Chapter 64
Clarice died during the emergency C-section to deliver her son. It was a visibly shaken Mark Andrews who stood before Michel to tell him.
“I-I’m sorry, Michel. There was nothing we could do. Besides the skull fracture, she had internal injuries, massive hemorrhaging. She went into shock…”
Michel didn’t answer. He simply sat there, elbows resting against his knees, shoulders hunched forward, staring at the floor. He didn’t act as if he heard what Mark said.
“Her neck was broken,” Mark went on. “Breathing impaired…”
He looked around as if searching for someone to listen, as if he were making excuses for not saving his patient.
“She’d have been paralyzed…”
“And the baby?”
Mark spun around. It was Luc who asked.
He hadn’t even seen Luc, sitting across the room from his brother.
“A son…four pounds. He’s in an isolette. There may be problems. Lungs aren’t completely developed…” He looked back at Michel. “At least you’ve got the baby…that should be some consolation…”
Again, he waited for Michel to answer, cry, react somehow.
Nothing.
Finally, he offered that lame phrase, “If there's anything I can do…” before walking out.
“Mark?”
He stopped and looked back. Michel raised his head. His eyes were totally dry. He looked more like an angry man than a bereaved one.
“There is something you can do.”
“Anything, Michel. What is it?”
“You know my blood type and Luc’s. Get our DNA, whatever else you need. I want a paternity test done.”
“A-a paternity…” Mark stared at him, then at Luc. “Is this a joke?”
“I want to know who fathered Clarice’s baby. Can you do that?”
“My God, you’re serious.”
Michel didn't answer. He went back to his determined contemplation of the floor.
“Luc?” Catching Luc’s arm, Mark dragged him into the hall. He pulled off his surgical cap, twisting it in exasperation. “What the Hell’s going on? Michel’s accusing you of—”
“It may be true.” Luc didn’t give him a chance to finish.
“Damn it!” Mark shook his head and ran back inside, stopping in front of Michel. “You and Luc are brothers. You have the same blood type. You’ll have similar DNA. The tests may not be conclusive.”
“So I’ll never know for sure?” Michel looked as if he didn’t care.
“There’ll be individual differences, maybe enough to determine what you want to know, but I’d suggest waiting until the baby’s older. He’s too frail right now to even be picked up.”
“All right,” Luc agreed. “Later. We have to know.”
Nodding, Mark wavered a moment as if wanting to say something more. At last, with a noncommittal shrug, he left the waiting room.
Luc cleared his throat. “Michel. I’m sorry.”
Sorry was such a damned, weak excuse for a word. It didn’t convey a third of the way he felt.
“A little late, isn’t it?”
“I wish there was something I could say or do.”
“How about getting out of my life for starters?”
“Is there anything…anything else I can do?”
“Not unless you can bring Clarice back.”
Michel looked up at him, hands clenched so tightly his fingers were white.
“Can you do that, Luc? B-because…” His voice broke. “Because I loved her. In spite of everything. And if she’d lived, I wouldn’t have divorced her. I’d have given the baby my name and…”
He shook his head, closing his eyes.
“Damn it, I loved her, Luc. Why did she…”
Luc didn’t answer. All he could think was that even dead, Clarice was still at work, destroying the fragile peace he and Michel allowed to raise its head earlier that morning. The hatred surging through him made him feel even guiltier.
“Are you going to see the baby?” he dared ask.
“No.” Michel turned away. “You look at him.”