The Frenchman's Slow Seduction (20 page)

“Can you believe it,
Michelle?” I cry. “It was Gordon; he hated me that much.”

“He didn’t hate you,”
she says. “He just hated, and you were there.”

Jean Paul walks the
room.
“Rachel!”
he says, and rushes to hug me. Michelle
disappears into the corridor. Sitting on the edge of the bed, Jean
Paul takes my hand and says, “I love you with a strength that
overpowers me.” After a few seconds, he adds, “Rachel, you are
pregnant.”

“I thought I might
be.”

“How does it make you
feel?”

“Scared.”

“Scared? Why
scared?”

“Because I’m afraid I
won’t make a good mother. I don’t have any good memories to pass
onto my children, and I never learned how to be a good parent.” The
truth is as acid as the tears rolling down my face, and I feel
faint from the revelation as jumbled catechismal sayings run
through my mind: “Violence propagates violence, and the truth shall
set you free.”

“Rachel, you are not
your parent, you are a totally different person. You will be the
same person in motherhood as you are in all of the things you do --
incomparable. One day, when you see our child, your heart will open
itself and all of your love will flow out. You must have faith in
yourself. As for the memories, I will give you mine to pass on. You
will be a wonderful mother. Please, Rachel, let yourself feel only
joy at the possibility.”

“Don’t you think it’s
too soon?”

“It is never too soon
to receive a gift such as this. Not when you’ve found the right
person. Do not be afraid of life, Rachel; embrace it. I will
embrace anything with you.”

But my fears are deeply
rooted. What if I have a temper with my kids? What if I’m
genetically unable to love them? What if ...?

A sudden, sharp pain
radiates through my head, and Jean Paul becomes blurry.

“I think I’m going
away,” I tell him, my words coming out slurred.

“What do you mean,
Rachel?”

“My mother’s here.”

“Your mother?”

“Yes, everyone gets an
angel when they die, and she’s my angel.” I’m having trouble
breathing.

I feel Jean Paul’s body
pressed against mine, his mouth against my ear. “Please, Rachel,
don’t leave me. Please don’t leave me. Please, Rachel, don’t leave
me.”

I’m falling into a
tunnel, a wormhole, and swirling downwards; hospital ringers
announce my departure.

“What are you doing,
Rachel?” I hear my mother say.

“I’m dying.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. Yes, I
do. Life’s too hard. I’m too tired to go on, Mom.”

“Rachel, you will die
if you want to. This is not something for you to play around with.
I didn’t have a lot of the things you have in your life, so I chose
to be on this side. You’ll have to take a good look at what you
have in your life, and then what’s on this side; then you’ll have
to decide if you want to live. Rachel, there’s no going back.” She
finishes with, “If I were you, I know what I’d do.”

I hear myself scream,
“I want to live.” Instantly, I am hurled back into the world and
surrounded by shadows, noise, light, and life.

“She’s coming to,” I
hear someone say.

“Ms. Wiley, can you
hear me?” a woman asks. “Rachel, can you hear me? Tell me if you
can hear me.”

“I hear you.”

I am now part of the
chaos.

“We’d like you to stick
around here with us,” she says.

Later, when the
machines and cords are pulled away, I ask the nurse what
happened.

“Looks like you may
have had a reaction to the medication.”

“I’m so tired.”

“Stay awake for just a
minute while I get your husband. He’s had a bit of a scare.” I feel
my eyelids closing.

“Rachel?”

I open my eyes. “Jean
Paul, I want to live.”

“I’m glad.”

“I need to sleep.”

“I will keep you
company.”

The nurse wakes me when
the doctor and intern come on their rounds.

“Hello, Ms. Wiley. We’d
like to do a few sensory and motor tests if you wouldn’t mind.”
They poke, prod, shine lights, and test reflexes. “We’re going to
have to keep you for a while longer. You’re having some motor
deficits. The swelling in your brain is causing your inability to
move your leg. Nothing to worry about yet. These things may clear
up on their own over the next few days. In the meantime, there are
some tests we’d like to run.”

On Thursday morning, I
wake up feeling a lot better. Four timeless days have passed, and I
have only one day left of my hospital stay. I am now in a room with
three other neuro patients. My motor deficits are improving, and my
body is healing nicely. Other than letting the healing process take
its natural course, there’s not much else I can do.

Just as Becky, one of
my ward mates, is telling me how cute my husband is, Jean Paul
walks into the room.

“Hello, Rachel,” he
says, kissing me.

“Hello, cutie,” I say,
glancing over to Becky. She opens her eyes wide, mortified that I
might give her away.

“Rachel, I would like
to talk to you about something,” Jean Paul says. “I think I should
move here to be with you.”

“Why? I’m getting out
tomorrow. I’ll be able to go to Texas soon.”

“Are you sure you want
to leave your life here?”

Looking at him, I
realize that for the first time in my life I am certain about what
I’m doing.

“I’m sure,” I tell
him.

By twelve o’clock on
Friday, my discharge papers are in order. As Jean Paul and I walk
out of the hospital, large wet snowflakes fall around us.

The short trip to my
apartment takes all my energy, and I need Jean Paul’s help to get
up the stairs. When we get inside, he helps me to my bedroom, takes
off my pants, and helps me into bed.

“I will get you a glass
of water,” he says.

Alone in the room, I
flash back to my mother on a hot summer afternoon when I was ten.
Sitting at our kitchen table with a drink in her hand, she said,
“I’ve learned one thing in this life, Rachel. Make sure to marry
someone who’s kind, who knows what’s important in life, and make
sure he’s passionate about life and about you. Then the universe
will unfold to you as it should.”

I look at Jean Paul as
he walks back to the bedroom, and it’s like looking into the sun.
And the past doesn’t matter anymore.

Chapter 26

It was night.

Why then did I feel
the sun?

It was dry.

But there was moisture
on my tongue.

Since I’ve been in
Texas, I wake up amazed by the blueness of the sky and brightness
of the sun: no stomach knots.

Once, in another life,
I accompanied a friend to a meeting with her divorce lawyer. After
the papers were signed, the lawyer looked at my friend, who she
knew had been in an abusive marriage, and said, “You’ll have to
move away now, at least two hundred miles from your ex-husband;
otherwise you’ll never get away from the horror of your marriage.
Only those people who move away reclaim their lives.”

Now that I’m living far
from where I was raised, I don’t notice what people wear anymore or
what kind of dental fillings they have; the person I was always on
the lookout for is nowhere around. And motherhood no longer scares
me. I feel only joy at the thought of raising our son or daughter
and seeing life through a child’s eyes. Having decided to live life
with some kind of faith in myself, I’ve come to realize something:
I’ll do whatever it takes to end the cycle of abuse. Safe and in my
own happy place, it is only now that I can bear to think of my
mother with anything resembling fondness. Like how nice she looked
in her navy blue sleeveless blouse with the white buttons, her
auburn hair just so... And if I could have one last conversation
with her at our kitchen table, both of us nursing a drink, I would
say, “I’ve learned one thing in this life, Mom. Abuse doesn’t shift
your place in the universe, and it doesn’t alter your meaning.”

From the Author

When life gets out of
hand and all else fails, why not snuggle up to a romance book?

Other romance novels by
Flora Lanoux:

The Italian Billionaire’s Shocking Proposal

The Italian Billionaire’s Ruthless Seduction

The Italian Billionaire’s Nanny Problem

The Billionaire’s Vendetta Marriage

The Billionaire’s Engagement Shock

The Lovelorn Italian Millionaire

The Spaniard’s Patient Love