Revenge of the Black Virgin (13 page)

The pain of loss was excruciating, worse
than what she’d already suffered. Sometimes she felt as if the
Black Virgin kept throwing punishment at her over and over, willing
her to break. After all, if it hadn’t been for the Virgin, she
wouldn’t have gone to Spain, she thought. She wouldn’t have been in
the wrong place at the wrong time, and have her heart broken all
over again.

After a few days, Jo’s lungs started to
clear, but she still didn’t want to go into the office. Brenda was
there.

Then she got an idea. It was a perfect
solution, if only Brenda would sanction it. She would ask for a
transfer to the magazine’s Vancouver office up in Canada.

“If that’s what you really want, Jo. But tell
me, is it because of me?” Brenda asked across the desk in her
office.

“Yes, Bren. Partly,” Jo said evenly, meeting
her friend’s frank gaze. “But there’s another reason. I need to
start over. You can see why.”

“Sure. Okay. I understand,” Brenda said,
flashing her an uncharacteristically soft smile. “And I’m
sorry.”

“Me too.”

Feeling a little more hopeful, Jo went back
to her desk and stared down at the mess. Then, shuffling through
some mail, she got the shock of her life. It was an envelope
addressed to her. From France.

Almost swooning, she picked it up and flopped
into her chair. It took her a moment to decode the sender’s name
and address.

A. LaPlante.

Not L. LaPlante.

Hands shaking, she carefully opened it, her
eyes jumping to the signature first.

Anna LaPlante.

Her stomach clenched in fear.

Isn’t that Luc’s wife? Or ex-wife?

Heart in her throat, she scanned the brief
letter, written in longhand.

Dear Joanna,

Please forgive this intrusion, but I must be
bold and take the initiative here.

My name is Anna, and I am the former wife of
Lucien. I believe that Luc has told you about me, and our son.

I also believe that you are the reason he
finally removed his wedding band. It is true that we have been
divorced for some time. And I understand that he explained to you
his reasons for wearing the ring long past that date.

The reason I am writing has to do with that
ring, in some small way. When I saw it was gone, I knew that he
must be serious about you. With a little prodding, he told me what
had happened between the two of you.

Of course, it is not my business. But I want
you to know that he suffers the loss of you, and our son suffers as
a result.

Again, please excuse my presumption, but I
want to help. He is hurt, I know, and too proud to contact you. I
cannot presume to know your feelings, but would it inconvenience
you too much to contact him? His unanswered questions torment him.
He needs closure, and our son needs his father back.

I only hope this letter is not going to
offend you.

I have listed his contact numbers at the
bottom of this page.

Sincerely,

Anna LaPlante

PS: Luc does not know I have written to you.
You need not tell him. It’s up to you.

Tears running down her face, Jo sat
motionless. She found she couldn’t think. Finally the sounds of her
noisy co-workers barging back into the office dragged her back into
the present. She blotted her face and blew her nose. Then she
checked the date of the letter’s postmark.

Two weeks ago. Just as I was getting ready to
leave for Spain. But what about Luc? Where was he two weeks
ago?

Then she remembered the blonde sitting on the
back of his bike.

And if he’s so goddamned hurt, what the hell
was he doing with her?

A flush of shame spread across her face when
she realized she’d been with Danny at the time. She was being
hypocritical.

She took out a sheet of paper and began
writing.

Dear Luc….

Chapter Twelve

Traveling hadn’t pushed Joanna out of Luc’s
mind, but he wasn’t surprised. He knew himself, and he knew that
any attempt at diversion was futile. Everywhere he went he carried
Joanna along as if it had been her, not Hilda, sitting behind him
on the bike. But by the time he got home he found new reasons to
obsess over the botched affair—thanks to his ex-wife and Canada
Post.

On his first morning back at work he was
sorting through the in-box on his desk when an envelope leaped out
at him, causing him to fall backwards into his seat, his heart
contracting painfully.

It was from Canada. With Joanna’s name and a
return address in Vancouver, dated weeks earlier.

Bewildered, he couldn’t bring himself to open
it right away. He placed it on the desk in front of him, and just
stared at it. He’d never seen Joanna’s handwriting before. He
wondered what he could read in it.

Once he realized the script could tell him
nothing, he carefully opened the envelope, aware of her dried
saliva on the gum. He didn’t realize he was holding his breath
until he’d finished reading the few lines inside.

Dear Luc:

I expect you will never be able to forgive
me, but I can’t rest until I try and explain myself. Please let
me.

First, I meant every word I ever said to you.
I loved you then, and I love you still. That has not changed.

Second, I know I did a terrible thing by
leaving you like I did. It was possibly the cruelest thing I have
ever done. My excuse will not be enough, but you need to know that
my father died of a heart attack while we were in Rocamadour. He
was the world to me, and James knew this. That is why he came to
France to take me home, and that is why I let him.

I was too shocked to think for myself, so I
let James think for me. It was wrong of me, I know. And I will pay
the price of that bad decision for the rest of my life.

I want to say only one more thing. If you can
ever find it in your heart to forgive me, my heart is open to
you.

Every day I suffer regret for what I have
done. Please please please understand.

With all my love,

Joanna

PS: As you can see, I live in Canada now.

Luc folded the letter with shaking hands,
told his supervisor he was ill, and left the building. His first
response was to talk to Anna, but she was at work. Instead he went
home, changed into his sweats and went for a long run.

After showering he re-read the letter six
times, as if each re-reading would make it more real. He carefully
copied Joanna’s email and home addresses onto a separate sheet of
paper and then he went to see Anna.

As he watched her read the letter, he wasn’t
sure what he should do. Or how he should feel. He just knew he
needed help. But after he asked Anna a few pointed questions, he
began to understand what his ex-wife had done for him. She’d taken
the liberty of writing to Joanna while he was away, trying to
forget about her.

At first he was furious. But when he looked
into Anna’s kind, troubled eyes, his anger dissolved. She just
wanted him to be happy, he realized.

“You have to go to her,” Anna said.

“Why should I?”

“She loves you.”

“Not good enough,” he said, remembering the
hurt he’d suffered at her hands these last few months.

“And you love her. I know you do,” Anna
insisted. “You love her in a way I always wished you could love
me,” she added, dropping her head to hide the tears that were
threatening to overflow.

Luc got up and hugged her tightly, kissing
the top of her head.

She’s right, he realized with a stab of
guilt. As always. “I’m so sorry, Anna. You’re a most amazing woman
and you know that I do love you. But I have to have her or I’ll go
mad.”

And now that it was clear Joanna felt the
same way, it was his turn to act.

He would go to Canada to see her. He needed
to put this affair to rest, one way or the other.

* * * *

Ten days later. Vancouver, Canada.

Jo’s hands shook as she gripped the steering
wheel and pushed her foot down on the accelerator.

He’s actually here. With me, in my car. I
can’t believe it.

Luckily she was a conscientious driver.
Otherwise she might have put them into a ditch on the way home from
the Vancouver airport—Luc’s silence unnerved her. Driving gave her
something to focus on as she felt his large, still body beside her
in the Audi.

She tried to forget that he hadn’t made any
move to kiss her.
Really
kiss her. The way she’d been
dreaming of. In fact, since lightly kissing the top of her head he
hadn’t made any move to do anything at all except break their
embrace and say, in a voice made rough by fatigue, that they should
get going. She’d released his lapels, then, and they walked in
silence to the parking lot. He stashed his bags in the trunk, got
in the car, and buckled his seat belt without another word.

It was a late September dusk, a slight mist
forming over the low, flat land of the Fraser River delta. Venus
glowed next to a perfect crescent moon hanging over the North Shore
mountains. As she maneuvered through the stream of traffic heading
downtown, Jo was struck by the beauty of her adopted city. It had
been her home for only a few weeks, but already she loved it. The
only drawback to having transferred up north was that she’d had to
leave Sammy behind. He was safely lodged with Jo’s mother, who
could use the companionship now that she was widowed.

“I know you’ve been to Vancouver before,” Jo
ventured, glancing quickly at her mute passenger. “But I’m glad
you’re getting to see it on a clear night. It’s so pretty when it’s
not raining.”

“It is that,” Luc said, voice flat.

Jo continued, made bold by love for her new
home, and by love for her lover. The French lover she thought she’d
never see again. Who had just flown over an ocean to be with
her.

Buy why? He seems completely disengaged.
Cold, even.

“You look tired. Did you sleep on the
flight?”

“
Non
.”

“Well, you can go to bed right away, if you
want,” she offered hesitantly. “Unless you want something to eat,
first.”

“Maybe,” was all she got. He was rubbing his
eyes as he watched traffic whizzing by.

“I hope you like my place. I was lucky to get
it. It’s a sublet of a sweet little penthouse near English Bay.
Completely furnished. Wait ‘til you see the views!” Thinking about
her apartment made Jo forget about her discomfort for a moment.

“Look! We can see it from here,” she
exclaimed as they crested the Burrard Street Bridge. “The narrow
building with the row of blue lights running down the side. Can you
see?”

Luc didn’t respond and she stopped trying.
Within a few minutes she was opening her automatic garage door and
driving underneath the building. As she watched Luc unload his
luggage from the trunk, she heard a woman’s voice calling her.

“Hi, Joanna? Is that you, dear? Do you think
you could help me for a moment, please?”

It was her neighbor, Louise, who lived in the
opposite penthouse unit. Middle-aged and a spinster, Louise had
befriended Jo in a good way when the younger woman moved in.

She saw that Louise was just getting back
from a shopping trip to Ikea. The back of her SUV was loaded with
flat, heavy-looking cardboard boxes.

“I’m so sorry to bother you, but I’m afraid
I’ve bitten off a little more than I can manage, this time. Will
you help me get these into the elevator?”

In a flash Luc was there, holding out his
hand. Jo introduced him. “Uh, Louise, this is Luc, who has just
arrived from France for a visit.”

Luc was all gracious manners now.
“
Bonsoir, Madame.
Please allow me.
Non, non.
You
might hurt yourself,” he insisted as he gracefully tipped the flat
boxes onto their sides and leaned them against Louise’s car.

There was nothing for Jo to do but pick up
his luggage and follow him as he carried the boxes into the
elevator. There was just enough room for all of them and their
cargo as Louise inserted her key and pushed the penthouse
button.

While Luc was stacking the boxes in the
hallway, Louise caught Jo’s eye. She grinned and mouthed,
You’re
one lucky girl!
Jo smiled and nodded quickly, before Luc could
see. Then she went into her bedroom and lifted his wheeled suitcase
onto her bureau and put his laptop bag on her bed. She could hear
Louise’s voice thanking him and the sound of both doors closing. He
was all hers now.

Lucky girl.

Gulp.

Chapter Thirteen

Luc stood in Jo’s bedroom doorway, his arms
hanging loosely at his sides. He was looking at her, but his
handsome face was expressionless. He seemed thinner than she
remembered. Dark circles hung beneath his eyes. Otherwise he looked
good, she thought. Really, really good. Her heart was pounding, and
she was finding it hard to swallow. She wanted to take him in her
arms, but something in his face stopped her.

“Uh, I put your bags in here.” She motioned
behind her. “Do you want to take a shower?” She had to fight to
keep her voice from cracking. “While I make us something to
eat?”

Seeing that he didn’t respond, she stepped
closer to him. It took all the power she had not to crush him in an
embrace. Instead, she raised her hand to his face, touching his
stubbled cheek lightly. He recoiled and, rubbing his jaw with one
hand as if he wanted to erase her touch, walked past her to unzip
his suitcase. “Yes. I guess need a shave.”

Her body flushed with heat as if she’d been
slapped. But she kept her head and moved away from him. “In there,”
she indicated the bathroom door. “I put towels out for you,” she
added as she blinked back tears.

She walked to her closet and touched a
hanger. “You can hang your jacket in here. I made some space for
your things, if you’d like,” she explained before turning and
leaving him to it. She’d be damned if she’d let him see her
cry.