Miracle (67 page)

“Where?” Louise demanded.

Sebastien took a deep breath and began to tell them about Brittany and a fanciful fisherman’s daughter who fell in love with a gallant young soldier on holiday. They listened without blinking, hypnotized.

He finally knew what he could share with them, and it was a gift that no one else could give.

He woke to find Annette bending over him, smiling with tears on her face, her arms braced on her crutches. After a bleary moment he remembered where he was—sitting upright with his back against the headboard of Jacques’s bed—and with whom. Louise was asleep in his lap, slumped sideways with her head on his chest. Jacques lay beside him, one arm flung across Sebastien’s legs, his face pillowed on the folds of Sebastien’s overcoat, which Sebastien had never gotten around to removing.

“What magical thing has happened to you?” Annette whispered, studying the three of them.

He shook his head, not certain yet, feeling awkward but also pleased. “We have more in common than I thought.”

“Go back to America. Immediately.”

“What?”

“Hurry before you forget this moment. Tell Amy about it. Tell her that you are a better candidate for fatherhood than you ever suspected.”

“You read too much into a simple—”

“Go. I want you on a plane tomorrow. I can take care of everything here by myself, now. You’ve done more than your share. Now go and live your own life, and don’t disappoint that amazing American woman who understands you better than any of the rest of us do, and who sees a great deal worth waiting for.”

Freedom
. He relished it like a fine wine that had been aging just for this moment. He didn’t know if Amy would welcome him, neither did he know how he could hide his fear when he saw her eight months pregnant. But looking down at the children who had won him over and been won in return—all because of Amy’s patient coaching—he had hope for himself.

A
my sat on the living-room couch with a bland white lamp on the rented end table making a pool of light on the script she held. She shivered inside her pink tent of a nightgown, tried to pull her feet under her, then gave up when her stomach made the effort too great.

Again she tried to study the script. Again her thoughts fled to Sebastien at the funeral. She looked at the phone on the end table, wishing that he would call.

When the phone rang she grabbed for it, groaning under her breath because her stomach got in the way of even the simplest task. “Hello.”

“I’m still shopping,” Frau Diebler announced. “There is a sale on shoes at Neiman-Marcus. I’ll be back in an hour. Did you drink your milk?”

“A quart of it. And all I’ve been doing since you left is sitting on the couch like a huge potato. I’m resting, I promise.
Whales
don’t rest this well when they beach themselves.”

“Very good. I’ll be there soon.”

“Would you rub my back when you get here?”

“Of course. Frau Miracle, you always ask me these things so politely. It isn’t necessary. I’m your employee. You may simply
tell
me what you want.”

“Nah, we’re partners.”

“Partners? Frau Miracle, thank you. I respect you and am
glad you’ve come to respect me.” Frau Diebler cleared her throat. “Well, enough chatter. You rest!”

“Don’t worry. I can’t get off the couch without a tow truck.”

After she hung up the phone she tossed the script aside and rubbed her tense forehead. Why hadn’t Sebastien called?
Maybe he doesn’t want to share his feelings with you. Maybe he doesn’t need to, anymore
. “Oh, stop,” she muttered to herself. “Crazy pregnant woman. Hormones running amok.” Chocolate milk would settle her nerves. Chocolate milk over fruit cocktail. It was a nasty craving, but a healthy one. Even Frau Diebler approved. Amy braced her hands on the couch and, huffing, started the rocking motion that she hoped would propel her off the couch’s deep cushions.

Just as she staggered to her feet she heard running steps on the concrete walk outside. Footsteps resonated loudly on the second-floor breezeway, making a hollow,
pinging
echo that alerted her anytime a visitor was headed toward her door. The footsteps ended abruptly and their owner ignored the bell, pounding instead on the veneered metal security door. “It’s Elliot. Lemme in, baby.”

A warning instinct held her still. Even though he was using cocaine lately, he’d remained calm and reasonable, not like before. Tonight’s urgency was new, and she didn’t know what it meant. She moved slowly to the door but didn’t open it. “Are you all right?”

“I need to talk, baby. It’s only nine o’clock. Gimme a break. It’s sort of important. Please.”

She relaxed at the
please
. In the old days Elliot had never been polite when the coke was talking. “Okay. Just a second.” She flipped the door lock and unhooked the chain.

He shoved the door open with a force that shook the walls. Its edge caught her on the right shoulder and she stumbled back, almost falling, dull pain shooting down her arm. She stared at him in astonishment and then fear as she noted his disheveled hair and furious eyes. He stepped into the apartment and halted, his legs spread, his hands clenched into fists by his sides. Though he stood still, he
was so tightly wound that she could see a quiver in the short sleeves of his Raiders football jersey. His snug jeans revealed the faint, rhythmic popping of the muscle of one knee; his weight was balanced on the balls of his custom-made jogging shoes.

“You bitch,” he said in a low, deadly voice.

As casually as she could, she stepped backward. Her heart raced. He looked capable of anything. He had never called her that kind of name before, no matter how crazy he’d been. She reached the couch and moved behind it, using it as a barrier. One hand rose protectively to her stomach. Behind him the door remained open, the January night mild and damp outside. She wondered if any of their neighbors were outdoors and would hear her if she screamed for help.

“Get out,” she told him. “Get out before you say something else that you’ll regret later.”

He advanced on her with measured steps, crouching a little, stalking her. “You got the lead in that television pilot Hadley Rand is gonna make. That fucking
big-deal
pilot that everybody has been talking about. Why didn’t you tell
me
that you were up for the part? Why did I have to hear that you got it from some piss-head flunky of Hadley’s who was stoned and couldn’t keep his mouth shut?”

She sidled along the couch, gripping the back. Again she glanced at the open door. Her stomach twisted with the almost-forgotten sensation of being trapped and panicky. In her condition she wouldn’t be able to move fast enough to reach the door before Elliot did. She halted, looking at him with as much composure as she could fake. “It’s only a pilot for a sitcom. It may sink like a rock. I didn’t want you to know that I was up for the lead, because you’re vulnerable right now. I didn’t want you to feel competitive toward me again. I only found out this afternoon that I got the part. I was going to tell you tonight when you came in from the clubs.”

“Liar.” He reached the couch and halted a few feet away from her. He trembled visibly. “All this time I thought you wanted to help me go straight, but you don’t care if I survive or not. You’ve been working on your career, and
now that you’ve hit the big time, you won’t give a rat’s ass if I pull myself back up or not.”

“Listen to yourself, Elliot! How much coke did you do tonight? You
know
that I care about you. You
know
that you don’t mean what you say when you’re messed up.”

Veins stood out in his neck. “
I know that you love me
!” he shrieked, and leapt forward. He grabbed her by one wrist, twisting so hard and fast that she felt a muscle tear before the pain exploded into fragments of light before her vision. Her knees buckled, but she balled her free hand into a fist and hit him in the center of his stomach as she sank to the floor.

He doubled over, coughing. Then he slapped her. Her teeth snapped together and she bit her tongue. “I know that you love me,” he repeated, yelling, spit flecking her face because he was so close. “Goddamn, I want you to prove it.”

She drew back her first again, but even in her terror she realized that hitting him was the most dangerous thing she could do.
The babies. Don’t make him hit you back. Do whatever you have to do to protect the babies
. She tried to curl forward over her stomach, but he grabbed her under both arms and hauled her to her feet. “Show me. Show me that you care, you self-serving bitch.” He wound a hand around the nape of her neck and, bracing himself behind her, pushed her to the hallway that went to the bedrooms. “Don’t scream. Don’t make a noise, or goddamm it, I swear I’ll knock you down.”

Her mind raced with horror. She dug her bare feet into the carpet, but he shoved her step by step down the hall and into her bedroom. “You’re not going to do this, you don’t want to do this, Elliot. Elliot, this isn’t you, this isn’t something you’re capable of doing, Elliot—”

“Shut up!” he pushed her to the foot of the bed and shoved her hard. She twisted and fell on her back, groaning as her weight and awkward size trapped her on the mattress, trying to turn over and crawl off the bed.

But as she managed to roll over Elliot threw himself down behind her and pinned her with a forearm on the side of her neck. “Show me that you care!” He slid his free
arm around her and mauled one of her heavy, sensitive breasts through the nightgown, while she choked and struggled. Amy clawed at his hand wildly as it left her breast and skimmed over the huge mound of her stomach. He was sweating, shaking, making guttural noises that became sobs.

“Stop, Elliot, please stop,” she begged between gasps.

“Do it! Show me! Love me!”

He grabbed her between the legs and tried to shove his fingers inside her, but the barrier of the gown and her furious kicking delayed him. When he jerked the gown up she knew that he wasn’t going to stop until he raped her or hurt her badly in the attempt. She slammed her head back as hard as she could and caught him in the nose. He jerked in pain, and it loosened his grip for a second. Amy elbowed him and in the same move dragged herself off the edge of the bed.

She landed on her hands and knees as he flung himself toward her, snatching at the back of her gown. She lunged toward the short dresser several feet away and caught the handle of the top drawer. It slid out of its berth and crashed to the floor, spilling scarves, hosiery, and her handgun.

Elliot was crying hysterically, now. “I’ll fuck you on the floor if that’s the way you want it!” She heard the bed creak as he careened off of it.

Oh, God, I don’t have any choices
. Half-kneeling, half-braced against the dresser, she twisted with the gun in her hand, cocking it, her thumb jabbing at the safety catch, an objective part of her mind praying. “Don’t!
Don’t
!” she screamed as Elliot grabbed for her again.

“Love me!”

He had a look of disbelief when she pulled the trigger.

She was dimly aware, through the sorrow, humiliation, and physical pain, that Frau Diebler had arrived at the police station. Amy heard the brusque German accent coming down a hall outside the detective’s office, ordering officers aside as if they were her lackeys. Amy looked up at her with a grim smile as she marched into the office, where
Amy waited, alone. The nurse’s face lost its sternness. She threw herself into the chair beside Amy’s and clucked like a distraught hen. Amy was glad to see her. “The neighbors gave you my message?”