Lightning (30 page)

“I'm sorry, Alex.” He turned away from her then, and she started to cry softly. What a rotten time they had had ever since they'd discovered the shadow on the mammogram. It wasn't fair, but it still had to be dealt with. “I'm sorry,” he said again, this time looking at her, but he made no move to approach her, or console her, he just couldn't.

He walked out of the room, and she heard him in the study then, and half an hour later, she heard the front door close. He never said another word to her, he went out and walked for hours, to the river, and then slowly south, until he finally found himself on Fifty-third Street. He knew what he wanted, and he wondered if he had destroyed his marriage just so he could have it. But it was too late to think about that now. He had done what he had to, or what he wanted. It was too late to pick up the pieces, he was only very sorry he had had to hurt her. But she had hurt him too, even if it wasn't her fault. In an odd way, he felt as though she had betrayed him.

He stopped at a phone booth on Second Avenue, and he knew it didn't make sense. She had gone to Washington for Thanksgiving. But he wanted to call her anyway, just to hear her voice on her machine, and he wanted to leave her a message and tell her that he loved her.

She answered it on the second ring, and for an instant he was too surprised to answer.

“Daphne?”

“Yes.” Her voice was sensual and sleepy. It was after midnight, and she'd been in bed. “Who is this?”

“It's me. What are you doing here? I thought you were in Washington for Thanksgiving.”

She laughed, and he could almost see her stretch lazily as she did it. He was freezing in the phone booth.

“I was. We gorged ourselves on an enormous lunch, and went ice-skating, and I flew home tonight. They were all going their separate ways tomorrow. It wasn't really meant to be a weekend. Where are you?” He hadn't called her at night since Alex's chemotherapy had started and Daphne only called sparingly. He was married after all, and she was
very
cautious. She was too smart to do otherwise, and she respected his situation.

Suddenly he chuckled mischievously into the phone in answer to her question. “I'm freezing my ass off in a phone booth on Fifty-third and Second. I've been walking for hours, and I wanted to call you.”

“What on earth are you doing there? Why don't you come up, at least for a cup of tea. I promise I won't bite you.”

“I'll hold you to that, you know,” and then, feeling very vulnerable and battered, it had been a rough day since he'd last seen her, “I missed you.”

“I missed you too,” she said very softly, sounding sexier than ever. “How was Thanksgiving?”

“Pretty grim. I don't really want to talk about it. She was sick. It was hard on everyone, Annabelle most of all … I don't know … we had a long talk tonight. I'll tell you all about it.” But just listening to him, she knew that something was different. He seemed freer suddenly, and much more open. He sounded tired, and sad, but he didn't sound as anxious or conflicted.

“Come on up, before you freeze.”

“I'll be there.”

He was less than a block away, and he ran all the way to her door. Suddenly, he knew that it was the only place he wanted to be. It was the only place he had wanted to be ever since he met her. She was so healthy and young, so beautiful, and so perfect.

He pressed the buzzer downstairs, and she buzzed him in, and he bounded up the steps like a teenager, and then stopped as he saw her standing in the doorway. Her luxurious black hair hung past her shoulders, concealing one breast, and leaving the other bare. She wore a delicate white cotton nightgown, with tiny embroideries on it, which you could see through completely. Her entire body was revealed to him as she stood there, and then without a word, he went to her, and pulled her inside, and closed the door behind them.

The apartment was cozy and warm, and he pulled the nightgown over her head, without waiting a moment, he brushed back her silky dark hair, and stood admiring her in all her splendor, the perfect breasts, the tiny waist, the long, graceful legs, and the exquisite place where they came together.

“Oh my God …” was all he said. There was only one small light on in the bedroom, and he laid her on the feather bed she had brought with her from England. She was beautiful beyond his dreams, sensual beyond all his expectations, experienced beyond anything he could realize and she brought him to the edge of ecstasy and back again, and felt him explode inside her half a dozen times before morning. It was the most extraordinary night of his life. He had made a fire in the fireplace, and made love to her on the floor in front of it, and then on the bed again, and then finally in the bathtub. They had made love before the dawn, and again after it, and when they awoke at noon, he couldn't believe that he wanted her again, and was still capable of doing anything about it. But she let her silky lips drift across his stomach down his thighs, and then back up between his legs until they found what they were looking for and he craved, and this time he came in her mouth with a shuddering furor.

“Oh God …Daphne …you're going to kill me …” he murmured happily, “…but what a way to die….” He took her in his arms and held her there, unable to believe his good fortune. They had waited months for this, and he hadn't wanted to come to her until he was free of Alex. But now he knew that he was, he had to be. There was no other woman he wanted in the world now, except Daphne.

“I love you,” he whispered as she drifted off to sleep in his arms again, with her back to him, and her perfectly round bottom pressed against him, but this time, he was truly sated.

“I love you too,” she whispered back, smiling. He had been well worth waiting for. She had always known he would be. He cupped her breasts with his hands then, and thought of how lucky he was, and he drifted off to sleep with her, trying not to let himself think of Alex.

Chapter 14

I
f nothing else, out of sheer politeness, Sam called Alex late Friday afternoon and told her he wouldn't be home for the rest of the weekend. He didn't say where he was and she didn't ask any questions. He said he'd call her and check in, and then he spoke to Annabelle and said he'd miss her. He wondered if Alex knew where he was, or why, but he didn't let himself think of it. After that, he and Daphne went to Bloomingdale's and he bought half a dozen shirts, some jeans, corduroy pants, a jacket, socks, some underwear, and a sweater. And then they went to the drugstore and bought a razor and all the toiletries he needed. He didn't want to go home just yet, he didn't want to see them. He wanted to be completely alone with Daphne.

He cooked dinner for Daphne that night, and she pretended to help him, but she insisted on wandering in and out of the kitchen stark naked. And in the end, he almost burned their dinner. They left it in the microwave and went to bed. And at midnight, she made him an omelet. But most of their time was spent exploring each other's bodies, and preferences. They talked long into the night and he made popcorn and they watched old movies, but they kept missing the essential parts of the plot when he made love to her again, and they kept coming back just as the film was ending.

They spent another extraordinary night in each other's arms, and by Saturday morning it was as though they had always been lovers. He knew he wanted to stay with her, and spend the rest of his life with her. All he had to do now was deal with Alex.

“What do you want to do today?” he asked as they stretched lazily, and the prospect of making love all day crossed his mind again, but he thought they should at least make an effort to do something.

“Can you ice skate?” Daphne asked, looking like a child as she sat up in bed next to him, but a very well-endowed one.

“I was on the hockey team at Harvard,” he said proudly.

“Shall we do that?”

It was like starting life all over again. She was so young and so alive. She had no responsibilities and no burdens. They went to Wollman Memorial in Central Park, and he found that she was a very good skater. They danced, and spun around, and did loops around each other. She did very pretty camel spins, and he was impressed. And then he took her to lunch at Tavern-on-the-Green, but by two o'clock they were back in bed again, feeling as though they had been separated forever.

“What are we going to do about work?” he asked as they lay side by side after making love for the second time at four-thirty. “I'm not sure I can stay away from you long enough to get up and go to the office.” Not to mention the fact that he had told Alex that he would live at home for the next two months and talk about their relationship again in January after Annabelle's birthday. That had been before he had made love to Daphne. Now everything had changed again. But he still thought he should live by his agreement.

He had already explained it to Daphne the day before, and she thought it a very reasonable solution.

“It would be awfully hard on your little girl if you suddenly disappeared, particularly right before Christmas,” Daphne said sympathetically. He was glad that she saw it that way. It made it a lot easier for him. But she had always been very patient with him, right from the beginning.

“I can't wait for you to meet her.”

“Slowly, my darling, slowly,” she said, describing the sexual tortures she designed for him a few moments later. All thoughts of their families disappeared in an instant. But later that night she told him that she was taking her son skiing in Switzerland for a week at Christmas. It would make die choice of who to be with over the holidays a little easier for him, and he suggested he meet her after her son went back to his father. They agreed on a week in Gstaad, followed by a few days in Paris.

It was a weekend of making plans and becoming friends, and falling in love as he told himself he never had before, but that was only because he was trying to forget Alex.

And she was trying to forget him too. She spent a quiet weekend with Annabelle, trying to marshal her forces. She was still sick, but she didn't throw up quite as often. Liz called to see how she was, and a couple of friends called her too, having heard the rumors. But she didn't feel like seeing anyone, and she couldn't help wondering where Sam had gone, if he was alone, or just hiding. Annabelle seemed willing to accept the story that he had gone away on a business trip, even on Thanksgiving weekend.

Sam never came home on Sunday night, although she thought he would, but she wasn't worried about it. She was sad, but not really concerned. He had called Annabelle a couple of times over the weekend, but Alex hadn't talked to him. She had just handed the phone to her daughter, and tried not to think about her husband.

It was actually a relief when Monday rolled around, and she could go back to work and try to forget her problems.

And after she dropped Annabelle off at school, she got to the office and felt better. Everyone looked rested and happier after the long weekend. Even Alex did, although it certainly hadn't been a good one.

“How was the holiday?” Brock asked, as they worked that afternoon. He had had a great time in Connecticut with his friends, although he'd gotten a lot of bruises, he said, playing touch football.

“Honestly?” She smiled cautiously in answer to his question about the weekend. “It stank. I think Sam and I have finally figured out that it's not going to work anymore. The party's over. I was sick as a dog on Thanksgiving, and he was mad as hell. I keep thinking it reminds him of when his mother was dying and she took them all down with her, but he won't admit it. He just gets crazy and behaves like an asshole.

“Anyway, we've agreed to go our separate ways, while living under one roof, which should be a challenge. I don't have the energy to argue about it. We're going to review the situation in seven weeks, after Annabelle's birthday.”

“That sounds very civilized.”

“I guess it is,” she said sadly. “Actually, I think it sounds pathetic. It's amazing what two people can do to each other when they really try. I never thought this would happen to us, but I guess life is full of surprises.” She felt tired and old, and unable to fight him. She just didn't feel up to it. Although for the next two weeks she felt a lot better than she had before that. She had stopped taking the pills, according to her treatment plan, and she wasn't due for another intravenous treatment until two weeks before Christmas.

But when she started them again, she was just as sick as she had been the first time. It overwhelmed her particularly, because with all the problems in her life, she hadn't done her Christmas shopping, and suddenly she realized she just couldn't. She had the F.A.O. Schwarz catalog on her desk, and she had circled several things, but she didn't have the energy to shop for clothes or little gifts for Annabelle and Sam, or anything for her friends or colleagues.

“I feel like shit,” she admitted to Brock, as she lay on the couch in her office. He was used to seeing her that way now, and sometimes she worked with him while she lay down, and evaluated the information he gave her.

“What can I do for you?” he asked sympathetically. “Do you want me to do some shopping?”

“Since when do you have time for that?” They were both buried in an avalanche of new cases. She had passed a couple on to Matt, but she and Brock were trying to cover the others.

“I could go at night. The stores are open late. Why don't you give me a shopping list?” But she didn't even have time to answer him. She fled to the bathroom, throwing up, and it was half an hour later before she left the bathroom and could talk again.

And the following week, she had another intravenous treatment, which left her even weaker. It was only a week before Christmas, and she still hadn't bought a single present. But by then, Liz and Brock took the matter out of her hands for her. She was so sick that she had to stay home for a day, and Liz came and picked up her list at the apartment. She was sad to see her so ill. And when she got there, she found Alex in tears. She had been standing in front of her bathroom mirror and crying. Her hair was coming out in clumps, and she had fistfuls of long red hair in her hands when she came to the door to let Liz in.