Page 30 of Across Eternity

The tension in the room is palpable. I see it in Henri’s hands on the table, holding the edge hard, in his tight jaw. The urgency in Marie’s eyes. We have so much to discuss and not a word can be said with Yvette here.

“Can I help?” I ask, turning toward Marie.

She clicks her tongue. “Of course not. You need food and more rest.” So you can go where you belong. She hasn’t said it, hasn’t even implied it, but they must want me gone, mustn’t they? I’m just a painful, awkward thing to work around now. Another mouth to feed. My presence something they’ll have to create lie after lie about because of Yvette.

Marie places bread and cheese and milk in front of me, along with a slab of ham. Yvette’s eyes dip to my plate. “I thought we were saving the pig for after the baby was born.”

“We’ll have other foods to celebrate with then,” says Henri tightly, looking at neither of us. Apparently, he does still have a voice, though I’ve rarely heard it sound as strained as it does right now. “Today we celebrate the return of our cousin.”

Something inside me softens, begins to ache for him and I fight it, search myself instead for that spark of anger. Anger is all that will keep this from being the saddest day of my entire life. He began dating her weeks after you left, I remind myself. He married her.

“So much has changed since your last visit, Amelie,” says Marie, joining us at the table. “We have ration cards but not much is available. It’s all going to the front.”

“Yes,” I reply, raising cold eyes to Henri, who sits across from me, beside his wife. “I never dreamed so much would have changed.” All of his promises about marrying me after I came back…did he mean any of them? Was he really that fickle or was I really that stupid? I turn from him to his wife. “When is the baby due?”

She pats her stomach with a condescending smile. She couldn’t possibly know about us, but something in her expression says I have what you want. And the Coron in me surges. I could take it back from you, I think.

“Two more months,” she says, smiling up at Henri.

My fork falls to my plate. If she is seven months along right now, she got pregnant in February. Which means he waited less than three months after I was gone to marry someone else. Three months. While I spent all that time trying to get back to him. Plotting, conspiring, starving, forcing myself to keep going. I held on, comforted only by the memory of him, the feel of him against me at night, and all along he was with someone else.

I jumped out of a window to get back to you, I want to say. I nearly died. I will never again feel completely safe, or worthwhile, because of what I went through. But all you had to do was wait and you couldn’t even do that.

Yvette is waiting for some kind of predictable response from me about how wonderful it is that they’ll be parents and I just can’t bring myself to offer it.

“Eat,” whispers Marie. Her hand squeezes mine for a moment.

My lips are dry and my tongue darts out to wet them. “I’m not feeling very well,” I reply. I cannot look at Henri, or Yvette. The sight of them both makes me sick.

“You’re too thin,” she says. “You need to try.”

Yvette shifts across from me. “Oh, leave her alone, Marie. She’s skin and bones but she’ll fatten up once she gets home, I’m sure. Americans are all fat. So yes, the baby is due at the end of November. Henri will make a very good father, don’t you think?” she prompts.

I search myself for that anger before I answer. It’s all that will keep me from bursting into tears. “Who knows?” I finally reply, raising my gaze to meet Henri’s. “A man can seem perfect until he’s tested. And then the whole charade falls apart.”

Henri’s fist grabs his mug so hard its contents slosh over the sides, while beside me, Marie makes a choked noise of admonishment. “You’ll find, Yvette, that Amelie is full of jokes. She’s teasing you now. She knows Henri will prove a good father.”

Her hand rests heavily on my shoulder, as if warning me not to take this any further. For her sake, I won’t.

“We thought you were dead,” Henri says suddenly. He sounds as angry as I feel. “We were certain of it. Why did you wait so long to let us know you were alive?”

My body jerks as if he’s struck me. Is he actually trying to deflect blame for this? Does he think I don’t know how long it takes a human baby to grow? “I couldn’t get away,” I say between my teeth. “And then, when I finally did, I fell two stories from a window. I broke fifteen different bones, fractured my skull, and spent nearly six months in a coma.” And you were supposed to be at war, I long to add. How exactly is he here now? Did something change or did Cecelia lie to me, knowing there’s no way I’d stay until the end of October if I came any sooner? I swallow hard and look Henri dead in the eye. “I left as soon as I could. I’m sorry if that wasn’t fast enough for you, but you certainly seem to have kept yourself occupied.”

Yvette looks between the two of us. “I don’t understand what the fuss is all about, Henri. You’ve never mentioned this cousin of yours once and now you act as if the world is caving in because she didn’t write?”

All the accusations have left him. His head hangs. “You’re right,” he says, his voice muted, low with guilt and shame. “I have no right to complain, especially after what she’s been through.”

My glance flickers to his wife. “It’s funny. I was only here last November, and Henri never mentioned you either. It must have been quite the whirlwind courtship. Or perhaps he just had a few special friends back then he chose not to introduce me to.”

Henri’s jaw grinds. “It happened very quickly,” he says, staring at his plate.

“It was so romantic,” says Yvette, putting a proprietary hand on his arm. “I was living in Paris when we met—I was an actress—and then he came one night and asked me to give it all up and come live with him in the countryside. You’d think I’d say no, wouldn’t you? Giving up Paris for this rural life? But I knew a love like ours is a rare thing. He was worth the sacrifice.”

Henri stands abruptly, clutching his side, pale beneath his tan. “Excuse me,” he says, and then he turns and walks out, letting the door slam shut behind him.

The silence in the wake of his departure is so awkward Marie actually winces. But Yvette recovers quickly, giving us both a trained actress’s smile. “He’s just come back from the front, you know, and he was shot in the side. He was so worried he might not live to meet his child. I shouldn’t have brought it up.”

“I’ll go check on him,” Marie says faintly, beginning to rise.