This Time Forever (11 page)

“I don’t know.”

Marc took his eyes from the road and glanced briefly at his friend. “What time did she leave your apartment?” He held his breath as Raoul answered.

“About fifteen minutes before you came. She went by taxi. I offered to take her, but she didn’t want to make a scene at the airport.”

Marc smiled grimly. There was still time! They were going in the right direction; perhaps he could make it to the airport before her flight. She might think she could get away with a brush-off, but he would prove her wrong. He deserved an answer. He jerked the wheel, taking them to the next exit.

“Where are you going?” André asked.

“The airport.”

Raoul leaned forward, and Marc caught a glimpse of his pale face. “You can’t do that! I promised her I wouldn’t tell you until she was in the air.”

Marc felt like cursing, but managed to hold back his emotions. “Why’d you do a dumb thing like that?”

André cleared his throat. “I’m sure she had a good reason for not saying goodbye in person.” Then he added, somewhat mockingly, “It’s not as if you’re her boyfriend or anything.”

“No, but . . .” Marc felt angrier and more upset than he had in years, and he didn’t know who to blame. Rebekka? Yes, she was at fault. They were friends, but she was treating him like a casual acquaintance. He wished her well, he really did, but he needed some sort of an explanation.

Ignoring the others, he sped toward his destination, hoping he was in time. When he arrived outside the airport, he tossed the keys to André and bolted from the car, heedless that he had stopped in a no-parking zone. André would take care of the car.

“Wait!” Raoul shouted after him. “She’s going to land first in a place called Cincinnati, Ohio. Or something.”

Marc put the information in his mind and kept running. He only knew that he
had
to get to Rebekka before her flight left. His eyes searched up and down the ticket counters and around the lobby, but she was nowhere to be seen. He searched for a TV monitor and found a flight leaving for Cincinnati at ten-fifteen. That must be the one! When he tried to pass through to the gate, they wouldn’t let him. “This is the way to the foreign gates,” said a security guard. “Only ticketed passengers beyond this point.” Marc explained the situation briefly, but the man still refused to let him through.

“Couldn’t you at least let me . . . Look, I’ll leave you my identification.”

“I’m sorry, but it’s against the rules.”

Marc was beginning to feel desperate. “Please! There’s got to be some way!”

“I could page her.”

“Okay.”

While the man spoke on the phone, Marc paced. Time was racing by, and soon Rebekka would be gone. He glanced at the ticket counter. Perhaps he could buy a ticket to Cincinnati. But no, his passport was at home, and he didn’t have any of the visas that might be necessary. He had submitted his visa application papers so he could attend an engineering convention in New York at the end of October, but that did him little good now.

Then he saw Rebekka, and his heart seemed to drop to his stomach. She was coming from the ladies’ rest room just outside the security gate, carrying her purse and a small flight bag. She wore a black suit dress that fit her curves perfectly and set off her dark auburn locks. For a moment he watched her, not knowing what to say now that he’d found her. He’d planned to demand a reason for why she’d been avoiding him, to somehow get her to see that her rash behavior wasn’t normal, but now he realized André was right. As much as he didn’t agree with it, he had no say in her decision.

“Rebekka,” he called.

She looked up, and her white face paled further. She glanced once toward the security guards that blocked the way to the foreign gates, as though she might escape behind them. Marc was utterly confused. Why would she run away from him?

“Weren’t you even going to say goodbye?” He tried to keep the hurt from his voice, but feared it came through anyway.

She didn’t meet his steady gaze, but stared at his left ear. “There wasn’t time,” she said a bit breathlessly. “I’ve been busy. I was going to write.”

“Why are you going?”

Now her gray eyes met his fleetingly, looking large in her oval face, and Marc felt an odd sense of déjà-vu. Where had he seen those eyes before? They were Rebekka’s, of course, and yet . . .

“I
have
to go, Marc.”

“Why?” he pressed. “If it’s some guy, just tell me.”

She looked relieved. “Yes, it’s a guy. I have to get away.”

“Do you need me to talk to him? I can make sure he doesn’t bother you.”

“Playing the big brother again?” Her laugh sounded strained. “I have Raoul, remember?” She stared down at her black square-heeled leather pumps. “No, I don’t need you to talk to him. It won’t do any good.”

He knew her well enough to see that her mind was made up, and he had no choice but to let her go. “I’m going to miss you.”

“I’ll miss you, too.”

He hugged her, but her flight bag fell between them, making the contact unsatisfactory. The fragrance of her thick auburn hair filled his nose, arousing unfamiliar sensations within him. When he drew away, there were tears on her pale and the sight made him want to hug her again.

He tried to smile. “Be happy.”

“Goodbye, Marc,” she whispered, her voice sliding over him like silk.

She left, and Marc stared after her, feeling a great loss as she disappeared from sight. He pounded a fist into his other hand.

“There he is!” Marc heard André’s voice behind him and turned slowly.

“You just missed her,” Marc said. “You were right, André. She left because of a man. I wish I could pound some sense into that guy.”

Raoul studied his face for a moment and then mumbled something about eyes and blindness that Marc didn’t understand and was too distraught to analyze.

“She’ll be okay,” André said, slapping him gently on the back. “She’s a survivor.”

Marc nodded, trying to cast off the feeling of gloom that had settled heavily over his shoulders. He remembered feeling this way once before—when Brionney had left for America so many years ago. He hated losing another friend, hated change.

“Hey,” Raoul said, intruding on Marc’s dour thoughts, “my mom wanted to ask if you’d teach Rebekka’s Sunday School class tomorrow. She has the lesson manual at home. Rebekka left so quickly she wasn’t able to make arrangements. One of us would do it, but we have our own classes to teach.” He laughed. “Since you’re the Sunday School president, we decided to ask you.”

Marc brightened. “Sure. I’ll get the book when we drop you off.” At least he’d have the chance to speak with Danielle for a few moments.

Yet for once, the anticipation of seeing her was small comfort.

CHAPTER NINE

Rebekka walked away from Marc on trembling legs, feeling her stomach do somersaults, which left her nauseated. In the instant she had looked up to see Marc staring at her, hope had leapt to life in her breast. Had he realized she was the woman of his dreams? Had he finally understood that he couldn’t find happiness without her?

Her disappointment at the ensuing conversation had been deep and bitter. She’d simultaneously wanted to throw herself into his arms and slap his face. She also felt a sliver of satisfaction that her departure had upset him. That meant something, didn’t it?

But what?

He was pining away for her mother—and probably had been since the day he’d saved Danielle’s life on the train. A romantic, unattainable crush from his youth. Why hadn’t he grown out of it by now? Of course she hadn’t grown out of her crush for him. The thought made her stomach more uneasy.

She spent the next hour before her departure trying not to cry. When she finally boarded her flight, she had her emotions under control but was exhausted from the effort.

A man sat next to her on the plane. He wore casual pants and a button-down shirt, much as Marc had been wearing. Also like Marc, he had lightly tanned skin as though he spent time outdoors. There the resemblance ended. While Marc had a slightly rugged look, with dark hair, expressive brown eyes, and broad shoulders tapering to a narrow waist, this man’s hair was a sandy blond, and his eyes were green. He was also taller than Marc by a good six inches, and very lean. He was handsome, and his confident demeanor made him appear as though he’d stepped out of the pages of Fortune Magazine.

“Hello,” he said in English, noticing her gaze. His voice was deeper than Marc’s and full of life.

Rebekka smiled, wondering if she would always compare every man she met with Marc. “Hi.”

“Good, you speak English.” He grinned and held out his hand. “I’m Samuel Bjornenburg, and I was just thinking what an awfully long trip this was going to be since I don’t speak French.”

“Practically everyone speaks English these days.”

“You’re French?”

“Yes.”

“Most of the French people I’ve met speak with English accents. Yours is decidedly American.” He had an endearing way of cocking his head to one side as he spoke. Marc didn’t do that. No, Marc would just look at her deeply, as though he could see into her soul. Of course, he hadn’t seen her soul or the feeling there. Not even close.

“I have a lot of American friends.”

“And your name is . . .?”

“Rebekka with two Ks. Rebekka Massoni.”

“That’s a German derivative, isn’t it?” She nodded, and he continued. “Ah, I thought so. I do know a little German.”

“What are you doing in Paris if you don’t speak French?”

“Business. I own a software company, Corban International. I usually send someone else, but sometimes there are things that only I can take care of. I have a company rep in Paris who does all the necessary translating.”

“I’m a translator, too.” Rebekka didn’t think as she spoke. “In fact, I used to work for the American Embassy.”

His eyebrows rose, and she noticed they were the same sandy color as his hair. “Are you looking for a new job?”

“Not really. I’m going to America to stay with a friend—well, actually, I’m going to help a friend of hers out with his children until he can find someone . . . it’s a long story.”

His smile was encouraging. “Good thing it’s a long flight.”

Samuel was good company, and Rebekka gradually felt her tension ease. She briefly shared with him her decision to find a new life in America, leaving out any mention of Marc. But though she didn’t speak of the man she loved, she couldn’t help making more comparisons.

When the plane landed in Cincinnati, Samuel invited her to eat with him in an airport restaurant while she waited for her next flight. She politely refused, explaining that her plane would be leaving too soon. The real truth was that the last thing she wanted was to encourage his attentions. Not when her mind was so filled with Marc.

“Well, thanks anyway for the great conversation,” he said graciously. “This has been the most pleasant flight I’ve had in a long time.” He paused, looking at her for a few seconds without speaking. “You’re quite a woman, Rebekka with two Ks—intelligent, witty,
and
beautiful. I don’t know what you’re running from in France, but if you’re ever ready to stop running, or if you need a job, give me a call.” He handed her an off-white business card embossed with gold foil lettering.

“Thank you.” She shook his hand briefly.

She turned resolutely and began making her way to the next gate. There were other men out there, and when she was ready she would find one who would make her forget Marc. As she turned the corner, she saw that Samuel stood watching her leave.

She didn’t have to change flights again, though her plane stopped once to exchange a few passengers and take on more fuel. When she finally arrived in Anchorage on Saturday night at ten o’clock local time, she was glad to get off the plane and stretch her legs. She’d read two entire novels during the last flight, and her eyes ached despite the nap she’d worked in between books. A glance at her watch told her that it was morning in Paris, and nearly time for her to wake up and dress for church. She wondered who her mother had found to teach her class, and if Marc missed her yet as terribly as she missed him.

“Rebekka!” Brionney waved enthusiastically from where she stood in a crowd of others who were awaiting loved ones. Her chin-length blond hair was almost white, her eyes a bright sky-blue. Two girls stood next to her, looking up shyly. “You look positively wonderful!”

Rebekka hugged her and kissed her cheeks. “You’re looking well yourself.” The last time Brionney had visited her brother in Paris, she had complained of her weight, but Rebekka saw that she had little to complain of now.

“It’s all the exercise I get with the twins,” Brionney confessed. “They run me ragged. And they still like to nurse more than they like bottles, so I can’t eat enough to put on too much weight. It’s a nice change for me.”

“You were always beautiful.”

Brionney hugged her again. “Keep saying things like that, and I won’t let you move in with Damon for any amount of time!”

Rebekka laughed and turned her attention to the girls. “You must be Savannah and Camille.” The girls nodded vigorously.

“We left Rosalie and the twins at home with Daddy,” Savannah reported. She looked like her mother with her white-blond hair and startling blue eyes. Camille also had blue eyes, but hers were darkened with an intriguing hint of brown.

“You’ve grown a lot since your last picture.”

Savannah’s cheeks dimpled when she smiled. “I’m eight and a half now. Camille just turned six last week. We had a party.”

“You did? Was it fun?” At Rebekka’s question, Camille nodded soberly.

Savannah continued, “And Rosalie’s four and the babies are zero—well, seven months, but that doesn’t really count.”

“It does so,” Camille interjected.

Brionney sighed. “I can’t tell you how many times we’ve had
that
conversation.” She paused. “I guess we’d better get your luggage.”

Savannah tugged on her mother’s hand. “Mom, you didn’t tell her.” Sorrow creased Brionney’s face, and tears rose in her eyes.