Sins of Omission (28 page)

“Then I'll find someone myself!” Bebe said defiantly.

“Who? A butcher? Someone who will destroy your insides? If you do that, then I
will
tell your father. No. You will have this child. We will find a home for it, someone who will love it and care for it. I will not tell your father as long as you agree to having this baby.”

“You haven't listened to a word I've said,” Bebe whined. “I don't want to have this baby. I don't want to go for months looking like a cow!”

For hours they went back and forth. Mickey hammered away at her charge, reciting stories of women she knew who had had abortions—those who'd lived, she added coldly. “Who is the father?” she demanded suddenly.

Bebe shrugged. “Does it really make a difference? Let's just say he wasn't the man I thought he was. In fact, he wasn't a nice man at all.” In the end, Mickey's gruesome stories about botched abortions convinced Bebe to agree to have the baby.

“The day after tomorrow I'll take you to Yvette and Henri's farm. You'll stay there until the child is born, and then with the help of the curé we'll find it a proper home. Once you have recovered from childbirth you will leave the farm, and I don't ever want to see you again. I feel responsible for you because I entrusted you to Pamela and she failed me. I am now going to impose on my dearest friend to care for you, and that is the last thing I will do for you. I can no longer keep quiet, and this probably is not the time to bring this up, but I no longer care. I did my best to be a friend to you. I cared for you despite what Reuben said. I promised your father to take care of you. You never thanked me, you never showed consideration for any of us. You caused trouble between the three of us that cannot be made right. I will never understand you, and I will not try anymore. The position you've placed me in and what you've done is unforgivable in my eyes.” Mickey gazed at her coldly. “Now it's late; I suggest you go to bed.”

“It's only six o'clock,” Bebe whined. Inside, she was furious at Mickey's attitude. Well, why not, what did you expect, she asked herself sardonically. Warm, loving arms and a compassionate embrace?

“Let me put it to you another way,” Mickey said. “I don't want to spend the evening looking at you. This is my house and you will do as I say. Now!”

It was after nine o'clock the following day when Mickey's banker arrived with an answer to her cable.

The contents were so unbelievable, so devastating that Mickey reeled backward with a rush of blood to her head. She reached out to the nearest chair for support, thinking she was going to faint. Somehow she managed to make her legs work so they would carry her to her chair. Time stood still for her as she read and reread the cable in her shaking hands. Her head fell back against the pretty, flowered cushion on her chair. She felt her soul leave her body, the part of her she'd given to Reuben Tarz, the part she'd never shared with anyone; the core of her very being. The cable slipped to the floor. She thought it obscene-looking on the sky-blue carpet. Her leg shot out, the heel of her shoe dragging the square of pink backward. She ground the ball of her foot into the flimsy paper, scrunching and tearing it to shreds. But it didn't matter, the words were engraved in her heart.

Mickey's world as she'd known it for the last two years shattered. Anger such as she'd never known surged through her. At that moment she knew herself capable of murdering Bebe Rosen without a shred of remorse; she could easily strangle the girl with her bare hands and walk away. She sat alone, in the dark, all through the endless night, reliving each moment she'd shared with Reuben. When the room grew light and the night laid itself to rest, she looked at herself in the long mirror standing next to her bureau. What she saw pierced her heart: she was a shell of her former self, ravaged and plundered by Bebe Rosen. She looked…dead, her soul trampled by Reuben and Bebe.

Life went on, she told herself as she washed her face and brushed her hair. The hands of time would not go backward, nor would they stand still.

You are a fool, Michelene. You knew. You knew and you ignored the facts. When you found your earring in the barn, you knew. When old and trusted Nanette could not look you in the eye those first days, you knew. You knew! she accused the reflection in the mirror. A woman in love is always a fool, one way or another. Silently, she grieved.

With leaden feet she walked back into her bedroom. But she had neither the strength nor the desire to pack her bag. The memories of this pretty room were hateful now, and she didn't want to remember them. She fled without a backward glance.

 

Bebe was in the dining room drinking coffee, a plate with two pastries untouched in front of her. Mickey wondered if she could drink coffee, if she could sit at the same table with this—this unnatural child. Life went on, she reminded herself again. There was no way she could undo what had been done. It wasn't until she'd laced her coffee with cream and three heaping spoonfuls of sugar that she raised her eyes to meet Bebe's defiant gaze.

Bebe's first thought was how awful Mickey looked. Her second was that there was something in her eyes she'd never seen before. Then it struck her like a lightning bolt!
She knows!
Coffee splattered on the snowy tablecloth as the cup dropped to the floor.

Bebe had never really felt true fear before, but now she felt it wash over her in giant waves. She swayed dizzily as she bent down to pick up her cup.

Mickey felt a moment of satisfaction when she saw the fear in Bebe's eyes.
She knows I know.
Which of us will speak, will acknowledge that…Reuben…The thought was so unbearable, she rose from the table, her eyes on Bebe. “I heard a car out front. Get your things together,” she said calmly. They were the last words she spoke to Bebe until they reached Yvette and Henri's farm.

The farmyard was a hive of activity when Mickey stopped the car. Cats and kittens scattered, dogs and puppies trotted after the cats, their tails swishing. Chickens pecked the ground, their feathers fluttering wildly. Yvette herself clucked like a mother hen as she listened to Mickey's explanation. Warm-hearted as she was, she wrapped Bebe in her arms and kissed her cheek. “All men are bastards,
chérie.
I will take care of you, it is a promise.” Bebe laid her head on the motherly woman's shoulder. It was like coming home after a long absence.

“And you, Michelene Fonsard, you are to go home and not come back until it is time for the birth,” Yvette said kindly. “I'm glad that you brought this child to me. She will be in good hands. Henri and I will take care of her.”

“I knew I could count on you, Yvette. You're a good friend,” Mickey said. Yvette looked up sharply, her eyes questioning. “You would do the same for me,
chérie,
eh? Of course you would.”

Mickey didn't bother to answer. All she wanted to do was get back to the château and lock herself in her room to lick her wounds. Twice, blinded with tears, she almost drove the Citroën off the road. Filled with guilt she couldn't name, her thoughts whirled in endless circles. She had the answers now to all her unasked questions. At last, unable to drive any farther, she pulled the car to the side of the road and cried—hard, throat-wrenching sobs. A long time later, her tears dry on her cheeks, she started the car. There would be no more tears. There would be no recriminations, no pointed fingers. The love she felt for Reuben was locked in her heart. It would never change.

 

Downstairs in the library, Reuben paced. He was so goddamned tired he couldn't see straight, but he wouldn't give in to his tiredness. The thoughts that had him pacing were the same ones he had been grappling with since he came out of his long illness. Always they circled and zoomed in his head, bringing him to the same conclusion. He had to get back on his feet and get on with his life. But how? What would a real man do? Confess? Beg forgiveness? Or would he put the disaster behind him and go on from there? He didn't know. His brain worked at breakneck speed from morning till night to no avail. He was sleeping fairly well, and that was a good sign. His appetite was ferocious, as though trying to make up for the months of broth and custard. He was mending, slower than he liked, but the result was what was important.

At times he suffered terrible memory flashes and knew they would be with him forever. Bebe could have killed him; maybe she should have. Over and over he asked himself why she hadn't killed him. Why, at the last second, had she aimed the fork away? Chills rolled up and down his body. That first instant of pain had been so horrendous, he knew he'd blacked out. The rest of the summer was an absolute blur.

Mickey's trip two days earlier had something to do with Bebe, he could sense it. And today on her return, she'd been preoccupied. Why? He felt his hands curl into fists. Was he always going to live like this, afraid Bebe would reappear, preoccupied by Bebe, obsessing about Bebe?

All his grand intentions of helping with the vintage were shot to hell. He didn't have sufficient strength to walk through the fields, much less pick and help crush the grapes. Right now he should be in Bordeaux, keeping an eye on things, but so far Mickey hadn't said a word about it. Tomorrow he would mention it, just to have something to say.

Daniel had told him that Mickey had been at his bedside night and day all during his illness. Mickey, he noticed, seemed to have aged ten years. And he was responsible for that. How in the hell did you give back ten years to a person? She was still beautiful, and he still loved her with all his heart, but he felt unclean, unworthy of her. And all sexual desire was gone from him. There was a word for his condition, but he couldn't think of it. It was too frightening, and he didn't want to know if it was temporary or permanent.

In the beginning his nightmares had centered on the pitchfork, but in those dreams it was Mickey holding the weapon, aiming it at his eyes, his throat, his belly. In those dreams her face was contorted with hatred. Over and over she called him a whoremaster.

Some things could never be made right, he told himself in defeat. Sometimes you had to cut your losses and go on. Maybe it was time to pack up and trundle off, go back to America. Pay his dues. Old George had said, if you play, you pay. Daniel called it taking responsibility for his actions. Until he himself came up with something better, he would call it taking the coward's way out.

He lost track of the times he'd gone to his room to count his money to see if he and Daniel had enough to return home. They did, but just barely. Once they set foot on American soil, they'd have to scramble to earn a living. In his heart he knew the good life, as he'd known it, was about to end. He had to make the decision to bury it and go on from there.

“You look tired, Reuben, why don't you go to bed,” Daniel said softly. He had been watching his friend, hating the haunted look in his eyes.

“I've been thinking, Daniel. Maybe it's time for us to go home. Right after the first of the year. Fares will be a little cheaper. We'll have to do a bit of scrambling when we get home, but we'll manage.” Reuben paused and looked directly into Daniel's eyes. “If you want to stay here, it's fine with me.”

When Daniel answered it was in the new manly tone he'd acquired during the days at the hospital, waiting to see if his friend would live or die. “Yes, I think it's time to move on. These last two years are something I will never forget. And I've had to scramble before, so it won't be anything new to me. It might be a little harder this time because I'm determined to go to law school. But Mickey had such grand plans for you, taking over the wineries. What are you going to tell her?”

Reuben wasn't sure that he liked this new assertive, speak-your-mind Daniel. Later he would figure out where and when the change had occurred in his friend. Even his eyes were different, as though he knew something secret and important.

“I haven't said anything to Mickey,” he replied. “I wanted to talk to you first. I've been running it over and over in my mind since I left the hospital. As for the wineries, that was a dream, a wonderful, insane dream. My…my accident showed me what reality is. Château Fonsard and Château Michelene were Mickey's husband's dreams. I wanted to make them mine, but that's impossible. Mickey tried to tell me that in her own way, but I chose not to listen. So she humored me. She humored me because she loved me, and what did I do? She doesn't know it, but I kicked her in the face, and when she was down I kicked her again.” Reuben raised his hand to block Daniel's question. “Someday, a long time from now, we'll talk about this, but not now. If I try from now till the day I die, I can never make this right. I don't want to leave here any more than you do, but I have to. I have to make my own dreams.” Or nightmares, he thought bitterly.

“I understand,” Daniel said. He had to believe Reuben wasn't keeping his accident a secret, he was simply waiting for a better time, when it wasn't so raw and painful, to confide in him. He felt some of his anxiety drain away. Maybe now they could get back on their old footing.

Reuben sat down next to Daniel, his eyes thoughtful. “I'm kind of up a tree, Daniel. I'm not sure if I should tell Mickey now or wait. If I tell her, she might decide to boot us out, and I'm not fully recovered. I need at least another month. If I take advantage of her generosity now, that means I'll be using her. She knows something is wrong. She's such a fine person and I love her with all my heart. I know I'll never, ever meet anyone I'll care for as much as I care for her. Christ, Daniel, I asked her to marry me, pleaded with her, and she said no. If she'd said yes, I wouldn't be going through all this and we wouldn't be leaving here. God, I love her so much. And to top it all”—he touched his groin and winced—“I can't make love to her. Daniel…I can't…get it up. I…haven't actually tried. She's so…distant…and polite. We're like strangers suddenly.”

Daniel felt drained by Reuben's confession. There was little he could do now except pat him on the back in sympathy. “If I were you, I'd tell Mickey as soon as possible, lay it on the line. If, on the other hand, you plan on using your inability to, as you say, get it up, as an excuse, that's the coward's way out. I'm the first to admit I don't know a lot about these things, but Mickey was married to an older man. It's entirely possible that at one time or another he suffered through the same sort of thing. She might even be able to help you.”

“It's no use. Don't you think I'd know if…forget it!”

Daniel shrugged. “It's your life, pal. I would like to know where we're going, if you have a game plan, that is.”

Reuben grinned, but there was nothing humorous in his expression. “I thought we'd take our chances in California, land of sunshine—or Hollywood, to be more specific.” What better way to get back at Bebe Rosen? he thought. Sooner or later he'd run into her again, and then he'd take his revenge.

Daniel's eyebrows shot upward. California. Hollywood. Bebe Rosen. He felt a sudden twinge of pity for the girl. “A job in a studio will be fine. I'll go to school nights, too. Agreed?”

“Who knows, we might end up being janitors. It's the luck of the draw, Dan'l. Being at the right place at the right time also helps.”

Daniel was so long in responding, Reuben felt his heart start to flutter. Was it possible he wanted to go his own way? Again he realized that Daniel had grown up while he was in the hospital. If he didn't watch out, they'd end up on an equal footing. “Well?” he prompted irritably.

“I don't like the idea of keeping this between the two of us…. You'll have to tell Mickey.” His words were so emphatic, Reuben winced.

“I know, and I'll do it, but for now we keep this under wraps. I can't believe you haven't noticed that Mickey is rarely here, and when she is she's in her room. In other words, she's avoiding us, and telling her right now will serve no purpose…. By the way, when is Bebe due back from England?”

“Any time now,” Daniel answered, trying to sound nonchalant. “Mickey didn't say anything, so I assume she's still there. Maybe she'll stay longer. I had only two letters from her and they were short. She said she was enjoying herself and ‘didn't miss us at all, ha-ha.' She also said she goes to parties two or three times a week and has met some handsome eligible bachelors, but they don't have any money and she doesn't want a gigolo. There was something about having a terrible summer cold and going to the doctor's. That's about it.” He made a pretense of tying his shoe so he wouldn't have to look into Reuben's face. “I'll ask Mickey when she's coming back. No sense in writing her a letter if she's on her way back.”

“The holidays,” Reuben said lamely.

“That's what I was thinking,” Daniel said in relief.

“I'm about ready to turn in, how about you, pal? I try to put off climbing those stairs till the last minute.”

“I'll help you,” Daniel volunteered.

“No, I have to do it myself. The pain is a…punishment.”

Daniel wanted to cry at the agony in his friend's voice.

 

Mickey pulled the coverlet up to her chin. Never before had her bed been this cold. Before she retired, Nanette had placed hot bricks at the foot of the bed, but Mickey hadn't gotten into bed, preferring to stare out the window…seeing nothing and hearing nothing. With her gaze fixed on the flames in the fireplace as they danced upward, she was almost in a hypnotic state when she heard Reuben and Daniel as they passed her door. Instantly she came back to the present and drew in her breath, feeling her body grow rigid as she listened for the sound of footsteps. She didn't know which she dreaded more, Reuben coming to her room or Reuben not coming to her room.

They'd had so little contact since she'd dropped Bebe off at the farm, and that had been her doing. It was uncharacteristic, but she was behaving like a coward, and she admitted it. Instead of confronting Reuben, she'd chosen to return to her hospital work, leaving early in the morning and returning late, after dinner. In some ways she knew she was acting like Bebe, but she seemed incapable of stopping herself. Prisoners of silence they were—she, Daniel, and Reuben. Reuben would have to make the first move, and then she would react. That was the only decision she seemed capable of living with.

The clock on her bedside table told her an hour had gone by. Reuben wouldn't be coming to her room tonight or any other night. Ordering herself to relax, she returned to the dancing flames, and eventually she slept.

Thanksgiving and Christmas came and went, ordinary days with no special preparations.

Four days after Christmas, Reuben made up his mind to tell Mickey he had booked passage for America on January 15. If it had been up to him, he would have told her that same night, but Henri Simone arrived at the château in the middle of the afternoon in a state of agitation and demanded Mickey go with him to the farm, seeming not to care that she was in bed nursing a sore throat and heavy cold. Henri spoke so rapidly in French, it was impossible for Reuben to follow his conversation.

Mickey didn't return that night or the next.

 

“Did something happen, Henri? It is too soon. Did you fetch the doctor?”

“Nothing happened. There was no fall, no exertion. Yvette coddles her like a baby. We know it is too soon, and yes, the doctor is there. Yvette said I was to fetch you.” In typical Gallic style, he took his hands off the wheel of the car and threw them in the air. Mickey screamed for him to take the wheel and keep his eyes on the road.

“Henri, you don't think Bebe did…she didn't do anything to herself, did she?”

“It was my first thought, but no, the doctor said the child wants to come feet first and the cord is around his neck.”