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Once well past Aryl, he slowed to a walk and
checked to see that Ava was still watching him. The woman now
walked toward him with the ball, and Jonathan flashed his most
charming smile.

“You lost your ball,” she said, smiling.

“Well, thank you. You want to play?” he
asked, using his eyes on her, dazzling and deep blue.

She blushed before replying, “Oh, no, thank
you.” Ava sat up a little straighter and craned her neck.

“What’s your name?” he asked. He was being
cruel now, using his charm to his advantage. This poor unsuspecting
girl had no clue that his only intent was to get his wife’s
attention.

“Debbie,” she said with a smile and twisted
one leg on her toe nervously. “What’s yours?”

“Jonathan,” he said, taking a step closer,
drowning her with his eyes.

He continued to talk while the stunned group
looked on. Ava threw daggers with her eyes while Aryl walked over
and stood by his side, looking none too happy.

“What the hell are you doing?” he asked out
of the side of his mouth.

“I told you earlier,” he said quietly and
turned back to the girl, speaking seductive sentences in French,
using his eyes for emphasis. “Il était très agréable de vous
rencontrer. J’espère que mon idée n’était pas une faute et ma femme
me bat plutôt.”

The girl giggled and blushed, too smitten to
make any further intelligible conversation. She looked completely
spellbound as Jonathan flashed one last smile over his shoulder
when he walked away. Ava sat up against the tree with crossed arms
and watched from afar. Red crept up her face as her blood boiled.
Aryl smacked him on the shoulder.

“Jon, I thought I told you that wasn’t a good
idea. What the hell were you saying to her anyway?”

“I said 'it was nice to meet you and that I
hope my idea was not a mistake and my wife beats me for it.'”

Aryl couldn’t help but laugh. “Oh, she
will.”

Jonathan nibbled on leftovers at the picnic
table for a good ten minutes before he joined Ava.

“Looks like you made a friend,” she said
curtly.

“Oh, her? Just someone new in town. Nice
girl,” he said with a far off voice as he glanced in Debbie’s
direction. Ava glared at the side of his head.

“Did you need to talk to her for so long? I
mean, how long does it take for you to take a ball from someone and
say thanks?” He turned to her, his eyes attempting to work their
sapphire magic on her as well.

“I was just being nice, Ava.” She was the
first to break the stare. He leaned toward her slightly. “Are you
jealous?” he whispered.

“No!” she insisted, gathered her book, and
walked over to sit with Arianna.

Aryl and Caleb were trying to teach Jean how
to throw, and the girls had the blanket to themselves. Claire
reported rapid-fire as Ava sat down, “Okay, Aryl just told me that
Jon only did that to make you jealous, so you’d pay attention to
him. He wanted me to tell you because he’s afraid you’re going to
kill Jon, and he doesn’t want to have to do his share of the work
on the boat.”

“I’m not going to kill him,” she assured. Her
cheeks and the tips of her ears were red, her lips pursed.

“What are you going to do?” Arianna asked.
“See, Caleb and I may have come to an understanding about certain
things, but if he were to flirt with another woman in front of me .
. . .” Her eyebrows arched and she let out a long, slow whistle
that sounded much like an incoming mortar. Ava shrugged as if she
didn’t care, but her insides were churning with jealousy. Jonathan
was holding a charming smile for her when her eyes flickered back
to him. She looked away quickly, angry for letting herself want him
again.

It was sunset when everyone headed to the
cars. “See you Saturday!” Arianna yelled, waving. Caleb turned in
Jonathan’s direction, moving his hand to his mouth as if he were
throwing back a drink. “See you Saturday.”

“We decided to get together at our place
while you gals are doing the baby shower,” he explained briefly,
and held the door open for Ava. Jean climbed in the backseat and as
Jonathan pulled out onto the road, he yawned. Jonathan smiled at
him over his shoulder.

“Tired? I think Caleb and Aryl wore you out,
didn’t they?”

“They are very nice,” Jean said. “I think
they like me.”

“Well, why wouldn’t they?” Jonathan asked.
Jean glanced at the back of Ava’s head. “Yes, they like you.
Arianna would like you to spend the weekend with them sometime.
Would you like that?” he asked, grinning.

“Oui, please!” Jonathan smiled, and caught
Ava watching him. For the first time in weeks, her face was soft
and curious.

∞∞∞

“I was jealous.” Ava sat down on the bed,
staring out the darkened window as Jonathan readied for bed. Clouds
had quickly moved in after the picnic. There was no moon to be seen
tonight. He stopped tying the strings of his sleeping pants and
looked at her.

“Were you?”

“What would Maura do?” she whispered. “That’s
what I’ve been asking myself for weeks. If she were me, what would
she do? How would she handle this situation? And you.” Jonathan sat
beside her, close enough to show he cared but far enough to give
her space.

“I’d like to think she would try to make the
best of it.”

“She would. I just don’t know that I . . . I
can’t promise you . . . I feel like everything . . . .” She gave up
trying to complete the sentence and hung her head to hide her
tears. He put an arm around her, and she slumped over against his
chest. Silent tears and a rigid form gave way as the brick wall
further crumbled and fell away. With sagging shoulders, she
softened and he gathered her in closer as she disintegrated, sobs
filled with anger, betrayal and loneliness. He held one arm around
her waist, supporting her weight and the other behind her head as
she cried into his neck. Arms limp at her side, tears streamed down
her cheeks and onto his chest. With a set jaw, he endured the sting
of each one as it trailed over his heart and he let her cry for a
long time.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “What can I do?”
he begged, helpless. He would do anything for her, short of sending
Jean to an orphanage, and he feared that’s what Ava wanted him to
do.

Silent moments passed. There was nothing he
could do, but there was certainly much he could say.

“I don’t see her when I look at him,” he said
honestly. She tensed slightly. “I know that’s what you think. But I
don’t. I see a lot of me, and what isn’t me, I pretend is the best
of you,” he said softly, with a squeeze around her waist. “I only
think of Elyse when you cry or yell at me or act like you hate me.
It reminds me of how much I hurt you, long before I even knew you.”
Ava was quiet and he cautiously continued. “It also reminds me of
how she acted when I told her I wouldn’t marry her, and she
threatened to abort Jean. I had to accept the fact that she would.
There was nothing I could do back then. But I’d like to think
there’s something I can do now, if you’ll let me.” She wiped her
face but wouldn’t look at him.

“Would you do anything?” she whispered. His
stomach twisted in knots.

“I won’t send him away, Ava.” He tried to
infuse as much love as possible into his words. “He has no one.
And, even though it’s a disruption in our life, he’s mine. I can’t
just turn my back on my responsibility.” A silent, emotional
standoff lasted for several moments.

“You asked Elyse what she expected of you.
Now I’m asking you what you expect of me.”

He didn’t hesitate. “Don’t leave me. Don’t
stop loving me. I can’t do this without you.” He put a hand on her
lower back. “I love you more than anything.” He took a deep breath
and resigned himself to explain everything if he needed to but
prayed he wouldn’t. “You were the only thing to pull me back, Ava.
Nothing else on earth had the power on my heart and soul enough to
pull me back from the edge of my grave.” Her foggy, emotionally
charged mind tried to rationalize his words about that dark time.
It was Maura that had changed him. Her green eyes saw things,
things that lurked deep in the core of a person. Her wise words
infused with hard love worked miracles on the soul. She let her
mind wander to Maura’s last letter, her advice and most of all, the
sentence she had written on the bottom of each and every letter
since Jean’s arrival.

“It’s not the end of the world,” she
whispered. “That’s what Maura says.”

“It’s not.” A cold shiver went through
Jonathan as he remembered the night Maura said those words to him
and he realized Maura, too, was worried about the extent of Ava’s
depression. “Is this what it was like?” he asked, trying to smooth
down her rumpled hair. “When you watched me sink into
oblivion?”

She thought she was incapable of producing
more tears but more escaped.

“Well, I’m sorry for that, too,” he said
softly. “I don’t expect anything, Ava. All I ask you to do is leave
yourself open to the possibility of being happy again. Us being
happy again. Don’t close yourself off. I really think it’s
possible.” He lifted her chin. “I will die trying to make it
happen. I won’t give up, I promise you.”

“I just don’t know that it's possible . . .
for things to ever be like they were,” she said bleakly.

“They won’t be the same, Ava. So much has
changed since October. It makes my head spin to think of how many
times we were blindsided and forced to adapt. No, things won’t ever
be the same. But,” he took her face in his hands, “that doesn’t
mean that they can’t be good.”

April 26th 1930

“Oh, it’s adorable!” Arianna cried as she
pulled the red, silk sleeping gown out of the box.

Ava smiled and said, “I thought you’d like
it.”

She held it up to herself. “I just wonder if
I’ll ever be able to fit into it!” she laughed as her large stomach
distorted the sleek gown.

“You’re still thin as a rail, Arianna. It’ll
fit wonderfully after the baby is born.” She handed her another
box. “We got this for the baby.” Arianna drew from the box a
sleeping gown for the baby; white cotton with embroidered yellow
bunnies and teal-colored teddy bears sewn along the hem with thin
yellow ribbon ties at the neck.

“Thank you. It's beautiful.” She reached up
to hug Ava as Ethel walked in with a tray of small cakes and slices
of pie.

The parlor was modestly decorated; a table
held a small pile of presents and cards from a few friends abroad.
Ethel set the tray down on the coffee table and handed Arianna a
large box that was impossible to balance on what little lap she had
left. Claire helped her to set it on the floor and then opened it
for her, handing her the contents.

“This is from me. Hubert has something of his
own he’d like to give you,” her mother-in-law said and lit up with
a wide smile.

“Oh! Thank you so much!” she cried as Claire
handed her pile after pile of cloth diapers Ethel had made, knowing
from experience that Arianna hadn’t made nearly enough. Beneath
those were a dozen infant gowns, a few knitted sweaters, and a
crocheted yellow and white blanket made by Ethel as well.

“There’s more?” Arianna exclaimed as Claire
handed her yet another pile.

Ethel told her, “These pieces aren’t new, but
I thought I’d throw them in, just in case.”

“Just in case?” Arianna questioned and then
understood. There were several folded pieces of Caleb’s baby
clothes: tiny overalls, blue sleepers, miniature flannel farmer
plaids, and one very well loved baby blanket. Ethel had preserved
these pieces beautifully, and Arianna giggled as she tried to
picture Caleb as a tiny seven-pound squirming mass of chub and
spittle.

Just then, Hubert struggled through the door,
awkwardly carrying a rocking horse. “This was Caleb’s as well. I
cleaned it up a bit,” he said modestly. “I hope you like it.”
Arianna looked up at Hubert, touched.

“It’s beautiful,” she whispered, admiring the
dark mahogany of the horse’s head and curved rails, the carefully
retouched colorful saddle and newly set mane made of black yarn.
She struggled to her feet despite his protests and hugged him
tightly. Her stomach pressed against his, and the new one kicked
hard against him. Hubert pulled back, laughing. “Now don’t you
start!” he scolded her stomach with a smile.

Claire led Arianna out to the porch to show
her their gifts.

“Aryl made it,” she said proudly. Arianna
smiled at the miniature version of his parents’ backyard swing,
sanded soft and painted white. A small cradle hung from the hooks
and beside it was a seat leaning back at a sharp angle that would
replace the cradle once the baby was old enough to sit up.

“Oh, Claire, it’s wonderful! It’s so . . .
wonderful!” She touched the swing, amazed at the craftsmanship.

“Those are from me,” she said, pointing to a
small stack of paintings. She bent to pick them up and show them to
Arianna; stunning, colorful animations of animals. There were four
seasonals; winter snow bunnies, springtime blue robins, chubby pink
pigs, a gelding standing under a tree vivid with foliage. Arianna
was speechless and emotional. She hugged her friend tightly and
retreated inside to the rocking chair, spasms in her back growing
stronger.

Ava pulled out a pencil drawing from her bag,
unframed and slightly creased. “He . . . Jean asked me to give this
to you. He said he would give a gift to the baby after it is born.
He wants to know what it is first.”

Arianna beheld the picture so amazing in
detail of herself standing at the base of the Eiffel tower, the
cityscape sketched to perfection in the background.

“I’ll thank him the next time I see him. And
I’ll find a frame for this,” she said softly. “He is so sweet.”

Several of Ethel’s friends had stopped by,
each delivering a handmade gift, and having a piece of cake,
spilling advice to Arianna to the point of making her head spin.
She felt thoroughly panicked by the time everyone left. She
wondered how in the world she would remember everything and feared
for her child’s life due to her own ignorance.