This Time Forever (21 page)

“I’ll be glad to walk you through the program,” Jesse volunteered.

Damon leaned back in his chair. “Are you free to stay now, or do you need to come back at another time?”

“I could stay now. I’ll have to make a few phone calls, but I have good people who can cover for me. I’d appreciate it if you could direct me to a nice hotel.”

“I could do that,” Damon said, “or you could stay with me. We have a lot of space—and a cook who makes really tasty Cincinnati-style five-way chili.”

“Five-way chili? Then I’ll
have
to accept your hospitality.” Once again Samuel smiled at Rebekka, and somehow she was sure she was the real reason he agreed to stay at Damon’s. She wasn’t sure how that made her feel, but she couldn’t stop smiling. This certainly beat baby-sitting the cranky Belle and the besotted Tanner.

“What’s five-way chili?” she ventured.

“That’s chili served on a mound of spaghetti with chopped raw onions and red kidney beans on top, all smothered in a very thick layer of shredded cheddar.” Samuel ran his tongue over his lips. “There’s nothing like it.”

Rebekka didn’t think the dish sounded good at all, but she was willing to try almost anything once. “Sounds like an adventure.”

“You’ll love it.” Samuel continued to hold her gaze, smiling.

Damon frowned, seeming to notice Samuel’s interest in her for the first time. He was about to speak again when one of the employees poked his head in the door. “Sorry for the interruption . . . I just checked the answering service, and you have a pretty important message. It’s about your son.” He glanced at Samuel, as though not wanting to say more.

“Thank you, Brody.” Damon rose to his feet. “If you’ll excuse me, Samuel, I’ll leave you in Jesse and Rebekka’s capable hands.”

Samuel nodded, and they shook hands. “That will be just fine.”

* * * * *

Damon drove to the American Fork police station in his dark-blue Mercedes. At first he’d been shocked and concerned at the news of Tanner’s accident, but now he was more angry than anything else. He admitted to himself that part of his anger had been caused by Samuel’s apparent interest in Rebekka, though aside from his jealousy, he liked the man and felt a great deal of professional admiration for him. Rebekka was a beautiful woman. Why wouldn’t Samuel be interested? She was more his age, anyway.

He gave a protracted sigh. Tanner was really going to get it.
If I’ve told him once, I’ve told him a thousand times that he couldn’t drive until he had his license. I’m going to wallop him until he’s too sore to sit down!

But when he picked Tanner up at the police station, his son’s face seemed to bear the weight of the world. All the angry words and recriminations on the tip of Damon’s tongue evaporated, and he said a silent prayer of thanks for the distance between American Fork and Orem which had allowed him to calm down before facing Tanner. Without saying a word, he hugged his son.

Tanner started to cry. “I thought I was doing something good,” he said. “But I wasn’t. I—I crashed . . . the car—my car . . . I’m so sorry, Dad.”

Over his son’s shoulder, Damon met the interested stare of the woman behind the long front desk. He whispered to Tanner, “Come on. Let’s go home. We’ll talk about it there.”

They drove away from the police station in silence, with Tanner staring mournfully out the window as though his best friend had died. Damon prayerfully thought about what he should say to his son. From the policeman’s description of the accident, the event was Tanner’s fault. But what had really happened?

Suddenly, Tanner turned toward his father. “Belle. Where’s Belle?”

“She’s at the Hergarters’. Bekka arranged for Bri to pick her up after school. They tried to take her to our house, apparently, but you weren’t home to baby-sit, so they took her back home with them. We need to pick her up now.” Damon knew he was stalling for time; he didn’t know what to say to his son.

Tanner leaned back against the seat in relief. “Good. I was worried about her.”

Damon pondered that. He appreciated the fact that Tanner had acted to help his sister, but he was a firm believer that the end did not justify the means. That motto had served him well in business over the years, and he wasn’t going to doubt it now.

Damon used his cell phone to call Rebekka and let her know they were picking up Belle. After collecting her at the Hergarters’, they drove straight home. He motioned Tanner into his office and closed the door.

The boy slumped into one of two padded chairs next to the extra computer. “You know you are not allowed to drive,” Damon began, sitting in the other chair. “I bought you that car and allowed you to fix it up because I knew it would not only be a good experience, but also because you would need transportation. Now you’ve betrayed my trust, Tanner. I’m not sure what to do about that.”

Tanner sat up stiffly in his chair. “It was her fault, Dad! Really. Eric and Randy’ll tell you. She wasn’t moving, so I just went, and she hit me.” His voice held a note of belligerence.

“You were turning,” Damon stressed. “She had the right of way.”

“But she just sat there! Honest.”

“For how long?”

“At least five minutes. Okay, maybe a little less, but it was a long time, Dad. I was worried about the light changing and about getting Belle. It would have been okay, if she would have went.” The belligerence disappeared as Tanner’s eyes filled with tears. “I just wanted to help Belle.”

“You should have known we would take care of Belle.”

“I know that now,” Tanner agonized, “but it seemed so . . . Randy said once his mother forgot, and Rebekka was gone . . .” He laid his head on the computer desk, and his tears wet the wood surface.

Damon could feel his son’s sorrow, and his heart was heavy with the boy’s pain. “Okay, look, the bottom line is that your car is damaged and has been impounded. That’s going to add up to a lot of money.” He allowed his voice to soften. “I do feel you have learned a lesson, so I’ll help you out. Of course, we’ll still have to go to juvenile court. They can’t overlook the fact that you were driving without a license or insurance.”

“Court?” Tanner’s brown eyes grew wide.

“Yes. You’ve broken the law.”

“What will they do to me?”

“I’m not sure.” He leaned over and put his arm around his son. “But I’ll be right there beside you.”

“What about that lady? I mean her car had hardly a dent, but I think she wants me to pay.”

Damon set his jaw firmly. “If she contacts us, I’ll deal with her.” If the accident was in large part this woman’s fault as Tanner had indicated, he wasn’t going to let her push his son around.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

It was Wednesday night, and Marc Perrault didn’t feel well. He stretched out on his bed in his quiet apartment and stared at the ceiling. He wasn’t sick exactly, as the doctor had assured him today; he just wasn’t himself.

Everyone in the family had noticed his disquiet, and at the family dinner on Monday, two days earlier, they’d all been full of advice. His twin, Josette, teased him about having a mid-life crisis. Ridiculous. He was only thirty-four. Zack, Josette’s husband, suggested that Marc write in his journal—as if that sage piece of advice was the answer to the problems of the world. His brother André told him he was bored and needed new challenges, which he could begin immediately by watching André’s two daughters for an entire weekend. Right. His other sister, Marie-Thérèse, said bluntly that he needed to find a wife. Her husband Mathieu proposed a vacation.

Even his grandfather and two grandmothers had suggestions, like doing more church work, eating more vegetables, and getting more exercise. It was enough to make him crazy.

After his father, Jean-Marc, had advised him to search his soul, Marc found himself grateful that his younger brother, Louis-Géralde, was serving his mandatory time in the French army and couldn’t add his counsel to the growing din.
Of course, it would be just my luck that Louis-Géralde is probably the one person who has the answer,
Marc thought.

Besides the absent Louis-Géralde, his mother was the only family member who hadn’t offered advice of any kind. Ariana had simply regarded him mutely from her seat across the table. When he’d slipped away to the living room to ponder his problem in private, she’d quietly followed and sat with him on the couch.

“I just feel strange,” he told her. She touched his hand, held it as she had when he was little. Marc leaned against her, enjoying the comfort.

“You feel normal to me,” she said softly. There was no amusement in her voice, but a small smile played on her lips. Marc grinned in spite of himself.

She hugged him. “That’s better.”

In the dim lamplight, Marc noticed that she was a beautiful woman. Her figure wasn’t as thin as it had been in her youth, but she was active and supple. Her thick, dark brown hair was cut short and showed no signs of gray. He wondered if she dyed it, and thought she probably did, since his father’s hair now had generous streaks of gray. Ariana’s real beauty was in her face. Each curve, each line showed years of laughter, sorrow, and great joy. Real character. She was a woman who had lived and loved and served. Remembering the trials she had overcome in her life always gave Marc a sense of wonder. And also a hunger to have achieved such a triumph himself.

To be sure, he’d experienced trials, but nothing severe since his kidney transplant at age fifteen. Sometimes he felt that his life had ended there, that he hadn’t moved on or really lived since.

“Maybe I’m sick,” he suggested to his mother in the quiet of the living room. Perhaps this dark feeling looming over him was related to his transplant. The kidney had already lasted nearly twenty of the thirty years the doctor had predicted in a best-case scenario. There might be something wrong.

Ariana’s dark eyes showed concern. “You’d better make an appointment with your doctor.”

Marc leapt to his feet and began pacing, glad they were alone. “I’ll do it tomorrow.” He could hear the others in the kitchen playing a board game. Usually he would have been with them, probably winning, except for Monopoly, which Mathieu seemed to win every time. The man loved buying hotels and property, even if he had to go into debt on his older holdings to do it. He joked that it was the only borrowing his wife permitted.

Marc stared out the window into the dark night. Five stories below, he could see a few pedestrians walking along the street. “It’s quiet out there,” he said to lighten the silence.

Ariana followed his gaze. “It usually is on Monday night. Not much going on, even in the pubs.”

A burst of laughter came from the other room.

“It even seems a little quieter in there,” Ariana said. “I liked it when Rebekka and Raoul would join us for our family dinners. Especially Rebekka. I miss her.”

Marc suddenly wanted to cry. He didn’t know why it affected him so deeply that his mother missed Rebekka. He would have to write Rebekka another e-mail and tell her. Maybe then she would stop this foolishness about her employer, and return to France where she belonged.

But didn’t she belong with a man who loved her?

Now, Marc sat up and sighed, pushing away the memories of Monday night. He was surprised to find tears on his cheeks.
Drat!
He had to get to the bottom of this malady now and get on with his life.

Let’s see . . .
There wasn’t too much wrong with him. He couldn’t eat, he couldn’t sleep, and his mind wandered at work—but those things were nothing new. He had experienced all of these emotions before, when he had first realized that he was in love with Danielle and that she was out of his reach forever.

Danielle. Usually, when he thought of her, he could stave off any depression. Even though he could only love her from afar, just seeing her was enough; even hearing her velvet voice was enough. But he had just come from Raoul’s, and Danielle had been there. They had talked for exactly one hour. Why hadn’t that satisfied him?

With another long sigh, he rose to his feet and walked down the hall and into the bathroom. He splashed water on his face, obliterating the tears. Then he stared at himself.
You’re thirty-four years old,
he thought,
and what do you have to show for it?
His engineering firm didn’t matter; he had realized that. So what did?

His reflection showed a brown-eyed, dark-haired man who could pass for much younger. Not many lines—none of the rich experience that had given his mother’s face such character.

I’ve had a few trials,
he thought in his own defense. He had served a faithful church mission, which had taught him many things. He’d watched his little sister die when she was only sixteen, and had learned even more. What else? What else had he lived through or done that meant anything? Oh, yes: even before any of the other experiences, he had saved Danielle’s life and fallen in love with her.

Why did everything always come back to that?

He walked back down the hall like a man in a dream, pausing at the door to his office. The computer stared blankly back at him. He could write to Rebekka. Maybe talking to her would help.

But she might write back and tell him she had kissed her boss again, or that she was engaged.

He sat at the computer and put his head in his hands, fighting the impulse to sob out his frustrations. He just had to think it out, decide what was wrong and fix it. He closed his eyes. There had to be a way . . .

Marc heard a voice. A voice like soft velvet, caressing his body, running over him like warm water in the shower. For a moment, he was completely happy, reveling in the silky feel of the voice, of the love that surrounded his entire being.

The next thing he knew, his face hit the desk and he was wide awake. “Danielle,” he whispered against the growing ache in his chest.

But he knew it wasn’t Danielle whose voice he’d heard. The voice belonged to Rebekka.