Hidden In Paris Part 26

He would take the kids away! He would have every right to. She had been found out but she could still hide them from him. Panic set in and she was slowly falling apart starting with the knot of tears that was irrepressibly forming in her throat.

"I want to see them," Mark said.

She was about to burst into tears like a five-year-old when came the unmistakable pushing and yanking sound of someone opening the front door, followed by the loud thump of the wooden door closing again. Mark, from his sitting position on the couch, looked at her interrogatively. What followed was almost comical. Annie barged into the room. Her hair was electric and she seemed to have been sprinting.

"Cheerio!" she said, panting. She walked right to Mark without the slightest pretense of surprise. "I'm Annie. This is my house," she huffed, holding her hand out to shake his. Mark slowly unfolded from the couch and got up to face her. Standing, Mark was a good foot taller than she was but to Lola, Annie was the Rock of Gibraltar. For what seemed like an eternity, Mark did not take the hand Annie continued to keep firmly outstretched toward him. When he finally shook, it felt to Lola as though Annie had scored a touchdown. She had made Mark do something he did not want to do! But Lola's elation did not last. Instead of looking at her and speaking to her, Mark looked at Lola and said, "Where are the kids?"

"You haven't introduced yourself," Annie said aggressively as she stood in front of him, hands on her hips.

"Annie, this is my husband, Mark..."

Annie looked at Lola with an expression that said, "Duh!"

"Lola, I need to see Lia and Simon," Mark said. He was beginning to look agitated.

"You're out of luck," Annie said. "The children are out of town." Lola knew it was a bluff, but she felt a nonsensical sense of relief. "As I said," Annie added, "this is my house. As far as I know, there is no reason why you shouldn't be welcome. But things can change very quickly."

"Lola," Mark said between his teeth, "I need to talk to you in private."

Annie turned to Lola, who was petrified. "Lola, do you wish to speak to this man privately?"

"Not really," Lola said, and she meant it.

"All right," Annie continued. "In that case, I will be present during your conversation, as a mediator."

"You're dreaming," Mark chuckled.

Annie walked toward Mark. Was it Lola's imagination or did Mark back off ever so slightly. "Then you can leave," she said. "Should I be calling the police?"

Mark let out a big friendly laugh, and put both of his hands up in surrender. "All right, ladies. Let's be friends here."

Lola's face lit up with relief. Annie's expression was unflinching, and she was certainly not laughing. "Are you saying that you're agreeing to me serving as mediator?"

Mark was still smiling widely, "All right, all right...whatever. Lola, where did you find your friend here? You gals crack me up." Lola detected tension in his jaw, but he could have fooled anyone else. Thankfully, Annie didn't appear the least bit fooled either. She had heard enough accounts to know what Mark was capable of. Lola caught herself wanting Mark to go crazy and demonstrate one of his trademark temper tantrums so she could be vindicated. Annie would see how terrifying Mark was, and it would excuse her lies, all of them.

But for the moment, Annie didn't seem terrified at all. She guided Mark to the kitchen and had him and Lola sit on opposite sides of the kitchen table. Mark was even more of an incongruous apparition in Annie's kitchen, which had so recently overflowed with kids, cereal boxes, and cups of hot cocoa. Mark had to love the kitchen, she thought. Everyone loved Annie's kitchen. It was so French, so quaint. But moving from the living room to the kitchen did not change the fact that time was ticking. The kitchen clock was just as mercilessly accurate as the living room clock. She breathed with increasing difficulty. She stopped looking at the clock, which she decided was going to give things away, and, resting all hope on Annie, she waited for someone's next move. While she and Mark fell silent, Annie flattened her crazed hair with the palm of her hand, brushed some crumbs leftover from breakfast off the table with dignity, and turned on the coffeemaker. She opened the kitchen gla.s.s door wide. The chirps of birds and summer heat found their way into the kitchen. In the distance, someone was playing the piano, a lighthearted piece that sounded like something by Vivaldi.

"Let me grab something to write with," Annie said. She walked out of the kitchen while Mark and Lola sat in silence. Lola scrutinized her hands and considered how docile Mark was at the moment as he looked around the kitchen and rocked on the back legs of his chair. A minute later, Annie was back and she was holding a pad and a pen. She sat down on the chair across from Mark, and sat at Lola's side. Annie was in her element, in her kitchen, in her house. The sun and the smell of coffee flooded the kitchen like a promise of better days.

"Let's get started, shall we?" Annie said. "Oh, and Mark, please, could you stop doing that to the chair. It's an antique, and you might end up on your a.s.s."

Mark stopped. Lola looked in despair at the clock. It was three forty-five. The children! She glanced in panic at Annie who discretely mouthed, "Lu-cas."

A violent ray of sunshine darted through an opening in the curtains of Althea's hospital room. That light attacked her in her sleep, and she awakened with difficulty. She lifted an arm, wiggled her toes, and was surprised when they responded. She dropped her arm, exhausted by the effort. Her head hurt terribly, her brain felt too large for her skull, and it was nearly impossible to open her eyes. The scary nurse who had made Annie cry barged into the room, her voice boomed.

"I see Sleeping Beauty's up!"

Althea felt compelled to apologize. "I'm ready to go now. I'm sorry."

"Sorry?"

"I'm fine really. I just need to pee."

The nurse moved about the room. "You don't need to pee. You're connected to a catheter. It's just uncomfortable."

Althea, horrified, imagined what that meant.

"Anyway," the nurse added without looking at her, "no one's going anywhere."

"You don't understand."

The nurse shrugged and looked at her with cold eyes. "If someone doesn't understand, it's you." And she left.

The throbbing pain in her head erased all thoughts for a while, but Althea didn't have the strength or courage to face the nurse and ask for a pain reliever.

Soon, the doctor, a tall black man in a white lab coat, walked in. In his footsteps walked an elegantly dressed round woman in her sixties. The woman was as short as the doctor was tall, as pale as he was dark. She wore an expensively cut gray suit that didn't belong in a hospital room. Both the doctor and the lady had matching expressions of unhurried kindness. The doctor took her pulse and spoke with a hint of an African accent. "How are you feeling?"

"I have a very bad headache," Althea whimpered, and saying those words she nearly burst into tears. The doctor called the nurse on the intercom and asked her to add something to Althea's IV. The nurse entered, syringe in hand, and her face lit up when she saw the older woman. The two spoke in French about grandchildren while the doctor continued to examine Althea, pausing every so often to take notes. Althea's head throbbed. The nurse emptied the content of the syringe into the IV bag and left the room. The doctor scribbled in a file and the round little woman dragged a chair next to Althea. "h.e.l.lo, my child. My name is Madame Defloret." She added the obvious, "I speak English."

"Good," Althea whispered. She was glad it was her turn to get this stranger's attention. The nasty nurse had seemed delighted to speak to her.

The lady took Althea's hand. "I'll tell you what is going on, and what we suggest you do about it, and you decide if you agree to it." Madame Defloret's voice seemed to turn liquid. Althea felt a release of every muscle in her body. "I'm ready to go. I'm feeling just fine. I'm so sorry I..."

"You've been diagnosed with an acute case of Anorexia Nervosa. Are you familiar at all with what this illness signifies?"

Althea felt the distant alarm in her brain. She was in dangerous territory, but her headache was melting away, and she could only notice the wellbeing. She did not answer.

"It is a very real illness that requires treatment," Madame Defloret continued without letting go of Althea's hand. "For too many it is a deadly illness. Only it is considered by many as a mental illness. Have you been diagnosed or treated in the past? Are you receiving treatment now?"

Althea turned her face away. Mental illness? What the woman said did not matter, but the kindness of her tone made Althea's throat tighten.

"Have you, my child?" Madame Defloret insisted. "Have you been diagnosed or treated, ever? In America maybe?"

"No...no, never. I'm all right, really. I think I can go home."

"As far as this hospital is concerned, it would be a.s.suming too much of a risk to let you go until you are better."

"I feel better," Althea answered, and she did feel wonderfully relaxed at the moment.

Madame Defloret looked straight at her. "You need to listen to this, Althea. This is a serious matter. You might not be able to a.s.sess things accurately. Your body is completely run down by this, and most likely there was a grave toll on your emotional welfare as well. In my experience, even with the best of intentions and family support, you won't be able to overcome this on your own."

Althea blinked, her eyes wanted to close. "On my own," she echoed.

"I work for the eating disorder department at Sainte-Anne Hospital. We have a wonderful service that deals specifically with your kind of problem. We don't always have s.p.a.ces available, but I have a spot for you."

Althea looked incredulously at Madame Defloret. She couldn't think of anything to say.

"Do you have any questions, dear?"

Althea's words and thoughts struggled to come out "How...do you know...for sure I have a mental...anorexia?"

"Honey, you weigh ninety pounds and measure five-foot-seven. The ratio alone is a real indication of malnutrition. When was the last time you had your period?"

"I don't remember."

"I'm here to help. Do you want to be helped?"

Tears swelled up in Althea from way down in her throat. "I don't think you can help me."

"Oh," Madame Defloret said with a smile, "I've helped young women such as yourself time and time again, even some whose lives were only hanging by a thread. I absolutely can help you. But you have to want to be helped. It will be hard work, but, dear, there is a light at the end of the tunnel."

Althea could no longer think or speak. She only found the strength to say, "Please, yes."

"Here is the paper you need to sign." She placed a pen in Althea's hand and Althea watched her hand sign on the line. In the far distance, she heard a voice. "She's in. Let's have her transported to Saint-Anne right away. Lucky girl." And a moment later, Althea surrendered to sleep.

Leaning against the school gate, Lucas rubbed his chin, surprised to find it rough with beard. He had not showered, brushed his teeth or shaved since the morning before and was still wearing the same clothes. Why, he practically looked like a transient. Now that Jared's life was no longer in danger, Lucas had returned to worrying about Annie, or Annie as she pertained to him. The last playful words exchanged as she was running out of the hospital and back home to a.s.sist Lola had only rea.s.sured him briefly. He replayed the evening and the night in his mind, going from smiling to himself to feeling despondent. And now, why was he at the children's school taking part in the charade between Lola and her husband? Maybe he should be at the house instead to make sure things were safe. Even if Lola's husband wasn't violent, Annie was just as likely to escalate a confrontation.

The children came out, cutely dressed in school clothes and wearing backpacks. But the warm welcome he had expected did not happen. The children weren't delighted to find him standing outside the school gate. Maxence looked at him accusatorily. "Why are you here?"

"Your mothers," Lucas started and then cleared his throat, "are visiting Jared and Althea at the hospital."

Maxence looked dubious. "I thought it was just Jared."

"What's wrong with them?" Paul said.

"It's a complicated question and--"

"Did he shoot her?" said Laurent.

The children asked and asked, he noticed, but seldom waited for an answer. "Nothing of such a dramatic nature, I'm afraid."

"Are they dead, though?" Paul wanted to know.

Laurent pushed him. "If they were dead, they'd be at the cemetery, not the hospital you t.u.r.d-head."

"Are they bleeding at least?" Paul asked.

Lia trailed behind. "Where are we going?"

"We're picking up your baby brother and then to the..."

"When's Mom coming back?"

"...park," Lucas continued, wondering about his blood pressure.

Maxence raised an eyebrow, "Oh yeah? Why not the house?"

Lucas had figured out a long time ago that the boy was exceptionally sharp. "That would be because..."

Paul interrupted. "Which park?"

Laurent made an awful face and held his throat. "I'm thirsty."

Lucas strained to continue, "...they forgot to give me the key."

"Whatever happened to your own key?" Maxence said.

"I...misplaced it."

"Well, that sure is bad luck!" Maxence exclaimed, not buying it for an instant. Before he asked another one of those disagreeably inquisitive questions, Lucas took Maxence aside. This was the best thing to do, the only thing to do.

"Lia's father has come, quite unexpectedly I'm afraid, and there needs to be some grown-up discussion before..."

Maxence nodded knowingly. "We're in hiding then?"

"Well... we... but... In a way..."

Maxence patted Lucas on the arm. "Don't worry, man. I'll cover for you."

The group walked gingerly to Simon's daycare and Lucas decided that his fear had been just plain silly. At the daycare, Simon was busy at work with Legos and did not want to leave. Finally he got up from the rug and followed them. But as soon as they were outside, Simon stalled.

"What is it now, small one?" Lucas asked him.

Lia shrugged. "He hates to walk."

"You could just carry him," Laurent instructed. Lucas lifted Simon up onto his shoulders. The child was light but strangled him with his powerful little arms.

There were too many of them, so a taxi was out of the question. Strong from his morning experience, Lucas decided he would take the children on the metro. He was a bit miffed when the kids casually took pa.s.ses from their pockets and entered the station as easily as he would have entered Fauchon. Lucas studied the map and came up with an itinerary. They would have to change trains three times, but to get to b.u.t.tes Chaumont would present the advantage of being near the park and steps away from his apartment. They rode the metro from La Muette to b.u.t.tes Chaumont. At each metro change, Lucas lifted Simon onto his shoulders and huffed and puffed to the next train, the children complaining of thirst, heat and hunger the entire time.

When they finally got out of the metro, Laurent said, "How come we didn't take the metro at Pa.s.sy? We would have had to change only once." Lucas planted his gaze on the child and wondered if he should put his own understanding of the world into question. As they climbed up the steps out of the subway and toward the street, he nudged Simon. "Come on, little one. You can walk. I've seen you do it plenty of times."

"Mamma," Simon began wailing.

"How does your mother do this?" he asked Lia. "This gigantic baby must weigh over fifteen kilos!"

"Mom?" Lia said. "She doesn't carry him like that."

"She takes the stroller," Paul added.

"What stroller?" Lucas heard himself wail. "Where is it?"

"At the daycare," Laurent answered.

Lucas wailed, "Should you not have told me about the stroller?"

Lia just shrugged as if to say, "What is the problem with you?"

At the park, Lucas was desperate to rest on a bench, but the children saw the ice cream vendor. From there on, things worsened. Lucas purchased five ice creams, but by the time the last child was served, the other four were a mess. The ice cream melted faster than they could eat it, and already their clothes and faces were smeared in horrible ways. Lucas made a silent prayer that Annie would call him and that he would not have to bring them up to his apartment. The playground was shaded and Lucas moaned with relief when he finally sat on the bench.