The Scent of Rain (19 page)

“I don't know what Mark's motives were, but I plan to find out if it's the last thing I do. I feel that if I can understand him, it will help me somewhere down the line in my professional career. I never liked him, but that's not enough to provide a diagnosis or to have seen any of this coming. I feel like if I could have seen it, I'd be worthy of being a psychologist.”

“I think it would make you worthy of being a psychic, and no one expects that of you.”

“I haven't told you the worst part,” Sophie said.

Daphne wasn't sure she could take the worst part. “Worse than losing my sense of smell? I can't think of anything that's worse than that.”

“Me either. It's who you are. I think of all those nights you never drank or ate the spicy food while we all indulged, and it doesn't seem fair.”

“I'll get the name of a doctor, a real doctor,” she told Sophie. “I'll go to the library after work tomorrow. I'm going to rent a car until I figure out what my next move is.”

“Before you plan your next move, I have to tell you something. That's not the house your father bought.”

“What?” Would the sources of betrayal never end?

“It seems the house you're in isn't the one your father planned to buy, but rather a case of bait and switch. Mark bought a different house and kept a large chunk of the intended down payment.”

Daphne looked around the shack of a home. This made sense.

“Your father hired a private investigator to figure all this out. He couldn't bring himself to tell you, though. He feels like he should have done all this before the wedding.”

“Mark had to be planning this forever, Sophie!” Leaving her at the altar was the tip of Mark's iceberg. An iceberg that he'd planned and molded and shaped into a sparkly facade of love.

“It will be over soon. Your father is handling it in court. I'm coming out to help you get situated. You'll get past this, Daphne. It's just a valley on your way to the top of the crest.”

She wished she believed that. “I have a headache. I'm going to lie down for a while.” She looked around and wondered where she planned to lie.

“Hold tight. I'm coming, and we'll get your new life started. It's going to be beautiful.”

“I'm going to call Arnaud. I have to ask. Of all people, I can't believe he'd betray me with Mark. Even my father, I can see his motives with money. It's always been all about winning with him. But Arnaud? That doesn't make any sense.” She slid down the wall and leaned against it. “I'll be fine, Sophie. You and Gary don't have to coddle me.”

“We do,” she said. “We love you, and we don't want you to wear this. It doesn't become you.”

Daphne hung up. It had to be her. This wasn't happening to anyone else. She looked up at the ceiling and saw the brown soil marks where water damage indicated a plumbing problem. Upstairs, she'd seen the same thing and dismissed it rather than believe she'd need to replace the roof before winter approached. The scent of rain was decidedly less inspiring when it came through a moldy Dayton rooftop.

She needed to change out of her work clothes. Her slacks and the carpet, circa 1955, did not mesh with one another. She unzipped her suitcase and found a pair of jeans. Her head was pounding, and she needed some water. She hoped the tap water at the house was fit to drink, because that was all she had.

First she checked the time in Paris by calculating it from her watch. Then she plugged her cell phone into the wall, thankful she'd at least had the forethought to turn on the utilities before she'd arrived. She prayed to be strong enough to hear whatever Arnaud had to tell her, even if it was why he'd betrayed her, and she dialed Paris.

“Allo, Arnaud Polge. Qui est al appereil?
”

She warmed at the sound of his familiar voice.

“Arnaud, it's Daphne,” she said in English, and he switched over to her native tongue.

“Daphne, where are you?”

“What do you mean, where am I? I'm in Dayton, Ohio.” She drew in a deep breath. “You hired Mark,” she said.

“
Oui
. You did not tell me your boyfriend, ah, husband, had the same training as you. I completely missed it on his résumé the first time. Why didn't you tell me, so that I could give him a job too?”

“I did tell you. I told you everything about him, and you said he didn't have the experience for any of the jobs in the Paris region.”

“Ah, but your husband—”

“He's not my husband, Arnaud. He's not even my boyfriend.” She felt the heat in her face as she told him. “He left me at the altar, and you gave him my job!”

“No! You left the job so that you could get married.”

“To
him
! I left the job to get married to him, and he's there! You've given him my job, which I quit for him.”

“No! I hired him so that you would come to me. I thought you'd be arriving with him. You are not here?”

“No, I'm not there. I'm in Dayton, and I'm in trouble, Arnaud.”

“You will come back here. To France. And Madeleine and I will care for you. We will restore you with good food that's easy on the palate and love. My foolish pride made a mistake letting you go, but now your boyfriend is here. You can have your job and be happy, no?”

“I can't come back, Arnaud.” What good was a nose who couldn't smell? “I've made a promise to my employer here.”

“I said there was no job for you here. Things change. Tell him this and you will come back to us.”

Her head ached. Something didn't make any sense. Arnaud was acting innocent, but she knew that man like she knew the scent of her favorite Paris café, and he didn't miss a trick. Something was very wrong. “I need to go.”

“
No! à Dieu ne plaise
. I would never betray you, my best student.”

“
Je t'apprécie vraiment
. I love you, Arnaud.”

“Daphne!”

She heard the fear in his voice, but she felt too tired to respond. Her head ached, and she needed to sleep. Just a small nap before . . .

“Daphne, come back to Paris!”

Paris. She awoke in Paris. The scent of fresh rain filled her senses, and under that a foundation of freshly baked bread. She inhaled the sensations around her. The wonderfully old buildings surrounded her like a warm raincoat. She was in the Fourth District with its beautifully elaborate architecture, its quiet embrace. Night was falling, and the City of Light was just starting to sparkle and soon would reflect off the River Seine under its magical bridges
.

Someone in a clown suit handed her a baguette and a bouquet of balloons
.

“
Merci
,” she said
.

The clown nodded
.

She walked down the rue de Bourg Tibourg
,
two walls of antique buildings on either side cradling her in their familiar warmth. A man in a tuxedo walked three dogs toward her, and as he approached she felt an overwhelming warmth from his presence. As if he gave off a ray of light with his very being. He glowed from basking in God's love. As he approached, the city noises disappeared, and all she could sense was the scent of fresh rain. The dogs had vanished
.

“Where have your dogs gone?” she asked
.

As he got closer, she recognized Jesse's mesmerizing blue-green eyes and felt the warmth of his glow. “They've gone home,” he said
.

She released her grasp on the balloons, and they rose into the night sky. She held only the baguette. “Are you hungry?
”

Jesse came toward her and put his hands around her face. He began to kiss her, and she dropped the baguette to the cobblestones below. His hands pulled her closer yet, and he hungrily showered her with kisses. He pulled away, and suddenly he was yards away, only the glow of him remaining
.

“Perfect love casts out fear, Daphne,” he said as he disappeared completely from her sight
.

“Jesse! Come back!”

“Perfect love,” the voice said again. She looked down at her feet, and the baguette was gone too. She ran across the cobbled streets searching for him
.

“Jesse!” she yelled again, but nothing would bring back the image. The warmth. She was alone . .
.

Chapter 12

B
en hummed in the backseat while Jesse sped the short distance back to Daphne's house. He was probably making a fool of himself, but he couldn't afford to take the chance. He'd rather Daphne think him a soppy idiot than second-guess himself ever again. Living with regrets was the worst curse. Far worse than showing a person you cared—even if the person did find you off your rocker.

“Daddy? Can we go to McDonald's for dinner?”

He glanced back at his son. “After we do what Daddy has to do, yes, we can. I owe you that much. Are you going to have chicken nuggets or a hamburger?”

“Nuggets,” Ben said decisively. “With lots of ketchup.”

Jesse pulled into Daphne's driveway and turned to Ben.

“Can you be a big boy and wait here a minute?”

Ben nodded. “French fries,” he said.

“I'll be right back, son.” He clambered out of the car and rushed up the crumbling concrete steps. The door was unlocked, and he pushed it open. “Daphne!” The smell of gas was stronger than ever, and he could kick himself for his stupidity. For ignoring his instincts again. “Daphne, where are you?”

He found her on the floor in the living room. He held his breath and lifted her from the age-old carpet. Cradling her in his arms, he rushed out the door and ran down the steps. He placed her on the overgrown grass and called to his son. “Ben!”

“Yes, Daddy.”

“Ben, take my phone and call 911. Remember how we practiced it?”

Ben scrambled out of his car seat and waved the cell phone to show his father that he could do it.

Jesse's shoulders tightened at the responsibilities before him. He had to turn off the gas. He had to get Daphne breathing again. He had to get Ben out of here, lest the gas should have any reason to explode.

A stranger walked past him on the sidewalk. “Sir, sir!” Jesse called. “Can you come help me?” The man kept walking as if Jesse were insane. The scene ate at some distant memory of his own, and his hands curled into fists instinctively.

Ben appeared at his side with the cell phone in his hand. “Here, Daddy.”

Jesse took the phone. He quickly gave the address and explained the scene. The dispatcher wanted him to remain on the line, but Ben's frightened expression forced him to tell the woman he couldn't wait.

“Daddy, what's wrong with the lady? Is she sick like Mommy?”

“No, buddy.” He put a hand on Ben's shoulder. “How did you know Mommy was sick?”

“Auntie Abby told me. She said Mommy got sick and had to go to heaven. Jesus wanted her right away.”

He felt for Daphne's pulse. He knew enough from lab rules that administering CPR could prove dangerous if she'd inhaled dangerous levels. He prayed for the ambulance to get there with oxygen.

“Ben, get over by the sidewalk. I don't want you near the house, all right? The lady's going to be okay.”

“First we hafta pray.” His son closed his eyes as though prayer was the easiest stance in the world. “Jesus, make this lady better. You already have my mommy in heaven, and that's enough. Amen.”

Jesse's heart swelled with pride and his eyes filled with tears. His four-year-old son had the faith of a giant. He followed up with his own prayer and asked Ben to sit on the grass by the sidewalk. Jesse gazed on Daphne's clear complexion and smoothed the loose tendrils of dark hair. Her skin appeared sallow, with deep, purple marks under her eyes. Her falsely full lips looked fuller. She sputtered and coughed then, and took short, desperate breaths.

“She needs oxygen.” Jesse lifted her into a better position, where her body wasn't bent and her throat had clear access to the summer air. “Daphne,” he whispered. “It's Jesse. Breathe, Daphne. Take a deep breath for me.” He bent over her and thrust a breath inside her. Her sleepy eyes blinked heavily.

“Jesse,” she said groggily. “Do you smell the scent of rain?”

“I smell it, Daphne. Squeeze my hand if you can hear me.”

He felt the slightest pressure and exhaled his relief. He couldn't have said why someone he barely knew meant so much to him already, but it was apparent. This wasn't any act of a Good Samaritan. He cared. More than he wanted to. More than he ever wanted to again.

An ambulance pulled up, with a fire engine close behind. Two EMTs jumped out and came toward him.

“She inhaled gas. There's a leak.”

“Is the gas off?” called a firefighter.

“I didn't have time,” Jesse answered.

“How long was she in there?” asked one of the EMTs.