Daddy

“No divorce.”

“Very good. You win the prize: two hundred dollars.” She didn't sound bitter about it, just matter-of-fact. She wanted Oliver to know about it, although she never told anyone. There were those who knew, and most people didn't. “Actually, his family owned the firm. He's a terrific man. And I fell head over heels in love, and told myself it didn't matter that he was married.” She stopped and watched the countryside as though remembering, and Oliver urged her on. He wanted to know the rest, what the guy had done to her to make her so gun-shy about men. It seemed a shame to waste her life alone, although she clearly didn't seem unhappy.

“And? How long did it last? What happened?”

“We had a great time. We traveled. We met on Tuesday and Thursday nights, in an apartment he kept in town. It doesn't sound very nice, but I guess you could say I became his mistress. And eventually, he canned me.

“Charming.”

“He figured that someone would find out, and a few did, but most didn't. We were very discreet. And he was always honest with me. He loved his wife, and his kids, they were still little then. His wife was only a few years older than I was. But he loved me too. And I loved him. And I was willing to accept what little he could give me.” She didn't look angry as'she spoke about him and Ollie was surprised at how calm she was about it. “How long has it been since you've seen him?” She laughed as she looked at him. “Three days. He got me another job. We have an apartment. We spend three nights a week together now, and that's all it will ever be. It's been thirteen years in March, and it may sound crazy to you, but I'm happy, and I love him.” She looked perfectly content and Oliver was stunned. She was involved with a married man, and seemed perfectly happy about it.

“Are you serious? You don't mind, Daph? “

“Of course I do. The kids are in college now. And his wife is busy with the garden club and about sixteen charities. I guess there's something about their life he likes, because he's never wavered for a minute. I know he'll never leave her.”

“But that's a stinking deal for you. You deserve more than that.”

“Who says? If I married someone else, we could wind up divorced, or unhappy. There are no guarantees with anyone. I used to think I wanted kids, but I had a problem five years ago, and now I can't anyway. I guess this is enough for me. Maybe I'm strange, or abnormal, but it works for us. And that, my friend, is the story of me. I thought you ought to know.” She smiled gently at him. “Because I like you.”

“I like you too.” He grinned sheepishly. “I think you've just broken my heart.” But in a way, he was relieved. It took the pressure off him, too, and now they could really be friends. “Do you think he'll ever leave his wife?”

“I doubt it. I'm not even sure I'd marry him if he did. We're comfortable like this. I have my own life, my career, my friends, and him. It just gets a little rough sometimes on holidays and weekends. But maybe what we have is more precious to us because we know its limitations.” She was even wiser than he'd thought, and he admired her, for her honesty as much as the rest.

“I wish I could be as philosophical as you are.”

“Maybe you will be one day.” He wondered if he could ever be satisfied with two days a week with Sarah. He didn't think so. He wanted so much more than that. He wanted what he had had with her before, and it didn't look as though he was going to get it.

He pulled up in front of the house, and turned to face her. “Thank you for telling me.” And he really meant it.

“I trust you.” It was her way of asking him not to share her secret, but she already knew he wouldn't. “I thought you ought to know. I didn't want your kids to worry about us.”

“Great.” He grinned. “What should I tell them when I introduce you? Hey, kids, it's okay, she's involved with a married man and she loves him.” His face sobered then, and his eyes were gentle. “You're a terrific woman, Daph. If there's anything I can ever do for you, if you need a friend … just yell. …”

“Don't worry. I will. Sometimes it gets pretty lonely. But you learn to fend for yourself, not to reach for the phone at night, not to call him when you think you have appendicitis. You call friends, you learn to take care of yourself. I think it's been good for me.”

He shook his head. “I don't think I'll ever be that grown up.” At forty-four, he still expected Sarah to take care of him if he had a headache.

“Don't worry about it. I'm probably just crazy. My parents think I am anyway.”

“Do they know?” He was amazed. They were obviously very liberal.

“I told them years ago. My mother cried for months, but now they're used to it. Thank God my brother has six children. That took the heat off me.” They both laughed then and got out of the car, and Andy instantly leapt all over the leather pants, but she didn't seem to mind it.

When they walked into the house, Sam was watching TV, and Mel was doing something in the kitchen with Agnes, and Oliver ushered Daphne in, and introduced her to Sam. She looked casual and at ease, and Sam looked her over with interest.

“You work with my dad?”

“I sure do. And I've got a nephew your age. He watches wrestling too.” She seemed to be up-to-date on the rages popular with nine-year-olds, and Sam nodded his approval. She was okay.

“My dad took me to a match last year. It was great.”

“I took Sean once too. He loved it. I thought it was pretty awful.” Sam laughed at her, and Melissa emerged slowly from the kitchen, and Oliver introduced her.

“Daphne Hutchinson, my daughter, Melissa.” They shook hands properly, and Agnes quietly disappeared, wondering if he was already going out with other women. Things had certainly changed around here, but after what Mrs. Watson had done, she could hardly blame him. He needed a wife, and if she was too foolish to hang on to a good thing, then someone else deserved her good fortune.

The two ladies chatted easily, and Ollie could see that Melissa was carefully looking her over. She approved of the leather pants, the shining hair, the fur jacket, and the black Hermes bag, hanging casually from her shoulder. Daphne was very chic on her own time, too, and now Oliver understood why. There was a certain aura that came from an older man buying gifts for her, and introducing her to the finer things. Even her jewelry was too expensive for most single women. The story Daphne had told him still amazed him. But it was interesting too. But it was as though Melissa sensed that this woman was no threat, that there was nothing except friendship between her and her father. She had eyed her carefully at first, and the messages Daphne had sent out were only of friendship and nonsexual interest.

“Where's Benjamin?” Ollie asked finally.

“Out, I guess.” Mel answered. “What do you expect?” She shrugged and grinned at Daphne.

“I have an older brother too. I hated him for about eighteen years. He's improved a lot, though, with old age.” He was exactly the same age as Oliver now, which may have been part of why she liked him.

The four of them sat and talked for hours in the cozy living room, and eventually went for a walk with Andy, and just before dinnertime, Benjamin came home, looking rumpled and distracted. He had gone to play touch football with friends allegedly, but as always, he had wound up at Sandra's. Her parents were separated now too and it made things, easier for them. Her mother was never home, and her father had moved to Philadelphia.

Benjamin was cool with Daphne when they met, and barely spoke to any of them on the way to dinner. They went to the Italian restaurant Oliver had told her about, and they had a good time, laughing and talking and telling jokes, and finally even Benjamin warmed up, although he cast frequent inquiring looks at his father and Daphne.

They went back to the house for the dessert Agnes had promised to prepare for them, and Andy was lying in front of the fireplace as they ate apple pie k la mode and homemade cookies. It had been a perfect day, the first they'd had in a long time, and they all looked happy.

The phone rang as they were listening to Sam tell ghost stories, and Oliver went to answer. It was his father, and the others could only hear Ollie's half of the conversation.

“Yes … all right, Dad … slow down … where is she? Are you all right? … I'll be right over…. Stay there. I'll pick you up. I don't want you driving home alone. You can leave the car there and pick it up tomorrow.” He hung up, with a frantic air, and the children looked frightened, and he was quick to reassure them, although as he set down the phone, his own hands were shaking. “It's all right. It's Grandma. She had a little accident. She took the car out alone, and hit a neighbor. No one's badly hurt. She's just shaken up, and they're going to keep her in the hospital tonight, just to watch her. Grandpa's just upset. Fortunately the guy she hit was quick, and jumped onto the hood of the car, all he got was a broken ankle. It could have been a lot worse for both of them.”

“I thought she wasn't supposed to drive anymore,” Melissa said, still looking worried.

“She isn't. Grandpa was in the garage, putting away some tools, and she decided to do an errand.” He didn't tell them that she had told the doctor she'd been going to pick her son up at school, and his father had been crying when he called him. The doctors had just told him that they felt it was time to put her in a home where she could have constant supervision. “I hate to do this,” he said, looking at Daphne, “but I've got to go over there to see him. I think he's probably more shaken up than she is. Do you want me to drop you off at the station on the way?” The train wasn't due for another hour, but he didn't want to leave her stranded.

“I can take a cab. You just go.” She looked at the three young faces around her. “I can stay here with the children, if they'll have me.” Mel and Sam looked thrilled, and Benjamin said nothing.

“That would be great.” He smiled at her, and instructed Mel to call a cab at nine-fifteen. It would get her to the station in plenty of time to catch the nine-thirty. “Benjamin can even drive you.”

“A cab will be fine. I'm sure Benjamin has better things to do with his time than drive old ladies to the station.” She had sensed his reticence and didn't want to impose on him. And a moment later, Oliver left, and Benjamin disappeared to his own quarters, leaving her and the two younger children alone.

Sam went to get more pie, and Mel ran upstairs to get the script for the play to show her. Agnes had gone to bed, as she was wont to do, right after cleaning up the kitchen, and Daphne was alone in the living room when the phone rang, and rang and rang, and nervously she looked around, and finally decided to answer, fearing that it might be Ollie, and he would worry if he got no answer. Maybe he had forgotten something. In any case, she picked it up, and there was a sudden silence on the other end, and then a female voice that asked for Ollie.

“I'm sorry, he's out. May I take a message?” She sounded businesslike, and all her instincts told her it was Sarah. And she was right.

“Are the children there?” She sounded annoyed.

“Certainly. Would you like me to get them?”

“I … yes …” And then, “Excuse me, but who are you?”

Daphne didn't miss a beat as Mel walked into the room and Daphne spoke into the phone. “The babysitter. I'll let you speak to Melissa now' She handed the phone to Mel with a gentle smile, and then walked into the kitchen to see how Sam was doing. He was butchering the pie and dropping big gobs of apple into his mouth, while attempting to cut another piece for Daphne. “Your mom's on the phone, I think. She's talking to Mel.”

“She is?” He looked startled and dropped what he was doing to run into the other room as Daphne watched him. And it was a full ten minutes before they returned, looking subdued, and Daphne ached for them. She could see in their eyes how desperately they missed her and Sam was wiping his eyes on his sleeve. He had obviously been crying. And Melissa looked sobered by the conversation too.

“More pie for anyone?” Daphne wanted to distract them, but wasn't sure how, as Mel looked at her with questioning eyes.

“Why did you tell her you were the sitter?”

Daphne looked her square in the eye, honest with her, as she had been with Ollie. “Because I didn't want to upset her. Your dad and I are just friends, Mel. There's someone in my life I love very much, and your dad and I will never be more than friends. There was no point upsetting your mother, or causing a misunderstanding between them. Things are hard enough for all of you right now as they are, without my adding to the trouble.”

Mel nodded at her, silently grateful. “She said she's not coming home next weekend 'cause she has a paper to write.” And as she said the words, Sam started to cry softly. And without thinking, Daphne pulled him close to her and held him. She had defused any fears they might have had by telling them about the man she loved, and she was glad she had, and gladder still she had told Ollie before. These were not people to hurt, but to love and nurture. And it made her angry knowing that their own mother had left them.

“Maybe it's too painful for her to come back just yet' She was trying to be fair, but Mel looked angry.

“Then why can't we go and see her?” Sam asked reasonably.

“I don't know, Sam.” Daphne wiped his tears, and the three of them sat down at the kitchen table, their appetite gone, the apple pie forgotten.

“She says her apartment is not ready yet and there's no place for us to sleep, but that's stupid.” He stopped crying, and the three of them talked, and nine-fifteen passed without their notice.

“Oh dear.” When she glanced at her watch again, it was nine-thirty. “Is there another train?” She could always take a cab into New York if she had to.

But Melissa nodded. “At eleven.”

“I guess I'll catch that then.”

“Good.” Sam clung to her hand, but the two children looked suddenly exhausted. She put Sam to bed shortly after that, and chatted with Mel until shortly after ten, and then suggested she go to bed, she could take care of herself for another half hour before she called a cab. And Mel finally went upstairs, with her own thoughts. And Ollie came home at ten-thirty, and was surprised to see Daphne still there, quietly reading.

“How's your father?”

“All right, I guess.” Ollie looked tired. He had put his own father to bed, like a child, and promised to come back the next day to help him decide what to do about his mother. “It's an awful situation. My mother has Alzheimer's, and it's killing my father.”

“Oh God, how terrible.” She was grateful that her own parents were still youthful and healthy. They were seventy and seventy-five, but they both still looked like fifty. And then she remembered the call from Sarah. “Your wife called, by the way.”

“Oh Christ …” He ran a hand through his hair, wondering if the kids had told her Daphne was there, but she read the look in his eyes and was quick to reassure him. “What did they tell her?”

“I don't know. I wasn't in the room when they talked to her. But no one was around when the phone rang, I answered it, and told her I was the sitter.” She smiled and he grinned at her.

“Thanks for that.” And then, with worried eyes again, “How were the kids afterward?”

“Upset. I gather she told them she couldn't come home next weekend, and she can't have them up there. Sam was crying. But he was all right when I put him to bed.”

“You are truly an amazing woman.” He glanced at his watch then with regret. “I hate to do this, but I'd better get you to the station for the train. We'll just make it.”

“I had a terrific day, Oliver.” She thanked him on the way to the station.

“So did I. I'm sorry I had to run out at the end.”

“Don't worry about it. You have your hands full. But things will look up one of these days.”

“If I live that long.” He smiled tiredly.

He waited for the train with her, and gave her a brotherly hug before she left, and told her he'd see her the following day at the office. She waved as the train pulled away, and he drove slowly home, sorry that things weren't different. Maybe if she'd been free, he told himself, but he knew it was a lie. No matter how free Daphne might have been, how attractive, how intelligent, all he wanted was Sarah. He dialed her number when he got home, but when the phone rang at her end, there was no answer.

Chapter 8

George Watson put his wife in a convalescent home the week after that. It was one that specialized in patients with Alzheimer's and various forms of dementia. Outwardly, it was cheerful and pleasant, but a glimpse of the patients living there depressed Oliver beyond words, when he went to see his mother. She didn't recognize him this time, and thought George was her son, and not her husband.

The old man dried his eyes as they left, and Oliver took his arm in the bitter wind, and drove him home, and he felt as though he was deserting him as he left him that night and went back to his children.

It seemed odd, when he thought about it, that he and his father were both losing their wives at the same time, although in different ways. It was heartbreaking for both of them. But at least Oliver had the children to keep him occupied, and his work to distract him. His father had nothing, except loneliness and memories, and the painful visits he made to the home every afternoon to see Phyllis.

And then the big day came. Sarah called on Valentine's Day, and announced that she wanted to see the children the following weekend. In Boston.

“Why don't you come here?” She had been gone for seven weeks, and, like the children, Oliver was aching to see her and have her at home with them.

“I want them to see where I live.” He wanted to object, but he didn't. Instead, he agreed and called her back when he had figured out their approximate time of arrival in Boston.

“We should get to your place around eleven o'clock Saturday morning, if we take a nine A.M. shuttle.” He would have liked to make it on Friday night, but it was too complicated with schools and work, and she had suggested Saturday morning. “Do you have room for all of us?” He smiled for the first time in weeks, and at her end, there was an odd silence.

“I wasn't … I thought Mel and Benjamin could sleep on two old couches in my living room. And … I was going to have Sam sleep with me …” Her voice trailed off as Oliver listened, his hand frozen to the phone as the words reverberated in his head, Sam … sleep with me she had said, not with us.

“Where does that leave us, or should I say me?” He decided to be blunt with her. He wanted to know where he stood, once and for all. He couldn't stand the torture of not knowing any longer.

“I thought maybe …” her voice was barely more than a whisper, “… you'd want to stay at a hotel. It … it might be easier that way, Ollie.” There were tears in her eyes when she said it, but there was a weight on his heart as he heard her.

“Easier for who? It seems to me you were the one promising that nothing would change, not so long ago, you were saying you weren't leaving for good. Or had you forgotten?”

“I didn't forget. Things just change when you get away and get some perspective.” Then why didn't things change for him? Why did he still want her so badly? He wanted to shake her until her teeth rattled in her head, and then he wanted to kiss her until she begged him to take her. But she wasn't going to do that again. Not ever.

“So you're telling me it's over. Is that it, Sarah?” His voice was too loud, and his heart was pounding.

“I'm just asking you to stay in a hotel, Ollie … this time …”

“Stop that! Stop playing with me, dammit!” It was a cruel side to her he had never even known was there.

“I'm sorry … I'm as confused as you are.” And at that precise moment, she meant it.

“The hell you are, Sarah. You know exactly what you're doing. You knew it the day you left here.”

“I just want to be alone with the children this weekend.”

“Fine.” His voice turned to ice. “I'll drop them off at your place at eleven.” And with that, he hung up the phone before she could torture him any further. It was going to be a lonely weekend for him, while she and the children had their happy reunion.

He could have let them go alone, but he didn't want to. He wanted to be with them, particularly afterward, for the trip home. He also knew in his heart of hearts that he wanted to be near her. He was also particularly worried about Sam, and moderately so about the others. Benjamin was unenthusiastic about going, he was going to miss a game, but Oliver told him he thought he should go. Mel was excited to go, and Sam was ecstatic. But he wondered how they would all feel after they saw her.

The flight to Boston had a festive air, as Oliver sat quietly across the aisle from them, and when they drove to her address on Brattle Street, he was incredibly nervous. He had told her he would drop them off, and when she opened the door, he thought his heart would stop when he saw her. She looked as lovely as she had before, only more so. Her hair was loose and longer, and her jeans clung to her in a way that made Ollie ache, but he tried to maintain his composure in front of the children. She kissed him lightly on the cheek, hugged the children, and took them inside to the lunch she had waiting for them as Oliver drove off in the cab, aching for her with every ounce of his body.

She lived in a small apartment, with a comfortable living room and a tiny bedroom, and behind it a shaggy garden, and as the children slurped soup, gobbled their food, and stared happily at her, everyone talked at once with the relief of releasing long-pent-up fears and emotions. Sam stayed glued to her, and even Benjamin looked more relaxed than he had in a long time. Everyone looked happy, except Oliver, alone in his hotel room.

It had finally happened, she had turned him away. She didn't love him anymore. And the reality of it almost killed him. He cried as he remembered the past and walked for hours on the Harvard campus. He went to all the places they had gone to years before, and realized as he walked back to his hotel that he was still crying. He didn't understand. She had told him nothing would change between them, yet now she had shut him out. It was all over and they had become strangers. He felt like an abandoned child. And that night, as he sat alone in his hotel room, he called her.

He could hear the ruckus of music and voices and laughter in the background, and it only made him lonelier for her than before. “I'm sorry, Sarah. I didn't mean to interrupt your time with the children.”

“That's okay. They're making popcorn in the kitchen. Why don't I call you later?” And when she did, it was after midnight.

“What's happening to us?” He had to ask her, had to know, after two months all he could do was think about her and he still wanted her back more than ever. If she really wasn't coming back to him, he had to know it. “I don't understand this. When you left, you said you'd come home every weekend. Now, after almost two months, you keep me at arm's length and act as though we're divorced.”

“I don't know either, Ollie.” Her voice was soft, a familiar caress he wanted to forget, but couldn't. “Things changed for me once I got here. I realized how badly I wanted this, and that I couldn't go back to what we had before. Maybe I'll be able to one day … but it'll have to be very different.”

“How? Tell me … I need to know….” He hated himself for it, but he was crying again. Something terrible had happened that weekend and he knew it. She was in control of everything he cared about and wanted, and he was helpless to change it, or make her come home to him.

“I don't know the answers either. I just know I need to be here.”

“And us? Why this? Why couldn't I stay there?” He had no shame, no pride. He loved her too much and wanted her too badly.

“I think I'm afraid to see you.”

“But that's crazy. Why?”

“I don't know. Maybe you want too much from me, Oliver. It's almost as though I'm someone else now. Someone I used to be, and was going to be. Someone who's been asleep for all these years, put away, and forgotten, but now I'm alive again. And I don't want to give that up. For anyone. Not even you.”

“And the people we were together? Have you forgotten them so soon?” It had only been seven weeks, and she made it sound like forever.

“I'm not that person anymore. I'm not sure I ever could be. I think that's why I'm afraid to see you. I don't want to let you down. But I'm not the same person anymore, Ollie. Maybe I haven't been in a long time, and just didn't know it.”

His breath caught, but he had to ask her. “Is there someone else?” Already? So soon? But there could be. And she looked so beautiful when he dropped the kids off. Years had dropped from her when she left Purchase, and she had been pretty to him then, but now she was even more so.

“No, there isn't.” But she seemed to hesitate as she said it. “Not yet. But I want to be free to see other people.” Jesus. He couldn't believe she was saying these words. But she was. It was over.

“I guess that says it all, doesn't it? Do you want to file for a divorce?” His hand shook on the phone as he asked her.

“Not yet. I don't know what I want. Not yet.” He had wanted her to scream in terror at the prospect, but it was obvious that she was considering it. And it was equally obvious that their life together was over in any case.

“Let me know when you figure it out. I think you're a damn fool though, Sarah. We had something wonderful for eighteen years, and you're throwing it out the window.” He sounded bitter and sad as he wiped the tears from his cheeks, torn between sorrow and fury.

“Ollie …” She sounded as though she was crying too. “I still love you.”

“I don't want to hear it.” It was too painful now, too much for him. “I'll pick the kids up tomorrow at four. Just send them downstairs, I'll have a cab waiting.” Suddenly, he didn't want to see her again. And as he set the phone down gently next to the bed, he felt as though he had set his heart down with it. The woman he had known and loved as Sarah Watson was no more. She was gone. If she had ever existed.

Chapter 9

When he picked the children up the following afternoon, his heart was pounding as the cab waited. He got out and rang the bell and then slid back into the taxi. He was anxious to see them again, to have them back with him, to not be alone for a moment longer. Sunday alone in Boston had been dismal without them. And this had been a weekend he would always remember.

Melissa was the first to emerge, looking confident and grown up and very pretty. She waved at her father in the cab, and he was relieved to see that she was in good spirits. It had done her good to see her mother at last. Benjamin came next, looking serious and subdued, but he was always that way now. He had changed drastically in the two months since she had left them. Or maybe he was just growing up. Oliver wasn't sure, and he worried about him. And then came Sam, dragging his feet and carrying a large, awkwardly wrapped bundle. She had given him a teddy bear, unsure if he would like the gift, but he had slept with it the night before, and clutched it now like a sacred treasure.

Benjamin slid into the front seat, and Mel had already gotten into the cab, as Sam reached his father with wide, sad eyes, and it was easy to see he'd been crying.

“Hi, big guy, whatcha got?”

“Mom gave me a teddy bear. Just for good luck … you know …” He was embarrassed to admit how much he loved it. And she had instinctively picked the right thing for him. She knew them all well, and Oliver could still smell her perfume on the boy as he hugged him. It made his heart ache just to smell it and think of her. And then, as Sam climbed over him, bumping his overnight bag across their legs, Oliver glanced up, and saw her standing in the doorway. She was waving to them, and for an instant, he wanted to jump out of the cab and run back and hold her and take her back with them. Maybe he could still bring her to her senses, and if not, at least he could touch her and feel her and smell her. But he forced himself to look away, and in a hoarse voice told the driver to head for the airport. He glanced back in spite of himself as they drove away, and she looked pretty and young as she continued to wave from the doorway, and suddenly, as he watched her, he felt Melissa slip something into his hand. It was a little white silk pouch, and when he opened it, he saw the emerald ring he had given Sarah for Christmas. There was a little note that asked him to save it for Melissa. And that too was a powerful statement. It had been a brutal weekend for him, and he slipped the pouch in his pocket without saying a word, his jaw hard, his eyes cold, as he looked out the window.

Oliver said nothing for a long time, and just listened as the children rattled on, about the dinner she'd cooked, and the popcorn, and how much they'd liked the apartment. Even Sam seemed more at ease now. And it was obvious it had done him a world of good to see their mother. They all looked well groomed, and Sam's hair was combed just the way Oliver liked it. And it was painful for him just seeing them that way, so obviously fresh from her hands, as though newly born, and only just then sprung from her. He didn't want to hear about how wonderful it had been, how great she looked, how cute the garden was, or how hard her courses. He only wanted to hear how desperately she missed all of them, and most of all him, how soon she was coming back, how much she hated Boston, and that she'd been wrong to go there. But he knew now that he would never hear that.

The flight back to New York was rough, but the children didn't even seem to notice, and they got home at eight o'clock that night. Aggie was waiting for them, and offered to cook them dinner. They told Aggie all about Boston then, and what their mom had done, what she had said, what she thought, and about everything that she was doing. And finally, halfway through the meal, Ollie couldn't stand it anymore. He stood up and threw his napkin down as the children stared at him in amazement.

“I'm sick and tired of hearing about all that! I'm glad you had a great time, but dammit, can't you talk about anything else?” They looked crushed and he was suddenly overwhelmed with embarrassment. “I'm sorry … I'm … never mind …” He left them and went upstairs, closing the door to his room, and then sitting there, in the darkness, staring out into the moonlight. But it was so painful listening to them, hearing about her all the time. They had found her again. And he had lost her. There was no turning the clock back now, no getting away from it. She didn't love him anymore, no matter what she said on the phone. It was over. Forever.

He sat there, in the dark, on his bed, for what seemed like a long time, and then he lay down in the darkness and stared up at the ceiling. It was a longer time still before he heard a knock at the door. It was Mel, and she opened the door a crack, but at first she didn't see him. “Dad?” She stepped into the room, and then she saw him there, lying on his bed in the moonlight. “I'm sorry … we didn't mean to upset you … it's just …”

“I know, baby, I know. You have a right to be excited. She's your mom. I just got a little crazy for a minute. Even dads go berserk sometimes.” He sat up and smiled at her and then turned on the light, feeling awkward that she had found him sulking in the darkness. “I just miss her a lot … just like you did….”

“She says she still loves you, Dad.” Mel was suddenly so sad for him and the look in his eyes was just awful.

“That's nice, sweetheart. I love her too. It's just hard to understand sometimes when things change.” … when you lose someone you love so much … when you feel as though your whole life is over … “I'll get used to it.”

Melissa nodded. She had promised her mother she would do everything she could to help, and she was going to. She put Sam to bed that night, with his teddy bear, and told him to leave Daddy alone for a change, and sleep in his own bed.

“Is Dad sick?” She shook her head. “He acted weird tonight.” Sam looked very worried.

“He's just upset, that's all. I think it was hard for him to see Mommy.”

“I thought it was great.” He grinned happily, holding the bear, and Mel smiled at him, feeling a thousand years older.

“So did I. But I think it's harder for them.”

Sam nodded, as though he understood, too, but in truth, he really didn't. And then he asked his sister what he didn't dare to ask either of his parents. “Mel … do you think she'll come back? … I mean, like before … here, to Dad, and everything. …”

His sister hesitated for a long time before answering him, searching her own heart and mind, but like her father, she already knew the answer. “I don't know … but I don't think so.”

Sam nodded again, better able to cope with it now, now that he had been to visit her, and she had promised he could come back in a few weeks. She hadn't said anything about coming back to see them in Purchase. “Do you think Dad's mad at her?”

Mel shook her head. “No. I think he's just sad. That's why he weirded out tonight.”

Sam nodded and lay back on his pillow. “G'night, Mel … I love you.” She bent to kiss him and gently stroked his hair, just as Sarah had in Boston.

“I love you, too, even though you're a brat some- times.” They both laughed and she turned off the light and closed the door, and when she went back to her room, she saw Benjamin climbing out the window, and dropping swiftly to the ground. She watched him, but she made no sound or sign. She just pulled down her shade, and went to lie on her own bed. She had a lot to think about. That night, they all did. They all lay awake for a long time that night, thinking about Sarah. And wherever Benjamin had gone, Mel figured it was his own business. But it was also easy to guess his whereabouts. Despite the restriction still in force, he had gone to Sandra's.

Chapter 10

Daphne walked into Oliver's office the next morning, shortly after ten o'clock, and at first she thought he looked all right. She knew he had taken the children to Boston to see Sarah for the weekend.

“How was it?” But as soon as the words were out of her mouth, she could see the answer in his eyes. He looked as though he'd been hit by lightning.

“Don't ask.”

“I'm sorry.” And she was, for him and the children.

“So am I. Do you have the slides put together yet?” She nodded, and they avoided any further mention of the subject. They worked straight through until four o'clock, and for once he found relief in his work. It was wonderful not to be thinking of Sarah, or even the children.

He got home at nine o'clock that night, and later every night after that. They had a rush presentation to put out for a major client. But for once, the children seemed all right. And three weeks after the first visit, Sarah invited the children back to Boston again, but this time Oliver didn't go with them. Mel went with Sam instead. Benjamin had already made plans to go skiing with friends, and didn't want to change that.

On Friday night when Ollie got home late, the house was quiet and dark, even Aggie had taken a few days off, and had gone to stay with her sister in New Jersey. It was odd being alone without all of them, but in some ways it was a relief too. It had been three months since Sarah left, three months of caring and crying and worrying about them, of being responsible every hour of the day and rushing back and forth between Purchase and his office. Sometimes he had to admit that Daphne was right. It would have been easier to move to New York, but he didn't think any of them were ready for that. Maybe in a year or two … it was odd thinking that far ahead now, without her. His life looked like an empty wasteland.

He had dinner with his father on Saturday night, and on Sunday afternoon, he went to visit his mother. She was a depressing sight, and all she talked about was wanting to go home, to work in her garden. She wasn't fully aware of where she was, but there were moments when she seemed more lucid than others.

“You doing all right, Dad?” he asked him the night they went out.

“More or less.” The older man smiled. “It gets awfully lonely without her.”

Ollie sighed and smiled ruefully at him. “I know what you mean, Dad.” It still seemed ironic that they were both losing their wives at the same time. Ironic and tragic and endlessly painful.

“At least you have the children to keep you company.”

“You should come down and see them more. Sam is dying to see you.”

“Maybe tomorrow afternoon.” But Ollie had explained that they were in Boston with their mother.

They returned in good spirits again this time, but Mel had warned Sam not to talk about it too much with Daddy. And she had particularly told him not to mention Jean-Pierre. He was a friend of their mom's, who had dropped by to meet them on Saturday night, and Mel secretly thought he had a crush on their mother. He was twenty-five years old, and a graduate student from France, and he had made everyone laugh, and told lots of jokes, and made pizza from scratch. Sam thought he was a great guy, but Mel assured him that Daddy wouldn't want to hear it.

“Do you think he's going out with Mom?” Sam was always curious, and he thought he'd seen them kissing once in the kitchen when he went in for a Coke.

But Mel was quick to demolish his theories. “Don't be stupid.”

And they were both excited, because Sarah had promised to take them away for spring vacation. “Where do you think we'll go?” Sam asked.

“I don't know, we'll see.”

In the end, she decided on a week of spring skiing in Massachusetts, and she was taking all of them. Even Benjamin had agreed to go with her. And it was only five days before they left that Oliver got the call at the office. It was Benjamin's school. He had been cutting classes for months, and was close to flunking out, and they wanted Oliver to know he was being put on academic probation.

“Benjamin?” He looked stunned. He had come out of a meeting to take the call, fearing that he'd gotten hurt. “I can't believe that. He's always been on the honor roll.”

“Not anymore, Mr. Watson.” The assistant headmaster had called him himself. “Since January, we've scarcely seen him in class, and this term he has incompletes in almost every subject.”

“Why didn't you tell me before now? Why did you wait this long?” Oliver was shocked and angry, at the boy, at himself, at the school, at Sarah for starting it all. It seemed as though the misery was never-ending.

“We've been sending you notices for three months, and you've never responded.”

“Son of a bitch …” Oliver knew instantly what must have happened. Benjamin must have taken them so Oliver wouldn't know what was going on. “What about his college applications?”

“I just don't know. Well have to notify the schools he's applied to, of course, but he's always been a strong student before this. We realize that there are mitigating factors. Perhaps if he agrees to do summer school … and, of course, it will all depend on his grades from this point on. His last term is going to be very important.”

“I understand.” Oliver closed his eyes, trying to absorb it all. “Is there some other problem in school I should know about?” He sensed that there was more and he was suddenly almost frightened to hear it.

“Well, some things aren't really in our province …”

“What does that mean?”

“I was referring to the Carter girl. We feel that she's part of Benjamin's problem. She's had her own problems this year, a broken home, and she's not … well, she's certainly not the student Benjamin is, or was, but I think their involvement provides a great deal too much distraction. There's even talk of her dropping out. But we had already told her mother she wouldn't be graduating with her class….” Damn … Oliver had put him on restriction and told him to be home by dinnertime, and he had cut classes to hang out with some dumb girl, she was even a dropout, or almost.

“I'll take care of it. I'd appreciate it very much if we could do something about this so that it doesn't affect Benjamin's college applications.” He was due to hear from them any day … Harvard … Princeton … Yale … and now he was on academic probation.

“Perhaps if you could spend more time at home with him. We realize how difficult that is now, with Mrs. Watson gone …” The words cut him to the quick, he was doing everything he could now, to be with the kids, but again Benjamin's words rang in his ears … you don't come home till nine o'clock every night. …

“I'll do what I can. And I'll speak to him tonight.”

“Very well, and we'll keep you apprised of the situation at our end.”

“Next time, just call me at the office.”

“Of course.”

Oliver hung up, and sat for a moment with head bowed, feeling breathless. And then, not knowing what else to do, he dialed Sarah in Boston. But fortunately she was out. And it wasn't her problem anyway. She had deserted all of them. The problem was his now.

He left the office that afternoon at four o'clock, and was home before six. He was there when Benjamin walked through the door, looking pleased with himself, carrying his books, and with a single glance of steel, his father stopped him.

“Come into the den, please, Benjamin.”

“Something wrong?” It was obvious from his father's face that there was, but he never suspected what was coming. As he walked through the den door, Oliver gave him a ferocious slap. It was the first time in his life he had struck any of his children except for a single spanking when Benjamin was four, and had put a fork into an electrical outlet. He had wanted to make an impression on him then, and he did this time too. But more than that, the gesture was born of guilt and frustration. Benjamin almost reeled from the shock of it, and his face grew red as he sat down without a sound and Oliver closed the door. He knew now that his father had found out, or some of it at least. And he suspected what was coming.

“I'm sorry … I didn't mean to do that … but I feel as though I've been cheated. I got a call from your school today, from Mr. Young … what the hell have you been up to?”

“I … I'm sorry, Dad. …” He stared at the floor and then finally back up at him. “I just couldn't … I don't know.”

“Do you know you're being put on academic probation?” Benjamin nodded. “Do you realize you may never get into a decent college after this? Or you may have to forfeit a year, or at the very least do summer school? And what the hell happened to all the notices they supposedly sent me?”

“I threw them out.” He was honest with him, and he looked about ten years old again, as he looked unhappily at his father. “I figured I'd get everything in control again, and you'd never have to know.”

Oliver paced the room, and then stopped to stare at him. “And what does that girl have to do with this? I think her name is Sandra Carter.” In truth it was emblazoned in his mind, and he had suspected for a long time that Benjamin's current romance was out of hand, but he had never for a moment suspected it would go this far. “I presume you're sleeping with her. How long has that been going on?”

For a long time, Benjamin stared at the floor and didn't answer.

“Answer me, dammit. What's going on with her? Young said she was thinking of dropping out. What kind of a girl is she and why haven't I met her?”

“She's a nice girl, Dad.” Benjamin suddenly looked up at him with defiance. “I love her, and she needs me.” He chose not to answer his father's second question.

“That's nice. As a fellow dropout?”

“She's not going to drop out … yet … she's just had a hard time … her father walked out on her mom, and … never mind. It's a long story.”

“I'm touched. And your mother walked out on you, so the two of you walk into the sunset hand in hand, and flunk out of school. And then what, you pump gas for the rest of your life, while she goes to work as a cocktail waitress? That isn't what I expect of you, or what you want for yourself. You deserve more than that, and she probably does too. For chrissake, Benjamin, get hold of yourself.” His face hardened into rigid lines his son had never seen before, but the last three and a half months had extracted a price from him and it showed. “I want you to stop seeing the girl. Now! Do you hear me? And if you don't, I'll send you away to goddamn military school if I have to. I'm not going to let you throw your life away like this, just because you're upset and we've all had a hard time. Life is going to throw a lot of curves at you, Son. It's what you do with them that will make or break you.”

Benjamin looked at him quietly, as stubborn as his father, worse, as stubborn as Sarah. “I'll pull my grades up, Dad, and I'll stop cutting school. But I'm not going to stop seeing Sandra.”

“The hell you won't, if I tell you to. Do you understand me?”

Benjamin stood up, his red hair and blue eyes blazing at his father. “I won't stop seeing her. I'm telling you that honestly. And you can't make me. I'll move out.”

“Is that your final word on this subject?”

Benjamin only nodded.

“Fine. You're on full restriction till the end of school, until I see those grades look the way they did before, until the school tells me you haven't missed five minutes of class to take a pee, until you graduate, and get into the kind of college you deserve. And then we'll see about Sandra.” The two men stood glaring at each other, and neither of them wavered. “Now go to your room. And I warn you, Benjamin Watson, I'm going to be checking on you night and day, so don't screw around. I'll call the girl's mother if I have to.”

“Don't bother. She's never there.”

Oliver nodded, still desperately unhappy with his oldest son, and startled by his defiant devotion to the girl. “She sounds charming.”

“May I go now?”

“Please do …” And then, as Benjamin reached the door, in a softer voice, “And I'm sorry I hit you. I'm afraid I've reached my limits, too, and this nonsense from you isn't helping.” Benjamin nodded and left the room, closing the door behind him, as Oliver let himself slowly down into a chair, feeling his entire body tremble.

But the following week, after a great deal of thought, he realized what he had to do, or what he could do, to at least improve the situation. He went to the headmaster of the school and spoke to him, and at first they weren't sure, but finally they said that if Oliver could get him into a comparable school, they would agree to what he was suggesting. It was the only thing he could do, and it would be hard on the kids at first, but it might be just what the doctor ordered for all of them. Oliver sent them all to Sarah for their school holiday, and although Benjamin refused to go at first, Oliver forced him. He threatened him in every possible way, until the boy finally left with the others. And miraculously, during the week the kids were gone, Oliver spoke to four different schools, and found one very good one that was willing to take him. He was going to move them all to New York as soon as he could, rent an apartment, and put them in new schools. It would get Benjamin away from the girl, and whatever friends were distracting him, and it would mean Oliver could be home every night by six o'clock in the evening. It was what Daphne had suggested two months before, and he had said he would never do, or at least not for several years, but now it was an idea born of desperation.

Both schools involved agreed to the plan, and the one in Purchase even agreed to let him graduate with his class if he did well in New York for the remaining two months of school, passed all his exams, and agreed to go to summer school back in Purchase. It was perfect. Without further ado, Mel was accepted by an exclusive Upper East Side girls' school, and Collegiate agreed to take Sam. They were all excellent moves, albeit a little hasty. And in the last two days before they came home, Oliver pounded the pavements with Daphne, and came up with a very attractive apartment, a year's sublet from a banker who was moving to Paris with his wife and kids. It had four good-sized bedrooms and a pleasant view, an elevator man, a doorman, a big elaborate kitchen, and behind it a very respectable room for Agnes to live. It was going to cost him a fortune, but as far as Oliver was concerned it was worth it. In ten days, he had made all his moves. All that remained now was to break the news to the children when they got home from their vacation with their mother.

He and Daphne sat in the living room after he'd signed the lease, and she eyed him with concern. For a man who hadn't been willing to make any changes at all two months before, he was moving very quickly now. He had been ever since he'd realized that Sarah wasn't coming home.

“I think it'll do us all good.” He was defending himself to her, although he didn't have to.

“So do I. But what do you think the kids'U say?”

“What can they say? I can't keep track of Benjamin while I'm commuting. And if it's a disaster between now and June, we can always move back to Purchase and I'll put the kids back in their old schools in the fall. But maybe this is what I should have done right from the beginning.”

She nodded again. He was right. It wasn't written in stone, and at least it was a good try at turning the tides that were drowning Benjamin in Purchase. “You don't think it's too radical?”

“Are you telling me I'm crazy?” He smiled nervously at her, wondering the same thing himself, and amazed at what he'd accomplished since the kids left on vacation with their mother. He was dreading telling them, and yet he was excited too. It was an exciting new life for all of them, whatever the reasons that had led him to do it. And it seemed like the best solution to Benjamin's problems.

“I think you've done the right thing, if that helps at all. But I also think it'll be another big adjustment for them.”

“Maybe a good one this time.” He walked around the living room. The apartment was handsome, and he thought the children would like their rooms, particularly Melissa. Their new home was on East 84th Street, on a tree-lined street, two blocks from Central Park. It was everything Oliver had wanted, once he made up his mind to look for an apartment in town. “What do you think, Daph? Do you really think I'm nuts?” He was suddenly afraid to tell the children. What if they went crazy again, but he'd been so sure it was the right decision when he made it.

“I don't think you're crazy, and I think it'll be fine. Just don't expect them to jump up and down and tell you what a great idea it is. It'll scare them at first, no matter how easy you try to make it for them. Give them time to adjust.”

“I know. That's what I was just thinking.”

But he was in no way prepared for the violence of their reactions. He told them the next day, when they came home from their vacation with Sarah. He picked them up at the airport and drove them into town, telling them he had a surprise for them, but refusing to tell them what it was. They were in high spirits as they drove in, telling him everything they'd done, and seen, and how good the skiing had been with their mother. But for once, it didn't upset him. He was suddenly excited about what he was going to show them in New York.

“Are we going to see Daphne, Dad?” It was Melissa asking him and he only shook his head and continued driving. He had told Agnes that morning, and she'd been startled, but she'd agreed to come. She didn't mind moving to New York with them, as long as she was with the children.

They drove up in front of the building and he found a parking place, and escorted them in, as they looked around in curiosity.

“Who lives here, Dad?” Sam wanted to know, and Ollie shook his head, walked into the elevator, and asked for seven.

“Yes, sir.” The elevator man smiled. The doorman had recognized him at once when he let them in. They were the new tenants m 7H, which was why he hadn't asked them where they were going.

Oliver stood in front of the apartment and pressed the bell, and when no one answered, he shrugged his shoulders, and took the key out of his pocket, opened the door, and swung it wide for his children, as they stood watching him with startled eyes, wondering if he'd gone crazy.

“Come on in, you guys.”

“Whose apartment is this?” Mel was whispering and afraid to go in, but Sam wandered right in and looked around. There was no one home, and he signaled to the others to join him.

And then suddenly, Benjamin understood, and he looked worried as he walked in. But Mel began exclaiming over how pretty the antiques were.

“I'm glad you like it, sweetheart.” Ollie smiled. “These are our new New York digs. How do you like them?”

“Wow!” She looked thrilled. “When are we going to use this, Daddy?” They had never had an apartment in New York before, and suddenly Sam looked worried.

“Aren't you going to come home during the week anymore, Dad?”

“Of course I am. A lot earlier than before too. We're all going to live here until the end of the school year, and then we'll come back again in September.” He was trying to make it sound like an adventure to them, but it was suddenly sinking in, and they all looked frightened.

“You mean we're moving here?” Mel looked horrified. “What about our friends?”

“You can see them on weekends, and in the summer. And if we hate it, we won't come back next year. But I think we ought to at least try it.”

“You mean I have to change schools now?” She couldn't believe what he was saying. And there was no hiding the truth from her. He nodded his head, and looked at all their faces. Sam looked stunned, and Mel sat down in a chair and started to cry. Benjamin said nothing at all, but his face hardened into a block of ice as he looked at his father. He knew it was partially due to him, but that did nothing to mitigate his anger. He had no right to do this to them, no right at all. It was bad enough that their mother had gone, but now they had to change schools, and move to New York. Suddenly, everything was going to be different. But that was just exactly what Oliver wanted. Especially for him, and Benjamin knew it.

“Come on, guys, it'll be fun. Think of it as a whole exciting new life.”

“What about Aggie?” Sam looked suddenly doubly worried. He didn't want to lose anyone else he loved, but his father was quick to reassure him.

“She's coming too.”

“And Andy?”

“He can come, too, as long as he behaves. If he chews up all the furniture, we'll have to leave him with Grandpa and pick him up on weekends.”

“He'll be good. I swear.” Sam's eyes were wide, but at least he wasn't crying. “Can I see my room?”

“Sure.” Ollie was pleased. At least Sam was trying, even if the older ones weren't. Melissa was still playing Camille, and Benjamin was staring sullenly out the window. “It doesn't look like much now, but when we bring some of your stuff in it'll look great.” Fortunately the man who owned the apartment had two sons and a daughter, and there were two masculine-looking rooms, and a pink one. But Melissa refused to even come and see it. It was twice the size of her room at home, and much more sophisticated than what she was used to. And Sam reported on it to her when he returned to the living room.

“It's okay, Mel … it's pink … you'll like it …”

“I don't care. I'm not moving here. I'll stay with Carole or Debbie.”

“No, you won't.” Oliver's voice was quiet and firm. “You'll move here with the rest of us. And I've gotten you into an excellent school. I know it's a tough change, but it's for the best right now, really, Mel, believe me.”

Benjamin suddenly wheeled on them then as his father finished speaking. “What he's saying is that he wants to keep an eye on me at close range, and he wants to keep me away from Sandra. What about weekends, Dad? Is she off-limits then too?” His voice was bitter and angry.

“She's off-limits until your grades improve. I told you, I'm not fooling around with you. All your chances for a decent college are about to go right out the window.”

“I don't care about that. It doesn't mean anything.”

“It meant a lot to you when you sent in your applications, or had you forgotten?”

“Things have changed a lot since then,” he muttered darkly, and walked back to the window.

“Well, has everyone seen as much as they want to?” Oliver managed in spite of all of it to sound cheerful, but only Sam was willing to go along with it.

“Is there a backyard?”

Oliver smiled at him. “Not exactly. There's Central Park two blocks away. That ought to do in a pinch.” Sam nodded in agreement. “Shall we go?” Melissa hurried to the door, and Benjamin followed more slowly, looking pensive. And it was a quiet drive back to Purchase, all of them lost in their own thoughts, and only Sam occasionally asking questions.

Agnes had dinner waiting for them at home, and Sam told her all about the apartment. “I can play ball in Central Park … and I've got a pretty big room … and we're coming back here as soon as school gets out, for the summer. What's my school called, Dad?”

“Collegiate.”

“Collegiate,” he repeated, as Aggie listened intently, and kept an eye on the two others. Neither Benjamin nor Mel had said a word since they'd sat down at the table. “When are we moving again?”

“Next weekend.” As he said the words, Melissa collapsed into a flood of tears again, and a few minutes later, Benjamin left the table. He quietly took the car keys from the hall table, and without saying a word, a moment later, he drove away, as Oliver watched him.

Mel never emerged from her room again that night, and the door was locked when he tried it. Only Sam was pleased about the move. To him it was something new and exciting. And after putting him to bed, Oliver went back downstairs to wait for Benjamin to come home. They were going to have a serious talk about his acts of defiance.

He didn't come home until 2:00 A.M., and Ollie was still waiting for him, getting more and more worried. And at last, he heard the crunch of the gravel in the driveway and the car stop outside. The door opened quietly, and Oliver walked out into the hall to meet him.

“Do you want to come out to the kitchen and talk?” It was a purely rhetorical question.

“There's nothing to talk about.”

“There seems to be a lot, enough to keep you out till two A.M., or is that another kind of conversation?” He led the way to the kitchen without waiting for an answer, and pulled out two chairs, but it was a moment before Benjamin sat down, and it was obvious he didn't want to. “What's going on, Benjamin?”

“Nothing I want to talk about with you.” Suddenly they were enemies. It had happened overnight, but it was no less disappointing or painful.

“Why are you so angry with me? Because of Mom? Do you still blame that on me?”

“That's your business. What I do is mine. I don't like you telling me what to do. I'm too old for that.”

“You're seventeen years old, you're not a grown-up yet, even if you'd like to be. And you can't go on breaking all the rules, sooner or later you're going to pay a hell of a price for it. There are always rules in life, whether you like them or not. Right now, you may not even get into college.”

“Fuck college.” His words startled Ollie.

“What's that all about?”

“I have more important things to think about.” For a moment, Oliver wondered if he was drunk, but he didn't appear to be, and Ollie suspected he wasn't.

“Like what? That girl? … Sandra Carter? At your age, that's a passing thing, Benjamin. And if it isn't, you're going to have to wait a long time before you can do anything about it. You've got to finish school, go to college, get a job, make a living to support a wife and kids. You've got a long road ahead of you, and you'd better stay on track now or you're going to be in deep shit before you know it.” Benjamin seemed to sag a little as he listened, and then he looked up at his father.

“I'm not moving to New York with you. I won't.”

“You have no choice. You have to. I'm closing the house here, except for weekends. And I won't let you live here alone, it's as simple as that. And if you want to know the truth, we're moving there partly because of you, so you can get your act together before it's too late, and I can spend more time with all of you in the evenings.”

“It's too late for that now. And I'm not going.”

“Why not?” There was an endless silence in the room while Oliver waited. And then, finally, the boy answered.

“I can't leave Sandra.”

“Why not? What if I let you see her on weekends?”

“Her mom's moving to California, and she won't have anywhere to stay.” Oliver almost groaned at the picture he was painting.

“Isn't Sandra going with her?”

“They don't get along. And she hates her dad. She won't go to Philadelphia to live with him either.”

“So what's she going to do?”

“Drop out of school and get a job and stay here, but I don't want to leave her alone.”

“That's noble of you. But she sounds very independent.”

“She isn't. She needs me.” It was the first time he had opened up and talked about her, and Oliver was touched, but also frightened by what he was hearing. She didn't sound like the kind of girl anyone should be involved with. She sounded like trouble. “I can't leave her, Dad.”

“You're going to have to leave her in the fall when you go to college anyway. You might as well deal with it now, before it becomes an even bigger problem.” But Benjamin only smiled at the irony of his words.

“I can't go.” He was adamant and Oliver was suddenly confused.

“To college or New York?” This really was a new one.

“Either one.” Benjamin looked stubborn and almost desperate.

“But why?” There was another long silence, and finally Benjamin looked up at him, and decided to tell him all of it. He had carried it alone for long enough, and if his father wanted to know so badly, then he would tell him.

“Because she's pregnant.”

“Oh my God … oh my God … why the hell didn't you tell me?”

“I don't know … I didn't think you'd want to know … and anyway, it's my problem.” He hung his head, feeling the full burden of it, as he had for months.

“Is that why her mother is leaving her and going to California?”

“In part. But they also don't get along, and her mother has a new boyfriend.”

“And what does she think about her daughter being pregnant?”

“She figures it's Sandra's problem, not hers. She told her to get an abortion.”

“And? … will she?”

Benjamin shook his head, and looked at his father with everything he believed in, in his eyes, his heart on his sleeve, and the values of his father. “I wouldn't let her.”

“For God's sake, Benjamin …” Oliver got up and began to pace the kitchen. “You wouldn't let her? Why not? What on earth is a seventeen-year-old girl going to do with a baby? Or is she willing to give it up for adoption?”

Benjamin shook his head again. “She says she wants to keep it.”

“Benjamn please make sense. You're ruining three lives, not just one. Get the girl to have an abortion.”

“She can't.”

“Why not?”

“She's four months pregnant.”

He sat down again with a thud. “What a mess you've gotten yourself into, no wonder you're cutting classes and flunking out, but I've got news for you, we'll wade through this mess together, but you're moving to New York with me next week, come hell or high water.”

“Dad, I already told you.” Benjamin stood up, looking impatient. “I'm not going to leave her. She's alone and pregnant, and that's my kid she's carrying around.

I care about her, and the baby.” And then suddenly, his eyes filled with tears, he was tired, and drained, and he didn't want to argue anymore, things were tough enough for him without taking on his father too. “Daddy, I love her … please don't interfere in this.” Benjamin didn't tell him he'd offered to marry the girl, but Sandra thought marriage was dumb. She didn't want to end up divorced like her parents.

Oliver went to him and put an arm around him. “You have to be sensible … you have to do the right things … for both of you. And throwing your life away isn't going to help anybody. Where is she living now?” A thousand possibilities were running through Ollie's mind as they spoke, and one of them was paying for her upkeep in a home for unwed mothers.

“At home, but she's moving into an apartment in Port Chester. I've been helping her pay the rent.”

“That's noble of you, but she's going to need a lot more than that very shortly. Do you have any idea how expensive babies are? How much it costs to have one?”

“What do you suggest, Dad?” He sounded suddenly bitter again, “that we get an abortion because it's cheaper? That's my baby inside her. I love it and I love her, and I'm not giving either of them up, do you understand that? And I'm not moving to New York. I'll get my grades up here, without going anywhere. I can always stay with her if I have to.”

“I don't know what to say to you anymore. Are you sure she's four months pregnant?” Benjamin nodded and it depressed Oliver to realize that their little “accident” had coincided with Sarah's departure. They had all gone nuts for a while, but Benjamin's craziness would last a lifetime. “Will she give it up?”

Benjamin shook his head again. “No, we won't, Dad. It's funny, I always thought you were against abortion.” The blow hit hard. He was the man who had fought Sarah each time to save his three children, and yet now he wanted Benjamin's baby to be aborted. But this was so different.

“In most circumstances, I am. But what you're doing is going to destroy your life, and I care more about you than that baby.”

“That baby is a part of me, and a part of you, and Mom … and Sandra … and I'm not going to let anyone kill it.”

“How are you going to support it?”

“I can take a job after school if I have to. And Sandra can work too. She's not doing this to get something out of me, Dad. It just happened and now we're dealing with it the best we can.” And that wasn't great, and even he knew it.

“How long have you known?” It certainly explained his seriousness in recent months, and constant disappearances, and his defiance.

“A while. A couple of months, I guess. She wasn't sure at first, because she's never very regular, and then I made her go to a clinic.”

“That's something, I guess. And now? Is she getting adequate medical care?”

“I take her to the doctor once a month.” It was incredible … his baby … his firstborn … was becoming a father. “That's enough, isn't it?” He looked suddenly worried again.

“For now. Do you think she'd go into a home for unwed mothers? They could take care of her, and eventually help her make arrangements for the baby.”

“What kind of arrangements?” Benjamin sounded instantly suspicious.

“That's up to her … and you … but it would be a decent place to live, with girls in the same situation.”

Benjamin nodded. It was a thought anyway. “I'll ask her.”

“When's the baby due anyway?”

“Late September.”

“You'll be away in school by then.”

“Maybe.” But that was a whole other fight, and both of them were too tired for that. It was after four o'clock in the morning and they were both exhausted.

“Go to bed. We'll talk tomorrow.” He touched Benjamin's shoulder with a look of tenderness and sorrow. “I'm sorry, Son. I'm so sorry this happened to both of you. Well work it out somehow.”

“Thanks, Dad.” But neither of them looked convinced as they went upstairs to bed, with their own thoughts, and their own troubles. And the doors to their bedrooms closed softly behind them.

Chapter 11

They talked long into the night almost every night that week, and got nowhere. One night, Oliver even went to see Sandra, and he was saddened when he saw the girl. She was pretty and not too bright, frightened and alone, and from another world. She clung to Benjamin as if he were the only person who could save her. And one thing she was adamant about, just as Benjamin was, she was going to have their baby.

It filled Oliver with despair, and in the end, he called Sarah.

“Are you aware of what's going on in the life of your oldest son?' It sounded like a soap opera even to him, but something had to be done about it, he couldn't spend the rest of his life with that girl, and their baby.

“He called me last night. I don't think you should interfere.”

“Are you crazy?” He wanted to strangle her with the telephone cord. “Don't you understand what this will do to his life?”

“What do you want him to do? Kill the girl?”

“Don't be an ass, for chrissake,” he couldn't believe what he was hearing from her, “she should get rid of it, or at least put the baby up for adoption. And Benjamin should come to his senses.”

“This doesn't sound like the Oliver I know … since when did you become such a champion for abortion?”

“Since my seventeen-year-old son knocked up his seventeen-year-old girlfriend, and proposed to ruin both their lives by being noble.”

“You have no right to interfere with what he thinks is right.”

“I can't believe I'm hearing this from you What's happening to you? Don't you care about his education? Don't you realize that he wants to give up school now, drop out of high school, and completely forget college?”

“He'll come around. Wait until the kid starts screaming day and night, like he did. He'll be begging you to help him escape, but in the meantime he has to do what he thinks is right.”

“I think you're as crazy as he is. It must be genetic. And is that the kind of advice you're giving him?”

“I told him to do whatever he believed in.”

“That's nonsense.”

“What are you telling him to do?”

“To pull up his socks, drag up his grades, get his ass back in school, and let the girl go to a home for unwed mothers, and have the baby put up for adoption.”

“It's certainly nice and tidy anyway. Too bad he doesn't agree with you.”

“He doesn't have to agree with me, Sarah. He's a minor. He has to do what we tell him to do.”

“Not if he tells you to go to hell, which he will if you push him too hard.”

“Just like you did?” He was furious with her, she was playing with Benjamin's life with her goddamn liberal ideas.

“We're not talking about us, we're talking about him.”

“We're talking about one of our kids ruining his life, and you're talking garbage.”

“Face reality, Oliver, it's his kid, his life, and he's going to do exactly what he wants to do, whether you like it or not, so don't give yourself ulcers over it.” It was hopeless talking to her, and eventually he hung up, even more frustrated than before.

And on Saturday morning, Benjamin came to his father as the moving van appeared in the driveway. They were sending small things to New York, some linens, and the clothes they needed.

“Ready to go, Son?” Oliver tried to sound cheerful, and as though nothing were wrong, as though that might make a difference and convince him. But Benjamin looked quiet and determined.

“I came to say good-bye to you, Dad.” There was an endless silence between them.

“You have to come with us, Son. For your own sake. And maybe even for Sandra's.”

“I'm not going. I'm staying here. I've made my decision. I'm dropping out of school right now. I've got a job in a restaurant, and I can stay at Sandra's apartment with her.” In a way, Oliver had forced his hand with the move to New York, and he was almost sorry.

“And if I let you stay in the house? Will you go back to school?”

“I'm sick of school. I want to take care of Sandra.”

“Benjamin, please … you can take better care of her if you get an education.”

“I can always go back to school later.”

“Does the school know about this yet?” Benjamin dashed the last of his father's hopes as he nodded.

“I told them yesterday afternoon.”

“What did they say?”

“They wished us luck. Sandra had already told her homeroom teacher about the baby.”

“I can't believe you're doing this.”

“I want to be with her … and my kid … Dad, you would have done the same thing.”

“Possibly, but not in the same way. You're doing the right thing, but in the wrong way and for the wrong reasons.”

“I'm doing the best I can.”

“I know you are. What if you take a high school equivalency test, take some time off now and go to college in the fall. That's still a possibility, you know.”

“Yes, but it's not what I want anymore, Dad. I want to be out in the real world. I've got real responsibilities of my own, and a woman I love … and a baby in September.” It was ridiculous thinking about it, and yet it was real. Oliver wanted to cry standing on his front lawn, watching the moving men carrying boxes in and out of the house, under Aggie's directions. It was all crazy. In four months, Sarah had destroyed their lives, and now none of it would ever be the same.

He suddenly wondered why the hell he was moving to New York, if Benjamin wasn't even coming. And yet, there were things he liked about the idea, like being able to get home earlier at night, and spending more time with Mel and Sam. Mel had calmed down in the last week, knowing that the move was only for two months for now, and on a trial basis, and they would come back to Purchase for weekends, and for the whole summer. And what made it even more interesting was that all of her friends were impressed and were dying to come and see her in the city. “Dad, I've got to go. I start work at two o'clock, and Sandra's waiting for me at the apartment”

“Will you call me?”

“Sure. Come and see us when you're in town.”

“I love you, Benjamin. I really, really love you,” He threw his arms around the boy, and held him close as they both cried.

“Thanks, Dad. Everything'll be all right …” Oliver nodded, but he didn't believe it. Nothing would ever be all right again, or at least not for a long, long time.

Oliver watched the boy drive away with tears rolling down his cheeks, and he waved at him slowly, and then Benjamin was out of sight, and his father walked slowly back into the house. He had brought the whole damn mess to a head without meaning to, and now Benjamin was a dropout, working in a restaurant and living with a floozy, but maybe something good would come of it, one day … one far-off, distant day….

Inside the house, like it or not, everything was chaos. Moving men were everywhere, the dog was barking frantically, and Sam was so excited, he could hardly stand it, as he ran around the house clutching his bear. Mel stayed on the phone almost until the instant they left, and Aggie insisted on leaving everything in order. But finally they got out, and with a last look at the house they loved, followed the moving van to new adventure in New York. There was a plant from Daphne waiting for them there, and fruit and cookies for the kids, and a box of dog biscuits for Andy. It was the perfect welcome, and Mel squealed excitedly as she saw her room, and made a dash for the phone there.

But as they settled in, all Oliver could think about was Benjamin in his new life, a life he'd bitterly regret one day, if it took that long for him to regret it. And Oliver felt as though, one by one, he was losing the people he loved most dearly.

Chapter 12

The move to New York was the best thing he had done for them in years, Oliver realized within a matter of days. Sam loved his new school, and he had an easy time making friends. And Mel was crazy about her new school, spending time with Daphne whenever she could, going to Bloomingdale's, and calling everyone she knew at home to report each new development in her glamorous new life in the city. And best of all, Oliver managed to get home before dinner every night, and spend the kind of time with the kids that he wanted to. Mel was still on the phone most of the time, but she knew he was there. And he and Sam had hours to talk and read and play games, and with the warmer weather in early May, they sometimes went to the park to play ball after they ate dinner. It was the perfect life. Except for Benjamin, whom Ollie missed constantly, and worried about most of the time. He had lost two people now, although he made a point of seeing the boy every week when they went home to Purchase for the weekends. He wanted him to come over and have dinner with them, but Ben was working at night, and it almost broke his father's heart when he stopped in to see him at the restaurant, working as a busboy for a tiny salary. He renewed his offer to let him stay at the house, much as he disliked the idea of his living alone, and he begged him to go back to school. But Benjamin wouldn't leave Sandra now. And when Ollie glimpsed her one Saturday afternoon, he was shocked. She looked more than five months pregnant, and Oliver wondered if the baby was really his son's. He asked Benjamin as much when he had the chance, but the boy only looked hurt and insisted that it was his baby. He said he was sure of it. And Oliver didn't want to press him.

The hardest blow of all came when the college letters began rolling in. Oliver would find them at the house on the weekend. Benjamin still wanted to get his mail there. The school had never notified them that Benjamin had dropped out, and he had been accepted by all except Duke. He could have gone to Harvard, or Princeton, or Yale, and instead he was scraping other people's food off plates in a restaurant, and at eighteen he was going to be a father. It almost broke Ollie's heart to think about it. Oliver answered all of the letters himself, explaining to all that because of difficult family circumstances at the time, he was unable to accept, but he would like to reapply the following year. Ollie still hoped to get him to New York to finish school. A year would be lost in his life, but no more. And he didn't bring it up with Benjamin again. It was a sensitive subject, and he seemed totally wrapped up in his life with Sandra.

“How about coming to New York for a few days sometime?” Oliver would have done anything to lure him there, but the boy was serious about his responsibilities, and he always declined, explaining that he couldn't leave Sandra alone, and Oliver never extended the invitation to her. Benjamin hadn't been to Boston, either, to see his mother since he'd left home, but he seemed to talk to her from time to time. But Mel and Sam visited her, once they were settled in their new home. They seemed quieter about things this time when they came back, and Oliver had the feeling that Sam was unhappy about something. He tried to ask Mel about it once, but she was vague, saying only that Mom was pretty busy with school. But Oliver sensed that there was something else, and one evening it came out, as he and Sam were playing cards. It was a quiet night, and they were alone. For once, Mel was studying in her room.

“What do you think about French people, Dad?” It was an odd question and his father looked up with a puzzled frown.

“French people? They're okay. Why?”

“Nothing. I just wondered, that's all.” But Ollie sensed that there was more, and the boy wanted to talk, but was afraid to.

“Is there a French boy at your school?”

Sam shook his head and discarded again, stroking Andy's head as he waited for his father to play. He loved the evenings they shared now. He was really beginning to enjoy their new life. But he still missed his mother and Benjamin, as all three of them did. “Mom's got this friend. …” The words came out as he played, and stared at the cards, and suddenly all of his father's antennae went up. So that was it. She had a boyfriend.

“What kind of friend?”

The child shrugged, and picked another card. “I don't know. He's okay, I guess.” Mel just happened to be walking by, and she stopped, trying to catch Sam's eye, but he wasn't looking at her, and Oliver looked up and saw the look on her face as she slowly wandered toward them.

“Who's winning?” She tried to distract them both from what Sam had just said. She knew they weren't supposed to talk about it, although Sarah hadn't said that to them, but it was understood between them.

“Sam is. We were just having a little chat.”

“Yeah.” Mel looked at Sam disapprovingly. “So I heard.”

“Your mom has a new French friend?”

“Oh, he's not new,” Sam was quick to add. “He was there before. We met him another time too. But he's staying with Mom now. You know, kind of like a friend. He's from France, and his name's Jean-Pierre. He's twenty-five, and he's here on an exchange program for two years.”

“How nice for him.” Oliver's face set in a thin line as he picked another card without even seeing what it was. “Nice for Mom, too, I guess. What's he like?” He hated to pump the child, but he wanted to know now. She was living with a twenty-five-year-old man, and exposing her children to him. It made him furious just thinking of it.

“It was no big deal, Dad. He slept on the couch when we were there.” And when you're not, he wanted to ask. Then where does he sleep? But they all knew that. Even Sam had commented on it to Mel on the way back, wanting to know if she thought their mother was in love with him. And she had made him once again promise not to tell their father.

“That's nice,” he repeated again. “Is he a nice guy?”

“He's okay.” Sam seemed unimpressed. “He makes a big fuss over Mom. I guess that's what French guys do. He brought her flowers and stuff, and he made us eat 'croissants.' I like English muffins better, but they were okay. It was no big deal.” Except to Oliver, who felt as though there were smoke coming from his ears. He could hardly wait to put Sam to bed, and it seemed like hours when he was finally free of him, and Mel intercepted him then, suspecting how he felt about what Sam had said.

“He shouldn't have told you all that. I'm sorry, Dad. I think he's just a friend of Mom's. It was just a little weird with him staying there.”

“I'll bet it was.”

“He said his lease had run out, and Mom was letting him sleep on the couch until he found another place to live. He was nice to us. I don't think it means anything.” Her eyes were big and sad, and they both knew it meant a lot more than she was admitting to her father. It meant Sarah had moved on, and there was a man in her life, unlike Oliver, who still longed for her every night, and hadn't had a date since she left, and still didn't want to.

“Don't worry about it, Mel.” He tried to look more relaxed about it than he felt, for her sake if nothing else. “Your mother has a right to do whatever she wants now. She's a free agent. We both are, I guess.”

“But you never go out, do you, Dad?” As she looked at him, she seemed proud of him and he smiled at her. It was an odd thing to be proud of him for.

“I just never get around to it, I guess. I'm too busy worrying about all of you.”

“Maybe you should one of these days. Daphne says it would be good for you.”

“Oh she does, does she? Well, tell her to mind her own business, I have enough confusion in my life without adding that.”

And then, his daughter looked at him, knowing the truth. And she was sorry for him. “You're still in love with Mom, aren't you, Dad?”

He hesitated for a long moment, feeling foolish for saying it, but then he nodded as he spoke, “Yes, I $m, Mel. Sometimes I think I always will be. But there's no point in that now. It's all over for us.” It was time she knew, and he suspected they all did anyway. It was five months since she'd left and nothing had turned out as she'd promised. No weekends, no vacations, she hardly ever called now. And now he knew why, if she was living with a twenty-five-year-old boy from France named Jean-Pierre.

“I kind of thought it was.” Mel looked sad for him. “Are you going to get divorced?”

“One of these days, I guess. I'm in no rush. I'll see what your mom wants to do.” And after Mel went to bed, he called her that night, remembering what Sam had said, and he didn't beat around the bush with his wife. There was no point to that. It was long past the time to play games with her.

“Don't you think it's a little tasteless to have a man staying with you when the kids are there?” There was no rage in his voice this time, just disgust. She was no longer the woman he knew and loved. She was someone else. And she belonged to a boy named Jean-Pierre. But she was the mother of his children, too, and that concerned him more.

“Oh … that … he's just a friend, Ollie. And he slept on the couch. The kids slept in my room with me.”

“I don't think you fooled anyone. They both know what's going on. At least Mel does, I can promise you that, and I think Sam has a pretty fair idea too. Doesn't that bother you? Doesn't it embarrass you to have your lover staying there?” It was an accusation now, and what really burned him was the guy's age. “I feel like I don't know you anymore. And I'm not even sure I want to.”

“That's your business now, Oliver. And how I live my life, and with whom, is mine. It might do them good if your own life were a little more normal.”

“I see. What does that mean? I should drag in nineteen-year-old girls just to prove my manhood to them?”

“I'm not proving anything. We're good friends. Age is of no importance.”

“I don't give a damn. A certain decorum is, at least when my children are around. Just see that you maintain it.”

“Don't threaten me, Oliver. I'm not one of your children. I'm not your maid. I don't work for you anymore. And if that's what you mean when you say you don't know me, you're right. You never did. All I was was a hired hand to keep your kids in line, and do your laundry.”

“That's a rotten thing to say. We had a hell of a lot more than that, and you know it. We wouldn't have stayed together for damn near twenty years if all you were to me was a maid.”

“Maybe neither of us ever noticed.”

“And what's different now, other than the fact that you've deserted your children? What's so much better? Who cooks? Who cleans? Who takes the garbage out? Someone has to do it. I did my work. You did yours. And together we built something terrific, until you knocked it down, and walked all over it, and us, on the way out. It was a stinking thing to do, to all of us, and especially me. But at least I know what we had. We had something beautiful and worthwhile and decent. Don't denigrate it now just because you walked out.”

There was a long silence at her end, and for a moment, he wasn't sure if she was crying. “I'm sorry … maybe you're right … I just … I'm sorry, Ollie … I couldn't hack it….”

His voice was gentler again. “I'm sorry you couldn't.” His voice was sweet and gruff, “I loved you so damn much, Sarah, when you left I thought it would kill me.”

She smiled through her tears. “You're too good and too strong to ever let anything get you down for long. Ollie, you don't even know it, but you're a winner.”

“So what happened?” He grinned ruefully. “It doesn't look to me like I won. Last time I looked, you weren't hanging around my bedroom.”

“Maybe you did win. Maybe this time you'll get something better. Someone better suited to you, and what you want. You should have married some terrible, light-hearted bright girl who wanted to make you a beautiful home and give you lots of children.”

“That's what I had with you.”

“But it wasn't real. I only did it because I had to. That's what was wrong with it. I wanted to be doing this, leading a bohemian life with no responsibilities other than to myself. I don't want to own anyone or anything. I never did. I just wanted to be free. And I am now.”

“The bitch of it is I never knew … I never realized …”

“Neither did I for a long time. I guess that's why you didn't either.”

“Are you happy now?” He needed to know that, for his own peace of mind. She had turned their life upside down, but if she had found what she'd been looking for, maybe it was worth it. Just maybe.

“I think I am. Happier anyway. I'll be a lot more so when I accomplish something that I think is worthwhile.”

“You already did … you just don't know it. You gave me twenty great years, three beautiful kids. Maybe that's enough. Maybe you can't count on anything forever.”

“Some things you can. I'm sure of it. Next time you'll know what you're looking for, and what you don't want, and so will I.”

“And your French friend? Is he it?” He didn't see how he could be at twenty-five, but she was a strange woman. Maybe that was what she wanted now.

“He's all right for now. It's a very existential arrangement.”

Oliver smiled again. He had heard the words before, a long time since. “You sound just the way you did when you lived in SoHo. Just make sure you're going ahead and not back. You can't go back, Sarrie. It doesn't work.”

“I know. That's why I never came home.” He understood now. It still made him sad, but at least he understood it.

“Do you want me to file?” It was the first time he had ever asked her directly, and for the first time it didn't break his heart to say the words. Maybe he was finally ready.

“When you have time. I'm in no hurry.”

“I'm sorry, sweetheart …” He felt tears sting his eyes.

“Don't be.” And then she said good night, and he was left alone with his memories and his regrets, and his fantasies about Jean-Pierre … the lucky bastard …

Sam crept back into his father's bed that night, for the first time since he'd come to New York, and Oliver didn't mind. It was comforting to have him near him.

And that weekend they went to Purchase, but they didn't see Benjamin. The children were busy with their friends, and Sarah's garden was in full bloom, so Aggie had her hands full clipping things she wanted to take back to the city, and on Saturday morning, as Oliver lay in bed, quietly dreaming, the phone rang.

It was George, and as Oliver listened, he sat bolt upright in bed. His father wasn't making much sense, all he could understand was that his mother had been hit by a bus and was in a coma. She was back in the hospital again, and his father was crying, his voice jagged and broken.

“I'll be right there, Dad. When did it happen?” It had happened at eight o'clock that morning.

He was at the hospital in under an hour, his hair barely combed, in khaki pants and the shirt he'd worn the night before, and he found his father crying softly in the hall, and when he saw Oliver, he held out his arms like a lost child.

“God, Dad, what happened?”

“It's all my fault. She was better for a few days, and I insisted on bringing her home for the weekend.” But he missed her so much, he longed for her next to him in the bed they'd shared for almost half a century, and when she had seemed better to him, he had deluded himself that it would do her good to go home for a few days. The doctors had tried to discourage him, but he had insisted he could care for her as well as they could. “She must have gotten up before I woke up. When I did, I saw her there fully dressed. She looked a little confused, she said she was going to make breakfast. I thought it was good for her to do something familiar like that, so I let her. I got up and showered and shaved, and when I went into the kitchen she wasn't there. The front door was open, and I couldn't find her. I looked for her everywhere, in the garden, in the shed. I drove all over the neighborhood, and then …”He started to sob again, “I saw the ambulance … the bus driver said she had walked right into him. He hit the brakes as hard as he could and he couldn't stop in time. She was barely alive when they brought her in, and they just don't know … Oh, Ollie, it's as though I killed her. I wanted so badly to turn back the clock, to pretend to myself that she was all right again, and of course she wasn't, and now …” She was in intensive care, and when Ollie saw her, he was badly shaken. She had sustained tremendous head injuries, and broken most of her bones. But mercifully, they said she had been unconscious from the moment she'd been hit, if that was any comfort.

The two men waited in the hall, and at noon, Oliver insisted on taking his father to the cafeteria for lunch. They saw her every hour for a moment or two, but there was no change, and by midnight it was clear to both of them that their vigil was fruitless. The doctors held out no hope, and just before dawn she had a massive stroke. His father had gone home by then, while Oliver still waited. He had called home several times and reported to Aggie on the situation. He didn't want her to tell the children yet. She had told them he'd gone back to the city for an emergency at work. He didn't want to upset them for the moment.

The doctor came to speak to him at six o'clock as he dozed in the hall. He had seen his mother for the last time two hours before. In the intensive care unit there was neither night nor day, there were only bright lights and the humming of machines, the pumping of respirators and the occasional whine of a computer, and a few sad, lonely groans. But his mother hadn't even stirred when he saw her.

The doctor touched his arm and he woke instantly. “Yes?”

“Mr. Watson … your mother has had a massive cerebral hemorrhage.”

“Is she? … has she? …” It was terrifying to say the words even now. At forty-four, he still wanted his mother. Alive. Forever.

“Her heart is still pumping, and we have her on the respirator. But there are no brain waves. I'm afraid the fight is over.” She was legally dead, but technically, with their help, she was still breathing. “We can keep her on the machines as long as you like, but there's really no point. It's up to you now.” He wondered if his father would want him to make the decision for him, and then suddenly he knew he wouldn't. “What would you like us to do? We can wait, if you'd like to consult your father.” Oliver nodded, feeling a sharp pain of loneliness knife through him. His wife had left him five months before, and now he was about to lose his mother. But he couldn't think of it selfishly now. He had to think of George and what it would mean to him to lose his wife of forty-seven years. It was going to be brutal. But in truth she had left him months before, when she began fading. Often, she even forgot who he was. And she would have grown rapidly worse over the next year. Maybe, in a terrible way, this was better.

“I'll call him.” But as he walked to the phone, he thought better of it, and he walked outside to find his car in the balmy spring morning. It was beautiful outside, the air was sweet, the sun was warm, and the birds were already singing. It was hard to believe that for all intents and purposes she had already died, and now he had to go and tell his father.

He let himself into the house with a key he kept for emergencies, and walked quietly into his parents' bedroom. It was as it always had been, except that his father lay alone in the old four-poster they had had since their wedding day.

“Dad?” he whispered, and his father stirred, and then he reached out gently and touched him. “Dad …” He was afraid to scare him. At seventy-two, he had a weak heart, his lungs were frail, but he still had dignity and strength and his son's respect. He woke up with a start, and looked at Ollie.

“Is it? … Is she …” He looked suddenly terrified as he sat up.

“She's still there, but we need to talk.”

“Why? What is it?”

“Why don't you wake up for a minute.” He still had the startled look of someone roused from a sound sleep.

“I'm awake. Has something happened?”

“Mom had a stroke.” Ollie sighed as he sat down carefully on the bed and held his father's hand. “They're keeping her going on the machined. But, Dad … that's all that's left …”He hated to say the words, but they were the simple truth. “She's brain dead.”

“What do they want us to do?”

“They can take her off the machines, that's up to you.”

“And then she'll die?” Ollie nodded, and the tears coursed slowly down the old man's cheeks as he sank slowly back against his pillows. “She was so beautiful, Oliver … so sweet when she was young … so lovely when I married her. How can they ask me to kill her? It's not fair. How can I do that to her?” There was a sad sob and Oliver had to fight back his own tears as he watched him.

“Do you want me to take care of it? I just thought you'd want to know … I'm sorry, Dad.” They were both crying, but the truth was that the woman they loved had died a while ago. There was really nothing left now.

George sat slowly up again and wiped his eyes. “I want to be there when they do it.”

“No,” his son objected instantly. “I don't want you to do that.”

“That's not your decision to make, it's mine. I owe it to her. I've been there for her for almost fifty years, and I'm not going to let her down now.” The tears began again. “Oliver, I love her.”

“I know you do, Dad. And she knew that too. She loved you too. You don't have to put yourself through this.”

“It's all my fault this happened.”

Oliver took the old man's hands hard in his own. “I want you to listen to me. There was nothing left of Mom, nothing that we knew and loved. She was gone, she had been for a long time, and what happened yesterday wasn't your fault. Maybe in a way it's better like this. If she had lived, she would have shriveled up and died, she wouldn't have known who anyone was, she wouldn't have remembered any of the things she cared about or loved … you … her grandchildren … me … her friends … her house … her garden. She would have been a vegetable in a nursing home, and she would have hated that if she'd known. Now she's been spared that. Accept that as the hand of fate, as God's will, if you want to call it that, and stop blaming yourself. None of it is in your control. Whatever you do now, whatever happened, it was meant to be this way. And when we let her go, she'll be free.”

The old man nodded, grateful for his son's words. Maybe he was right. And in any case, none of it could be changed now.

George Watson dressed carefully in a dark pinstriped suit, with a starched white shirt, and a navy blue tie Phyllis had bought for him ten years before. He looked distinguished and in control as they left the house and he looked around for a last time, as though expecting to see her, and then he looked at his son and shook his head.

“It's so odd to think that she was here just yesterday morning.”

But Ollie only shook his head in answer. “No, she wasn't, Dad. She hasn't been here in a long, long time. You know that.”

George nodded, and they drove to the hospital in silence. It was a beautiful morning … a beautiful morning to die, Oliver kept thinking. And then they walked up the steps and took the elevator to the fourth floor, and asked to see the doctor on duty. It was the same man who had spoken to Oliver only two hours before, and there had been no change in Mrs. Watson's condition, except that she had had several seizures, which was expected after the hemorrhage. Nothing of any import had changed. She was brain dead, and she would remain that way forever, and only their machine was keeping her alive for the moment.

“My father wanted to be here himself,” Oliver explained.

“I understand.” The young doctor was kind and sympathetic.

“I want to be there when you … when …” His voice quavered and he couldn't say the words, as the doctor nodded his understanding. He had been through it dozens of times before, but somehow he wasn't hardened to it yet.

There was a nurse with her when they walked in, and the machines were pulsing and beeping. The line on the monitor traveled in a single straight line, and they all knew that that was her final condemnation. But she looked peaceful as she lay sleeping there. Her eyes were closed, her hair was clean, her hands lay at her sides, as George reached out and took one. He brought it to his lips and kissed her fingers.

“I love you, Phyllis … I always, always will … and one day we'll be together again.” The doctor and Ollie turned away, the son with tears flowing down his cheeks, wishing that everything could be different, that she could live a long, long time, that nothing had changed, that she would have lived to see Sam grow up and have children of his own. “Sleep peacefully, my darling,” George whispered for the last time, and then he looked up expectantly at the doctor. He continued to hold her hand, and the machines were turned off. And quietly, peacefully, with her husband holding her hand in death as he had in life, Phyllis Watson stopped breathing.

For a long moment, George closed his eyes, and then he bent to kiss her, laid her hand down, touched her cheek for a lingering moment, and looked at her for a long, long time, imprinting that last look on his heart forever. And then he walked outside blinded by tears. Forty-seven years of the life they shared, the love that had bonded them as one for most of their lives, had ended. But there was something beautiful about the way it had been done, because of the people they had been. Even the doctor was touched, as he left them to sign the papers. Oliver made him sit down on a chair in the hall, and then he drove him home again. He stayed with his father till noon, and then went home briefly to begin making the arrangements.

The children were waiting for him there, and Mel knew instantly that something had happened. Her father looked disheveled and exhausted, and Aggie's story had never rung true to her. “What happened, Dad?”

Tears filled his eyes. “Grandma just died, sweetheart. And it was very sad, and kind of beautiful at the same time. It's going to be very hard on Grandpa.” Mel started to cry, and a moment later, sensing something, Sam joined them. Ollie told him and he cried too. He was going to miss her so much.

“Can we go see Grandpa?”

“In a while. I have some things to do first.” There was the funeral to arrange, the final details at the hospital to wind up. And that afternoon, he decided to send them home on the train with Agnes. He called Daphne before he did, and asked her to drop in on them at the apartment. She told him how sorry she was. It didn't seem fair that all of this should be happening to him, she said, and he was touched and grateful.

He called Benjamin, too, and told him the news, and suggested he look in on his grandfather when he could. He told him he'd let him know when the funeral was. He thought it might be Wednesday.

And then he went back to his father's home and Ollie was relieved to see that Mrs. Porter, their faithful neighbor, was there, taking care of his father. She was quiet and polite and kind to him, and she was very sweet. Finally when he returned home, alone and exhausted, Sarah called him. She told him how sorry she was, and apologized in advance for not coming to the funeral, she had exams.

“Ill explain it to Dad.”

“Tell him how sorry I am.” She herself was crying.

“Thanks, Sarah.” And for once he felt nothing for her. All he could think of was his father's face as he had held his mother's hand, the look of love and gentleness he cast on her. It was what he wanted in his life, too, and he hoped that one day he would find it. But he knew now that it wouldn't be with Sarah.

He went back to his father's house in the morning, and by then, all the arrangements were made. The kids came back out on Tuesday night, and the funeral was Wednesday. It was a sweet, simple affair, with the music his mother had loved, and armfuls of lovely flowers from her own garden. And then, as they lowered the casket slowly into the ground, and left her there, he took his father home, to live alone, to face his grief, to end his days without the woman he had cherished.

Chapter 13

It was June before they all caught their breath again. School let out, and they moved back to the country for the summer. George came to visit them from time to time, and he seemed tired and much older. And it was obvious that he was desperately lonely, more so than he had been when Phyllis was at the rest home. At least then he could visit her, but all he could do now was talk about her to his family and friends.

Ollie was commuting again, a decision he had made for the summer. And it made him doubly glad now that he had taken the New York apartment. It was just as difficult going home late to the kids at night, but it didn't seem quite as bad in the summer. They swam in the pool when he got home, and the kids went to bed later than they did in the winter.

They celebrated the Fourth of July with a few friends and a barbecue, and in two weeks, Mel and Sam were joining Sarah for the rest of the summer. She was taking them to France, to travel there for a month with Jean-Pierre. She had called to tell him that, and he decided to let her. The kids were old enough to understand. Mel was sixteen and Sam almost ten, and they were excited about going.

George even came to the barbecue, and brought Margaret Porter, the pleasant neighbor they had all met before. She was an attractive woman with gray hair and a lively mind. She had been a nurse in her youth, and her late husband had been a doctor, and she seemed to take good care of Ollie's father. She made a point of seeing that he sat down when he should, without making an issue of it, brought him his food, and joked amiably with him and their friends and George seemed to like it. He talked about Phyllis a lot, and Ollie knew he still felt guilty about the accident that had ultimately killed her. But he seemed to be recovering. They all were, in their own way, from the blows of the past year. Even Ollie felt more himself now. He had filed for divorce in June, and at Daphne's constant urging, he had gone on a date, which had proven to be a disaster. He had gone out with a creative type from another agency, and afterward insisted the girl was a kook. She had wanted him to try cocaine, and her favorite sport was women's wrestling. Daphne had teased him about it a lot, but at least it was a beginning.

Benjamin and Sandra also came to the barbecue, and by then she was seven months pregnant. Ollie felt sorry for her, she wasn't bright, and her childish face looked ridiculous on the huge body. She talked about the baby a lot, and for a moment Ollie was terrified, wondering if they were going to get married too. But when he asked, Benjamin said they had no plans for that yet. He thought they were both too young.

Mel tried to talk to her several times, but she seemed to have nothing to say, and Mel finally gave up, and went back to chatting with her friends. Daphne had come out, too, and she and Margaret Porter spent a lot of time at the poolside talking.

“I had a lovely time,” Daphne told Ollie before she left. “A real old-fashioned Fourth of July, with good friends. You can't ask for more than that in life.” She smiled happily and he laughed, remembering bygone days.

“I could. But I guess I won't. Another date like the one I had, and it might kill me.” They both laughed, remembering the lady wrestling fan.

“Your father seems to be doing all right, and I like his friend. She's a very interesting woman. She and her husband traveled a lot in the Far East, and they set up a clinic for two years in Kenya.”

“She seems to be good for Dad. That's something at least. I just wish Benjamin would sort himself out. That girl is sweet, but she'll destroy his life, if he lets her.”

“Give him a chance. He's trying to do the right thing. He just doesn't know what that is yet.”

“It's hard to imagine him with a kid of his own. He's still a child himself, and she looks like she's fourteen years old. And God, Daph, she's so pathetically stupid.”

“She's just out of her element here, and you have to admit, she's at a hell of a disadvantage. She knows what you all think of her, what Benjamin has given up to be with her. That's a hell of a burden for her.”

Ollie smiled at his friend ruefully. “Speaking of which, she looks like she's having triplets.”

“Don't be unkind,” she scolded.

“Why not? She's ruining my son's life.”

“Maybe not. Maybe the baby will be terrific.”

“I'd still like her to give it up.”

Daphne shook her head, she had talked to both of them, and she knew better. “I don't think Benjamin would let her. He's too much like you, too moral, too decent, too anxious to stand up for what he believes in and do the right thing for everyone. He's a great kid. Everything'll be all right.”

“What makes you so sure?”

“He's your kid, isn't he?” And then she had gone back to New York, and the others had left shortly after. And Ollie had helped Agnes clean up, and in spite of himself, as he lay alone by the pool late that night, he found himself thinking of Sarah, wondering what she was doing then. The Fourth of July had always been special to them. And they would have been married nineteen years that summer. It made him think of other things as well … his parents … and his father … and Margaret Porter. He wondered if his father was interested in her, or just grateful for her help, and happy to have someone to talk to. Maybe a little of both. It was odd to think of his father interested in anyone, except his late wife.

It was funny how they all had someone now … Sarah had Jean-Pierre, his father had Margaret for whatever it was worth, and even his son had the girl who was carrying his baby. And Oliver was alone, waiting for someone to walk into his life and make it whole again. He wondered if it would ever happen.

“Dad?” It was Mel, whispering in the dark, looking for him. “Are you out there?”

“I'm at the pool. What's up?”

“I just wondered if you were okay.” She wandered over and sat down next to him.

“I'm fine, sweetheart.” He touched the long blond hair and smiled. She was a sweet girl, and things were good between them again. She seemed to have settled down a lot since their move to New York, and she was closer to him again. Closer than she was to Sarah. “It was nice today, wasn't it?”

“Yes, it was.” And then, echoing his own thoughts, “What do you think of Grandpa's friend?”

“Margaret? I like her.”

“Do you think he'll marry her?” Mel seemed intrigued and Ollie smiled at her.

“I doubt it. He loved Grandma too much for that. You don't find that more than once in a lifetime.”

“I just wondered.” And then, with fresh concern, “Do you think Mom will marry Jean-Pierre? … he's so young for her …”Although she would never have said that to her mother.

“I don't think so, sweetheart. I think she's just having fun.”

Melissa nodded, relieved. “God, isn't poor Sandra awful?”

He nodded his agreement, suddenly amused that they were dissecting everyone after the guests left, the way married couples did. It made him feel less lonely. “It drives me crazy to see Benjamin wasting his life with her, working as a busboy to support her.”

“What'll they do with the baby?”

“God knows. I think they should give it up, but Benjamin insists they want it. And then what? I'll be damned if I'll let them get married.”

“I don't really think he wants to. He's just trying to be nice to her. But he looks pretty bored with her too. And she kept looking at the other guys who came by. I don't think she knows what she wants. God, Daddy … imagine being seventeen and having a baby!”

“Keep that in mind, my dear, if the call of the wild ever strikes!” He wagged a finger at her and she laughed, blushing in the darkness.

“Don't worry. I'm not that stupid.” He wasn't quite sure what that meant. If it meant she would never do it, or if she did, she would be more careful. He made a mental note to himself to have Daphne talk to her on the subject, before she went to France for the summer.

“Is Sam asleep?”

“Out like a light.”

“Maybe we should go to bed too.” He stood up and stretched and they walked slowly inside holding hands. It had been a beautiful day, sunny and hot, and now the night was cool. It was exactly the way he liked it.

He kissed her good night outside her room, and lay in his own bed that night, thinking of what the last year had been like. How much had changed, how different they all were. Only a year before, on the Fcurth of July, everything had been so different. Sarah had been there, his mother … Benjamin still seemed like a child. They had all grown up that year, or some of them anyway. He didn't know about Sarah. He suspected that she was still groping. But he felt as though he had found his feet at last, and as he drifted off to sleep, he found himself wondering again about his father and Margaret Porter.

Chapter 14

In July, Mel and Sam left for Europe with Sarah and her French friend, and Oliver moved back to the apartment in New York. There was no point commuting every night now with the kids gone. It was easier for him to stay late at work, and then go back to 84th Street. He and Daphne spent a lot of time working together, and they had a standing spaghetti date now on Monday and Friday nights. She was with her friend the other three weekday nights, and now and then she would talk to Ollie about him. “Why do you do that to yourself?” he scolded more than once. “At your age, you should get married and be with someone who can give you more than three nights a week. Daph, you deserve it.”

She always shrugged and laughed. She was happy as things were. He was a wonderful man, she said, and she didn't want more than that. He was intelligent and kind and generous to her, and she loved him. And without children, marriage didn't seem quite as important to her.

“You'll be sorry one day.”

But she didn't agree with him. What she had was right for her, even though she missed him when she wasn't with him. “I don't think so, Ollie.” He admitted to her how lonely it was being alone, without the kids. He missed having someone to talk to at night, and the companionship he had known for nearly twenty years with Sarah.

He only went out to Purchase now to visit Benjamin and his father. Sandra was getting bigger by the hour. And for the first time in his life, Benjamin looked pale to him. He never got out in the sun anymore. He was always working. He had two jobs now. One pumping gas, and the other at night as a busboy. He was trying to save enough money to get her decent maternity care, pay for the apartment they shared, and have enough on hand to support their baby. And when he had offered to help them, Benjamin had refused it.

“It's my responsibility now, Dad. Not yours.”

“This is ridiculous. You're a child. You should be in school, being supported and getting an education.” But he was learning other things, about how tough life was when you were eighteen, and had a family to support and hadn't even finished high school. Sandra had had to stop work finally, her ankles were swollen to the size of melons, and the doctor was afraid she was becoming toxemic. Benjamin went home at lunch-time to prepare her meals, and she would lie on the couch and watch TV, while he cooked, complaining all the while that she never saw him anymore. He came home at night as early as he could, but he usually worked till two o'clock in the morning. And just thinking about it drove Oliver wild. He kept trying to give him money to ease his burdens, and finally he found a simpler solution. He gave it to Sandra, and she was always happy to take whatever he gave. He urged them to go to the house and at least use the pool, but Sandra didn't want to go anywhere, and Benjamin didn't have time. He was too busy working.

He was not unlike his mother, Oliver thought to himself one day, after writing a $500 check to Sandra and telling her to buy whatever she needed for the baby. Sarah hadn't taken a penny from him either since she left. She was supporting herself on the money her grandmother had left, and she insisted it wasn't right for Ollie to support her. Things were tight for her, and the children reported constantly about things they couldn't do when they visited her, because “Mom couldn't afford it,” but that was the lifestyle Sarah had always wanted. The life that he had provided for her didn't matter to her anymore. She had given mountains of clothes to Mel, and left the rest at the house in Purchase. She lived in blue jeans and T-shirts and sandals. And she and Jean-Pierre were proud of the fact that they were traveling through Europe on a shoestring. He had had several postcards from the kids since they left, but they never called, and he was never quite sure where they were. It made him nervous from time to time, but Sarah had only said that they would stay with relatives of Jean-Pierre's in France, and youth hostels in the other countries where they traveled. It was certainly going to be a different experience for them, but it might be good for them too. And he trusted her to take good care of them. She was their mother, after all, and he had always trusted her. But now, with all of them gone, he was stunned at how much he missed them. It was almost a physical pain when he went home at night to the empty apartment. He had given Aggie the summer off, and hired a weekly cleaning service to take care of the apartment. The house in Purchase was closed, and the dog was staying with his father. It was company for him at least. And when Oliver took the train up to see him one Sunday afternoon, he was touched to find his father lovingly tending his late wife's garden. He had always hated gardening, but now it was vital to him to maintain the roses that had meant so much to her.

“Are you doing all right, Dad?”

“I'm fine. It's awfully quiet here, especially with you and the children gone. Margaret and I go out to dinner from time to time, but I have a lot of work to do, to get your mother's estate in order.” The tax work he had to do for probate seemed to keep him busy, and she had had some stocks that he wanted to transfer now to Ollie's children.

Ollie felt sad after he'd spent the afternoon with him, and he went back on the train that night feeling pensive. His car was in the shop, and it was odd riding home on the train instead of driving. He took a seat in the parlor car, and picked up the book he had brought with him, and it was several stops before the seat next to him was occupied. He glanced up and saw a young woman with long dark hair and a deep tan slide into place beside him.

“Sorry,” she apologized, as she bumped him with her bag. She seemed to have assorted weekend equipment with her, and a tennis racket strapped to an overnight bag poked him in the leg repeatedly until she moved it. “Sorry about all this stuff.” He nodded and assured her it was all right, and went back to his book, as she pulled out what looked like a manuscript and began to make notations. And more than once he sensed her watching him, until finally he looked up and smiled, and realized that she was very attractive. She had blue eyes, and a smattering of freckles on a face that couldn't have been more than twenty-five or six years old. Her hair was pulled back, and she wore no makeup.

“How do you like the book?” she asked once as they pulled into another station.

“Not bad.” It was the hit of the summer, and he liked it, although he usually preferred not to read fiction. But Daphne had given it to him and insisted that he would enjoy it. “Is that your manuscript you're working on?” He was curious about her, and she laughed, shaking her head, and for an instant she seemed a little older. She was actually thirty years old, but her natural good looks reminded him of some of Mel's friends. She had a deep, friendly voice, and intelligent eyes, as she explained what she was reading and why.

“I'm an editor, and we published the book you're reading. That's why I asked if you like it. Do you live out here?” She was curious about him, but she seemed interested in everyone. She was open and easy, and he noticed in her summer dress that she had very pretty arms and shoulders.

“I used to live out here. I live in the city now. Most of the time anyway.”

Ah, she decided for herself. A weekend father. “Visiting your kids?”

He shook his head, amused by her straightforward questions. “No. My father.”

“Me too.” She smiled. “He and his wife just had a baby.” She explained that he was sixty-three years old, and married for the third time. Her mother had remarried too, and was living in London.

“Sounds like an interesting family.”

“It is.” She grinned. “His wife is four years younger than I am. Daddy's never been one to waste time.” She didn't tell him that her mother was married to Lord Bronson, and the talk of Europe with their castles and country homes, and glamorous parties. She had wanted to get away from all that, and had gone to work in New York, like the rest of the world. She had no great fondness for the jet-set life of her parents. “And what do you do?”

He suddenly laughed at her. She was a funny girl. Funny and open and nice and extremely attractive. “I'm in advertising.” She wondered then if he was married, but she didn't ask him.

“So's my dad.” She seemed amused. “Robert Town-send, maybe you know him.”

So that was who she was. Townsend was one of the most important men in the business. “I've met him. I can't say I really know him.” And then, he decided to introduce himself to her. “I'm Oliver Watson.”

She shook his hand with a firm grip of her own. “Megan Townsend.” She put her manuscript away then, and they chatted the rest of the way in. He liked talking to her, and he forgot about his book, and offered her a ride home when they arrived at Grand Central Station in New York.

She lived on Park and 69th, only fifteen blocks from his apartment, and after he dropped her off, he stopped the cab and decided to walk home. It was a warm night, and he liked being in New York during the summer. The city was almost deserted, except for a few real devotees, the hardworking stiffs like himself, and a handful of tourists.

The phone was ringing when he got home, and he assumed it was Daphne. No one else ever called, now that the children were gone, except occasionally his father. But he was startled when he heard the voice of the woman he had just dropped off. It was Megan Townsend.

“Hi there, I just had a thought. Want to come back for a drink and a salad? I'm not much of a cook, but I can manage that. I just thought …” She sounded suddenly unsure, and it crossed her mind that he might be married. At his age, most men were, but she figured that if she was barking up the wrong tree, he would tell her. He had looked like a pretty straightforward guy.

“That would be very nice.” It was a new experience for him, being picked up by a woman, and invited over for dinner on a Sunday night. It hadn't even occurred to him to ask for her number, and he realized then that Daphne was right. He was desperately out of practice. “Can I bring anything?”

“I'm all set. Say eight o'clock?”

“That's great,” and then, “I'm glad you called.”

“It's not exactly the thing to do, I guess,” she laughed into the phone, seeming perfectly at ease with what she had done, and he wondered if she did it often, “but life's too short. I liked talking to you on the train.”

“So did I.”

And then she decided to ask him before wasting too much time. Married men weren't her thing, although for an occasional dinner she didn't mind. “By the way, are you married?”

“I …” He didn't quite know how to answer her. He was, but not in any way that counted anymore, and he decided to tell her the truth. “I am … but I've been separated for seven months.”

His answer seemed satisfactory to her. “I figured you were out visiting your kids today when I first saw you.”

“They're in Europe for the summer, two of them anyway. The other one is in Port Chester, working.” But he didn't tell her that Benjamin was eighteen and living with a fellow dropout while they waited for the birth of their baby.

“See you at eight.” She hung up with a smile, pleased with what she'd done, and Oliver looked pleased too, as he strolled back down Park Avenue half an hour later.

Her apartment was on the top floor, with a very pretty penthouse garden. It was in a small, exclusive building and Oliver suspected correctly that it was a co-op. This was no ordinary working girl, and he knew that Robert Townsend was not only a major advertising success, but he was also from a very prominent family in Boston. And Megan's breeding was stamped all over her, from her hair to her shoes, to her well- bred voice, to the expensive white silk shirt she'd put on with a pair of jeans to greet him. Her hair was hanging loose, and he loved the way it flowed down her back and over her shoulders. She wasn't just pretty, he realized now, she was beautiful, and very striking. She had put some makeup on, and she escorted him into the airy living room, which was all done in white and chrome, with a black-and-white marble floor, and two zebra rugs tossed casually under an enormous glass table. There was one mirrored wall to reflect the view, and the glass table in the tiny dining room was set for two. And somehow, even though she wore only jeans and a silk shirt, she had an aura of great sophistication.

“This is quite a place!” He marveled at the view, and she led him out onto the terrace as she handed him a gin and tonic.

“It's my only case of excessive indulgence.” Her father had wanted to buy her a town house for her thirtieth birthday, earlier that year, but she had steadfastly refused it. She loved the place she had, and it was big enough, and Oliver certainly understood why she liked it. “I spend an awful lot of time here. I spend most of my weekends here, buried in manuscripts.” She laughed easily and he smiled.

“I can think of worse fates.” And then he decided to play her game. There was a great deal he suddenly wanted to know about Megan Townsend. “What about you? Married? Divorced? The mother of twelve?” although that at least seemed more than unlikely. Everything about her screamed that she was unencumbered and single.

“Never married. No kids. No cats, dogs, or birds.

And no currently married lovers.” They both laughed, and he grinned ruefully.

“I guess that leaves me out.”

“Are you going back to your wife?” she inquired, as they sat on two white Brown Jordan deck chairs outside.

“No, I'm not.” He met her eyes squarely, but he didn't tell her that until recently, he would have liked to. “Our lives have gone in very separate directions. She's a graduate student at Harvard now, and an aspiring writer.”

“That sounds admirable.”

“Not really.” There was still a trace of bitterness in his voice, whenever he talked about Sarah to strangers. “She walked out on me and three children to get there.”

“Sounds like heavy stuff.”

“It was.”

“And still is?” She was quick, and she seemed anxious to get to know him.

“Sometimes. But better lately. You can't hang on to anger forever,” he smiled sadly, “although I tried to for a long time. She kept insisting she was coming back, but I think that charade is finally behind us. And the kids are adjusting … so am I….”He smiled at her, and then suddenly laughed at himself. “Although, I have to admit to you, this is the first 'date' I've had in twenty years. You may find my dating manners a little rusty.”

“You haven't been out with anyone since she left?” Megan was impressed. The woman who'd left him must have been quite something. She'd never been without a man in her life for more than a month, and she was sure she didn't want to be. Her last lover had departed only three weeks before, after a comfortable six months, commuting between her penthouse and his Fifth Avenue town house. She moved with a racy crowd, but something about Oliver had intrigued her, his looks, his charm, and something that had suggested to her that he was very lonely. “Are you serious?”

And then suddenly he remembered the lady wrestling fan, and laughed again. “No, I lied … I had a date a couple of months ago, and it was a disaster. It almost cured me.”

“Good Lord, Oliver,” she laughed and set down the remains of her gin and tonic, “You're practically a virgin.”

“You might say that.” He laughed and for a moment, wondered if he had gotten in over his head this time. He hadn't made love to a woman in seven months, and suddenly he wondered what would happen if he tried. Maybe it wouldn't even work. For seven months, he hadn't wanted anyone but Sarah. And he hadn't slept with anyone else in twenty years before that. He had never cheated on his wife, and this girl seemed somehow as though she was used to getting any man she wanted. Suddenly a little boy in him wanted to run home as fast as he could, and he felt like Sam as he stood up and went to admire the view again, while she went back inside to finish putting together the promised salad.

“I warn you, I can't cook. Caesar salad and carpaccio are the full limit of my skills. After that, it's strictly pizza and Chinese takeout.”

“I can hardly wait. I like them all.” And he liked her, too, although she frightened him a little bit.

They sat down to dinner in the dining room, and talked about her work, and his, and he began to feel more at ease again, and then eventually she asked about his children, and he tried to describe them to her.

“They were all pretty hard hit when their mother left, and I was too. But I think they're coming out of it now.” All except Benjamin and the disaster he had created for himself with Sandra.

“And what about you? How do you feel now?” She seemed a little mellower after some good French white wine, and he had relaxed too. It was easier to talk to her now, as they mused about life over their simple dinner.

“I don't know. I don't think about it much anymore. I just keep busy with my work and the kids. I haven't thought about how I feel in a while. Maybe that's a good sign.”

“Do you still miss her?”

“Sure. But after twenty-two years, I'd be crazy not to. We were married for eighteen years, and dated for four years before that. That's a long time in anyone's life. In my case, it's half a lifetime.”

“You're forty-four?” She smiled, and he nodded. “I figured you for about thirty-nine.”

“I figured you for twenty-five.”

“I'm thirty.” They both laughed.

“And how does that feel? As terrifying as they say? Sarah hated turning thirty, she felt as though her whole life was behind her. But that was nothing compared to thirty-nine … and forty … and forty-one…. I think that's what got to her finally. She was panicked that she would never accomplish anything before she got really old, so she ran. The dumb thing was that she had accomplished a lot, or at least I thought so anyway, but she didn't.”

“I'm not hung up about those things, but I guess that's because I'm not married and bogged down by kids. I've done exactly what I've wanted to do all my life. I guess you could say I was spoiled rotten.” She said it with a look of glee, and he laughed, suspecting she was right, as he glanced around the expensively appointed apartment.

“What's important to you? I mean, what do you really care about?”

Myself, she almost said out loud, and then decided to be a little less honest. “My work, I guess. My freedom. Having my own life to do exactly as I please with. I don't share well, and I don't do well with having to live up to other people's expectations. We all play by pur own rules, and I like mine. I don't see why one has to do anything, get married, have kids, conform to certain rules. I do it my way, and I like that.”

“You are spoiled,” he said matter-of-factly, but for the moment, he wasn't sure that he minded.

“My mother always told me not to play by anyone else's rules, and I never have. I always seem to be able to look beyond that. Sometimes it's a strength, and sometimes it's a terrible weakness. And sometimes it's a handicap because I don't understand why people complicate life so much. You have to do what you want to do in life, that's the only thing that matters.”

“And if you hurt people in the process?” She was treading on sensitive ground, but she was also smart enough to know it.

“Sometimes that's the price you pay. You have to live with that, but you have to live with yourself, too, and sometimes that's more important.”

“I think that's how Sarah felt. But I don't agree with that. Sometimes you owe other people more than you owe yourself, and you just have to tough it out and do what's right for them, even if it costs you.” It was the basic difference between him and his wife, and possibly the difference between him and Megan.

“The only person I owe anything to is me, and that's how I like it for now. That's why I don't have kids, and I'm not compelled to be married, although I'm thirty. I think that's what we're really talking about. In a sense, I do agree with you. If you have kids, you owe a lot to them, and not just to yourself. And if you don't want to live up to them, you shouldn't have them. I don't want all that responsibility, which is why I don't have them. But your wife did. I suppose the basic mistake she made was marrying you and having children in the first place.” She was more astute than she knew, and she had hit Sarah's philosophies bluntly on the head, much to Oliver's amazement.

“That was my fault, I guess. I talked her into all of it. And then … twenty years later, she reverted to what she had been when we met … and bolted….”

“You can't blame yourself for that. It was her responsibility too. You didn't force her to marry you at gunpoint. You were doing what you believed in, for you. You can't be responsible in life for other people's behavior.” She was a totally independent woman, attached to no one and nothing, but at least she was honest about it.

“What does your family think about the way you live?” He was curious about that, too, and for a moment, she looked pensive.

“Oh, I suppose it annoys them. But they've given up on me. My father keeps getting married and having kids. He had two with my mother, four with his second wife, and he's just had his seventh child. My mother just gets married, but forgets to have kids, which is fortunate, because she really doesn't like them. She's sort of an Auntie Mame. My sister and I spent most of our lives in expensive boarding schools, from the time we were seven. They would have sent us sooner if they could, but the schools wouldn't take us.”

“How awful.” Oliver looked horrified. He couldn't even imagine sending his children away. At seven, Sam had still been a baby. “Did it affect you?” But he realized, as soon as he had said it, that it was a stupid question. There were obviously reasons why she was attached to nothing and no one now.

“I suppose it did. I'm not very good at forming what the English call 'lasting attachments.' People come and go. They always have in my life, and I'm used to it … with a few exceptions. “She looked suddenly sad, and began to clear the table.

“Are you and your sister close?”

She stopped and looked at him oddly. “We were. Very close. She was the only person I could ever count on. We were identical twins, if you can imagine that. Double trouble, as it were. Except that she was everything I wasn't. Good, kind, well-behaved, decent, polite, she played everything by the rules, and believed anything anyone told her. She fell in love with a married man at twenty-one. And committed suicide when he wouldn't leave his wife.” Everything had changed for Megan after that, and Oliver could see it in her eyes as she told the story.

“I'm sorry.”

“So am I. I've never had another friend like her. It was like losing half of myself. The better half. She was all the good things, all the sweet things I never was and never would be.”

“You're too hard on yourself.” He spoke to her very softly, and his kindness only made it more painful.

“Not really. I'm honest. If it had been me, I'd have killed the son of a bitch, or shot his wife. I wouldn't have killed myself.” And then, with a look of anguish, “When they did the autopsy, they found out she was four months pregnant. She never told me. I was here in school. She was staying in London with my mother.” She looked at him with hardened eyes. “Would you like coffee?”

“Yes, please.” It was an amazing tale. It was incredible to realize the things that happened in people's lives, the tragedies, the pain, the miracles, the moments that changed a lifetime. He suspected that Megan had been very different before her sister died, but he would never know that.

He followed her out to the kitchen, and she looked up at him with a warm smile. “You're a nice man, Oliver Watson. I don't usually tell people the story of my life, certainly not the first time I meet them.”

“I'm honored that you did.” It explained a lot about her.

They went back out to the terrace to drink the pungent brew she extracted from the espresso machine, and she sat very close to him as they looked at the view. And he sensed that she wanted something from him, but something that he wasn't ready to give her. It was too soon for him, and he was still afraid of what it would be like to reach out to a woman who wasn't Sarah.

“Would you like to have lunch sometime this week?”

“I'd like that very much.” She smiled. He was so sweet and innocent, and yet so strong and so decent and so kind. He was everything she had always feared and never wanted. “Would you like to spend the night with me here?” It was a blunt question and the question took him by surprise as he set his cup down. He looked over at her with a smile that made him look handsome and boyish at the same time.

“If I say no, will you understand that it's not a rejection? I don't like rushing into things. You deserve more than that. We both do.”

“I don't want anything more than that.” She was honest with him. It was one of her few virtues.

“I do. And so should you. We spend the night, we have some fun, we wander off, so what? What has it given us? Even if we only spend one night together, it would be nicer for both of us if it meant something.”

“Don't put too much weight on all that.”

“Would it be simpler to say I'm not ready? Or does that make me sound like a loser?”

“Remember what I said, Oliver? You have to play by your own rules. Those are yours. I have mine. I'll settle for lunch, if you're not too shocked at being propositioned.”

He laughed, feeling more comfortable again. Any- thing seemed acceptable to her, she was flexible and undemanding, and so sexy, he wanted to kick himself for not taking her up on her offer then and there before she could change her mind.

“I'll call you tomorrow.” He stood up. It was time to go. Before he did something he would regret later, even if she didn't. “Thank you for a wonderful dinner.”

“Anytime.” She watched him closely as they walked to the door, and then looked into his eyes with something few men saw. Although she had bedded down with many, there were few who knew her. “Oliver … thank you … for everything. …”

“I didn't do anything, except eat and talk, and enjoy being with you. You don't need to thank me.”

“Thank you for being who you are … even if you never call me.” She was used to that, usually after a night of unbound passion. As she had said to him, people came and went in her life. She was used to it. But if he didn't call her, she would somehow miss him.

“I'll call you.” And with that, he bent, and took her in his arms and kissed her. She was the first woman he had kissed since his wife had left, and her mouth was inviting and warm, and her body strong and appealing. He wanted to make love to her more than anything, but he also knew he had to go. He wanted to think about this. She was too powerful a woman to be taken lightly.

“Good night,” she whispered as the elevator came, and he smiled as he looked her straight in the eye as the doors closed. She stood there for a long time, and then she walked slowly back into her apartment and closed the door. She went back to the terrace, and sat down, thinking about him … and the sister she hadn't talked about in years. And without knowing why, or for which of them, she began to cry softly.

Chapter 15

He called her, as promised, first thing the next morning, and invited her to lunch at the Four Seasons that day. He had lain in bed thinking about her for hours the night before, and hating himself for not staying and making love to her. He had had everything in the world handed to him on a silver platter, and he had run away. He felt like a total fool, and he was sure that Megan shared his opinion.

They met at the Four Seasons at noon, and she was wearing a bright red silk dress and high-heeled black patent leather sandals, and he thought she was the sexiest woman he had ever seen. It made him feel like an even bigger fool about the night before, and he told her as much as they settled down at their table. The fountain in the middle of the room was issuing a delicate spray, and there were people everywhere from his business and her own. It was hardly a discreet place for them to meet, but neither of them had any reason to keep secrets.

She told him about the new book she was interested in publishing, and he explained to her at length about one of their new clients. And it was three o'clock before they looked around and realized that they were the only people left in the room. Megan laughed and Oliver looked faintly embarrassed.

“How about dinner tomorrow night?” he asked as they left.

“Can you cook?”

“No.” He laughed. “But I can fake it. What would you like? Pizza? Chinese? Pastrami sandwich? Cheeseburger from Hamburger Heaven?”

She laughed at him. “Why don't I pick up some things at my favorite deli and we can make a mess of it together?”

“Sounds great.” He loved the idea, the coziness of it, and most of all the prospect of seeing her again.

“Do you like moussaka?”

“I love it.” But he was a lot more interested in her than the meal, and he kissed her lightly on the cheek as he put her in a cab and walked back to his office.

“New client?” Daphne asked him at four o'clock when she dropped by his office with some storyboards to show him.

“Who?”

“That knockout I saw you with at lunch.” She grinned happily at him across his desk and he blushed and pretended to concentrate on the storyboards for the commercial.

“What are you doing? Spying on me?”

“Do I smell spring in the air? Or is that her perfume?”

“Mind your own business. It's probably Raid. I found a cockroach under my desk this morning.”

“A likely story. Even the plastic plants can't breathe in this place, let alone a nice healthy cockroach. She's gorgeous. Who is she?”

“Just a girl I met the other day.”

“Very nice. Serious?” She was like a sister to him, and he loved her for it.

“Not yet. And probably never. She's one of those great independent women like my ex-wife, she believes in careers and freedom and not getting too attached to anyone.” But it was the first time he had called Sarah that, and that in itself was a step in the right direction.

“She sounds like big trouble. Just have a good time before she breaks your heart.”

“I'm getting there.”

“Congratulations.”

“Thank you. Now, do you mind if we get back to work, or would you rather play advice to the lovelorn?”

“Don't be so touchy.” But they forewent their dinner date that night, and they both worked late. And when he went home, he called Megan. She was out, but her answering machine was on. He left his name and just said he'd called to say hello, and reconfirmed their date for the following evening.

She arrived promptly at eight, arms laden with goodies, and they unpacked them together in his kitchen.

“This is a nice place,” she said politely, but it was nothing like hers, and it still had the impersonal feeling of someone else's apartment. Only the children had impressed their personalities on their rooms, but Ollie had done nothing much about the rest, and with Aggie away, there weren't even flowers. He had thought about it too late, after he got home, and was opening a bottle of wine for their dinner.

“How was your day?”

“Not bad. How was yours?” She looked relaxed and happy in a white silk skirt slit almost to her thigh, and a turquoise blouse that made her honey-tanned skin look even darker.

He told her what he had done all day, and it was nice having someone to share it with, as they ate the moussaka at the kitchen table.

“It must be lonely for you here, with the children gone.”

He smiled at her, wondering if it was an invitation to go back to her place. “It gets a little quiet without them. But I've been working pretty late most nights.” And he suddenly had the feeling that he wouldn't be doing that for much longer.

They talked about crazy things, polo, and baseball, her parents again, and her dislike of the English. He suspected that it was due to the man who had caused the suicide of her sister. She had strong opinions about everything, and when she helped him clear the dishes, he noticed the slit in her skirt again, and felt an irresistible wave of arousal.

They sat in the living room afterward, drinking wine, and talking, and then suddenly, without knowing how it had happened, he found himself kissing her and they were lying on the couch, and he wanted desperately to make love to her. Her skirt was around her waist, her thighs bare, and as his hand passed over the satin of her flesh, he realized that she had worn nothing but her body beneath the skirt, and he groaned with desire as he felt her. His fingers found what he was looking for, and she moaned softly, as the years fell away from him and he was young again, young and in love and overwhelmed with passion. He pulled off her blouse, and she magically undid the skirt, and she lay naked and splendid beneath his hands, and the sight of her took his breath away she was so lovely.

“My God, Megan … my God …” And then expertly, teasingly, tauntingly, she peeled his clothes from him, and they lay on the couch making love as he had never made love before. She did things to him that he had never dared dream of, and she filled him with a desire so powerful that he took her with force, and came like an earthquake inside her. And then he lay over her, feeling her body tremble, and then begin to writhe slowly. He couldn't believe she wanted more, but she guided his hands back to her, and then pushed his head between her legs, and his tongue caressed the places where she wanted him. She moaned and she cried and she shuddered, and in a moment he entered her again, and they lay making love for hours, again and again. She pulled him to the floor, and then he led her to his bedroom. And at last they lay spent, side by side, and she laughed her deep, throaty laughter, and pulled him to her again as he groaned.

“Good God, woman, you're going to kill me.”

“But what a way to die!” They both laughed, and a little while later, she ran a bath for him, and then they made love in the bathtub. It was an unforgettable night for both of them, and as the sun came up, they were soaking happily in the bathtub. She was nothing like anyone he had ever known, she was overwhelmed with desire, and brought the same out in him. He had never thought himself capable of the feats she had had him perform, but he had loved it.

“Do you realize, we've been making love for ten straight hours? It's seven o'clock in the morning' He was astonished at what they'd done. Astonished, and pleased with himself and with her. It was nothing like his lovemaking with Sarah, and he had thought their love life had been perfect.

“After seven months, don't you think you deserve it?” She smiled at him and he laughed.

“I hadn't looked at it that way. Maybe we should try again.” But he was only joking. And she wasn't. She sat astride him in the bathtub as he laughed and rode him again, and much to his amazement, within moments he was aching for her again, and they rolled and splashed and cavorted like two dolphins in the bathtub, and then he pressed her against the side of the tub and ground himself into her as she moaned, out of control, begging him not to stop, and finally screaming as they both exploded from the depths of the warm, soapy water. “Oh Megan … what you do to me! …” His voice was deep and hoarse as he kissed her neck and she opened her eyes to look at him and stroke the blond hair that was disheveled from their passion. “I've never known anyone like you.”

“It's never been like this for me before.” She had never said that to anyone, and she really meant it. “You're remarkable, Oliver.”

“You're pretty terrific yourself.” He could hardly make himself get dressed to go to work, and once he was fully dressed again and they were ready to leave, she grabbed him, and began stroking him where he should have been exhausted, but wasn't. “I can't believe this … Megan … we're never going to get out of here….”And he was beginning to think they shouldn't.

“Maybe we should both call in sick,” she whispered as she pulled him to the hall floor, and began to bite his neck and nibble his face, and taunt him as she stroked him. He took her with force again, more force than he knew he had and more strength than he could believe was left after almost twelve hours of making love to Megan Townsend.

And in the end, they did exactly as she suggested. They both called in sick, and spent the day in bed, and on the floor, and on the couch, and in the bathtub. They even made love leaning against the wall in the kitchen, when they finally went in to reheat some moussaka. It was a kind of madness that had overtaken both of them, and that night they lay in bed and he held her close as she fed him chocolate chip cookies.

“Do you think we should call a doctor?” he asked happily. “Maybe it's a disease … or we've been drugged …”

“Maybe it's the chocolate chip cookies.”

“Mmm … good … give me more …”It was difficult to even imagine being apart again, or ever being able to keep their clothes on. And then, he suddenly wondered something he should have thought of the day before, and asked her if she was worried about getting pregnant.

“Nope.” She looked perfectly relaxed. “I had my tubes tied nine years ago.”

“At twenty-one?” He looked shocked, and then he remembered. That had been when her sister had died, four months pregnant.

“I knew I never wanted kids anyway, and I wasn't going to let some asshole do to me what had happened to Priscilla.”

“And you've never regretted it? What if you want children one day?”

“I won't. And if I do, I can adopt them. But I doubt if I'd ever do that. I just don't want that kind of headache. Why? Do you want more kids?”

“I used to. But Sarah never wanted more children. She had her tubes tied, too, when we had Sam. I always regretted it, but she never did.”

“Would you want more kids now?” She didn't look worried, just intrigued. She couldn't imagine wanting any more children, or any at all, for her own sake.

“I'm not sure. It's a little late now. But I suppose I wouldn't mind if it happened.”

“Well, don't count on me.” She grinned and lay back against her pillows.

And then, feeling easy and open with her, he confided in her about Benjamin. “My eighteen-year-old son is expecting a baby in September. It's a hell of a mess. He's working as a busboy and supporting the girl. They both dropped out of high school, when he could have gone to Harvard.”

“Maybe he will one day.” But she looked suddenly sorry for Ollie. It was obvious how upset he was about the boy. “Will they keep the baby?”

“They want to. I've done everything I could to discourage them. At least, thank God, they're not getting married.” He was grateful for Sandra's persistence on that score.

“Maybe they'll come to their senses when they're faced with the reality of it. Babies are only cute in diaper ads. The rest of the time they're little monsters.”

“And how many babies have you known, Miss Townsend?”

“As few as possible, thank you very much.” She rolled over and got a firm grip on his favorite member, and then pulled back the blanket and moved down to play her tongue gently around it. “Personally, I prefer daddies to babies …”

“How lucky for me.” He smiled and closed his eyes, and then pulled her to him to reciprocate in kind. But that night, they finally fell asleep, exhausted, just after midnight. It had been a marathon day, and one he would never forget. The miracle of Megan Townsend.

Chapter 16

The romance blazed on through the hottest month of the year. The weather was torrid in August, and so was their passion. They alternated between his apartment and hers, and one night, even spent the night making love on the terrace. But fortunately, they were higher than the other buildings around them.

He hardly ever had time to see Daphne anymore, but she knew what was going on, and she was happy for him. He had a perennially glazed look in his eyes, and he was constantly vague and absentminded, and she hoped, for his sake, that he was screwing his brains out.

They had driven out to Purchase one day, so he could see Benjamin and his father, and he had dropped Megan off at her father's, and then picked her up to take her back to the city. But they didn't stop at the house. Somehow he didn't want to go there with her. It was still too full of memories of Sarah.

But he seldom thought of her now. He was obsessed with Megan, and their lovemaking, and her body. And on a blazing Sunday afternoon, they were walking around naked in his apartment, when the phone rang. He couldn't imagine who it was. Probably Daphne, checking up on him, although she seldom called him now. She didn't want to disturb him.

The crackle of long-distance wires met his ears when he picked it up, and then the phone went dead, and it rang again, and an overseas operator told him there was a collect call from San Remo. He could hardly hear anything, and he smiled, as Megan paraded before him. And for a moment, he felt sad, thinking of the adjustments they'd have to make. The children were due home the following weekend.

“Hello?” He could hear a sound in the distance. It sounded like crying, but he knew it was only static.

“Hello?” he shouted and then suddenly he heard Mel crying and saying over and over, “Daddy …”

“Melissa? Melissa! Talk to me!” The line faded on them, and then she came back, with an echo, but a little clearer. “What is it? What happened?”

“… an accident …” Oh God … no … Sam … not Sam … please … and not even Sarah …

“Baby, I can't hear you! Talk louder!” His eyes filled with tears as he waited, and Megan watched. He had totally forgotten her, in his desperation to understand his daughter.

“… an accident … killed … Mommy …” Oh Jesus. It was Sarah….

He stood up as though that would improve the connection and shouted into the phone as loud as he could. In Italy, it was midnight. “What happened to your mother?”

“… a car … driving … we're in San Remo … Jean-Pierre …”

“Melissa, is your mother hurt?” And Megan saw in his face then that he still loved her, but after twenty years, she didn't blame him. And she stood paralyzed with fear too. It reminded her of the call she'd gotten almost ten years before … from her mother … Darling … oh darling … it's Priscilla …

“Mom's all right. …” The tears spilled down his cheeks as he heard the words.

“Sam? What about Sam?”

“… Sam broke his arm … Daddy, it was so awful …” And then she began crying again, anci he could understand nothing. But if Sam was alive … he was alive, wasn't he? … and Sarah … and Melissa was on the phone … “A car hit us … full on … the driver was killed … and two kids … and Jean-Pierre … Jean-Pierre was killed instantly … oh Daddy … it was so awful …” Oh Jesus … poor man … but at least the children were alive. His children anyway, if not the others. It was a terrible, selfish way to look at it, but he was deeply grateful.

“Baby, are you all right? … are you hurt?”

“… I'm fine …”

“Where's Mom?”

“At the hospital … told me to call you … we have to go back to France for the funeral … We'll be home on Friday.”

“But you're all right? You're sure? Was Mommy hurt?”

“… black eye … all cut up … but she's okay. …” It was like playing telegraph, but they were alive, even if bruised and broken. And they had seen their mother's lover die, and another man, and two children. He shuddered at the thought of it.

“Do you want me to come over?”

“… don't think so … we're going to be staying … with Jean-Pierre's parents … going back tonight … Mom says you have the number.”

“I have it. I'll call you. And, baby …”he began to cry as he held the phone in a trembling hand, “… I love you … tell Sam I love him too … and tell Mommy I'm sorry.”

Mel was crying again, and eventually the connection got so bad, they had to hang up. Ollie looked badly shaken as he hung up the phone and stared up at Megan. He had totally forgotten her as he talked to his daughter.

“Are they all right?” She was standing naked, and lovely, before him, as she handed him a glass of brandy.

“I think so. We had a terrible connection. There's been an accident … several people were killed, from what I could understand. My wife's friend was killed instantly. He was driving. In San Remo.”

“Jesus. How awful.” She sat down next to him, and took a sip of the brandy he hadn't touched. “Were the kids hurt?”

“Sam broke his arm. I think Melissa's all right. Sarah got cut up, but I think they're all right. It must have been grim.” And then, still shaken, he looked at Megan. “When she started talking, I thought … I thought Sam … or maybe even Sarah … It's a terrible thing to say with other people getting killed, but I'm glad it wasn't.”

“I know.” She put an arm around him and held him close, and for a long time, they just sat there. They stayed at his place that night, in case the children called again, and for the first time in a month, they didn't make love at all. All he could think about were his children. And slowly, the shock of it brought them both back to their senses. Their wild idyll was going to change when the children came home. He couldn't stay out all night, and she couldn't stay at the apartment with him, and they would have to be far more circumspect around his children. In a way, it made them want to do as much as they could, while they were still alone, and in another way, the realization of what was coming so soon had already changed things.

And by Thursday night, they were both nervous and depressed. They lay awake all night, making love and talking, and wishing that things could be different.

“We could get married one day,” he said, only half jokingly, and she looked at him with mock horror.

“Don't be silly. That's a little extreme, isn't it?”

“Would it be?” He had never known anyone like her, and he was totally under her spell for the moment.

“For me, it would. Oliver, I can't marry anyone. I'm not the type, and you know it.”

“You heat up a great moussaka.”

“Then marry the guy at the deli where they made it.”

“He can't be as cute as you, although I've never met him.”

“Be serious. What would I do with a husband and three children?”

He pretended to think it over and she laughed. “I could think of a few things …”

“You don't need to be married for that, fortunately.” They had had a glorious month, but she was already acting as though it was over. “I just don't want more than this.”

“Maybe one day you will.”

“If I do, you'll be the first to know. I promise.”

“Seriously?”

“As serious as I can be about subjects like this. I told you before, marriage is not for me. And you don't need another wife to run shrieking out the door. You need some wonderful, smart, beautiful girl who's going to love you to pieces and take care of your kids, and give you fourteen more babies.”

“What a thought. I think you're confusing me with your father.”

“Not quite. But I am definitely not what the doctor ordered, Oliver. I know what I am, and some of it's all right, and some of it isn't. In my own way, I'm probably a lot like your wife, and that's exactly what you don't need. Be honest.”

He wondered if she was right, and if he had found himself a newer, somewhat racier edition of Sarah. He had never thought of that, but it was possible, although the idea depressed him. “What happens now?”

“We enjoy it for what it is, for as long as we can, and when it gets too complicated for either of us, we say good-bye, with a kiss and a hug and a thank-you.”

“Simple as that?”

“Simple as that.”

“I don't buy that. You grow attached to people in life. Don't you think after a month of being together all the time we've grown attached to each other now?”

“Sure. But don't confuse great sex with good loving. The two do not always go hand in hand. I like you, I care about you, maybe I even love you. But it's going to be different when the children come home. Maybe too different for both of us, and if it is, we just have to accept it and move on. You can't kill yourself over things like that in life. It's not worth it.” She was so damn casual, so nonchalant, just as she had been when she picked him up on the train, and called to invite him to dinner. As long as it was fun, it was fine, but when it wasn't fun anymore, just toss it. She was right. He had told himself he was falling in love with her. But maybe she was right there, too, maybe what he was really in love with was her body.

“Maybe you're right. I just don't know.” And they made love again that night, but this time it was different. And the next morning she went back to her own place, taking with her all traces of herself that for the past month she had left at his apartment. Her makeup, her deodorant, the pills she used in case she got a migraine, the perfume he had bought her, her hot rollers, her Tampax, and the few dresses she had left in his closet. It made him lonely just seeing the empty space, and he was reminded again of the pain of losing Sarah. Why did everything have to end? Why did it all change and move on? He wanted to hang on to all of it forever.

But the point was driven home with even greater force when he saw his children get off the plane, and Sarah behind them. She had a look of shock on her face he'd never seen there before, and grief and loneliness. It was worse than any pain she'd ever felt for him, and her eyes looked woefully out at him, surrounded by two vicious shiners, and a bandage on her chin that covered fourteen stitches. Sam looked frightened as well, and he was clinging to his mother's hand with his good arm, the other was in a cast from fingertip to shoulder. And Melissa started crying the moment she saw him. She flew into his arms, sobbing incoherently, and a moment later, Sam was there, too, the awkward arm in a sling, as he clung to his daddy.

And then Oliver looked up at the woman who had been his wife, and was no more, and he knew with full force how much she had loved the boy who had died in San Remo.

“I'm sorry, Sarrie … I'm so sorry …”It was like losing a part of himself, seeing her so broken. “Is there anything I can do?” They walked slowly to the baggage claim as she shook her head, and Melissa talked about the funeral. Jean-Pierre had been an only child and it had been awful.

Oliver nodded, and tried to comfort them, and then looked over Sam's head at Sarah. “Do you want to stay at the house in Purchase? We could stay in town, except for the Labor Day weekend.”

But she only shook her head and smiled. She seemed quieter, and not older, but wiser. “I start school on Monday. I want to go back. I have a lot to do.” And she didn't tell him that that summer she had finally started her novel. “But thank you anyway. The kids are going to come up in a few weeks, and I'll be all right.” But she dreaded going through his things when she got back to the apartment in Cambridge. It suddenly made her more aware of what Oliver had gone through when she had left. In a way, that had been a little bit like dying. She had loved Jean-Pierre like a son and a friend, a lover, and a father, and she had been able to give him everything she had denied Oliver in recent years, because he wanted nothing from her. He had taught her a lot about giving and loving … and dying …

Sarah flew straight on to Boston, once the children were in Oliver's hands, and they took a cab into the city. They were quiet and subdued and upset and Oliver asked Sam if his arm hurt, and told him he wanted to take him to an American doctor. He already had an appointment for later that afternoon, but when they went, the orthopedist assured him that the arm had been properly set in San Remo. And Mel had grown taller and blonder and lovelier over the summer, despite the trauma.

And it was so good being back with them again, it suddenly reminded him of how much he had missed them, without knowing it. And suddenly he wondered about the madness of his affair with Megan. They were going to the house in Purchase the next day, for the weekend, and he had invited Megan out for the day on Sunday, to meet his children. And Aggie was coming back on Monday. In the meantime, they were going to fend for themselves. And he cooked them scrambled eggs and toast when they got back to the apartment. And little by little, they told him everything they'd done that summer. They'd had a great time until the accident. And listening to them made him realize again how distant from his life Sarah was now. He wasn't even sure anymore if he still loved her.

The children went to bed right after they ate, and Sam even fell asleep at the kitchen table. The time difference had caught up with him, and they were both exhausted.

Oliver tucked Sam into bed, careful to prop the arm on a pillow as they'd been told to do by the doctor, and then he went to check on Melissa, who was wearing a puzzled frown as she held up a mysterious object in her bedroom. “What's that?” It was a woman's blouse, with a bra tangled in with it, and as she held it up, his face froze and he could smell Megan's perfume. He had forgotten the time he had chased her into Mel's room and almost torn her clothes off as they laughed, and then rushed back to his bedroom eventually to make love in the bathtub.

“I don't know …” He didn't know what to say to her. He couldn't begin to explain what had gone on in the past month, not to his sixteen-year-old daughter. “Is it yours?” He tried to look innocent, and she was almost young enough to believe him.

“No, it's not.” She sounded like an accusing wife. And then he slapped his head, feeling like a fool in a sitcom.

“I know what that is. I let Daphne stay here one weekend, when I was in Purchase. They were painting her apartment.” Melissa looked instantly relieved, and he kissed her good night, and retreated to his own room, feeling as though he had just escaped a life sentence.

He called Megan late that night and told her how much he missed her. He could hardly wait until Sunday. And the next morning, the three of them left for the country. They opened the house, which smelled hot and musty, and put the air-conditioning on, and went to buy groceries, and after lunch they went to his father's to pick up Andy. And they found their grandfather looking extremely well, and once again puttering around his wife's garden, but this time his neighbor, Margaret Porter, was helping. She had a new haircut, and he was wearing a new pale blue linen blazer, and as Ollie and the children drove up, they'd been laughing. It was nice seeing him so happy again. And Oliver was relieved. Every time he saw him now, he couldn't get the picture out of his mind of his father holding his mother's hand when she died, and kissing her good-bye. It broke his heart, but finally, after three months, George was looking a lot better.

“Welcome home!” he shouted to the kids, and Margaret went inside to get lemonade and homemade cookies. It was almost like old times, except that Sam said the cookies were better. And Margaret smiled, and stuck up for her late friend.

“Your grandmother was the best cook I ever knew. She made the best lemon meringue pie I ever tasted.” George smiled thinking about it, and it brought back memories to Ollie of his childhood.

“What have you been up to, Dad?” Ollie asked as they sat outside under the old elm tree. They had never put in a pool, and George insisted they didn't miss it. And if he wanted to swim, they could always go to visit the children in Purchase.

“We've been busy. The garden's a lot of work. And we went into New York last week. Margaret had some business to take care of, and we went to an off-Broadway play. It was very good actually.” He sounded surprised, and smiled as he glanced at Margaret, and Oliver looked surprised too. His father had always hated going to the theater. And then George looked at Sam. “How did you do that, son?” Sam told them about the accident, and Melissa added her details, and the two elders were horrified, and as grateful as Oliver had been that they'd survived it. “It makes you realize how precious life is,” he said to the two young people. “And how short. Your friend was only twenty-five years old. That's a terrible shame … terrible …” Ollie saw him take Margaret's hand, and wondered what that meant, and a moment later she took the children inside for more lemonade and a fresh batch of cookies.

“You're looking well, Dad,” Oliver said pointedly after the children were gone, wondering if there was a reason for it, and he was suddenly reminded of his own fling with Megan. Maybe his father was having a little flirtation with his neighbor. But there was no harm in that. They were both lonely people in their seventies and they had a right to a little friendly company now and then, and he knew how lonely his father was without his mother.

“I've been well, Son. Margaret takes very good care of me. She used to be a nurse, you know. And her husband was a doctor.”

“I remember.”

“We'd like to take you to dinner sometime. Maybe in the city. Margaret likes to go into New York from time to time. She says it keeps her young. And I'm not sure if that's what does it, but she has more energy than a woman half her age. She's a terrific girl.” Oliver smiled at the idea of calling a woman of seventy-odd years a girl, but what the hell, and then he almost fell out of his chair, as his father looked at him and smiled, with mischief in his eyes. “We're getting married next month, Oliver. I know that will be difficult for you to understand. But we're not young. We don't have much time, for all we know. And we don't want to waste what's left. I think your mother would have understood it.”

“You're what?” Oliver turned in his chair to stare at him. “Mom has been gone for three months, and you're marrying your next-door neighbor?” Had he gone crazy? Was he senile? What was wrong with him? How could he even consider such a thing? It was disgusting.

“You can't be serious.” Oliver was livid, and he looked it.

“I am serious. I have a right to more than just sit alone in a chair, don't you think? Or does it offend you to think of people our age getting 'involved,' as you young people call it. We could have an affair, but I think I owe her the decency of marriage.”

“You owe Mom the decency of respecting her memory. She's not even cold in her grave yet!” He stood up and started to pace up and down as George Watson calmly watched him, and from the kitchen window Margaret saw what was going on with a worried eye. She had told George it would be like that, and he had told her they had a right to their own lives. They weren't dead yet, though they might be soon, but he didn't want to waste the time they had left. And although it was different from his life with Phyllis, he loved her.

“I have every respect for your mother, Oliver. But I have a right to my own life too. So do you. And one day you'll probably remarry. You can't spend the rest of your life mourning Sarah.”

“Thank you for the advice.” It was inconceivable. Until a few weeks before, he had been sitting around in chaste celibacy and his father had been having an affair with his neighbor. “I think you ought to give this a great deal of thought.”

“I have. We're getting married on the fourteenth, and we'd like you and the children to come, if you will.”

“I'll do nothing of the sort. And I want you to come to your senses.” But as he said it, Margaret returned to them with George's straw hat, and a cool drink, and the heart pill he took every afternoon, and even Oliver couldn't miss the gentle loving of the look that passed between them.

But he was stiff and unyielding until they left, he hurried the children into the car, thanked Margaret politely, and halfway back to Purchase, remembered that they had forgotten Andy. He called his father when he got home, and told him he'd pick the dog up the following weekend.

“That's fine. We enjoy having him here.” And then, “I'm sorry I upset you, Oliver. I understand what you must feel. But try to see it from my point of view too. And she's a wonderful woman.”

“I'm happy for you, Dad,” he said through clenched teeth. “But I still think you're being hasty.”

“Perhaps. But we have to do what we think is right. And at our age, there isn't much time left. Not good time anyway. You never know what grief is just around the corner.”

“All the more reason not to rush into anything.”

“That depends on how you look at it. Tell me that when you're my age.” And Oliver realized as he hung up, that it disgusted him to think of his father making love to Margaret Porter. And he said as much to Megan that night, when he called her.

“Don't be ridiculous. Do you think your sex drive will die before you do? I certainly hope not. He's right, and he's smart. Why should he sit alone? You have your own life, your kids do too. He has a right to do more than spend the rest of his life alone, reminiscing about your mother. Is that what you really want him to do?” It wasn't, and yet it was, and her view on the subject annoyed him.

“You're as bad as he is. I think you're both oversexed.” And then he told her about Mel finding her blouse and bra, and she only laughed.

“I remember that night well,” she said mischievously.

“So do I. Christ, how I miss you. I'm practically having withdrawals.”

“We'll catch a quickie tomorrow in the pool.” The thought of it, with his children afoot, almost made him shudder. Things were definitely going to be very different.

“We may have to wait until Monday.”

“Don't count on it. We'll think of something.” He smiled as he put down the phone, and wondered if she was right about his father. But he didn't even want to think about that. Imagine his father getting married at his age! The very idea of it was revolting.

Chapter 17

Oliver picked Megan up at the train and she was wearing short shorts and a little halter top in white with black polka dots, and all he wanted to do was tear off her clothes and make love to her in the car, but he restrained himself while she laughed, and stroked his crotch as they drove home to the children.

“Stop that … Megan Townsend, you are driving me crazy!”

“That, my dear, is the whole point.” And then, as though switching gears, she told him all about Friday's successful auction….

The kids were in the pool when they drove up, with Sam's arm in a huge garbage bag so he could swim, and Mel lying on a raft in a new bikini she had bought in the south of France. And both children looked up with interest as their father approached them with Megan. He introduced everyone, and then took Megan inside to change, but as he showed her the small dressing room, she pulled him swiftly into it with her, and reached her hand into his shorts and began caressing him until he groaned in a whisper.

“Megan … don't! … the kids …”

“Shh … they'll never know the difference.” She had missed him as much as he had missed her. After a month of orgasmic feasting, they had gone three whole days without each other. And she had the door locked and his pants down around his knees in a moment, as she licked and sucked and kissed, and he pulled off her halter, and then slid down her shorts. And as usual, she had nothing beneath them. And then she was on her knees, kissing him, and he gently pushed her down, and made frantic love to her on the dressing room floor, as she shuddered and moaned, and just as he came with a sound of animal pleasure, he could hear Sam start to shout, and bang on several doors looking for him, and then start to pound on the dressing room door, as Oliver jumped a foot and stared at Megan wild-eyed. He put a finger to his lips, begging her not to give him away as she giggled.

“Dad! Are you in there?” It was a tiny room, and Oliver was sure the child could hear his breathing. He shook his head, wanting Megan to say he wasn't.

“No, he's not. I'll be right out.” She spoke from the floor, with his father on top of her, awash with terror.

“Okay. Do you know where he is?”

“I don't know. He said he was going to get something.”

“Okay.” And then more door slamming and he was gone, and Ollie leapt to his feet, threw cold water on his face, pulled up his pants, and tried to straighten his hair as she laughed at him.

“I told you we'd manage it somehow.”

“Megan, you're crazy!” He was whispering, convinced the child knew, but she wasn't frightened.

“Relax. He's ten years old, he has no idea what his father is up to.”

“Don't be so sure.” He kissed her quickly and unlocked the door, as she casually fished in her bag for her bikini. “I'll see you at the pool.” He just hoped she would behave herself there or Mel would be horrified. But on the other hand, she had just spent the summer with her mother and her twenty-five-year-old lover. He had a right to his own life, didn't he, and just as the thought crossed his mind, he heard the echo of his father's words … but this was different, wasn't it? Or was it?

And he found Sam waiting for him in the kitchen. He had wanted a Coke and couldn't find one. “Where were you, Dad?”

“I was in the garage, looking for a wrench.”

“What for?” Oh God, leave me alone, I don't know … it had been so simple while they were away, and now this was so crazy.

He poured Sam a Coke, and went back to the pool, where Megan was slowly easing herself into the water in a minuscule red bikini. Her cascade of dark hair was piled high on her head, and Mel was watching her with a look of female appraisal.

The two women never spoke, and Oliver felt like a large puppy dog, circling the pool, watching them both, keeping an eye on Sam, and feeling incredibly nervous.

“I like your bathing suit,” Megan said to Mel. It was pink and ruffled and comparatively pure compared to her own, which was barely more than two tiny patches on her breasts, and a loincloth with a thong. But she wore it well. She had an incredible body.

“I got it in France.”

“Did you have a good time?”

“All right.” She didn't want to talk about the accident anymore, and she didn't think Megan knew. Her father had said she was a casual friend he hadn't seen in a while. “We've only been home for two days.” Megan swam past her with long, smooth strokes, and a few minutes later, Mel left her raft, to make a spectacular dive. It was as though there was a competition between the two, and the tension around the pool was dense all afternoon, particularly between the two women.

They had hot dogs for lunch, and Megan began talking about spending time in England as a child. But it was obvious Mel wasn't impressed. And Megan made no particular effort with her or Sam. It made Oliver uncomfortable watching all of them, and he was almost relieved when they dropped her off at her place, that evening, in town. Her eyes blew him a kiss, and she disappeared with a wave, as Mel visibly relaxed in the car, and Sam snorted.

“She's nice, isn't she?” Ollie said, regretting the words almost as soon as they were out of his mouth. Mel turned on him like a snake, with a look of fury.

“She looks like a whore.”

“Melissa!”

“Did you see that bathing suit?”

“Yeah.” Sam grinned, and then looked chastened as his sister shot him a quelling look in the backseat.

“She's a very nice girl,” Oliver defended as they drove home.

“I don't think she likes kids very much,” Sam offered.

“What makes you say that?”

“I don't know.” He shrugged. “She didn't say very much. But she sure looks good, doesn't she, Dad?”

“She's smart too. She's an editor with a publishing house.”

“So what? All she cares about is flaunting her body around.” Mel had sensed her sexuality, and had hated it, unlike her male relatives, whose eyes had been glued to her all afternoon.

Oliver let the subject rest, and that night after Sam was in bed, Mel came out of her room with a frown. “I guess you can give her these.” She handed him the blouse and bra she'd found in her room two days before. “They're hers, aren't they, Dad?”

“What makes you say that?” He felt as though he'd been caught in the act, as though he'd defiled their home, which he had. But he had a right to do what he wanted to, didn't he? After all, he was a grown man. “I told you, they're Daph's.”

“No, they're not. Daphne's got much bigger boobs. These are Megan's.” She spoke accusingly and he could feel himself blush as he looked at his daughter.

“Look, Mel, there are some things that grown-ups do, that just don't involve kids, and are better left alone.”

“She's a tramp.” Mel's eyes blazed at him, but now he was angry.

“Don't say that! You don't even know the girl.”

“No, and I don't want to. And she doesn't give a damn about us. She just has her tongue hanging out over you, like a dog or something. I can't stand her.” The rivalry of two women fighting over him seemed strange as he listened to her. And he couldn't help wondering why she hated Megan. Except that he had to admit, Megan had made no special effort to win them over. She had talked mostly to him, and only occasionally to his children. It hadn't really turned out the way he had wanted.

“She's just a friend, that's all. It's no big deal, Mel. Relax.”

“You mean that?” She looked relieved.

“What?”

“You're not in love with her?”

“I don't know. I like her.”

“Well, she doesn't like you as much. She likes herself more.” He wondered if Mel was right, and if she was being jealous or perceptive.

“Don't worry about it.” But then as she left the room, he found himself thinking again about his father. Was he being a jealous child, like Mel, or was he right to object to his marrying Margaret Porter? And what right did he have to interfere? Was he going to keep him company at night and on weekends? Was he going to be there for him, bringing him his heart pills? Oliver wanted his own life, and his father had a right to the same, however much it made Oliver lonely for his mother.

Ollie decided to call him that night, and when he did, Margaret answered. It made him jump for a minute, and then he relaxed and asked to speak to his father.

“Hi, Dad … I just wanted to tell you that …” He didn't know how to say it. “I love you very much, that's all. You do what's right for you, and forget about the rest. You're old enough to know what you want by now, and what you need. And if she makes you happy,” tears stung his eyes as he said the words, “go for it! You have my blessing!”

There was a little sob at the other end, and then George Watson cleared his throat and thanked him. “She's a fine woman, Son … not your mother, by any means,” as he said it, he hoped Margaret couldn't hear him, but he owed Oliver that much. Phyllis had been his mother, after all, “but she's a good soul, and I love her.”

“Good luck to you both.”

“Will you come to our wedding?”

“Damn right I will.”

“September fourteenth. Now don't forget it.” Oliver laughed. His father sounded young again, and he was happy for him. What the hell, he had a right to it. More power to him if he could find a woman he loved and be happy with her.

He called Megan after he hung up, feeling better again, but she was out, and he felt his heart give a little tug as he left his name on the machine, and then lay on the empty bed she had left him. He wondered if it had all been a crazy dream, and if Mel was right. But Megan had never pretended to be anything other than she was. She was out to have a good time, and not hurt anyone. She didn't want anything more than that … she didn't want ties … or husbands … or homes … or children … and as he lay there thinking about her, he wondered if his summer romance was over. It had been fun, but it wasn't going to be easy now. And Megan wasn't going to hang around, waiting for him. And the kids sure as hell hadn't taken to her. Sometimes, life just wasn't easy.

Chapter 18

The Labor Day weekend was a nice homecoming for all of them. They had a barbecue near the pool, as they always did, and the children invited friends, and his father came over with Margaret. They brought cookies and treats, and homemade bread, and they brought the dog, and this time Oliver congratulated them both, and let his father announce it to the children. They were a little startled at first, but they took their cue from their dad, and if he thought it was all right, then they guessed it was too. Even Daphne came. And she had agreed to spend the weekend. Only Megan had declined. She had gone to East Hampton instead, which bothered Ollie, but he couldn't convince her to come. She just said it wasn't her scene, kids and dogs and barbecues, and she didn't want to intrude on them. But the truth was that it bored her. He hadn't seen her all week, and he was going crazy without her, but she was working late and so was he. The kids were home, and he was waiting for them to settle down again, which she seemed to think wasn't important.

Benjamin and Sandra came to the barbecue, though, and this time the girl looked truly pathetic. Her face was bloated to twice its size, she could barely walk, she was so large, and it was hard to believe she had ever been pretty. Benjamin looked thin and pale, in comparison, and he was feeling the load of his two jobs, and Sandra did nothing but complain, and sometimes he thought he would go crazy. His father handed him a beer, after Mel took Sandra into the house to lie down for a while, and Oliver looked at Benjamin carefully, wondering when he was going to admit he couldn't hack it anymore, or if he was going to let it kill him.

“How's it going, Son?”

“Okay, I guess. I'm going to have to get another job pretty soon. They're closing the gas station down, and letting me go in a few weeks. And the restaurant doesn't pay enough. But I've got some pretty good leads, and after the baby's born, Sandra says she'll go back to work pretty quickly.” He tried to sound hopeful, but it was obvious to his father that he was getting seriously discouraged, and who wouldn't have? At the age of eighteen, to be expecting a child, supporting a seventeen-year-old pseudo wife, and working two jobs, was hardly anyone's idea of a happy life, least of all his father's.

“Are you going to let me help you out before it kills us both, or are you going to be stubborn?” The boy smiled, looking older and wiser than he had before. He had learned a lot in the last few months, but none of it easy or fun, and seeing him like this was a weight on his father's heart.

“We'll see, Dad. The baby I'll be here in three weeks, and after that, things'U be okay.”

“Having a baby around isn't easy.”

“Yeah, I know. We've been taking a class at the Y about how to take care of it, and Lamaze and all that stuff. I want to be there at the delivery, to help Sandra.” He was going all the way with what he'd taken on, and Oliver had to admire him, if nothing else, but he was desperately worried about him.

“Will you call me if you need help with anything?”

“Sure.”

“Promise?”

Benjamin grinned again, and for a fraction of an instant, looked almost like his old self. “Sure I will, Dad. Thanks.”

They joined the others after that and talked about Grandpa's wedding. Benjamin promised to come, and Oliver offered to give the bride away. Daphne was happy for them, and later on, in a quiet moment, she asked Oliver what was happening with Megan, but he only shrugged unhappily and told her he didn't know for the moment.

“She came out to meet the kids last week and it was not exactly a glowing success. She's not into that kind of thing, and right now I've got my hands full. It was different while they were gone. But now, I don't know, Daph.”

“She doesn't sound like the warm maternal type, but perhaps that wasn't the main thrust of your interest.”

Oliver smiled at his friend, and then laughed. “You might say that.”

“Well, at least it got you out of your shell.” It certainly had done that. He smiled again. “That's nice about your father.”

“It seems kind of crazy, doesn't it, Daph? Benjamin is about to have a kid, my dad's getting married, and I'm sitting around by myself.”

“That'll change one of these days.” But he was in no rush. If the affair with Megan ended, it wouldn't be the end of the world. He wasn't even divorced, and he still couldn't imagine getting remarried. He was busy with his life, with his children, and his work. The rest could wait for the moment.