The Forbidden Heart (5 page)

Darkness Really Fears the Light

Neither of us said another word. Instead, we hurried out of the apartment. It wasn’t
until I was at the hospital with him that I would realize I should have asked more
questions before we started out, but Vincent looked so upset I was afraid to speak.
He handed me the helmet quickly.

“You don’t have to come. I can drop you off on a corner near your uncle’s home.”

“No. I want to go with you,” I said, and got on. He started up, and we were off.

I hung on to Vincent, because he was driving faster, taking more chances. I took off
the helmet quickly when we reached the hospital. Without talking, we hurried into
the emergency area. Once we entered the lobby, Vincent spotted his parents. He hurried
to them. They didn’t look surprised to see me with him.

“How is she?” he asked.

His mother had been crying. She took a deep breath. His father looked away.

I drew closer to hear what she was telling him in French, concentrating hard on every
word.

“We thought she had left,” she began. “I was already upstairs when your father shouted
for me. He saw the bathroom door slightly opened, and the light was on. He went to
check, and he found her. She needed transfusions. She bled that much,” she added.

“With my good bread knife,” Vincent’s father said, as if that was the most serious
thing.

I tugged on Vincent’s jacket sleeve, and he turned to me.

“I don’t understand. Denise went back to the pastry shop?”

He grimaced. But he didn’t have to reply.

Denise came walking into the lobby.

“Mon Dieu!”
I exclaimed. For a moment it was as if I was looking at a ghost. She was pale, and
she was crying. I looked at Vincent.

“Sorry,” he said. “I just wanted to get here. I should have made it clear. It’s my
aunt, Denise’s mother.”

One of the doctors came out behind her, and Vincent and his parents rushed to speak
to him.

Still stunned, but definitely happy it wasn’t Denise, I hurried to greet her, hugging
her and then helping her to a seat. I didn’t know what to say. I certainly didn’t
want to say that I just assumed it had been she who had tried to commit suicide. All
the way here, I had a terrible fear that she had learned Vincent had a date with me
and I had lied to her, not that it alone would be enough to drive someone to suicide.
However, she was depressed and sensitive enough for it to be the last straw or something.

“She was tired of the struggle,” she said. “She thought my life would be better without
her. She blames herself. She thinks she’s responsible for my sad life, for all that
has happened to me. She thinks her whole life is a terrible failure, and all she can
do is drag me farther and farther down with her. I told her she was wrong and what
she tried to do would only make life more miserable for me.”

Yes,
I thought,
but you did blame her for so much.
It was easier than taking responsibility for yourself now.
I was thinking the way my father would, I thought, Roxy and my father, the man she
loved to call “the general.” But I had to believe that even he wouldn’t be so hard
on Denise at this moment. He would never say what I thought.

“How is she? What did they say?” I asked, looking at Vincent and his parents talking
to the doctor.

“It was very close. She almost went into a deep coma.”

“I’m sorry, Denise.”

She nodded, and then she looked at Vincent and his parents and back at me.

“
Je ne comprends pas.
How did you get here? Why are you here now?”

Of all the times to have to admit to a lie,
I thought, but I couldn’t think of any way out of it.

“I was with Vincent,” I said. “He invited me to have pizza with him.”

She looked more devastated about that than about her mother’s attempted suicide. She
took her hand out of mine and sat back.

“But you said you had to have dinner with your uncle.”

“Yes, I did say that. I didn’t want to upset you. I’m sorry,” I said.

She didn’t say anything. She rose and went to her aunt and uncle. Her aunt hugged
her. Vincent said something to his father and then came to me.

“The doctor says she’ll be all right, but they want her to have psychological counseling.
My mother,” he added, looking back at his parents, “is blaming my father for not being
understanding enough.” He looked back at me. “Are you all right? I told you that you
didn’t have to come.”

“No, I’m fine. It’s just . . .”

“What?”

“Denise,” I said. “I told her I was having dinner with my uncle.”

“So?”

Was he that oblivious? “I lied to her.”

“You don’t have to say that. Just tell her I called you and talked you into meeting
me. Why should you have to report to her? Don’t worry about it,” he added quickly.
“I’ll tell her. I’ll fix it. C’mon. I’ll take you home.”

I looked at Denise again. She was standing with her arms across her breasts and staring
at us while her uncle and aunt continued to speak with the doctor. I stood up, thought
a moment, and then approached her as we headed out.

“Do you want me to wait with you, Denise? I don’t have to go home. I’ll call my uncle,
and later you can come home with me. There’s a spare bedroom, and I’m sure my uncle
wouldn’t mind you staying with us.”

“Good idea,” Vincent said.

“No,” she said. “I don’t need you to stay with me. I have my own home.”

“She’s just being nice,” Vincent told her in French.

She smirked. “I don’t need anyone to be nice to me.”

Vincent’s parents began arguing. His mother was tearing into his father. The doctor
looked embarrassed and overwhelmed. Vincent shouted to them, and his mother retreated.

“Your mother needs me,” Denise told him, and went to her.

“This is very unpleasant for you, Emmie. You just meet all of us and get thrown into
this family tragedy. Come now. You should go home.”

I wanted to say something more to both Denise and Vincent’s mother, but I followed
him out instead, put on the helmet, and got on the scooter. He started up and away,
not saying anything more than “
Mon Dieu
, what a night!”

When we reached my uncle’s home, I got off and handed him the helmet. He leaned over
to kiss me good night. I didn’t kiss him back.

“Stop blaming yourself for something unimportant,” he ordered. “Besides, why do you
have to make excuses to Denise?”

“Your cousin is in love with you, Vincent.”

“What?”

“How can you be so blind to it?”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“Nevertheless, it’s true.”

“She’ll have to grow out of it. I never did anything to give her reason to think I
was encouraging such a thing.”

“You didn’t have to. She’s desperate.”

He thought a moment. “Well, what do you suggest?”

“Going slowly,” I said. “Helping her, especially now.”

He shook his head. “Such a sensible young girl. You’ll make me grow up.”

“Is that so terrible?”

He laughed. “I want to see you again and again and again,” he added, smiling more
like the Vincent I had first met. “To . . . how did you say . . . till the soil.”

“I’m not in the mood for farming.”

“Not tonight, but tomorrow . . . you know tomorrow?”

“Too well,” I said. “
Bonne nuit
, Vincent.”

“
Bonne nuit. À bientôt
,” he called after me. I didn’t look back until I heard him leaving and watched him
disappear around a turn.

The skeptical part of me wondered if I would ever hear from him again. Maybe hearing
all the truth frightened him.

I headed into the house. Both Maurice and Uncle Alain were sitting in the living room
having a late-night cordial. Both looked upset, and for a moment, I thought that they
had already heard about Denise’s mother, but then I realized the time. It was nearly
twelve forty-five. They were upset at me.

Before either could speak, I began to relate what had happened. Their faces changed
quickly, especially Maurice’s, because he knew Denise’s mother.

“She will be okay?”

“Physically,” I said.

“Mon Dieu,”
Uncle Alain said. “What a mess for you to be in so soon.”

“I’m fine,” I said. “Just very tired.”

“
D’accord
. Go to bed, Emmie. We’ll look into everything in the morning.”

I nodded and went to my room. I felt as if I was walking in my sleep already and barely
got myself into bed with my eyes open. I thought I would have a hard time falling
asleep, but emotional exhaustion was just as tiring as the physical kind. I drifted
off quickly and didn’t wake up until I heard someone moving about in the kitchen.
I threw on my robe, went to the bathroom, splashed cold water on my face, and went
out to see Maurice sitting at the kitchenette having coffee and a croissant. Glancing
at the clock, I saw I had slept until ten.

“Alain went to work,” he said. “I told him I would call to let him know you were fine.”

“I can’t believe I slept so long.”

He poured me some coffee. He wanted me to give him more details about Denise and her
mother. I told him all I knew.

“I suspected much of that,” he said.

“I don’t know if Denise will ever talk to me again.”

“She will. Give her time. I have some things to do before I go to the restaurant.
Alain wants you to stay home today and tonight. He feels he needs to spend more time
with you.
Comprends?
”

“
Oui
.
Merci
, Maurice.”

“It will be okay. Soon you will be in school, and you will have much to do, will meet
many more people your age. Paris is a city. There are many stories to be told,” he
added, smiling. He hugged me and went off.

After I ate something and started to dress, the phone rang. I thought, hoped, it was
Denise, but she had obviously given Vincent my telephone number.

“Ça va?”
he asked.

“I’m fine. How is Denise’s mother?”

“She’s better. Lots of regrets.”

“And Denise?”

“I had a nice talk with her this morning. She doesn’t hate you. You were right. I
was oblivious. It will be fine. When can I see you?”

“I have to spend more time with my uncle for a while,” I said.

“This isn’t a brush-off, is it? See? I watch American movies.”

“No. But I want to go slower.”

He laughed. “
D’accord
. You know what I think it is, Emmie?”

“I’m listening.”

“Like good wine. You have to let it age a little. You sip. You don’t gulp good wine.”

I laughed. “You’re something else, Vincent. Maybe you are Paris.”

“No greater compliment.
Merci
.”

“À bientôt.”

“I will keep calling.”

“I hope so,” I said, and left it at that.

That night, Uncle Alain did take me to dinner. We had a warm and wonderful time. He
told me more about my mother’s family, and we made plans to see relatives. I asked
him if he had heard at all from Roxy. I could see he was hesitant.

“What?
S’il vous plaît,
Uncle Alain.”

“She calls often, Emmie, but she didn’t want me to tell you.”

“Why not?”

“She wants you to be independent of her. Don’t blame her. It’s the life she has known.
She thinks it’s best for you to be stronger.”

“It doesn’t weaken you to have family,” I said, and he smiled.

“Almost my exact words. Let her find her way back herself. She’s happy. I can tell
you that, but she’s frightened it won’t last and she’d be bringing you into her troubles
again.”

“I understand. I’ll be fine, Uncle Alain.”

“I know you will,” he said.

We walked back to his home arm in arm. Like all cities, much of Paris went to sleep
at night, but so much would never sleep through a night. It seemed as if people tried
to surprise it at all hours, appearing here and there, laughing or just walking quietly,
as we were. Lights danced on the Seine. Despite all the beauty surrounding me, I couldn’t
help but think back to earlier days.

There was a time—rare, I know—when we were almost a family. A truce was called between
my father and Roxy. My mother was very happy. The four of us were doing something
very simple, walking through Central Park on a warm spring day. I was too young to
remember real details, but I could vividly remember a feeling. It was warm and hopeful.
Love seemed so strong, invulnerable. Nothing could harm us. There wasn’t even a rain
cloud in the distant sky.

Roxy walked ahead and then paused and waited for me. I took her hand. I looked back
at my mother and my father. They had never looked as young to me.

We walked on, lost in our own thoughts, drifting into tomorrow and the promises we
hoped to keep.

Which was what Uncle Alain and I were now doing.

Isn’t that what we all do?

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Forbidden Sister

V.C. Andrews
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