Summer’s End

16

Feeling panic-stricken and out of breath, Deanna gave the cab driver the address of the hospital. She lay her head back against the seat and closed her eyes. She could hear her heart pounding in her ears. All she wanted was to get away, to put as many miles between herself and the airport as she could. There was a momentary feeling of madness, of being swept along by a wave, of having walked into someone else’s bedroom and found him undressed, of having discovered what she had never been meant to see. But had she? Was it truly that? What if it was only a woman with whom he had shared the ride on the plane? What if her assumptions were crazy, her conclusions insane? No, there was more to it than that. She had known it the moment she had seen them. In her heart of hearts, she had simply known. But who was she? And how long had it been happening? A week? A month? A year? Was that what had happened this summer or was it something more? Much, much more…?

“Voilà, madame.” The driver turned to her with a backward glance at his meter. Deanna could barely hear. Her mind was running in fourteen directions at once. During the whole agonizing ride from the airport she hadn’t thought even once of Ben. It didn’t occur to her that she had done the same, all she knew was that she had seen her husband with another woman, and she still cared. Very much. She was blinded by the surprise and the pain.

“Madame?” The driver stared at her as she looked again at the meter, glassy-eyed, vague.

“Je m’excuse.” She quickly handed him the money and got out, looking around. She was back at the hospital, but how had she gotten there? When had she told him that address? She had planned to go back to the apartment to collect her wits, but instead she had come here. It was just as well. Marc would be going home to drop off his things and see his mother, and then would finally come to Pilar. Deanna had bought a little more time. She was not yet ready to see him. Every time she thought of him, standing there, she saw the pretty young head leaning close to his, her hand on his arm, their eyes linked as he slipped an arm around her shoulders. And she looked so damn young. Deanna’s eyes filled with tears as she pushed her way through the heavy glass doors and back into the hospital lobby. She took a deep breath. It already had a familiar smell. Without thinking, she felt her hand push the elevator button for the fourth floor. She had become a robot, an automated body without a mind: she could feel herself functioning, but she couldn’t understand it. All she could think of was that face, next to Marc’s. And he had looked so happy, so young…

“You’ll be all right?” Marc looked at her with tired eyes as he picked up his coat. Chantal was lying on the bed.

“I will be fine. You have enough to think about without worrying about me.” But she knew that he hated it when she was tired. The doctor had warned him after her brush with death that she mustn’t wear herself out. Ever since, Marc had been treating her like an overprotective papa with a delicate child. He wanted her to get lots of rest, eat well, and take care of herself so that the diabetes would never get out of hand and the dire possibilities the doctor had warned them of would never occur. “Will you be all right?” She held her arms out to him. She hated to see him go, hated to know how little she could do for him. But she knew that she couldn’t go to the hospital with him. Deanna would be there. It was one thing to insist upon being taken to Cap d’Antibes, to make a stand when everything was well, but it would have been madness for her to go with him now. This wasn’t the time. Chantal understood that. Her timing had always been excellent. “Will you call me and tell me how she is?” There was real concern in her eyes, and Marc was instantly grateful.

“As soon as I know anything. I promise. And darling…” He sat down and held her close. “Thank you. I-I couldn’t have made the trip without you. This has been the most difficult night of my life.”

“She’ll be all right, Marc-Edouard. I promise you.” He held her very tightly. When he pulled away, he wiped his eyes and cleared his throat.

“J’espère.” I hope.

“Oui, oui. Je le sais.”

But how could she know it? How did she know? And what if she were wrong?

“I’ll be back later for my bag.”

“You’ll wake me if I’m asleep?” It was a kittenish smile that lurked in her eyes, and he laughed.

“On verra.” But he had already left her, his mind was somewhere else. They had only gotten in from the airport ten minutes before, but already he felt as though he had lingered too long. He slipped into his raincoat.

“Marc-Edouard!” He stopped and turned at the sound of her voice. He was already at the door.

“N’oublie pas que je t’aime.…” Don’t forget that I love you.

“Moi aussi!” The door closed soundlessly on his words.

He drove Chantal’s tiny Renault to the hospital and parked down the street. He should have taken a taxi, but he didn’t want to waste another moment. He wanted to be there. At her side. Seeing what had happened. Trying to understand. Coming back on the flight he had run it over and over and over in his mind. The why and the how and the when, none of it making any sense. There were moments when it seemed as though nothing had happened, as though they were just going back to Paris as always after his business meetings in Greece… and then suddenly it would all come crystal clear again and he would remember Pilar. He would never have been able to keep himself together on the flight back had it not been for Chantal.

The lobby was quiet. Dominique had already given him Pilar’s room number when they spoke on the phone, and he himself had succeeded in getting through to Dr. Kirschmann before he left Athens. It had been too soon to know anything. The damage to her skull was considerable, to her legs perhaps permanent; her spleen had been ruptured, one kidney bruised. She was, all in all, a very sick girl.

Marc felt his chest go tight as he entered the elevator and pressed four. His mind was a blank as the elevator ascended. Then, with a whir, the doors opened and he stepped out. He felt lost for a moment, powerless and afraid, as he glanced around him, wondering where to find his child. He saw the head nurse at the desk and somberly approached her.

“Pilar Duras?” The nurse began to give him directions to the room. He held up a hand. “D’abord, how is she?”

“Critical, monsieur.” The nurse’s eyes were grave.

“But any better than she has been?” In answer: only a shake of the head. “And Dr. Kirschmann? He’s here?”

“He was and he has left again. He’ll be back in a while. He’s keeping a very close watch on the situation. She is completely monitored… We’re doing all that we can.”

This time Marc only nodded. He cleared his throat and dabbed at his eyes with his handkerchief as he marched purposefully down the hall. He had to pull himself together, show Pilar that everything would be all right, he would make her better, he would give her his strength. Chantal was forgotten, all that he had in his mind was his little girl.

The door was ajar, and he glanced inside. The room seemed to be filled with machines. There were two nurses, one in a sterile, green operating-room suit and the other in white. Their eyes searched his face. Soundlessly, he stepped inside.

“I am her father.” The whispered words had a ring of authority, and they both nodded as his eyes swept the room. He instantly found her, dwarfed by the bed and the tubes and the monitors that jumped with precision at her every breath. For a moment he felt a chill seize him as he looked at her face. She was a very pale gray and she looked like no one he knew, until he stepped closer and recognized the distorted features of his child. The tubes and the pain and the bandages had almost totally changed her, but it was his Pilar. He watched her for a long moment as she lay there with her eyes closed, and on silent feet he came nearer and ever so delicately reached out and touched her hand. The hand stirred only slightly. She opened her eyes. But there was no smile, and only the faintest look of recognition.

“Pilar, ma chérie, c’est Papa.” He had to fight back tears. He said nothing more, he only stood there, staring at her, holding her hand, and watching until once again she closed the brilliant blue eyes. He felt as though all the air in the room had been sucked away, it was so difficult to think and see and breathe. How could this happen? How? And to his child? He felt his knees tremble, and for a moment he thought he would be sick, but he went on standing, watching, and touching the pale little hand. Even her nails were a strange mottled color, she was barely getting enough air. But he stood there, and he stood there, never moving, never speaking, only watching his child.

Silently, from her seat in the corner, Deanna watched him. She had said nothing when he entered the room, and he hadn’t seen her, concealed as she was by the mammoth machines.

It was almost twenty minutes later when at last he found the familiar face and those eyes… watching him with a look of despair. He looked surprised when he saw her, as though he didn’t understand. Why had she said nothing? Why did she just sit there? When had she come? Or was it simply that she was in shock? She looked ravaged, almost as pale as Pilar.

“Deanna…” It was the merest whisper.

Her eyes never left his face. “Hello, Marc.”

He nodded and let his gaze drift back to Pilar. “When did you get here?”

“At five o’clock.”

“You’ve been here all night?”

“Yes.”

“Any change?”

There was silence. Marc looked at her again, the question repeated in his eyes.

“She seems to be a little worse. I went out for a little while, earlier… I had to… I went to your mother’s house to drop off my bag. I was only gone for about two hours, and… and when I came back, she seemed to be having a great deal of trouble breathing. Kirschmann was here then. He said that if she’s not better in a few hours, they’ll want to operate again.” She sighed and lowered her eyes. It was as though she had lost them both in those two hours. Pilar and Marc.

“I just got in.”

Liar. You didn’t. You got in two hours ago. Where did you go? But Deanna said nothing at all.

They stayed that way for almost an hour, until finally the nurse asked them to step outside, just for a few minutes; there were some dressings that had to be changed. Slowly Deanna stood up and left the room. Marc had hung back for a moment, reluctant to leave his child. Deanna’s mind wandered back to the scene at the airport. It was suddenly all so strange. She hadn’t seen him in two months, yet they had barely said hello. She couldn’t play the game of the happy reunion. Suddenly it was too late. But he wasn’t playing it either, or perhaps he was just too distraught over Pilar.

She wandered down the hall, solemnly, her head bowed, thinking of bits of prayers she had known as a child. She had no time now to waste on Marc; all her energies had to be spent on Pilar. She heard his steps just behind her, but she didn’t turn; she merely kept walking, foot after foot after foot, down the hall until she reached the end, and stood staring blankly out a window with only a view of a nearby wall. She could see him standing behind her as she gazed at the reflection in the glass.

“Deanna, can I help?” He sounded tired, subdued. She shook her head slowly. “I don’t know what to say.” His voice caught as he began to cry. “I was wrong to give her the… to…”

“It doesn’t matter now. You did it. It’s done. It could have happened in any of ten thousand ways. She had an accident, Marc. What difference does it make now whose fault the accident was, who gave her the motorcycle, who…” Deanna’s own voice was shaky.

“Mon Dieu.…” She watched him drop his face into his hands and then she saw him straighten and heard him take a deep breath. “My God, if only she’ll come out of it all right. What if she can’t walk?”

“Then we’ll teach her to live the best way she can. That’s what we owe her now. Our love, our help, our support, in whatever she has to face…” If only we get that chance. For the first time in almost twenty years, Deanna felt a hideous wave of terror… What if?

Deanna felt his hands on her shoulders, then he turned her slowly around. His eyes were the eyes of Pilar, and his face was that of a very old, tired man.

“Will you ever forgive me?”

“For what?” Her voice was distant and cold.

“For this. For what I’ve done to our child. For not listening to you when I should have. For-”

“I came to pick you up at the airport tonight, Marc.”

Something in her eyes told him that she had died, and he felt something inside him freeze. “You must have just missed me.” But there was a question in his voice. He searched her face.

“No. I left. I… it explained a great deal to me, Marc. I should have known. A long time ago. But I didn’t.” She smiled a tiny smile, then shrugged. “I suppose I’ve been a fool. And may I congratulate you. She looks not only pretty, but young.” There was bitterness as well as sorrow in her voice.

“Deanna,” the hands on her shoulders tightened, “you’re coming to some very strange conclusions. I don’t think you understand.” But it all sounded lame. He was too tired and upset to come up with a worthwhile story. He felt his life coming down around his ears. “It was a nerve-racking flight, and this has been an incredible day, you know that yourself. The young lady and I began to talk and really-”

“Marc, stop. I don’t want to hear it.” She simply knew. That was all. And she didn’t want reassurances in the form of lies. “Please. Not tonight.”

“Deanna…” But he couldn’t go on. Another time he might have been able to, but not then. He simply couldn’t concoct an appropriate tale. “Please.” He turned away then; he couldn’t look at the pain in her eyes. “It really isn’t what you think.” But he hated himself for the words. It was what she thought, every bit of it. And now he felt traitorous, denying Chantal. Whichever way he turned, he was damned now. “It isn’t.”

“It is, Marc. It was as clear as day. Nothing you could tell me now would change that. Nothing would take away what I saw, what I felt, what I knew.” It had been like an arrow, straight to her heart. “You must have thought me very stupid for all these years.”

“What makes you think it has been years?” Dammit, how did she know?

“The way you moved together, the way you walked, the way she looked at you. It’s difficult to achieve that kind of ease in a very short time. You looked more married with her than you ever did with me.” But suddenly she wondered. Hadn’t she looked just as married with Ben? And in a very short time. Still, as she had ridden back from the airport that evening, she had known-the absences, the distance, the constant trips, the phone number in Paris that appeared too often on their bill, the few odd stories that had never quite fit. And tonight, the look in his eyes. If it hadn’t been that girl, it had been someone. For years. She was sure.

“What do you want me to say?” He faced her again.

“Nothing. There is nothing left to say.”

“Are you telling me it’s over? That you’d leave me because you saw me at the airport with a girl? But that’s insane. Deanna, you’re mad.”

“Am I? Are we so happy together? Do you enjoy my company, Marc? Do you long to come home when you’re away? Or is it that we have a deep and meaningful relationship, that we respect each other’s needs and virtues and feelings? Maybe it’s that we’re so blissfully happy with each other, after all these years-”

“Maybe it’s that I still love you.” As he said it, his eyes filled with tears, and she turned her head.

“It doesn’t matter if you do.” It was too late now. They had each gone their separate ways.

“What are you saying, Deanna?” He was suddenly gray.

“I’m not entirely sure. First let’s get through this with Pilar. After that we can talk about us.”

“We’ll make it. I know we will.” He looked at her with determination, and she felt fatigue wash over her like a wave of cement.

“What makes you think so? Why should we make it?”

“Because I want to.” But he didn’t sound totally sure.

“Really? Why? Because you like having a wife as well as a mistress? I can hardly blame you. That must be a very cozy arrangement. Where does she live, Marc? Over here? That must work out perfectly.” And that was why he hadn’t wanted her to join him on the trip to Greece.

“Deanna, stop it!” He reached out and grabbed her arm, but she pulled away.

“Leave me alone.” For the first time in her life, she hated him, what he was, what he did to her, and all that he didn’t understand, and for one painful, blinding moment she found herself longing for Ben. But was Marc really so bad? Was she any different, any better? Her mind was in a whirl. “I don’t want to discuss this with you tonight. We have enough on our minds. We can discuss it when Pilar is out of the woods.”

He nodded, relieved. He needed time. He had to think. He’d find the right words to say. He would set things right.

Almost at that instant the nurse beckoned to them both from down the hall, and their own problems were forgotten as they hurried toward her.

“Is there any change?” Marc was the first to ask.

“No. But she’s awake. And she’s asking for both of you. Why don’t you talk to her a little, but be careful not to wear her out. She needs the little strength that she has.”

Deanna noticed a subtle change in Pilar as they entered the room. Her color was no better, but her eyes seemed more alive. They seemed to wander nervously from one face to another, looking for someone, searching, darting here and there.

“Hello, sweetheart. We’re right here. Papa’s here now too.” Deanna stood very close to her and ever so gently stroked her hand. When she closed her eyes, she could imagine that Pilar was still a very small child.

“That… feels… nice…” Pilar’s gaze drifted to her father and she tried to smile, but her breathing was labored and she closed her eyes from time to time. “Hi, Papa… How… was… Greece?” She seemed much more aware of current events than she had been earlier, and suddenly she also seemed more restless. “I’m… thirsty…”

Deanna glanced at the nurse, who shook her head and made a sign with her finger: “No.”

“Water?”

“In a little while, sweetheart.” Deanna went on talking in a soothing voice while Marc stood near her, agonized. He seemed to have lost his power to speak, and Deanna could see from his full eyes and trembling lip that he was waging a constant battle with tears.

“Ça va?” At last he had spoken, and again Pilar tried to smile.

She nodded gently. “Ça va.” But how could anything be O.K. in the condition that she was in? Then, as though she understood what she was going through, she looked pointedly at him and fought to find the words. “I… was going… much too fast… My fault, Papa… not yours…” She closed her eyes and squeezed Deanna’s hand. “I’m sorry.”

The tears now ran freely down Marc’s face. Quietly he turned away. Pilar’s eyes remained closed.

“Don’t worry, darling. It doesn’t matter whose fault. But your mother was right.” He glanced at Deanna.

“Mommy…?” Her voice seemed to be growing weaker.

“Shh. Don’t talk…”

“Remember the little playhouse I used to have… in the garden? I keep dreaming… of that… and my little dog. Augustin.”

He had been a funny little terrier, Deanna remembered, who had been replaced by a pug, and then a cat, and then a bird, until finally there were no more pets. Marc-Edouard did not like animals in his house.

“Where… did you send… Augustin?” They had given him to a family in the country.

“He went to the country. I think he was very happy.” Deanna pattered on, but now her eyes sought Marc’s. What did this mean? Was she better or worse? She was reminded suddenly of the tiny baby boy who had moved so much in her arms in the few hours before he died. Philippe-Edouard. Was this the same, or was this a sign that she was improving? Neither of them knew.

“Mommy?… could I have… Augustin back?… You ask Papa…” It was the voice of the child now. Deanna closed her eyes and took a quick breath.

“I’ll talk to Papa.”

Marc’s eyes were suddenly filled with fear. He looked at Pilar, and then Deanna. “We’ll get you a dog, chérie.… You’ll see. A wonderful little dog with floppy ears and a very waggly tail.” He was looking for anything he could find in his head, just to find the words to put in his mouth.

“But I want… Augustin.” The voice was plaintive now, and the nurse signaled them away. Pilar had drifted off again and she didn’t notice them leaving the room.

This time they paced up and down the hall, at first saying nothing. Without thinking, Deanna reached for Marc’s hand. “When the hell is Kirschmann coming back?”

“They said soon. Do you think she’s worse?”

Deanna nodded. “She seems nervous, fidgety, anxious.”

“But she’s talking. That might be a hopeful sign.”

“Maybe it is,” Deanna said. But there was terror in both their hearts. As they paced the hall, his arm slipped around her shoulders, and she didn’t fight him away. Suddenly she needed him there, as he needed her. He was the only person who understood, who could share what she felt, who knew.

“Marc?” He looked at her with anguished eyes, but she only shook her head. Tears poured down her face, and silently he took her into his arms. He had nothing to say, no words of comfort, only his tears to add to hers.

They walked the long hall again, end to end, seven or eight more times, and finally sat down on two straight-backed chairs. Deanna’s eyes were glazed with fatigue. She stared at the hem of her much-creased cream skirt.

“Do you remember when she was five and we got her that dog?” She smiled to herself as she remembered. They had hidden the little puppy in a boot and left him in Pilar’s closet, ordering her to immediately open the door and pick up her clothes. And there he had been, peeking out of the boot. Pilar had squealed with delight.

Marc smiled to himself too, with the memory. “I will always remember her face.”

“So will I.” Deanna looked up at him, smiling through her tears and reached for his handkerchief to blow her nose. It was strange. Only an hour before they’d been fighting and she’d been hinting at divorce. But it didn’t matter now. Their marriage was no longer what mattered, only their child. Whatever pain had passed between them, they still shared Pilar. At that precise moment Marc was the only person who had any idea what she felt and she was the only living soul who shared his terror with him. It was as if they held each other very tightly and didn’t let go, and kept moving, and kept talking and hoping and praying… then Pilar would still be there, she couldn’t die. Deanna looked up at Marc again, and he patted her hand.

“Try to relax.”

She sighed again and put a hand over her eyes, but before she could speak, the nurse was at their side.

“Doctor Kirschmann would like to see you. He’s in with her now.”

They leaped to their feet and almost ran to the room, where he stood at the foot of the bed, alternately watching the girl and the machines. It seemed hours before they walked out to the hall.

“Docteur?” Marc was the first to speak.

He looked grieved. “I want to give her a little more time. If things aren’t looking better in an hour, we’ll take her back to the operating room and see what we can do.”

“What do you think?” Marc wanted words from him, promises, guarantees.

“I don’t know. She’s holding on. I can’t tell you more than that.” He could have told them how good her chances were, but they weren’t, so he didn’t volunteer the odds. “Do you want to sit with her for a while?”

“Yes.” Deanna spoke first and reclaimed her post near Pilar’s head. Marc joined her.

They stood there like that for almost an hour, while Pilar slept, making strange sounds, now and then stirring, and seeming to fight for breath. Marc rested one hand on the bed, feeling the little frail body near him, his eyes never leaving her face. Deanna held her hand and waited. For something… for hope. The hour was almost over when at last she woke.

“Thirsty…”

“In a little while, darling.” Deanna’s words were a gentle whisper caressed by a smile. She touched the girl’s forehead with an infinitely light hand. “In a while, my love. Now sleep. Mommy and Papa are here, darling. Sleep… you’re going to feel so much better, very soon.”

And then Pilar smiled. It was a real smile, despite the tubes, and it tore at Marc’s and Deanna’s hearts.

“I feel… better… now.”

“I’m glad, chérie. And you’ll feel much better tomorrow. Mommy is right.” Marc’s voice was as soft as a summer breeze. Once again Pilar smiled and closed her eyes.

It was only a moment later when the doctor stepped back in and nodded for them to go out.

He whispered to them as they left. “We’ll prepare her for surgery now. You can step back in in just a moment.” He turned, and they went outside. Deanna felt breathless now too, as though like Pilar she had to fight for air. The hallway was at the same time too cold and too stuffy, and she had to hold on to Marc for support. It was four o’clock in the morning, and neither of them had slept in two days.

“She said she felt better.” Marc held out the slim hope and Deanna nodded. “I thought her color was a little better too.”

Deanna was about to say something but Dr. Kirschmann reappeared, coming down the length of the hall.

“Merde. He ought to be spending his time with Pilar, dammit. Not looking for us.” Marc began to walk toward him, but Deanna stopped. She already knew and clutched Marc’s arm. She knew, and she could walk no further. The world had just ended. Pilar was dead.