Summer’s End

Then suddenly she saw him, tall and thin and narrow and neat, impeccably orderly and well tailored, even after the flight. She noticed with surprise that he looked less distraught than she had feared. Obviously, he did not yet understand how serious things were, or maybe… And then, as she took a step from her hiding place, Deanna felt her heart stop.

He was turning, with a slow, soft smile, the smile that called her Diane and not Deanna. She saw him reach out and take a young woman’s hand. She was yawning sleepily, and he let his hand drift to her shoulder as he pulled her close. The woman said something and patted his arm. Deanna watched them in speechless stupefaction, wondering who the girl was, but not even really caring. What she had seen was the missing piece in the puzzle, the answer to so many years of questions in her life. This was no casual acquaintance, no girl he had picked up on the flight. This was someone he was comfortable with, familiar with, someone he knew well. The way they walked and spoke and moved and shared told Deanna everything.

She stood riveted to the floor in the corner, with her hand raised in horror to her barely open mouth, and watched them walking away from her down the concourse until she could no longer see them. Then, her head down, running, seeing no one, and wanting desperately not to be seen, she ran toward the exit and hailed a cab.

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…?

“Voila, 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’espere.” 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.