This Time Forever (2 page)

“It’s going to save us money in the long run,” she pointed out.

“That doesn’t matter.” His tongue wet his lips, and he flexed his large hands. “I can’t believe you went against what I told you. I’m the head of our family, aren’t I?”

At that, her anger flared. “Well,
you
go to the Laundromat every week then. I don’t have the time! I can’t believe you’d want me to do that, anyway!”
Joe would never expect it of Talia.
Tears of hurt filled her eyes, and she quickly ran to the bathroom, hoping the children were asleep and couldn’t hear their fight.

Riley didn’t speak to her for three days, except to ask what was for dinner. At least his silence meant that he didn’t comment again about the washing machine or her insubordination. She noticed that while he might not have approved of buying the machine, he wore the clothes she washed in it.

The third night of the silent treatment, Mickelle felt close to a nervous breakdown. She wished there was someone she could talk to, but she’d kept up the facade of a happy marriage for so long that she didn’t know how to discuss her problems, especially with her parents or sisters.

After dinner, the family sat in front of the television in the living room. Mickelle lounged on the sofa with the boys, and Riley settled into his easy chair. Next to him was a mound of newspapers that would grow until Mickelle could no longer stand it and would haul them to the recycling bin.

In the corner, her curio cabinet nearly reached the ceiling. She and Riley had been married fourteen years, and it was the only piece of furniture they had that wasn’t a hand-me-down from her mother or sisters or a cheap piece made of particle board. She’d bought it on sale eight years ago, the month after Jeremy was born. In it she collected roses made of metal, crystal, porcelain, wood, or even clay. The ones she had purchased herself were inexpensive, found either at yard sales or on clearance at the department store where Riley worked. Many had been gifts from family and friends—even the boys had made her clay roses in school. All were treasured and brought her much joy. Her favorites were the crystal rose she had picked out for the top of her wedding cake and the hand-painted porcelain Capodimonte long-stemmed red rose Riley had given her for their first anniversary. Mickelle had always loved roses, but the real things were so expensive and died so quickly. In her collection, she could have them forever.

Contemplating the curio cabinet and its contents usually gave her satisfaction, but not tonight. She sighed, her heart heavy with melancholy. Jeremy noticed her depression and put his thin arms around her neck. Even at eight he was very sensitive to her moods. “I love you, Mommy,” he whispered. Her arms tightened around him, and she touched her head gratefully against his blond locks.

Twelve-year-old Bryan looked up briefly from his Nintendo DS, a small, handheld game console. “Everything okay, Mom?”

“Sure. Did you finish your homework?”

He didn’t answer but gave a disgusted sigh, his brown eyes returning to the game. Riley didn’t look away from the TV.

“Well, did you?” Mickelle pressed.

“Leave the boy alone,” Riley snapped, throwing a glare her way. “He’s old enough to take care of himself.”

Mickelle swallowed hard, biting back sharp words as she so often did. Tears stung her eyes. Obviously he was still mad about the washing machine, and he wasn’t going to let her forget it any time soon.

Bryan’s DS dropped to his lap. He looked back and forth between Riley and Mickelle, his long blond bangs falling into his eyes. “I’ll do it now, Mom,” he said in a low voice. He left the room and didn’t return.

An hour later, when Mickelle went to check on Bryan after tucking Jeremy into bed, his light was off and she assumed he was asleep. Tiptoeing softly into the room, she saw him lying half under the covers, one arm dangling off the bed. She tucked the blanket around him, kissing him softly on the forehead. “I love you,” she murmured. Then she went to her room, lay down on the bed, and sobbed.

When Riley came in, he watched her in silence for a while. Finally he spoke. “I’m sorry.”

She recognized the tone and knew what was coming next. Everything would be all right now. For a time. She stopped crying, though her heart was still heavy.

He stared at her with sincere brown eyes so much like Bryan’s—the beautiful, sensitive brown eyes she’d fallen in love with. “Do you want a divorce?” He always asked that after he’d made her unhappy. She supposed it was his way of asking for forgiveness.

She pushed herself wearily up on one elbow. “Of course not. I love you.” She wiped the tears from her cheeks.

He sat on the bed and ran his finger along her arm. Then he pulled her close and kissed her. She didn’t resist, although she had no real desire to be near him. If she drew away, he would become sullen and angry, and she would have to face more days of loneliness and isolation.

Later, while he was dressing for bed, she went into the kitchen and ate a glazed donut she’d saved from the day before. She ate it quickly and eagerly, licking the sugar from her lips and enjoying the peace of the quiet house. How wonderful it was to eat something alone, without having to share with the children or clean up after them! Though she loved them deeply, their demands were difficult to keep up with—and she only had two. She didn’t know how her sisters, Talia and Brionney, each kept up with their five, and Lauren her six. Even her brother, Zack, who lived in France, had four boys. Brionney’s youngest were twins, born in Alaska where they were living at the moment. Mickelle hadn’t seen the boys yet, but she’d heard they were a handful.

The indulgence of eating the donut made her feel better, though she wasn’t prone to binging. Her own eating was the one thing she could control in her life. She wasn’t as slim as when she was first married, and certain places could use a little toning, but she still fit into her clothes. On good days, she knew she looked attractive.

“What are you doing?”

Mickelle started. She looked up to see Riley, dressed in striped pajamas, staring at her from the door. “Just having a snack,” she said quickly. “I didn’t eat much at dinner.”

He approached and eyed the empty donut box. “Well, you don’t want to get fat.”

She stood and put her arms around his thick chest. She was tall for a woman, like her grandmother, and he was on the short side for a man, so she looked straight into his eyes. “Don’t worry, I won’t. And I’ll buy you some more donuts tomorrow.” Of course, that was the real reason for his comment. She massaged his back with her hands.

“Ahhh, that’s nice.” He put his face against her neck, and his hot breath sent warm shivers up her spine. For this moment, at least, she forgot about wanting to escape her marriage. They had problems, to be sure, but they could work it out. Love lingered in her soul like a seed ready to sprout and bloom.

“Want to watch a little TV before we turn in?”

Though it was already past ten, Mickelle nodded and went with him into the living room. She thought fleetingly how she wished the basement were finished, or at least partially, so they could have a family room.
No,
she corrected herself.
I should be grateful we have three bedrooms upstairs so the boys don’t have to share.

She sat on the couch, and Riley settled in front of her on the floor. She continued to rub his shoulders while he picked up the remote and found a late-night show on one of the local channels. Though she was tired, she quickly became caught up in the movie.

Abruptly, Riley’s shoulders jerked out from under her hands. His body began to twitch violently. A seizure. He hadn’t had one of those for years.

Mickelle dropped to her knees and tried to hold him so he wouldn’t injure himself. She knew she shouldn’t, that she was in danger of being hit, but she felt so helpless just watching. His arms and legs thrashed like the tail of a beached fish, and his eyes rolled in helpless terror. The jerking motions seemed to last forever.

“Are you all right?” she asked when the seizure had finally ended.

“What happened?”

“You had a seizure.” When he didn’t respond, she asked, “How do you feel?”

“I’m fine.”

But she could tell he was shaken. “I’ll call the doctor.” She started to her feet.

He grabbed her hand. “It can wait until tomorrow.”

Mickelle hesitated. As a child, Riley had been hit by a car while riding his bike, and while healing his brain had developed scar tissue that had caused seizures throughout his life. They’d been controlled fairly well by medication, but three years earlier the doctors had been able to remove the scar tissue, and the seizures stopped. He’d continued the medication in decreasing dosages for another year, but he had been medication-free for the past two. The doctor had told them he would most likely never suffer another seizure in his lifetime.

So why had he?

“Come on. Let’s go to bed.” Riley lurched heavily to his feet. “I’m okay, really.”

Mickelle tried to take his arm in the narrow hall, but he shrugged her off. He slumped onto their bed, and she watched him for a moment to make sure he was all right. Then she went into the bathroom to brush her teeth. Afterward, she checked the boys to make sure they were safe in their rooms. When she returned, Riley was snoring softly.

She touched the back of his head tenderly before kneeling to pray.
Please help him,
she pleaded.

Riley had changed since the seizures had stopped three years ago. Before, he had been sullen, hesitant, and shy. Now, while still reserved around others and at times very sullen, he was more outgoing and confident. He also seemed more self-centered and quick to anger. Though all the changes weren’t positive, Mickelle believed he was progressing emotionally in ways he hadn’t been able to as a child and young adult, when the constant fear of having a seizure loomed over him. Sometimes she wondered if he was reliving the youth he’d never been able to enjoy—perhaps that was the reason for his truck and the new stereo system. This could simply be a phase in his delayed development. He might actually be growing into the man she thought she’d married.

As she slipped between the covers, an uneasy feeling crept into bed with her. Riley appeared all right now, but what if he wasn’t? Would the seizures return again? She knew that would break his heart.

Mickelle fell asleep wondering what the next day would bring.

CHAPTER TWO

Rebekka Massoni was bored with life. At twenty-four, she had already accomplished many of her life goals. She had served a church mission to her native France, she was an accomplished pianist, she had college degrees in French and English, and she now worked as a translator for the American Embassy in Paris. She was thinking about going back to school for a doctorate in English.

Many friends and family envied her achievements, but the goals closest to her heart had gone unrealized. The modern Rebekka didn’t dare share her sentiments with anyone, except lately with Brionney, her American friend who was far enough away that Rebekka didn’t feel embarrassed by confiding her deepest emotions. Besides, Brionney understood very well why Rebekka felt as she did. After all, she’d once loved the same man who now filled Rebekka’s dreams.

Rebekka sighed and closed the latest mystery novel by Mary Higgins Clark, her favorite American author. In four strides, she was through the French doors and on the balcony that ran the length of her mother’s kitchen, looking down eight stories to the ground below. People walked along the cobblestone sidewalks, mostly carrying groceries from the market, occasionally holding a small child’s hand. Grizzled old men sat on wooden benches in front of the café, talking and enjoying the warm day. Though Rebekka was too far up to see, she knew that many would be smoking cigarettes or eating pastries from the café as they watched the passersby and talked about the good old days.

She smiled to herself and leaned over the balcony to catch the slight breeze. Her long auburn hair—so dark it was almost brown—fell over her shoulders. “Hmm,” she said with a sigh. The smell of fresh bread permeated the Saturday morning air, reminding her that she’d not yet eaten. Still she lingered, watching the old men below.

The “good old days” were in her mind much more than she would like to admit. Back then, she’d still believed that Marc would wake up one day and realize how much he loved her—not as a friend or sister, but as a woman, as someone who would love him for eternity. He would take her in his arms and ask her to marry him and kiss her lips, her eyes, her face . . .

It had happened only in her dreams. She’d loved Marc Perrault since he’d come into her life when she was five years old. At first she had idolized him—probably because he’d saved her mother’s life when she’d been caught in the terrorist bombing on a train in Paris. In the blast, he had sustained damage to both his kidneys that had later resulted in a transplant to save his life. The romance of his sacrifice had impressed her even at such a young age. Over the past nineteen years, her love had matured from the idolization of a schoolgirl to the love of a woman for a man. Yet Marc still treated her like a little sister.

She began to pace from one end of the balcony to the other in frustration, her right fist punching half-heartedly into the palm of her left hand. Why couldn’t she make him see her as a woman?

“Rebekka, are you here?” Danielle called from the kitchen in a voice as soft as velvet.

“Coming, Mother.” Rebekka went through the French doors and into the kitchen, shutting them behind her. Her mother came toward her, dressed in a gray robe that exactly matched her eyes. She had long, dark-auburn hair, high cheekbones, and a slender figure. People often said how much Rebekka and Danielle looked and sounded alike, more like sisters than mother and daughter. Rebekka found that hard to believe. She’d always thought her mother was the most beautiful woman in the world. Even nearing fifty, she possessed a childlike innocence that Rebekka knew wasn’t a pretense.