“As soon as I know anything. I promise. And darling…” He sat down and held her close. “Thank you. I-I couldn’t have made the trip without you. This has been the most difficult night of my life.”

“She’ll be all right, Marc-Edouard. I promise you.” He held her very tightly. When he pulled away, he wiped his eyes and cleared his throat.

“J’espère.” I hope.

“Oui, oui. Je le sais.”

But how could she know it? How did she know? And what if she were wrong?

“I’ll be back later for my bag.”

“You’ll wake me if I’m asleep?” It was a kittenish smile that lurked in her eyes, and he laughed.

“On verra.” But he had already left her, his mind was somewhere else. They had only gotten in from the airport ten minutes before, but already he felt as though he had lingered too long. He slipped into his raincoat.

“Marc-Edouard!” He stopped and turned at the sound of her voice. He was already at the door.

“N’oublie pas que je t’aime.…” Don’t forget that I love you.

“Moi aussi!” The door closed soundlessly on his words.

He drove Chantal’s tiny Renault to the hospital and parked down the street. He should have taken a taxi, but he didn’t want to waste another moment. He wanted to be there. At her side. Seeing what had happened. Trying to understand. Coming back on the flight he had run it over and over and over in his mind. The why and the how and the when, none of it making any sense. There were moments when it seemed as though nothing had happened, as though they were just going back to Paris as always after his business meetings in Greece… and then suddenly it would all come crystal clear again and he would remember Pilar. He would never have been able to keep himself together on the flight back had it not been for Chantal.

The lobby was quiet. Dominique had already given him Pilar’s room number when they spoke on the phone, and he himself had succeeded in getting through to Dr. Kirschmann before he left Athens. It had been too soon to know anything. The damage to her skull was considerable, to her legs perhaps permanent; her spleen had been ruptured, one kidney bruised. She was, all in all, a very sick girl.

Marc felt his chest go tight as he entered the elevator and pressed four. His mind was a blank as the elevator ascended. Then, with a whir, the doors opened and he stepped out. He felt lost for a moment, powerless and afraid, as he glanced around him, wondering where to find his child. He saw the head nurse at the desk and somberly approached her.

“Pilar Duras?” The nurse began to give him directions to the room. He held up a hand. “D’abord, how is she?”

“Critical, monsieur.” The nurse’s eyes were grave.

“But any better than she has been?” In answer: only a shake of the head. “And Dr. Kirschmann? He’s here?”

“He was and he has left again. He’ll be back in a while. He’s keeping a very close watch on the situation. She is completely monitored… We’re doing all that we can.”

This time Marc only nodded. He cleared his throat and dabbed at his eyes with his handkerchief as he marched purposefully down the hall. He had to pull himself together, show Pilar that everything would be all right, he would make her better, he would give her his strength. Chantal was forgotten, all that he had in his mind was his little girl.

The door was ajar, and he glanced inside. The room seemed to be filled with machines. There were two nurses, one in a sterile, green operating-room suit and the other in white. Their eyes searched his face. Soundlessly, he stepped inside.

“I am her father.” The whispered words had a ring of authority, and they both nodded as his eyes swept the room. He instantly found her, dwarfed by the bed and the tubes and the monitors that jumped with precision at her every breath. For a moment he felt a chill seize him as he looked at her face. She was a very pale gray and she looked like no one he knew, until he stepped closer and recognized the distorted features of his child. The tubes and the pain and the bandages had almost totally changed her, but it was his Pilar. He watched her for a long moment as she lay there with her eyes closed, and on silent feet he came nearer and ever so delicately reached out and touched her hand. The hand stirred only slightly. She opened her eyes. But there was no smile, and only the faintest look of recognition.

“Pilar, ma chérie, c’est Papa.” He had to fight back tears. He said nothing more, he only stood there, staring at her, holding her hand, and watching until once again she closed the brilliant blue eyes. He felt as though all the air in the room had been sucked away, it was so difficult to think and see and breathe. How could this happen? How? And to his child? He felt his knees tremble, and for a moment he thought he would be sick, but he went on standing, watching, and touching the pale little hand. Even her nails were a strange mottled color, she was barely getting enough air. But he stood there, and he stood there, never moving, never speaking, only watching his child.

Silently, from her seat in the corner, Deanna watched him. She had said nothing when he entered the room, and he hadn’t seen her, concealed as she was by the mammoth machines.

It was almost twenty minutes later when at last he found the familiar face and those eyes… watching him with a look of despair. He looked surprised when he saw her, as though he didn’t understand. Why had she said nothing? Why did she just sit there? When had she come? Or was it simply that she was in shock? She looked ravaged, almost as pale as Pilar.

“Deanna…” It was the merest whisper.

Her eyes never left his face. “Hello, Marc.”

He nodded and let his gaze drift back to Pilar. “When did you get here?”

“At five o’clock.”

“You’ve been here all night?”

“Yes.”

“Any change?”

There was silence. Marc looked at her again, the question repeated in his eyes.

“She seems to be a little worse. I went out for a little while, earlier… I had to… I went to your mother’s house to drop off my bag. I was only gone for about two hours, and… and when I came back, she seemed to be having a great deal of trouble breathing. Kirschmann was here then. He said that if she’s not better in a few hours, they’ll want to operate again.” She sighed and lowered her eyes. It was as though she had lost them both in those two hours. Pilar and Marc.

“I just got in.”

Liar. You didn’t. You got in two hours ago. Where did you go? But Deanna said nothing at all.

They stayed that way for almost an hour, until finally the nurse asked them to step outside, just for a few minutes; there were some dressings that had to be changed. Slowly Deanna stood up and left the room. Marc had hung back for a moment, reluctant to leave his child. Deanna’s mind wandered back to the scene at the airport. It was suddenly all so strange. She hadn’t seen him in two months, yet they had barely said hello. She couldn’t play the game of the happy reunion. Suddenly it was too late. But he wasn’t playing it either, or perhaps he was just too distraught over Pilar.

She wandered down the hall, solemnly, her head bowed, thinking of bits of prayers she had known as a child. She had no time now to waste on Marc; all her energies had to be spent on Pilar. She heard his steps just behind her, but she didn’t turn; she merely kept walking, foot after foot after foot, down the hall until she reached the end, and stood staring blankly out a window with only a view of a nearby wall. She could see him standing behind her as she gazed at the reflection in the glass.

“Deanna, can I help?” He sounded tired, subdued. She shook her head slowly. “I don’t know what to say.” His voice caught as he began to cry. “I was wrong to give her the… to…”

“It doesn’t matter now. You did it. It’s done. It could have happened in any of ten thousand ways. She had an accident, Marc. What difference does it make now whose fault the accident was, who gave her the motorcycle, who…” Deanna’s own voice was shaky.

“Mon Dieu.…” She watched him drop his face into his hands and then she saw him straighten and heard him take a deep breath. “My God, if only she’ll come out of it all right. What if she can’t walk?”

“Then we’ll teach her to live the best way she can. That’s what we owe her now. Our love, our help, our support, in whatever she has to face…” If only we get that chance. For the first time in almost twenty years, Deanna felt a hideous wave of terror… What if?

Deanna felt his hands on her shoulders, then he turned her slowly around. His eyes were the eyes of Pilar, and his face was that of a very old, tired man.

“Will you ever forgive me?”

“For what?” Her voice was distant and cold.

“For this. For what I’ve done to our child. For not listening to you when I should have. For-”

“I came to pick you up at the airport tonight, Marc.”

Something in her eyes told him that she had died, and he felt something inside him freeze. “You must have just missed me.” But there was a question in his voice. He searched her face.

“No. I left. I… it explained a great deal to me, Marc. I should have known. A long time ago. But I didn’t.” She smiled a tiny smile, then shrugged. “I suppose I’ve been a fool. And may I congratulate you. She looks not only pretty, but young.” There was bitterness as well as sorrow in her voice.

“Deanna,” the hands on her shoulders tightened, “you’re coming to some very strange conclusions. I don’t think you understand.” But it all sounded lame. He was too tired and upset to come up with a worthwhile story. He felt his life coming down around his ears. “It was a nerve-racking flight, and this has been an incredible day, you know that yourself. The young lady and I began to talk and really-”