“It is.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I thought you knew.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be somewhere?”

“Not until later. We’ll get you settled first. You can have a nap. And then we’ll get dressed and have a turkey dinner.”

“You’re nuts. You act as though you’ve been planning for weeks to have me stay.” The two women exchanged a smile as they stowed the last painting in the back of the car. “I’m going to stay at a hotel, you know.” She said it firmly as she looked at the paintings and packages in the car.

“No, you’re not.” Kim was equally firm. “You’re staying with me. Until you’re ready to move out.”

“We’ll discuss it later. I want to go back inside for a minute and check.”

“Is there any chance Marc might come back? It is a holiday after all.”

But Deanna shook her head. “Not for him. He works on Thanksgiving.” And then she smiled a half-smile and shook her head. “It isn’t French.” Kim nodded and got into the car as Deanna disappeared back into the house. Margaret was in the kitchen, and for a moment Deanna was alone. For the last time in what had been her house-except that it had never been. It had always been his. Maybe the little French girl in the fur coat would like it, maybe it would all mean something to her.

Deanna stood in the hall, looking through the living room, glancing at the portraits of Marc-Edouard’s ancestors. It was amazing, after eighteen years she was leaving with almost as little as she’d brought when she had come. Some boxes, some canvases, her clothes. The clothes were more expensive now. The jewelry would keep her alive. The paintings were better, the art supplies finer. But it all still fit in one car. Eighteen years in as many boxes and bags. She sat down at her desk then and pulled a piece of paper out of a drawer. It was Wedgwood blue, trimmed in white, and the letterhead said MME. MARC-EDOUARD DURAS. She pulled out her pen, thought for a moment, and then wrote only a few words:

I loved you, darling.

Good-bye.

She folded the sheet of paper, wiped a tear from her face with the back of one hand, and left the note stuck in the mirror in the hall. When she turned away, she saw Margaret watching her, the tears streaming from her eyes. Deanna said nothing, only went to her, held her tightly for a moment. Then, with tears streaming from her own eyes, she nodded and walked to the door. She said only one word as she left, and she said it so softly that Margaret could barely hear. She said it gently as she closed the door and smiled. “Adieu.”

33

“Why won’t you come?” Kim looked disappointed. “It’s Thanksgiving, and I won’t leave you alone.”

“Yes, you will. I’m an uninvited guest, and an exhausted one at that. I can’t, love. Honest. I’m just too goddamn tired. Leave me here, and I may even revive by tomorrow.” But Kim wasn’t sure of that either. The last twenty-four hours had taken their toll. Deanna looked exhausted and bleak. Kim had even gone so far as to call Dr. Jones from the kitchen phone, where Deanna wouldn’t hear. She explained to him what had happened. His advice had been to just let Deanna be. Let her go at her own pace and do what she wanted. He felt sure that she’d be all right. On the strength of that Kim decided not to push.

“All right. But you’re sure you won’t be lonely.”

“No, more likely I’ll be asleep.” She smiled tiredly at her friend and suppressed a yawn. “I don’t think I’ll miss Thanksgiving at all this year.” The two women exchanged a smile, and Deanna was asleep before Kim left. Kim tiptoed out the door and quietly locked it.

The key turned in the lock around eleven that night, and for a moment he held his breath. It had been insane not to call, but he hadn’t known what to say. What could he tell her? How could he take back what he’d said? He had wanted to buy her something pretty, something to buy her back, but all the stores had been closed. Thanksgiving. A day of thanks. He had spent half the day working at his desk, and the other half quietly with Chantal. She had known that something was wrong, but she was not quite sure what. He had clung to her in their lovemaking in a very odd way.

He opened the door and looked up. There was no light and no sound. She was obviously asleep. Her car had been in the garage. He didn’t even see Margaret’s light shining under her door down the hall. The entire house was still, and he put on only a small light as he hung up his coat. And then he saw the note paper, stuck into the frame of the mirror near the door. Was she out? Had she gone somewhere with a friend? He reached for the paper and held it, a sudden, odd feeling clutching at his heart. He stood there for a moment, as though waiting to hear her voice or her foot on the stairs. He looked up again and heard only silence, and then slowly he opened the folds of the paper at last. His eyes swam and his head pounded as he read it. “I loved you, darling. Good-bye.”. Why “loved?” Why in the past tense? But he knew. He had told her the one thing that she could never know. That the baby was not his. She knew now that he had lied to her about the baby, and about Chantal… She knew about his other life. She had seen him with Chantal in Paris and again the other night. With feet like lead he tried to race up the stairs. He would find Deanna there. She would be asleep in their bed. All day he had ignored what had happened between them, hoping it would go away. Calling her would make it real. He couldn’t. He didn’t want to do that. Now all he had to do was run to the bed and he’d find her there, asleep.

But when he reached their room, he found it as he dreaded he would-empty. She was gone. Deanna was gone.

Marc-Edouard stood deathly still for a long moment, not knowing what to do. Then fighting back tears, he reached for the phone. He needed her. Desperately. She had to be there for him now. He knew she would be. He dialed, but when Chantal answered, she sounded strange.

“Chantal… I-I have to see you… I’ll be right there.”

“Is something wrong?” She sounded distracted and in a hurry.

“Yes… no… Just be there. I’m on my way over.” She had wanted to tell him to hurry, but she hadn’t known quite what to say, and she was still feeling awkward and looking a little bit confused when he arrived only moments later. But he saw nothing. He only took her quickly in his arms the moment she opened the door.

“Darling, what is it? You look ill.”

“I am… I don’t know… She’s gone.”

Poor man. Pilar again. Was he still so excessively haunted by that? But what had happened to trigger it so suddenly? “I know, my darling, but you have me.” She held him close as they sat together on the couch.

“But the baby…” And then he realized that he shouldn’t have blurted it out.

“What baby?” Had he gone mad? She looked frightened as she pulled away from him.

“Nothing… I’m upset… It’s Deanna. She’s gone.”

“For good? She left you?” He nodded numbly, and Chantal grinned.

“I’d say that’s cause for celebration, not despair.” Without thinking further, she rose from the couch and went out to the kitchen to find one of the bottles of champagne Marc had left with her only a few days before. She returned with the bottle and two glasses, and then stopped as she saw the agony on Marc’s face. “Are you that unhappy then?”

“I don’t know. I’m stunned. I said some things… I shouldn’t have… I-I overplayed my hand.”

Chantal stared at him with chilly eyes. “I didn’t realize you were that anxious to keep her. Now what? You fight to get her back?” As he watched her, he slowly shook his head. He couldn’t get Deanna back and he knew it. While trying to tie her to him forever, he had told her the one thing that had severed her from him. The baby wasn’t his. “By the way”-Chantal paused only for a moment-“what was that business you just mentioned about a baby?” He said nothing, he only stared at something she could not see. The death of hope. “Was she pregnant, Marc?” Her words were like a vise at his throat, and silently he nodded.

“Did she know it wasn’t yours?”

“Not until last night.”

“I see. And that was why you stayed with her until now-for a child that wasn’t even yours…” Her voice drifted away like a kind of distant death knell, disappointment filling her heart as well. “I didn’t realize it meant that much to you.”

“It doesn’t.” He lied to her and tried to take her in his arms.

“Yes, it does.” The champagne stood unopened. They looked at each other in despair. “Yes, in fact, it does.”

“We can adopt a child,” Marc said. Slowly Chantal nodded. She knew that she would have to if it meant that much to him, but she didn’t want children. She never had.

“Yes, I suppose we can.” And then with sudden recollection, she glanced at her watch. “What are you going to do now?”

“Marry you.” He tried to smile as he said it, but the words felt like lead in his mouth. “If that’s what you still want.”

“It is.” She sounded solemn, but there was a filament of worry lurking in her eyes. “But I didn’t mean that, darling. I meant tonight.”

“I don’t know. Can I stay here?” The idea of going back to his own home was unbearable to him, and it was too soon to take Chantal there, to sleep in the bed Deanna had vacated only the night before. She had slept in the studio after his disclosure.

“Why don’t we go out to dinner?”

“Now?” He looked at her, shocked. “I’m hardly in the mood. A lot has changed for me in the past few hours, and no matter how much I love you, I need to adjust.” For a moment he wondered if he had made a mistake coming to Chantal so quickly, before he had absorbed the shock. She seemed to understand nothing of what he was feeling. “Couldn’t we just eat here?”