Gift of the Black Virgin (2 page)

It was all pretty amazing stuff, Jo thought,
as a smiling Luc explained that Black Virgins might be depictions
of Mary Magdalene. And despite being called
virgins
, because
they represented female sexual power, they were considered the
antitheses of the Virgin Mary.

Jo was instantly sold. She joined the Cult of
the Black Virgin, vowing to celebrate her dark goddess. She would
open her heart—and her legs—to the man she desired more than any
man she’d ever met. Luc—a virtual stranger.

That was the beginning of their affair. But
after a week of indulging their lust, something very strange
happened.

She fell in love.

And so, apparently, did Luc. But she didn’t
understand that until much later.

A tragic loss caused her to leave him without
a word. Too late, she realized how much he meant to her. Too late,
she tried to reconnect.

But all attempts to find him failed. He was
in France, she was in Seattle and Vancouver. Her anguish crippled
her, and she couldn’t help but think that the Black Virgin was
punishing her for rejecting the Cult. For rejecting her best
self—the passionate sexual goddess within.

But, somehow, the universe conspired to bring
the lovers back together.

Their reunion, after three months of pain and
guilt, was worthy of a romance novel. Luc found Jo and proposed
marriage, and she accepted, agreeing to move to France. The
compromises would be mostly hers, but she made them willingly, with
an open heart. She would do anything for him. She loved him.

Love gave her the courage to quit her
magazine editor’s job, pack up her belongings, and prepare to
change everything in her life. This trip was supposed to be a
prelude to their life together. After a decadent stint in Paris,
she would get a feel for Luc’s hometown of Cahors, which, he
promised, would be lovely in October.

Then she was going to return to Vancouver,
move her belongings to her mother’s house in Seattle, and wait for
Luc to join her there. He wanted to meet her family.

The two of them, along with Sammy, her Jack
Russell terrier, would fly back to France for good in November.
There they would rent a house, shop for real estate, and pick a
wedding date.

That had been the plan, anyway. Until an
eight-year-old she’d never met ran head-first into a solid piece of
steel.

The train arrived at the Cahors station in
the late afternoon. Jet-lagged, disappointed, faintly nauseous, Jo
spent the rest of the day and half the night in the waiting room of
the
Centre Hospitalier
. After hurriedly introducing her to
Anna, Luc more or less disappeared. She couldn’t help feeling as
abandoned as her luggage, sitting forlornly in a corner of the
room. She sucked it up as best she could, but still…

This was no way to start the next phase of
her life.

At least I can brush my teeth and change my
clothes. I suppose it could be worse.

As soon as the thought crossed her mind, she
felt ashamed of her pettiness. Daniel could be in serious trouble.
Her small problems were not really problems at all.

A harried nurse told her in broken English
that doctors had induced a coma in the boy to control further
damage. No one would know the extent of the damage until he was
brought out of it, but his parents refused to leave his bedside. Jo
passed the time by reading one of the novels she’d downloaded onto
her tablet, but she found it hard to keep her eyes open. She tried
to eat the hospital cafeteria food, but decent as it was, most of
it stuck in her throat. Instead of eating, she drank black
coffee.

Finally, at one AM, Luc allowed the doctors
to order him home. There was nothing he could do, they told him,
and Anna promised to sit with Daniel while he took Jo home and
tried to get some sleep.

Numb with exhaustion and bitter
disappointment, Jo was barely aware of the taxi ride along the dark
country roads that lead to Luc’s house, was hardly conscious of
climbing into bed with her grieving lover and then falling into a
sleep so heavy that she didn’t know where she was when she woke up
the next day.

She was surprised, and not very happy, to
find herself alone in a small farm house in the middle of nowhere.
A whimpering dog was scratching at the back door, but she saw no
other signs of life. She opened the door and watched the dog run
from room to room, looking for someone who wasn’t her. It was a
medium-sized spaniel with longish brown and white fur. He seemed
friendly enough, but not really interested in her until she cut him
a chunk of cheese from a block she found in the fridge.

Luc had left a scrawled note on the kitchen
table, asking her to call when she was able. When she did, she was
taken to voice mail automatically, and it wasn’t until noon that he
called her back.

“No, nothing’s changed,” he said.

“Do you know when you’ll be home?” she asked
in a small voice, not wanting to put any more pressure on him

“
Non.
The specialist promised to come
around after he finishes his surgeries, but we don’t know when that
will be.”

She could hear the fatigue and fear in his
voice, and her small concerns felt weightless in comparison. How
dare she even voice them?

“Okay. Don’t worry about me.”

“I’m sorry, Joanna. Please make yourself at
home.”

“I will.” She hesitated. What could she say
that would help him? “I love you,” she offered.

“I’ll try to call you later,” was all he
said.

Chapter Two

And so began Jo’s much-anticipated two-week
vacation in France.

There wasn’t much for her to do, stuck out in
the country like she was. First, she unpacked her bags, hanging up
the dressy clothes that she suspected wouldn’t be worn any time
soon. Then she explored Luc’s house from top to bottom, feeling an
illicit thrill at being in her lover’s private space, filled with
his things, his scent. She touched the clothes in his closet,
inspected the food in his pantry, and read the titles of the books
on his shelves. She examined his music and video collection. She
picked up the old glass bottles and clay oil lamps from the mantel
piece, assuming they were Roman. She didn’t know much about Luc’s
career with the French federal government, but she did know that
his area of specialization was Roman fortifications. It made sense
that, as an archaeologist, he’d have a few Roman artifacts kicking
around.

Then she went into the bathroom. Feeling
slightly guilty, she peeked into his cupboards. After all, she
reasoned, this was the man she was going to marry. She was going to
find out sooner or later what he kept in his medicine cabinet.
There wasn’t much in there—just the usual collection of
over-the-counter medicines for a variety of minor ailments. Pain
relievers, antacids, decongestants, antibiotic cream. An out-dated
prescription for sleeping pills. An empty bottle of children’s
cough syrup.

Then she looked at his toiletries on a table
beside the sink. His brush and comb. She touched his toothbrush,
still wet. She saw another one, smaller. Daniel’s, she guessed, and
a crushed tube of the German toothpaste he liked. Three kinds of
floss. Mouthwash.

Then she unscrewed the lid from the jar of
damp shaving soap—she liked that he used old-fashioned lather and a
razor—and inhaled the delicious scent of something like bay rum.
The smell made him seem closer to her, and she had to blink tears
from her eyes when she thought about how badly she wanted to be
with him. With her index finger she blotted up a few stray bits of
cut whisker that were puddled under the wet razor. She rubbed them
between finger and thumb, wishing she’d been awake enough to watch
him shower and shave that morning.

When she was finished with the main floor,
she went downstairs to check out the basement. She found crates of
homemade wine lined up against one of the moldering walls, and a
few hundred empty wine bottles heaped in wooden boxes. A washer and
dryer. Some carboys of water.

The dog following her wherever she went, she
moved outside. The sun was shining and everything took on a
slightly surreal quality. She realized that she probably needed
some more sleep. But instead of going back to bed, she walked over
to look at the outbuilding attached to the side of the house. The
door was locked but when she peered through the window she could
see rows of tools lined up on shelves over a workbench. A bench
press surrounded by free weights, a lawnmower and two or three
bicycles.

Then she saw it—the motorcycle. A big one. It
was the bike he’d been riding when she saw him in Spain. When he
and that blonde bimbo had come roaring up the quaint cobbled street
in Ronda on a quiet Sunday morning. With gut-wrenching anxiety, she
remembered how nonchalantly he’d parked the bike, tied the helmet
onto the back and walked right past her into the restaurant.

And he didn’t see me! He didn’t even know I
was there.

She’d often wondered what he would have done
if he
had
seen her sitting there, eating breakfast with her
two companions. Two people she’d just shared a bed with.

And she wondered what she herself would have
done, instead of running back to her hotel room and climbing under
the covers to cry her heart out.

She’d been over this scenario a hundred
times. It was pure coincidence that she and Luc happened to be in
Ronda at the same time—she with Brenda and their Spanish escort,
Danny, and Luc with his blondie. Jo knew she had no right to be
threatened, or jealous, of Luc’s traveling companion. After all, Jo
was the one who had left without so much as a goodbye when her
father died. She was the one who had caused their separation, a
separation that could have been permanent.

But that’s all over now. I’ll have to tell
him about Spain some time, I guess. And then I expect I’ll have to
hear who the blonde is.

Then, with a stab of anxiety, she remembered
Brenda’s threat.

And I’ll have to tell him about Brenda—and
probably Danny, too. Maybe he’ll think I’m a slut. Or a lesbian. Or
both. Maybe he won’t want me after I confess what I did in
Spain.

She shook her head to clear it of the crazy
thoughts that threatened to overcome her good sense. Then she
picked up a stick and threw it for the dog, who shot after it like
a bullet. She began to wander after him, along the rows of purple
grapes almost ripe enough to pick. She popped a few of the biggest,
darkest ones into her mouth, breaking the succulent berries against
her palate with her tongue. Her stomach growled, and she realized
she hadn’t eaten much of anything for over twenty-four hours.

From the vineyard she could see that Luc’s
house was old, quite small, and outdated. But, still, it had a
certain charm. It would probably make a nice little sketch, she
thought, and if the weather held she thought she might come back
out later in the day with her sketchbook.

Then she turned to look at the other home on
the property, sitting beside a small lake. It was Anna’s house, she
assumed—modern, with a tiled roof and a carport. A child’s bicycle
lay on the gravel as if it had been thrown down and abandoned in a
hurry, and the image made her feel sad. Daniel hadn’t seemed real
to her until yesterday. But now he was more than real. He was
threatening to destroy all of her and Luc’s plans.

How much more damage can he do?

She knew she shouldn’t think this way. It was
small-minded of her.

But I can’t help it.

Turning to the house, she thought she’d
better go back inside to look for some breakfast.

The next day was spent much like the previous
one—Jo stayed home with Otis, who turned out to be a Brittany
spaniel. Luc offered to drop her off in town, where she could
explore, shop, have lunch, then call for a taxi home, but she
declined. Solitude better suited her mood, she knew. She sketched a
little, read, watched a French movie without subtitles.

Again, Luc didn’t return to the house until
late. Again, he flopped into bed, and passed into sleep, without
saying much of anything.

And again, Jo felt neglected. Hurt. Even
though she knew better, her emotions rioted and she suffered.

Daniel was brought back to consciousness on
the third day, which coincidentally happened to be his ninth
birthday. The doctors didn’t think he would suffer any permanent
damage, but they wanted to watch him carefully for a few weeks. No
one could guess when he’d be allowed to go home.

His family rejoiced. There were get-well
birthday celebrations all round and much merriment. But none of the
festivities involved Jo. Like the
other
woman, she stayed
discretely interred inside Luc’s house, alone, or sometimes with
Otis. Meanwhile, everyone who’d ever had anything to do with the
injured boy dropped by the hospital with toys, chocolate, balloons
and plenty of good wishes for his speedy recovery.

Luc’s father, a heart surgeon, arrived from
Lyon, but the time wasn’t right and Jo was prevented from meeting
him. Likewise, the members of Luc’s extended family and his
friends. The only person who came to see Jo while Luc was busy at
the hospital was Anna.

Back at home, while she was preparing herself
for her new life in France, Jo had anticipated that Luc’s former
wife would be a part of it, in at least a small way. After all,
Anna was Daniel’s mother, and Daniel was still very young. And
whenever Jo had thought about this particular compromise—having to
share part of Luc with his ex—she couldn’t help feeling a peevish
stab of jealousy. Of course it was perfectly natural, she thought,
to feel a bit threatened by the first wife.

But Anna was a surprise. Despite meeting her
under terrible circumstances, Jo could see that her anxieties about
rivalry, or jealousy, were ridiculous. She didn’t know how she knew
this, but that didn’t matter. Anna was a small woman, attractive
without being glamorous, with a dark complexion and the sharp
features typical of many French women. One look into her dark,
intelligent eyes and Jo knew that everything between them would be
all right.