“Marc, stop. I don’t want to hear it.” She simply knew. That was all. And she didn’t want reassurances in the form of lies. “Please. Not tonight.”

“Deanna…” But he couldn’t go on. Another time he might have been able to, but not then. He simply couldn’t concoct an appropriate tale. “Please.” He turned away then; he couldn’t look at the pain in her eyes. “It really isn’t what you think.” But he hated himself for the words. It was what she thought, every bit of it. And now he felt traitorous, denying Chantal. Whichever way he turned, he was damned now. “It isn’t.”

“It is, Marc. It was as clear as day. Nothing you could tell me now would change that. Nothing would take away what I saw, what I felt, what I knew.” It had been like an arrow, straight to her heart. “You must have thought me very stupid for all these years.”

“What makes you think it has been years?” Dammit, how did she know?

“The way you moved together, the way you walked, the way she looked at you. It’s difficult to achieve that kind of ease in a very short time. You looked more married with her than you ever did with me.” But suddenly she wondered. Hadn’t she looked just as married with Ben? And in a very short time. Still, as she had ridden back from the airport that evening, she had known-the absences, the distance, the constant trips, the phone number in Paris that appeared too often on their bill, the few odd stories that had never quite fit. And tonight, the look in his eyes. If it hadn’t been that girl, it had been someone. For years. She was sure.

“What do you want me to say?” He faced her again.

“Nothing. There is nothing left to say.”

“Are you telling me it’s over? That you’d leave me because you saw me at the airport with a girl? But that’s insane. Deanna, you’re mad.”

“Am I? Are we so happy together? Do you enjoy my company, Marc? Do you long to come home when you’re away? Or is it that we have a deep and meaningful relationship, that we respect each other’s needs and virtues and feelings? Maybe it’s that we’re so blissfully happy with each other, after all these years-”

“Maybe it’s that I still love you.” As he said it, his eyes filled with tears, and she turned her head.

“It doesn’t matter if you do.” It was too late now. They had each gone their separate ways.

“What are you saying, Deanna?” He was suddenly gray.

“I’m not entirely sure. First let’s get through this with Pilar. After that we can talk about us.”

“We’ll make it. I know we will.” He looked at her with determination, and she felt fatigue wash over her like a wave of cement.

“What makes you think so? Why should we make it?”

“Because I want to.” But he didn’t sound totally sure.

“Really? Why? Because you like having a wife as well as a mistress? I can hardly blame you. That must be a very cozy arrangement. Where does she live, Marc? Over here? That must work out perfectly.” And that was why he hadn’t wanted her to join him on the trip to Greece.

“Deanna, stop it!” He reached out and grabbed her arm, but she pulled away.

“Leave me alone.” For the first time in her life, she hated him, what he was, what he did to her, and all that he didn’t understand, and for one painful, blinding moment she found herself longing for Ben. But was Marc really so bad? Was she any different, any better? Her mind was in a whirl. “I don’t want to discuss this with you tonight. We have enough on our minds. We can discuss it when Pilar is out of the woods.”

He nodded, relieved. He needed time. He had to think. He’d find the right words to say. He would set things right.

Almost at that instant the nurse beckoned to them both from down the hall, and their own problems were forgotten as they hurried toward her.

“Is there any change?” Marc was the first to ask.

“No. But she’s awake. And she’s asking for both of you. Why don’t you talk to her a little, but be careful not to wear her out. She needs the little strength that she has.”

Deanna noticed a subtle change in Pilar as they entered the room. Her color was no better, but her eyes seemed more alive. They seemed to wander nervously from one face to another, looking for someone, searching, darting here and there.

“Hello, sweetheart. We’re right here. Papa’s here now too.” Deanna stood very close to her and ever so gently stroked her hand. When she closed her eyes, she could imagine that Pilar was still a very small child.

“That… feels… nice…” Pilar’s gaze drifted to her father and she tried to smile, but her breathing was labored and she closed her eyes from time to time. “Hi, Papa… How… was… Greece?” She seemed much more aware of current events than she had been earlier, and suddenly she also seemed more restless. “I’m… thirsty…”

Deanna glanced at the nurse, who shook her head and made a sign with her finger: “No.”

“Water?”

“In a little while, sweetheart.” Deanna went on talking in a soothing voice while Marc stood near her, agonized. He seemed to have lost his power to speak, and Deanna could see from his full eyes and trembling lip that he was waging a constant battle with tears.

“Ça va?” At last he had spoken, and again Pilar tried to smile.

She nodded gently. “Ça va.” But how could anything be O.K. in the condition that she was in? Then, as though she understood what she was going through, she looked pointedly at him and fought to find the words. “I… was going… much too fast… My fault, Papa… not yours…” She closed her eyes and squeezed Deanna’s hand. “I’m sorry.”

The tears now ran freely down Marc’s face. Quietly he turned away. Pilar’s eyes remained closed.

“Don’t worry, darling. It doesn’t matter whose fault. But your mother was right.” He glanced at Deanna.

“Mommy…?” Her voice seemed to be growing weaker.

“Shh. Don’t talk…”

“Remember the little playhouse I used to have… in the garden? I keep dreaming… of that… and my little dog. Augustin.”

He had been a funny little terrier, Deanna remembered, who had been replaced by a pug, and then a cat, and then a bird, until finally there were no more pets. Marc-Edouard did not like animals in his house.

“Where… did you send… Augustin?” They had given him to a family in the country.

“He went to the country. I think he was very happy.” Deanna pattered on, but now her eyes sought Marc’s. What did this mean? Was she better or worse? She was reminded suddenly of the tiny baby boy who had moved so much in her arms in the few hours before he died. Philippe-Edouard. Was this the same, or was this a sign that she was improving? Neither of them knew.

“Mommy?… could I have… Augustin back?… You ask Papa…” It was the voice of the child now. Deanna closed her eyes and took a quick breath.

“I’ll talk to Papa.”

Marc’s eyes were suddenly filled with fear. He looked at Pilar, and then Deanna. “We’ll get you a dog, chérie.… You’ll see. A wonderful little dog with floppy ears and a very waggly tail.” He was looking for anything he could find in his head, just to find the words to put in his mouth.

“But I want… Augustin.” The voice was plaintive now, and the nurse signaled them away. Pilar had drifted off again and she didn’t notice them leaving the room.

This time they paced up and down the hall, at first saying nothing. Without thinking, Deanna reached for Marc’s hand. “When the hell is Kirschmann coming back?”

“They said soon. Do you think she’s worse?”

Deanna nodded. “She seems nervous, fidgety, anxious.”

“But she’s talking. That might be a hopeful sign.”

“Maybe it is,” Deanna said. But there was terror in both their hearts. As they paced the hall, his arm slipped around her shoulders, and she didn’t fight him away. Suddenly she needed him there, as he needed her. He was the only person who understood, who could share what she felt, who knew.

“Marc?” He looked at her with anguished eyes, but she only shook her head. Tears poured down her face, and silently he took her into his arms. He had nothing to say, no words of comfort, only his tears to add to hers.

They walked the long hall again, end to end, seven or eight more times, and finally sat down on two straight-backed chairs. Deanna’s eyes were glazed with fatigue. She stared at the hem of her much-creased cream skirt.

“Do you remember when she was five and we got her that dog?” She smiled to herself as she remembered. They had hidden the little puppy in a boot and left him in Pilar’s closet, ordering her to immediately open the door and pick up her clothes. And there he had been, peeking out of the boot. Pilar had squealed with delight.

Marc smiled to himself too, with the memory. “I will always remember her face.”

“So will I.” Deanna looked up at him, smiling through her tears and reached for his handkerchief to blow her nose. It was strange. Only an hour before they’d been fighting and she’d been hinting at divorce. But it didn’t matter now. Their marriage was no longer what mattered, only their child. Whatever pain had passed between them, they still shared Pilar. At that precise moment Marc was the only person who had any idea what she felt and she was the only living soul who shared his terror with him. It was as if they held each other very tightly and didn’t let go, and kept moving, and kept talking and hoping and praying… then Pilar would still be there, she couldn’t die. Deanna looked up at Marc again, and he patted her hand.

“Try to relax.”

She sighed again and put a hand over her eyes, but before she could speak, the nurse was at their side.

“Doctor Kirschmann would like to see you. He’s in with her now.”

They leaped to their feet and almost ran to the room, where he stood at the foot of the bed, alternately watching the girl and the machines. It seemed hours before they walked out to the hall.