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  “Marta had terrible morning sickness, but she never missed a class. She spent her evenings with me studying; I spent the evenings emptying the plastic bowl we used to catch her vomit. Even though the fetus was only eight weeks old, she bonded with it as if it were one of her vital organs.”

  Stan’s eyes drifted toward the wall of flowering bushes beyond which the waves were breaking against a craggy jetty.

  “We barely slept,” Stan continued. “Marta woke up night after night, breathless from panic attacks, but except for being there for her, there was nothing I could do. My parents called day after day, wondering what was going on. Eventually, I stopped answering the phone.

  “Then one afternoon, my older sister Sharon showed up at the chalet. From the way I embraced her, she must have thought I was desperate.

  “When she saw us together, Marta assumed my family sent her to get me to come home, but once Sharon saw Marta heading for the barf bowl, it took all of fifteen seconds to figure out what was going on. She immediately took Marta into her arms like a sister. Marta couldn’t stop sobbing. I thought about calling Monsieur Van Claire that night, but Marta didn’t want anyone knowing our business.”

  Stan’s drink was disappearing rapidly.

  “In the middle of the night, I heard panting and soft moans, and the toilet flushing. At first, I thought Marta was having another anxiety attack from all the emotional upheaval she’d been through.”

  “Did you realize what was happening?” Jonas said.

  “Not at first,” said Stan, covering his eyes like he wanted to blot out the memory. “Marta pointed at some red-stained mucus in the toilet bowl. Then, she started pacing. It went on that way for a while, me rubbing her back and neck like I always did, when all of a sudden, she doubled over and started howling like she’d been disemboweled. Sharon woke up, and when the two of us carried Marta back to bed, all I could see was bright red blood staining her nightgown.”

  Stan began rubbing his hands agitatedly. “I pounded on the Moriellions’ door.

  “‘Où est ta femme? Maintenant. Venez vite. Si vite que possible,’ I said to Monsieur Moriellion in the best French I could manage. Out came Madame Moriellion in her nightgown. I told her, ‘Prenez votre voiture. Venez. Ma fiancée Marta est là-dedans. J’ai peur qu’elle mort’

  “I’m sorry. I remember it in French. Did I lose you?”

  “Absolutely not,” Jonas said. “I’m right there inside the chalet with you. You told them you were afraid Marta was dying.”

  “The next ten minutes are a blur. Madame Moriellion, Sharon, and I dragged Marta into the cold night and laid her in the back of Monsieur Moriellion’s pickup truck. He sped through the windy streets like a grand-prix driver. At every traffic signal the road split into two or three directions. It’s amazing the things you remember. The street to the Salle Des Urgences was named Rue de Bugnon. ‘Au secours. Au secours,’ Madame Moriellion yelled the moment we arrived.”

  Jonas had become so engrossed in Stan’s story that he could barely breathe. With the late afternoon wind dying down, the only things moving were two egrets diving from the sky like a pair of fighter jets.

  “Marta had bled out six pints. An arterial-venous malformation in her uterus had ruptured. She was in shock. They said she’d have died if we’d gotten there ten minutes later. The doctors operated immediately to see if they could save her from needing a hysterectomy, and that’s how things stood when Marta came to. We were so relieved that she had survived that all we could do was hug each other.

  “But when Marta saw us celebrating, she threw a fit. ‘Where is our baby? What happened to our baby?’ she wailed on and on. The doctors hadn’t told her yet about the damaged uterus. She was thrashing around so much it took all four of us to keep her from disconnecting her IVs. I remember the glass bottles of blood—that’s what they used in those days—swinging back and forth.

  “Someone summoned Professor Van Claire, who dismissed us summarily. He didn’t leave Marta’s bedside for the next two hours. Then, he said he wanted to speak with me. Alone. By then, it was late morning, and I could see Evian and Mont Blanc in the distance. ‘French or English?’ Van Claire asked sternly. The look on his face told me everything. I was in for it. ‘Anglais, s’il vous plaît,’ I said.

  “‘Do you understand what just happened, young man?’ he asked gravely.

  “I told him yes. He asked again. I told him yes. He asked a third time, irately. ‘I love her,’ I told him. ‘I love her with all my heart.’”

  “‘You love her?’ What do you know about love? You run off to some shabby hotel like a pair of rabbits and call that love? You didn’t even use protection. What sort of man does that? Do you have any idea what kind of woman Marta Koetter is? What it meant to her to be pregnant? What it’ll mean if she can’t bear children? You—ready to run back to Mommy and Daddy and leave us to clean up your mess.’ Monsieur Van Claire glared at me like I was scum.”

  Stan’s shoulders shot back to attention. “I saw red. ‘Assai!’ Enough, I told him. ‘Pas un autre môt.’ Not another word. ‘You know nothing about me. I’m the son of a rabbi. A man of faith. I would never run away from my responsibilities.’

  “I wanted to grab the man by his neck and pin him against the wall, but he apologized for talking to me that way. It must have dawned on him that I might be as grief-stricken about the baby as Marta was.

  “‘Marta Koetter is a simple girl,’ he said. ‘She’s devoted to family. She’ll stay with you forever. It’s in her nature. But she deserves better than someone who stays with her out of obligation.’

  “I thought Monsieur Van Claire was finished. He opened the door as if to dismiss me; then turned back and said, ‘So do you.’

  “‘Je reste ici,’ I told him. ‘Je m’appartiens avec elle.’ I’m staying here with her; where I belong.

  “Monsieur Van Claire and I made peace. He saw how devoted I was to Marta and that I would never desert her. Later on, he recommended me to the Lausanne psychoanalytic institute and found me work at l’Hôpital de Cery. He became Jennie’s godfather.”

  Stan collapsed into his chaise lounge. “Does any of this sound familiar?”

  Jonas nodded. “Yes, but about Marta …?”

  “We were lucky. Her uterus healed enough for her to conceive Jennie, but Marta spent the entire pregnancy in bed. That was all we were prepared to risk. We thought about adopting but never pursued it. Not until a certain someone showed up in our foyer one Thanksgiving with two bottles of Swiss wine.”

  “It must have been devastating to Marta when Jennie couldn’t have children,” Jonas said.

  “Not really. There had always been tension between Marta and Jennie. Marta is and always was a farm girl. That’s what I loved about her, but Jennie wanted a gentrified sophisticate for a mother. That’s the real reason she took up with that fool from Hollywood. It wasn’t solely that Peter snowed her with the lifestyles of the rich and famous; Jennie bought into it because she thought she’d become the woman her mother never was. God knows exactly what happened—I have my suspicions—and I know Jennie landed hard, but it was the making of her.”

  “Ironic, isn’t it?” Jonas said. “Life sends Marta two kids from the farm for grandchildren. You know, I always believed Gracie and Gil came from somewhere in the Midwest.”

  “You don’t think that was an accident, do you?”

  “What?” Jonas said.

  “Marta turned the whole Koetter clan onto the fact that ‘a couple she knew well and trusted’—that’s how she phrased it—wanted to adopt. Koetter was one of the most respected names in southern Indiana; they put out the word to every diocese within fifty miles.”

  “Did Marta know the birth families?”

  “No. And she didn’t want to. That whole episode with Jennie’s cancer scare and the adoptions gave Marta and Jennie a second chance to bond, which they did. That’s all I wanted to tell you.”

  “That’s all?” Jonas chuckled. “It’s
going to take a while to process this. I feel like I just discovered that Beethoven was a plagiarist. What about Jennie? Should I tell her?”

  “I trust your judgment. Other than that, I don’t have much to say.”

  Both men laughed. Jonas broke the silence. “I’m glad you told me.”

  “You’re the first person I’ve ever told the full story. I’m glad you’re here for me to tell it to,” Stan said as if he had read his last will and testament.

  “Let’s hope it stays that way for a long time,” Jonas said.

  Off to their left, the sinking sun backlit the stratus clouds above like the corner of Gracie’s photograph.

  63

  After dinner and an uneventful hour in the casino, Jonas and Jennie returned to their room. Jennie wore a flowing negligee that made her feel plush and satiny. She initiated the lovemaking that night, which Jonas knew was her attempt at reconciliation. He tried hard to accept her apology, but the sting of feeling betrayed lingered, like the ache after a muscle spasm that heals in its own time; he knew his anger at Jennie would fade away soon. Jonas turned face up promptly after they finished and said, “That was nice. Good night, Jen. I love you,” after which Jennie burrowed close to his chest and fell asleep quickly.

  Jonas slipped out of bed and threw on some clothes; he headed out the sliding doors toward the ocean. With the palm trees swaying, the full moon cast eerily bright shadows, the evening breeze echoing the sounds of the surf. Jonas sank onto a wooden bench, his mind swirling. Stan’s story reminded him of his own vigil after Gregory’s surgery. He thought about Jennie’s breast cancer and infertility, and Marta’s miscarriage—how women face death to bring life into the world.

  Moments later, he heard footsteps, and caught a whiff of cigar smoke mingling with the scent of the tropical blossoms. Jonas said, “Stan? What are you doing up so late?”

  “It’s me,” said Eddie, emerging from the bushes.

  “Since when do you smoke those things?” Jonas said.

  “Stan gave it to me. Mind it I sit down?”

  “It’s a free country.”

  Eddie sat down as far from Jonas as he could get. “Am I disturbing you?” Eddie said.

  Neither man spoke for a moment. Then Jonas said, “Yes, to be honest, but don’t take it the wrong way. It’s been a long day. I just wanted to unwind.”

  “Peaceful, isn’t it? Not like holidays in the city.” Eddie turned to face Jonas. “Whatever happened Thanksgiving night is still affecting you. Everyone’s noticed.”

  “Evidently it’s open season on my psyche,” Jonas said.

  “You told me you tell Jennie everything. Just exactly how much does Jennie know about her?”

  “So, we’re back to that again?”

  “That’s how Dad wanted it.”

  “What!”

  “You heard me.”

  “What does our father have to do with this?”

  “The year you went to college, he made me swear I would always look out for you. Maybe he had a premonition he would die young.”

  “This is looking out for me? Harping on me because of something you don’t understand?”

  “You’ve had this thing for her forever. Admit it.”

  “So, we’re back to cross-examination. Leave it at work, Eddie. I’m on vacation.”

  “So, Jennie doesn’t know?”

  “Know what?”

  “That you love someone else.”

  “Did it ever occur to you that someone could love more than one person? And that there’s more than one kind of love?”

  “What’s that? Psycho mumbo jumbo for cheating?”

  “Cheating?” Jonas reacted vehemently. “How many times in the last twenty years have I had to endure your accusations? It took me all this time to figure it out; you’re jealous, because I have something in my life that you don’t. Do you really believe I would skulk off from my family to attend to a mistress? Are you out of your mind? What kind of person do you think I am?”

  “Explain it to me, then.”

  “Why should I?”

  “Because I’ve always been there for you. Because I stuck up for you every time Pete doubted you. Because I helped you get started in the city. Because I’ve done a million things for you over the years. You owe me an explanation.”

  “Back off, Eddie. I’m warning you for the last time.”

  “You owe me an explanation,” Eddie insisted.

  White heat surged up Jonas’s spine. “I’ll explain myself to you after you explain to me why you fucked some twenty-year-old babe three days before you got married.”

  “What?”

  “Don’t bother to deny it. I know all about it. How many others have there been since then, Eddie? One? Ten? A hundred?”

  Eddie stared at the ground for a long time. “It happened only once,” he said.

  “I don’t believe you. I saw her in the neighborhood more than that.”

  “How did you know?”

  “You left the used condom in the kitchen trash can. It was disgusting. How do you think I felt, finding that right before your wedding?”

  Eddie hunched forward.

  Jonas said, “She passed by me on her way out just as I came in with coffee and The Morning Sun. You never knew I was there.”

  “We did it only once, Jonas. I swear. She lived around the corner. I went jogging, and there was this beautiful girl with auburn hair and a figure to die for. She smiled each time I circled the neighborhood. But I barely remember her face.”

  “I do,” Jonas said. “Drop-dead gorgeous. She looked like a movie star and carried herself like a debutante.”

  “Her name was Jane. From Weymouth. She had a British accent. I remember her outdoorsy smell; I’d never been that close to someone so beautiful.

  “She said she was in Baltimore temporarily, nannying for a friend of the family. I was so naïve. Jonas, you could have knocked me over with a sledgehammer. I couldn’t believe she was hitting on me.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I was just another average-looking guy about to marry some nice Jewish girl I’d been dating forever. I was nothing special; I played by the rules.”

  “Rules. Whose rules?”

  “Whose rules?” Eddie grunted plaintively. “You think anybody sat me down and told me?”

  “What happened that night?” Jonas asked.

  “She said she had the evening off. Her accent made her seem older. She wore a dark brown skirt with buttons down the side. She was thirsty, so we went to No Fish Today on Howard Street. She ordered ginger ale. I told her I was getting married soon, but instead of being put off, she seemed curious. She talked about her parents. Her father was a doctor, or a diplomat, I’m not sure. She asked where I lived, so I showed her my room.”

  For the first time in his life, Jonas felt his brother was speaking to him as an equal.

  “Something came over me, Jonas,” Eddie continued. “For an instant, I was a different person. No one expected anything from me. Time stopped. I’m sure I was trembling, because it took forever to undo all those buttons. She looked so beautiful when she was naked.” Eddie looked off into the night. “She was disappointed by the sex, I could tell. I think I hurt her. I never got the chance to make it right. In the morning, she thanked me for the evening, very properly, as if she were thanking a parlor maid for having poured a lukewarm cup of tea. I tried to walk her home, but she wanted to go alone. She must have passed you on the way out.”

  Jonas said, “I wondered what she was doing there. I went to the kitchen, because I needed a paper towel. When I opened the trashcan my first reaction was astonishment. I thought, ‘How did this get here?’ Then I remembered that you never went to sleep without emptying your bathroom wastebasket. ‘How can he be doing this?’ I asked myself. ‘He’s getting married in three days!’”

  “Did she say anything?” Eddie said.

  “No, but she looked at me as if there was a family resemblance. So, was it worth it?” />
  Eddie seemed to smile and cry at the same time. “Yes and no. Mostly no. I felt awful about having disappointed her. And about being unfaithful to Margo.” Eddie scooped some sand with his right shoe and flipped it over. “I was scared shitless about getting married, and I had no one to talk about it with.”

  “You never thought of saying something to me? Your own flesh and blood?”

  “I was the older brother. I didn’t want to disappoint you.”

  “It’s too bad you didn’t know me better. There’s still time.”

  “Time for what?”

  “To get to know me better. You might be pleasantly surprised. Your Jane was a beautiful young woman. I would have wanted to know her myself. She wasn’t sleazy at all.”

  “No. She was a gentlewoman. I was the one who felt that way.”

  “So, that’s what you’ve been projecting onto me all these years; that I’m a sleazebag, because I have a thing for a woman I’ve known half my life—a lot longer than you knew Jane.”

  “Well … what about when Jennie finds out about this ‘thing’ of yours?”

  “She knows all about her. How many times do I have to tell you that I don’t keep secrets from Jennie? I hadn’t heard from the woman in twenty years, until the week before Thanksgiving. You’d be one lucky man to have someone like her in your life,” Jonas said. That simple statement crystallized coherently what he had been feeling.

  “She must be something. You’ve never slept with her?” Eddie said.

  “For the last time, no.”

  “You admit you love her?”

  “That’s right. I do.”

  “What about her? Does she love you?”

  “She’s married to a man who adores her. She’d fall apart without him. I could never do anything that would threaten her stability or their marriage.”

  “How do you live your life married to one woman while you love someone else?”