t see it
that way, though. How was she while I was gone?”

“A nervous wreck. She tried to hide it, of
course.” She buttoned up the front bodice of the dress and tied the
waist strings around her back. “Your father didn’t like it too much
either.” Jonathan pulled on his shoes.

“Well, more business means we can speed up
plans to move out.”

Ava followed Jonathan down the steps,
grinning at her flat stomach and feeling grateful it would be some
time yet before she looked and felt like Arianna. She tried to
imagine what it would be like to be unable to see her feet. She
hadn’t noticed that Jonathan stopped abruptly on the last stair.
She smashed into him, grabbed his sweater to keep her balance, and
stared dumbly at his back.

“Oh, no,” he whispered, doom touching both
syllables. He turned suddenly, seemingly to run back upstairs, but
froze. It wasn’t fear, exactly, on his face; violent discomfort
distorting his mouth, anxiety filling his eyes as if he had just
witnessed some great catastrophe. For a moment, it looked as if he
were drowning, unable to breathe, run, or escape.

One glance over his shoulder told Ava why.
Ruth stood in the living room, prim and polite, empathizing
Jonathan’s shock.

Realizing no escape, Jonathan turned around
but couldn’t make his legs work. Ava walked around him slowly,
eying Ruth cautiously. Pregnant or not, she was suddenly very ready
to physically kick this woman out, hopefully retaining a handful or
two of hair in the process. The intensity of rage that built up so
quickly against Ruth disrupting her blissfully perfect afternoon
surprised her; rage so intense that she completely overlooked the
fact that if Ruth was here, Victor knew their whereabouts as
well.

She stole a glance at Jonathan, thinking he
would have said something by now. Jonathan’s eyes were fixed–but
not on Ruth. Ava followed the trail his eyes burned and landed on a
woman who was standing in Ruth’s shadow; a woman of pale complexion
and thick, raven-black hair, which was arranged beneath a red hat
adorned with beads and feathers. She wore a red, velvet dress made
of such intricacy that it would have been sufficient to wear to
call upon royalty. For a moment, Ava thought she might actually be
royalty judging from her attire and the way she held herself.

Ava spoke first. “What are you doing here,
Ruth?” she demanded. “I thought I made it clear–”

“I’m sorry for the disruption. I have nothing
to say, no reason to be here except to escort an acquaintance, who
has a matter to discuss with Jonathan,” Ruth spoke slowly and
clearly, the rehearsed words Victor had instructed her to say.

“What acquaintance? What matter?” Ava asked
suspiciously. Jonathan took an unsteady step forward and held Ava
tightly to his side, partially for show of loyalty and partially
for support. The royal stepped out from Ruth’s shadow.

“Ava . . . .” He paused to pray the next
three words wouldn’t destroy everything he had fought to reclaim
with his wife. “This is Elyse.”

If Jonathan spoke further, Ava never heard
it. Wind suddenly knocked out of her, she recoiled from him as
shock replaced fury in her chest; her mouth hung open, her stomach
queasy.

The royal’s face remained unchanged and
simply watched her as she quickly went through the expected
emotions. She muttered something unintelligible and anguished to
Jonathan, and his face acknowledged it painfully, silently. Her
eyes returned to the royal and disturbing images ran through her
mind at lightning speed; flashes of sweat and skin and lust on hot,
Parisian nights, the two of them entangled. She felt pitiful and
repulsive in her plain, cotton dress and bare feet as she stared
stupidly at Elyse. Suddenly enraged again, she turned to Jonathan
and shook her head side-to-side.

“Ava, please,” he implored, although he had
no idea what he was begging of her. In less than as many minutes,
she slipped into a third head-spinning emotion and recalled every
empty, lonely feeling and every frustrating day of silent
insecurity during that horrible time in the tenement when Jonathan
was lost to her, and he read that fear in her eyes.

He finally confronted Elyse. “Why are you
here?” He pulled Ava back to his side, rigid as she was.

“I understand my presence upsets you,” Elyse
spoke directly to Ava rather than Jonathan. Ava, jolted from
numbness by her French accent, stared at her, unwilling to speak.
“I would not be here now if it were not a matter of life and
death.”

“Whose life?” Jonathan asked.

“And whose death?” Ava stared pointedly at
Ruth when she spoke.

“Mine,” Elyse said quietly. “Please sit.
There is much I must say to you.” Elyse moved to the smaller sofa
and sat down with regal elegance. Ruth sat next to her as if a
supportive friend. Jonathan reluctantly crossed the room, pulling
Ava behind him. They sat close on the sofa, and he held her hand in
both of his in another show of loyalty. His parents stood inside
the kitchen out of view but very much within earshot.

Elyse coughed daintily at first then produced
her handkerchief as she wretched with violent spasms. Ava realized
she was grimacing as she watched Elyse cough and gag
uncontrollably. When she regained composure, she didn’t hesitate to
explain herself.

“I’m dying,” she said frankly and without
emotion. “Tuberculosis, aided by other illnesses common to my
profession,” she offered.

“Why is that any of our concern?” Ava asked
coldly. Now in close proximity to her, Ava could see the yellow
tinge to the whites of her eyes and a sore on the corner of her
mouth, which heavy makeup could not completely conceal.

“There is no way to say this but to say it,
Jonathan.” Ava’s blood boiled when she said his name, the way it
rolled off her French tongue with lovely elegance.

“Please just say what you have to say and
leave. I’d like to get back to my evening with my wife.”

The royal sat up a little straighter, and her
eyes locked onto his. “I did not get rid of it. He lives, he
breathes, just over there,” she said quietly, nodding toward the
door, “waiting in the car.”

Jonathan suddenly went pale and the thought
crossed his mind that he might be sick. He slumped with a hard
exhalation and unconsciously let go of Ava’s hand.

Elyse looked down and whispered, “I should
have told you, I know.”

Ava needed one moment more than Jonathan to
put the pieces of Elyse’s words together; then blazed again so
quickly through anger, shock, and fear that it was barely
noticeable. She stared at the floor, numb with disbelief, waiting
for Jonathan to speak.

“Why now?” Jonathan croaked. “Why come to me
now? I have no money. I lost everything. I can’t offer you what I
could then.”

“I know. I am not here for money.”

“Then why come here?”

“He is my heart. I love him so.” She paused,
batting her eyes, fighting tears. “Aside from me, he has no one on
this earth. My family has rejected him as a bastard. And me as well
for the life I lead. When I die, he will be alone. To be raised in
an orphanage; dirty, hungry and beaten, I cannot bear the thought
of this,” she said and a tear slipped down her porcelain cheek. She
sniffled and her voice was more pleading now. “He has your blood,
your eyes, and your name. I mean to give him to you. To finish what
I cannot. To see him become a man. Try . . . to love him.”

Ava, too shocked to speak, stared at
Jonathan’s hanging head for several minutes. Ruth slipped out
unnoticed by everyone, and returned holding the small boy’s hand.
Ava stared at him as he passed in front of her as if he were an
abomination. He walked straight to his mother and mumbled something
in French. She turned him around to face Jonathan. She stroked the
side of his head as she spoke and looked on the verge of tears.