Bittersweet

A novel for our times, a story of choices and new beginnings …

PRAISE FOR

DANIELLE STEEL“A LITERARY PHENOMENON … and not to be pigeonholed as one who produces a predictable kind of book.”—The Detroit News“THE PLOTS OF DANIELLE STEEL'S NOVELS TWIST AND WEAVE as incredible stories unfold to the glee and delight of her enormous reading public.”—United Press International“Ms. Steel's fans won't be disappointed!”—The New York Times Book Review“One counts on Danielle Steel for A STORY THAT ENTERTAINS AND INFORMS.”—The Chattanooga Times“Steel writes convincingly about universal human emotions.”—Publishers Weekly“STEEL IS AT THE TOP OF HER BESTSELLING FORM.”—Houston Chronicle“FEW MODERN WRITERS CONVEY THE PATHOS OF FAMILY AND MARITAL LIFE WITH SUCH HEARTFELT EMPATHY.”—The Philadelphia Inquirer“It's nothing short of amazing that even after [dozens of] novels, Danielle Steel can still come up with a good new yarn.”—The Newark Star-Ledger

PRAISE FOR DANIELLE STEEL'S

BITTERSWEET“DANIELLE STEEL HAS DELIVERED ANOTHER WINNER.”—Rockdak Citizen (Ga.)“With its swiftly moving story line … Steel's latest should gratify her millions of fans.”—Publishers Weekly“A well-planned story filled with prose that's simple, direct and to-the-point.”—The Post (Salisbury, N.Cfp-nj.)“A MOVING PORTRAIT.”—The Gazette (Wheaton, Minn.)A MAIN SELECTION OF THE LITERARY GUILD AND THE DOUBLEDAY BOOK CLUB

a cognizant original v5 release october 14 2010

Also by Danielle Steel

THE HOUSE THE GIFT TOXIC BACHELORS ACCIDENT MIRACLE VANISHED IMPOSSIBLE MIXED BLESSINGS ECHOES JEWELS SECOND CHANCE NO GREATER LOVE RANSOM HEARTBEAT SAFE HARBOUR MESSAGE FROM NAM JOHNNY ANGEL DADDY DATING GAME STAR ANSWERED PRAYERS ZOYA SUNSET IN ST. TROPEZ KALEIDOSCOPE THE COTTAGE FINE THINGS THE KISS WANDERLUST LEAP OF FAITH SECRETS LONE EAGLE FAMILY ALBUM JOURNEY FULL CIRCLE THE HOUSE ON HOPE STREET CHANGES THE WEDDING THURSTON HOUSE IRRESISTIBLE FORCES CROSSINGS GRANNY DAN ONCE IN A LIFETIME BITTERSWEET A PERFECT STRANGER MIRROR IMAGE REMEMBRANCE HIS BRIGHT LIGHT: PALOMINO The Story of Nick Traina LOVE: POEMS THE KLONE AND I THE RING THE LONG ROAD HOME LOVING THE GHOST TO LOVE AGAIN SPECIAL DELIVERY SUMMER'S END THE RANCH SEASON OF PASSION SILENT HONOR THE PROMISE MALICE NOW AND FOREVER FIVE DAYS IN PARIS PASSION'S PROMISE LIGHTNING GOING HOME WINGS

TO Tom,

for the bitter

and the sweet.

with all my love,

d.s.

Never settle for less than your dreams. Somewhere, sometime, someday, somehow, you'll find them.

Chapter 1

INDIA TAYLOR had her camera poised as an unruly army of nine-year-old boys ran across the playing field after the soccer ball they had been heatedly pursuing. Four of them collapsed in a heap, a tangle of arms and legs, and she knew that somewhere in the midst of them was her son, Sam, but she couldn't see him as she shot a never-ending stream of pictures. She had promised to take photographs of the team, as she always did, and she loved being there, watching them on a warm May afternoon in Westport.

She went everywhere with her kids, soccer, baseball, swimming team, ballet, tennis. She did it not only because it was expected of her, but because she liked it. Her life was a constant continuum of car pools, and extracurricular activities, peppered with trips to the vet, the orthodontist, the pediatrician when they were sick or needed checkups. With four children between the ages of nine and fourteen, she felt as though she lived in her car, and spent the winters shoveling snow to get it out of the garage and down the driveway.

India Taylor loved her children, her life, her husband. Life had treated them well, and although this wasn't what she had expected of her life in the early years, she found that it suited her better than expected. The dreams that she and Doug had once had were no longer relevant to life as they now knew it, who they had become, or the place they had drifted to since they met twenty years before in the Peace Corps in Costa Rica.

The life they shared now was what Doug had wanted, the vision he had had for them, the place he wanted to get to. A big, comfortable house in Connecticut, security for both of them, a houseful of kids, and a Labrador retriever, and it suited him to perfection. He left for work in New York at the same time every day, on the 7:05 train out of the Westport station. He saw the same faces, spoke to all the same people, handled the same accounts in his office. He worked for one of the biggest marketing firms in the country, and he made very decent money. Money wasn't something she had worried about much in the early days, not at all in fact. She had been just as happy digging irrigation ditches and living in tents in Nicaragua, Peru, and Costa Rica.

She had loved those days, the excitement, the challenges, the feeling that she was doing something for the human race. And the occasional dangers they encountered seemed to fuel her.

She had started taking photographs long before that, in her teens, taught by her father, who was a correspondent for The New York Times. He spent most of her childhood years away, on dangerous assignments in war zones. And she loved not only his photographs, but listening to his stories. As a child, she dreamed of a life like his one day. And her dreams came true when she herself began freelancing for papers at home while she was in the Peace Corps.

Her assignments took her into the hills, and brought her face-to-face with everything from bandits to guerrillas. She never thought of the risks she took. Danger meant nothing to her, in fact she loved it. She loved the people, the sights, the smells, the sheer joy of what she was doing, and the sense of freedom she had while she did it. Even after they finished their stint with the Peace Corps, and Doug went back to the States, she stayed in Central and South America for several months, and then went on to do stories in Africa and Asia. And she managed to hit all the hot spots. Whenever there was trouble somewhere, for a while at least, India was in it, taking pictures. It was in her soul, and in her blood, in a way that it had never been in Doug's. For him, it had been something exciting to do for a time before he settled down to “real life.” For India, it was real life, and what she really wanted.

She had lived with an insurgent army in Guatemala for two months, and had come up with fantastic photographs, reminiscent of her father's. They had won her not only praise internationally, but several prizes, for her coverage, her insight, and her courage.

When she looked back on those days later on, she realized she had been someone different then, a person she thought of sometimes now, and wondered what had happened to her. Where had that woman gone, that wild free spirit filled with passion? India still acknowledged her, yet she also realized she no longer knew her. Her life was so different now, she was no longer that person. She wondered sometimes, in her dark room, late at night, how she could be satisfied with a life so far removed from the one she had once been so in love with. And yet, she knew with perfect clarity, that she loved the life she shared with Doug and the children in Westport. What she did now was important to her, as much as her earlier life had been. She had no sense of sacrifice, of having given up something she loved, but rather of having traded it for something very different. And the benefits had always seemed worth it to her. What she did for them mattered a great deal to Doug and the children, she told herself. Of that, she was certain.

But there was no denying, when she looked at her old photographs, that she had had a passion for what she did then. Some of the memories were still so vivid. She still remembered the sheer excitement of it, the sick feeling of knowing she was in danger, and the thrill of capturing the perfect moment, that explosive split second in time when everything came together in one instant in what she saw through her camera. There had never been anything like it. If nothing else, she was glad she'd done it, and gotten it out of her system. And she knew without a doubt that what she had felt was something she had inherited from her father. He had died in Da Nang when she was fifteen, after winning a Pulitzer the year before. It had been all too easy for India to follow in his footsteps. It was a course she couldn't have altered at the time, or wanted to. She needed to do it. The changes she had made came later.

She returned to New York a year and a half after Doug had gone home, when he had finally issued an ultimatum. He had told her that if she wanted a future with him, she had better “get her ass back to New York” and stop risking her life in Pakistan and Kenya. And for only a brief moment, it had been a tough decision. She knew that a life much like her father's was out there for her, maybe even a Pulitzer like his one day, but she knew the dangers too. It had ultimately cost him his life, and to some extent his marriage. He had never really had a life he cared about beyond the moments when he risked everything for the perfect shot, with bombs exploding all around him. And Doug was reminding her that if she wanted him, and any kind of normalcy, she was going to have to make a choice sooner or later, and give up what she was doing.

At twenty-six, she married Doug, and worked for The New York Times for two years, taking photographs for them locally, but Doug was anxious to have children. And when Jessica was born shortly before India turned twenty-nine, she gave up her job at The Times, moved to Connecticut, and closed the door on her old life forever. It was the deal she had agreed to. Doug had made it very clear to her when they got married that once they had children, she had to give up her career. And she had agreed to do it. She thought that by then she'd be ready. But she had to admit, when she left the Times and turned her attention to full-time motherhood, it was harder than she expected. At first, she really missed working. In the end, she only looked back once or twice with regret, but eventually she didn't even have time for that. With four children in five years, she could barely keep her head above water or take time out to reload her camera. Driving, diapers, teething, nursing, fevers, play groups, and one pregnancy after another. The two people she saw most were her obstetrician and her pediatrician, and of course the other women she saw daily, whose lives were identical to hers, and revolved only around their children. Some of them had given up careers as well, or were willing to put their adult lives on hold until their children were a little older, just as she had. They were doctors, lawyers, writers, nurses, artists, architects, all of whom had given up their careers to tend to their children. Some of them complained a lot of the time, but although she missed her work, India didn't really mind what she was doing. She loved being with her children, even when she ended the days exhausted, with another baby on the way, and Doug came home too late at night to help her. It was the life she had chosen, a decision she had made, a deal she had lived up to. And she wouldn't have wanted to leave her children every day to continue working. She still did the occasional rare story close to home, if she had time for it, once every few years, but she really didn't have time to do it more often, as she had long since explained to her agent.

What she hadn't known, or fully understood before Jessica was born, was just how far from her old life it would take her. Compared to the life she had once led, taking photographs of guerrillas in Nicaragua, and dying children in Bangladesh, or floods in Tanzania, she had had no idea just how different this would be, or how different she would become once she did it.

She knew she had to close the door on those early chapters of her life, and she had, no matter how many prizes she had won, or how exciting it had been, or how good she was at it. In her mind, and Doug's especially, giving it up was the price she had had to pay for having children. There was just no other way to do it. Some of the women she knew could juggle work at home, a couple of her friends were still lawyers and went into the city two or three days a week, just to keep their hand in. Others were artists and worked at home, some of the writers struggled with stories between the midnight and four A.M. feedings, but eventually gave it up, because they were too exhausted to do it. But for India, it was impossible. There was no way to continue her career, as she had once known it. She kept in touch with her agent and had done local stories from time to time, but covering garden shows in Greenwich had no meaning for her. And Doug didn't even like her doing that much. Instead, she used her camera as a kind of mothering tool, constantly making visual records of her children's early years, or taking photographs of her friends' children, or for the school, or just playing with it as she did now, watching Sam and his friends play soccer. There was no other way to do this. She was bound and chained, set in cement, rooted to her life in a thousand ways, visible and otherwise. And this was what she and Doug had agreed to. And what they had said they wanted. And she had lived up to her end of the bargain, but her camera was always in her hand, at her eye, or slung over her shoulder. She could never imagine a life without it.

Once in a while, she mused about working again once the kids grew up, maybe in another five years when Sam was in high school. But that was inconceivable to her just now. He was only nine, Aimee was eleven, Jason was twelve, and Jessica fourteen. Her life was a constant merry-go-round of activities between them, after-school sports and barbecues and Little League and piano lessons. The only way to do it all was if you never stopped, never thought of yourself, and never sat down for five minutes. The only respite she had from it was when they went to Cape Cod in the summer. Doug spent three weeks there with them every year, and the rest of the time he commuted on weekends. They all loved their Cape Cod vacations. She took terrific photographs at the Cape every year, and got a little time for herself. She had a darkroom in the house, just as she did in Westport. And at the Cape she could spend hours in it while the kids visited with friends, or hung out on the beach, or played volleyball or tennis. She was less of a chauffeur at the Cape, the kids could ride their bikes everywhere and it gave her more free time, especially in the last two years, since Sam was a little older. He was growing up. The only thing she wondered from time to time was how grown up she was. Sometimes she felt guilty about the books she never had time to read, the politics she had lost interest in. It felt sometimes as though the world beyond was moving on without her. She had no sense anymore of growth or evolution, it was more a question of treading water, cooking dinner, driving kids and getting from one school year to another. But there was nothing about her life that made her feel that she had grown in recent years.

India's life had been virtually the same for the last fourteen years, since Jessica was born. It was a life of service, sacrifice, and commitment. But the end result was tangible, she could see it. She had healthy, happy children. They lived in a safe, familiar little world that revolved entirely around them. Nothing unsavory or unsafe or unpleasant ever intruded on them, and the worst thing that ever happened to them was an argument with a neighbor's child, or a trauma over lost homework. They had no concept of the loneliness she had felt as a child, with one constantly absent parent. They were unfailingly ministered to and cared for. And their father came home every night for dinner. That was especially important to India, as she knew only too well what it was like not to have that.

India's children lived in a different universe from the children she had photographed two decades before, starving in Africa, or jeopardized in unimaginable ways in underdeveloped countries, where their very survival was in question daily, fleeing from their enemies, or lost to natural aggressors like illness, floods, and famine. Her children would never know a life like theirs, and she was grateful for it.

India watched her younger son pull himself from the pile of little boys who had cascaded on top of him as he scored a goal, and wave at his mother.

India smiled, the camera clicked again, and she walked slowly back to the bench where some of the other mothers were sitting, chatting with each other. None of them were watching the game, they were too busy talking. This was so routine to them that they rarely watched, and seldom saw what their children were doing. The women were just there, like the bench they were sitting on, part of the scenery or the equipment.

One of them, Gail Jones, looked up as India approached, and smiled when she saw her. They were old friends, and as India pulled a fresh roll of film out of her pocket, Gail made room for India to sit down. There were finally leaves on the trees again, and everyone was in good spirits. Gail was smiling up at her, as she held a cardboard cup with cappuccino in it. It was a ritual of hers, particularly in the freezing cold winters when they watched their kids play ball, with snow on the ground, and they had to stamp their feet and walk around to stay warm as they watched them.

“Only three more weeks and then school's over for this year at least,” Gail said with a look of relief as she took a sip of the steaming cappuccino. “God, I hate these games, I wish to hell I'd had girls, one at least. Life defined by jockstraps and cleats is going to drive me nuts one of these days,” she said with a rueful smile as India smiled at Gail in answer, clicked the film into place, and closed her camera. Listening to Gail complain was familiar to her. Gail had been complaining for the last nine years about giving up her career as a lawyer.

“You'd get sick of ballet too, believe me. Same idea, different uniform, more pressure,” India said knowingly. Jessica had finally given up ballet that spring, after eight years, and India wasn't sure if she was relieved or sorry. She would miss the recitals, but not driving her there three times a week. Jessica was now playing tennis with the same determination, but at least she could ride her bike there on her own, and India didn't have to drive her.

“At least ballet shoes would be pretty,” Gail said, standing up to join India as they began to walk slowly around the field. India wanted to take some more shots from a different angle, to give to the team, and Gail walked along beside her. They had been friends ever since the Taylors moved to Westport. Gail's oldest son was the same age as Jessica, and she had twin boys Sam's age. She had taken a five-year break between them, to go back to work. She had been a litigator, but had quit finally after she had the twins, and she felt she'd been gone too long now to ever consider going back to her old law firm. As far as she was concerned, her career was over, but she was older than India by five years and, at forty-eight, claimed she no longer wanted to be trapped in the courtroom. She said all she really missed was intelligent conversation. But despite her complaints, she occasionally admitted that it was easier just being here, and letting her husband fight his daily wars on Wall Street. Like India, her life was defined by soccer games and car pools. But unlike India, she was far more willing to admit that her life bored her. And there was a constant sense of restlessness about her.

“So what are you up to?” Gail asked amiably, finishing the cappuccino. “How's life in mommy heaven?”

“The usual. Busy.” India took a series of photographs as she listened distractedly to her. She got another great shot of Sam, and even more when the other team scored a goal against them. “We're leaving for the Cape in a few weeks, when school lets out. Doug can't come up for his vacation this year till August.” He usually tried to take it before that.

“We're going to Europe in July,” Gail said without enthusiasm, and for an instant India envied her. She'd been trying to talk Doug into it for years, but he said he wanted to wait until the children were older. If he waited much longer, India always reminded him, they'd be gone and in college, and going without them. But so far she hadn't convinced him. Unlike India, he had no real interest in traveling far from home. His adventuring days were over.

“Sounds like fun,” India said, turning to look at her. The two women were an interesting contrast. Gail was small and intense with short dark hair, and eyes that were two burning pools of fiery dark chocolate. India was long and lean, with classic features, deep blue eyes, and a long blond braid that hung down her back. She claimed she always wore it that way because she never had time to comb it. As they walked side by side, they were two very striking women, and neither of them looked anywhere near forty, let alone a few years past it. “Where in Europe are you going?” India asked with interest.

“Italy and France, and a couple of days in London. Not exactly high adventure, or high-risk travel, but it's easy with the kids. And Jeff loves going to the theater in London. We rented a house in Provence for a couple of weeks in July, and we're going to drive down to Italy, and take the kids to Venice.” To India, it sounded like a wonderful trip, and worlds away from her lazy Cape Cod summer. “We'll be there for six weeks,” Gail went on. “I'm not sure Jeff and I can stand each other for that long, not to mention the boys. After ten minutes with the twins, Jeff goes crazy.” She always talked about him the way people did about irritating roommates, but India was always sure that beyond the grousing, Gail actually loved him. In spite of evidence to the contrary, India believed that.

“I'm sure it'll be fine, you'll have plenty to see,” she said, though being trapped in a car with twin nine-year-old boys and a fourteen-year-old for extended periods of time didn't sound like India's idea of heaven either.

“I can't even meet a handsome Italian, with the kids along and Jeff chasing after me, asking me to translate for him.” India laughed at the portrait Gail painted, and shook her head. It was one of Gail's quirks, talking about other men, and sometimes more than just talking. She had confided to India frequently that she'd had several affairs in the twenty-two years she and Jeff had been married, but she had surprised India by saying that in an odd way, it had actually improved their marriage. It was a form of “improvement” India had never been drawn to, nor approved of. But she liked Gail enormously, despite her indiscretions.

“Maybe Italy will make Jeff more romantic,” India suggested, slinging her ever-present camera over her shoulder, and glancing down at the small, electric woman who had once been a terror in the courtroom. That, India found easy to imagine. Gail Jones took no nonsense from anyone, and certainly not her husband. But she was a loyal friend, and in spite of her complaints, a devoted mother.

“I don't think a transfusion from a Venetian gondolier would make Jeff Jones romantic. And the kids with us twenty-four hours a day sure as hell won't help it. By the way, did you hear that the Lewisons are separated?” India nodded. She never took much interest in the local gossip. She was too busy with her own life, her kids, and her husband. She had a handful of friends she cared about, but the vagaries of other people's lives, and peering into them with curiosity, held no magic for her. “Dan asked me to have lunch with him.” At that, India cast a glance at her, and Gail smiled mischievously at her.

“Don't look at me like that. He just wants some free legal advice, and a shoulder to cry on.”

“Don't give me that.” India was uninvolved in the local scandals, but she was not without a degree of sophistication. And she knew Gail's fondness for flirting with other people's husbands. “Dan has always liked you.”

“I like him too. So what? I'm bored. He's lonely and pissed off and unhappy. That equals lunch, not a steamy love affair necessarily. Believe me, it's not sexy listening to a guy complain about how often Rosalie yelled at him about ignoring the kids and watching football on Sundays. He's not in any condition for anything more than that, and he's still hoping he can talk her into a reconciliation. That's a little complicated, even for me.” She looked restless as India watched her. According to Gail, or what she said anyway, Jeff hadn't excited her in years, and India knew it. It didn't really surprise her. Jeff was not an exciting person, but it made India think as she listened. She had never actually asked Gail what, in her opinion, was exciting.

“What do you want, Gail? Why bother with someone else, even for lunch? What does it give you?” They both had husbands, full lives, kids who needed them, and enough to do to keep them out of trouble and constantly distracted. But Gail always gave India the impression that she was looking for something intangible and elusive.

“Why not? It adds a little spice to my life, just having lunch with someone from time to time. And if it turns into something else, it's not the end of the world. It puts a spring in my step, I feel alive again. It makes me something more than just a chauffeur and a housewife. Don't you ever miss that?” She turned to India then, her eyes boring into hers, much as they must have done cross-examining a defendant in the courtroom.

“I don't know,” India said honestly. “I don't think about it.”

“Maybe you should. Maybe one day you'll ask yourself a lot of questions about what you didn't have and didn't do, and should have.” Maybe. But to India, at least, cheating on her husband, even over lunch, didn't seem like the perfect answer, far from it. “Be honest. Don't you ever miss the life you had before you were married?” Her eyes told India she wouldn't tolerate anything less than full disclosure.

“I think about the things I used to do, the life we had before. … I think about working …and Bolivia …and Peru …and Kenya. I think about the things I did there, and what it meant to me then. Sure I miss that sometimes. It was great, and I loved it. But I don't miss the men that went with it.” Particularly since she knew Doug appreciated all that she'd given up for him.

“Then maybe you're lucky. Why don't you go back to work one of these days? With your track record, you could pick it up again whenever you want. It's not like the law, I'm out of the loop now. I'm history. But as long as you have your camera, you could be right back in the fray tomorrow. You're crazy to waste that.”

But India knew better. She knew what her father's life had been like, and theirs, waiting for him. It was more complicated than Gail's perception of it. There was a price to pay for all that. A big one.

“It's not that simple. You know that. What am I supposed to do? Just call my agent tonight and say put me on a plane to Bosnia in the morning? Doug and the kids would really love that.” Even the thought of it was so impossible that all she could do was laugh at it. She knew, as Gail did, that those days were over for her. And unlike Gail, she had no need to prove her independence, or abandon her family to do it. She loved Doug, and her kids, and knew just as surely that he was still as much in love as she was.

“They might like it better in the end than you getting bored and crabby.” It surprised India to hear her say that, and she looked at her friend with a questioning expression.

“Am I? Crabby, I mean?” She felt a little lonely at times, and maybe even nostalgic about the old days now and then, though not often anymore, but she had never become seriously dissatisfied with what she was doing.

Unlike Gail, she accepted the point to which life had brought her. She even liked it. And she knew the children wouldn't be small forever. They were already growing up rapidly, and Jessica had started high school in September. She could always think about going back to work later. If Doug let her.

“I think you get bored, just like I do sometimes,” Gail said honestly, facing her, their children all but forgotten for the moment. “You're a good sport about it. But you gave up a hell of a lot more than I did. If you'd stayed with it, by now you'd have won a Pulitzer, and you know it.”

“I doubt that,” India said modestly. “I could have wound up like my father. He was forty-two when he died, shot by a sniper. I'm only a year older, and he was a lot smarter and more talented than I was. You can't stay out in that kind of life forever. The odds are against you, and you know it.”

“Some people manage it. And if we live to be ninety-five here, so what? Who will give a damn about it when we die, India, other than our husbands and our children?”

“Maybe that's enough,” India said quietly. Gail was asking her questions she almost never allowed herself to think of, although she had to admit that in the past year it had crossed her mind more than once that she hadn't done anything truly intelligent in years, not to mention the challenges she'd given up. She'd tried to talk to Doug about it once or twice, but he always said he still shuddered to think of the things they'd done in the Peace Corps and she'd done after. Doug was a lot happier now. “I'm not as sure as you are that what I would be doing would change the world. Does it really matter who takes the pictures you see of Ethiopia and Bosnia and on some hilltop, God knows where, ten minutes after a rebel gets shot? Does anyone really care? Maybe what I'm doing here is more important.” It was what she believed now, but Gail didn't.

“Maybe it isn't,” Gail said bluntly. “Maybe what matters is that you're not there taking those pictures, someone else is.”

“So let them.” India refused to be swayed by her.

“Why? Why should someone else have all the fun? Why are we stuck here in goddamn suburbia cleaning apple juice up off the floor every time one of the kids spills it? Let someone else do that for a change. What difference does that make?”

“I think it makes a difference to our families that we're here. What kind of life would they have if I were in some two-seater egg-crate somewhere crawling in over the trees in bad weather, or getting myself shot in some war no one has ever heard of, and doesn't give a damn about. That would make a difference to my children. A big one.”

“I don't know.” Gail looked unhappy as they started walking again. “Lately, I think about it all the time, about why I'm here and what I'm doing. Maybe it's change of life or something. Or maybe it's simply the fact that I'm afraid I'll never be in love again, or look across a room at a man who makes my heart leap right out of my chest looking at him. Maybe that's what's driving me crazy, knowing that for the rest of my life Jeff and I are going to look at each other, and think okay, he's not great, but this is what I got stuck with.” It was a depressing way to sum up twenty-two years of marriage, and India felt sorry for her.

“It's better than that, and you know it.” At least she hoped so, for Gail's sake. It would be terrible if it wasn't.

“Not much. It's okay. Most of all, it's boring. He's boring. I'm boring. Our life is boring. And ten years from now I'll be nearly sixty and it'll be even more boring. And then what?”

“You'll feel better when you go to Europe this summer,” India said kindly, as Gail shrugged a shoulder in answer.

“Maybe. I doubt it. We've been there before. Jeff will spend the entire time bitching about how badly they drive in Italy, hating whatever car we rent, and complaining about the smell of the canal in the summer in Venice. He's hardly a romantic figure, India, let's be honest.” India knew that Gail had married him twenty-two years before because she was pregnant, and then lost the baby after three months, and spent another seven years after that trying to get pregnant, while fighting her way to the top in her law firm. India's life had been a lot simpler than Gail's had been. And her decision to give up her career had been less agonizing for her. Gail was still asking herself if she'd done the right thing nine years after retiring when the twins were born. She had thought that she'd been ready to do it, and it was obvious now that she wasn't. “Maybe having lunch with other men, and having an ‘indiscretion’ with them now and then, is my way of compensating for what Jeff will never give me, for what he isn't, and probably never was.” India couldn't help wondering if her affairs only made her more dissatisfied with the life she was living. Maybe she was looking for something that didn't exist, or wasn't out there, not for them at least. Maybe Gail was simply unwilling to admit that, for them, that part of their lives was over. Doug didn't come home from the office with roses in his arms for her either. But India didn't expect that from him. She accepted, and liked, what they had grown into. As he did.

“Maybe none of us will ever be madly in love again, maybe that's just the bottom line here,” India said practically, but Gail looked outraged.

“Bullshit! If I thought that, I'd die. Why shouldn't we be?” Gail looked incensed. “We have a right to that at any age. Everyone does. That's why Rosalie left Dan Lewison. She's in love with Harold Lieberman, which is why Dan isn't going to get her back. Harold wants to marry Rosalie. He's crazy about her.”

For an instant, India looked startled. “Is that why he left his wife?” Gail nodded. “I really am out of it, aren't I? How did I miss that one?”

“Because you're so good and pure and such a perfect wife,” Gail teased. She and India had been friends for a long time, and were each the kind of friend the other could rely on. They provided each other with total acceptance, and India never criticized her for the men she slept with, although she didn't approve or fully understand why she did it. The only explanation was that Gail had a kind of emptiness that nothing seemed to fill, and hadn't in all the years that India had known her.

“Is that what you want, though? To leave Jeff for someone else's husband? What would be different?”

“Probably nothing,” Gail admitted. “That's why I've never done it. Besides, I guess I love Jeff. We're friends. He just doesn't provide much excitement.”

“Maybe that's better,” India said thoughtfully, mulling over what Gail had said to her. “I had enough excitement in the old days. I don't need that anymore,” India said firmly, as though trying to convince herself more than her friend, but for once Gail was willing to accept what she said at face value.

“If that's true, you're very lucky.”

“We both are,” India affirmed to her, wishing she could make her feel better. She still didn't think that lunch with Dan Lewison, and men like him, was a solution. Where did that lead? To a motel between Westport and Greenwich? So what? India couldn't even imagine sleeping with someone else. After seventeen years with Doug, she didn't want anyone else. She loved the life that she and Doug shared with their children.

“I still think you're wasting your talent,” Gail prodded her, knowing full well it was the only chink in India's armor, the only subject on which India occasionally dared to ask herself pointed questions. “You should go back to work one of these days.” Gail had always said that India's talent was so enormous that it was a crime to waste it. But India always insisted she could go back to it later, if she wanted. For now, she didn't have the time or the inclination to do more than the occasional story. She was too busy with her kids, and didn't want to rock the boat with Doug. “Besides,” she teased Gail, “if I go back to work, you get to go out to lunch with Doug. Do you think I'm that stupid?” They both laughed at the suggestion, as Gail shook her head, her eyes dancing with amusement.

“You have nothing to fear. Doug's the only man I know who's even more boring than my husband.”

“I'll accept that as a compliment on his behalf,” India said, still laughing. He certainly wasn't exciting, or even colorful, but he was a good husband, and good father. That was all she needed. He was solid, decent, loyal, and a good provider. And besides, no matter how boring Gail thought he was, India loved him. She didn't have the lust that Gail had for intrigue and romance. She had given all that up years before, and before Gail could say anything else, the whistle blew and the soccer game ended, and within seconds, Sam and Gail's twin sons had come thundering over to them.

“Great game!” India said, smiling broadly at Sam, relieved in some way to be out of the conversation. Gail always made her feel as though she had to defend herself, and her marriage.

“Mom, we lost!” Sam looked at her with disdain, and then put his arms around her and hugged her just a little too tight, as he dodged the camera swinging from her shoulder.

“Did you have fun?” India asked, kissing the top of his head. He still had that wonderful little-boy smell of fresh air and soap and sunshine.

“Yeah, it was okay. I scored two goals.”

“Then it was a good game.” They began walking to the car with Gail and her boys, who were clamoring to go out for ice cream, and Sam wanted to join them. “We can't. We have to pick up Aimee and Jason.” Sam groaned at the prospect, and India waved at Gail as they got into their van, and India slid behind the wheel of her station wagon. It had been an interesting conversation. Gail certainly hadn't lost her touch at cross-examination.

And as India started the car, she glanced at her son in the rearview mirror. He looked tired, but happy. There was dirt all over his face, and his blond hair looked as though he'd combed it with an eggbeater, and just looking at him told her once again why she wasn't climbing through bushes in Ethiopia or Kenya. She didn't need more than that dirt-smeared face to explain it. So what if her life was boring?

They picked up Aimee and Jason at school, and headed home. Jessica had just walked in, there were books all over the kitchen table, and the dog was going crazy wagging his tail and barking. It was life as she knew it, as she had chosen to live it. And the thought of living it with anyone but Doug depressed her. This was exactly what she wanted. And if it wasn't enough for Gail, then she was sorry for her. In the end, they all had to do what worked best for them. And this was the life India had chosen. Her camera could wait another five or ten years, but even then she knew she wouldn't leave Doug to go trekking halfway around the world to find adventure. You couldn't have both. She had figured that out years before. She had made a choice, and she still thought it was a good one. And she knew that Doug appreciated what she was doing.

“What's for dinner?” Jason asked, shouting over the frantic barking of the dog and the clamoring of his siblings. He was on the track team at school, and starving.

“Paper napkins and ice cream, if you guys don't get out of the kitchen and give me five minutes' peace,” India shouted over the din, as he grabbed an apple and a bag of potato chips and headed to his room to do his homework. He was a good kid, a sweet boy. He worked hard at school, got good grades, did well in sports, looked just like Doug, and had never given them any trouble. He had started discovering girls the year before, but his greatest foray into that realm had been a series of timid phone calls. He was far easier to deal with than his fourteen-year-old sister, Jessica, who India always said was going to be a labor lawyer. She was the family spokesperson for the downtrodden, and rarely hesitated to lock horns with her mother. In fact, she loved it. “Out!” India shooed them all out from underfoot, put the dog outside, and opened the refrigerator with a pensive expression. They'd already had hamburgers twice this week, and meat loaf once. Even she had to admit that she was lacking inspiration. By this point in the school year, she couldn't think up any more creative dinners. It was time for barbecues and hot dogs and ribs, and time on the beach on the Cape. She settled on two frozen chickens, and stuck them in the microwave to defrost them, as she pulled out a dozen ears of corn and began to clean them.

She was sitting at the kitchen table, thinking about what Gail had said that afternoon, sifting it as she did sometimes, trying to decide for herself if she had any regrets about her lost career. But she was still convinced all these years later that she had made the right decision. Besides, it was a moot point anyway, she told her-self, there was no way she could have continued traveling around the world as a journalist, or even working locally, and still have done the right thing for her children. She owed this to them. And if Gail found her boring as a result, so be it. At least Doug didn't. She smiled, thinking of him, as she put the corn in a pot of water and set it on the stove, and then took the chickens out of the microwave, put butter and spices on them, and put them in the oven. All she had to do now was put some rice on the stove, make a salad, and presto magic, dinner. She had gotten good at it over the years. Not fine cuisine, but fast and simple and healthy. She didn't have time to make them gourmet meals with everything else she did. They were lucky she didn't take them to the drive-thru at McDonald's.

She was just putting dinner on the table when Doug walked in, looking slightly harried. Barring a crisis at the office, he usually came home promptly at seven. Door to door, it was a twelve-hour day for him, or slightly longer, but he was a good sport about the commute, and he kissed the air somewhere near her head, as he set down his briefcase and helped himself to a Coke from the refrigerator, and then looked over and smiled at her. She was happy to see him.

“How was your day?” she asked, wiping her hands on a towel. There were wisps of wheat-colored hair framing her face, and she never thought much about what she looked like. She was lucky, she didn't have to. She had clean, healthy, classic looks, and the braid she wore suited her. Her skin was good, and she looked about thirty-five instead of forty-three, with a long, slim figure that looked well in shirts and turtlenecks and jeans, which was the uniform she wore daily.

Doug set down the Coke and loosened his tie as he answered. “Not bad. Nothing exciting. I had a meeting with a new client.” His business life had been uneventful for the most part, and when he had problems, he shared them with her. “What did you do today?”

“Sam had soccer, and I took some pictures for the team. Nothing terrific.” As she listened to herself speak, she thought of Gail, and how dull she accused their lives of being. They were. But what more could she expect? Bringing up four kids in Connecticut was hardly glamorous, or fraught with excitement. And India couldn't see how Gail's illicit activities could change that. She was kidding herself if she thought that made a difference, or improved things.

“How about dinner at Ma Petite Amie tomorrow night?” Doug offered as she called the kids in to dinner.

“I'd love it,” she smiled, and within the next millisecond chaos erupted in the kitchen. But they always enjoyed their meals together. The children talked about their day, their friends, their activities, while complaining intermittently about teachers and the amount of homework they'd been given. And Aimee blew the whistle on the news that a new boy had called Jessica three times that afternoon, and he sounded really old, like maybe even a senior, and Jessica looked daggers at her. And for most of the meal, Jason provided them with entertainment. He was the family clown, and made editorial comments on everything. Aimee helped her clean up afterward, and Sam went to bed early, exhausted by his soccer game and the two goals he'd scored. Doug was reading some papers from the office by the time India finally joined him in their bedroom.

“The natives seem to be keeping you busier than usual tonight,” he commented, glancing up from the report he was reading.

There was a staid, solid quality that India had loved about him right from the beginning. He was tall and lean and lanky, with athletic good looks, and a boyish face. At forty-five, he was still very handsome, and looked like a college football hero. He had dark hair and brown eyes, and was given to tweeds and gray suits for work, and corduroy pants and Shetland sweaters on weekends. And in a quiet, wholesome way, India had always found him very attractive, even if Gail did think he was boring. And in many ways, he was the ideal husband for her. He was solid and reliable and unflappable, generally, and fairly reasonable in the demands he made of her.

She sat down in a big, comfortable chair across from him, and tucked her legs under her, trying to remember, just for an instant, the boy she had met in the Peace Corps. He was not so very different from the man she sat across from now, but there had been a glimmer of mischief in his eyes then that had enchanted her at the time, when she was young and filled with dreams of daring and glory. He was no longer mischievous, but he was decent and reliable, and someone she knew she could count on. Much as she had loved him, she didn't want a man like her father, who was never there, and risked and eventually lost his life in the pursuit of his wild, romantic notions. War had been romance to him. Doug was far more sensible than that, and she liked knowing she could count on him to be there for her.

“The kids seemed a little wound up tonight. What's up?” he asked, putting his report down.

“I think they're just excited about the end of the school year. It'll do them good to get to the Cape, and get it out of their systems. They need some downtime, we all do.” By this point in the school year, she was always sick to death of her car pools.

“I wish I could take time off earlier than August,” he said, running a hand through his hair, thinking about it. But he had to oversee some marketing studies for two important new clients, and he didn't want to leave town prematurely.

“So do I,” India said simply. “I saw Gail today. They're going to Europe this summer.” It was pointless to try and talk him into that again, she knew, and it was too late to change their plans for this summer anyway, but she would have liked to. “We really should do that next year.”

“Let's not start that again. I didn't go to Europe till I finished college. It's not going to kill them to wait a couple of years to do that. Besides, it's too expensive with a family our size.”

“We could afford it and we can't cheat them of that, Doug.” She didn't remind him that her parents had taken her all over the world when she was a baby. Her father had taken assignments wherever he thought it would be fun, at vacation times, and taken her and her mother with him. The traveling they'd done had been a rich experience for her, and she would have liked to share that with their children. “I loved going with my parents,” she said quietly, but he looked annoyed, as he always did when she brought up the subject.

“If your father had had a real job, you wouldn't have gotten to Europe as a kid either,” Doug said, almost sternly. He didn't like it when she pushed him.

“That's a dumb thing to say. He had a real job. He worked harder than you or I did.” Or you do now, she wanted to add, but didn't. Her father had been tireless and passionately energetic. He had won a Pulitzer, for God's sake. She hated it when Doug made comments like that about him. It was as though her father's career was meaningless because he had earned his living with a camera, something that seemed childishly simple to her husband. No matter that he had lost his life in the course of what he was doing, or won international awards for it.

“He was lucky, and you know it,” Doug went on. “He got paid for what he liked to do. Hanging out and watching people. That's kind of a fortuitous accident, wouldn't you say? It's not like going to an office every day, and having to put up with the politics and the bullshit.”

“No,” she said, a light kindling in her eyes that should have warned him he was on dangerous ground, but he didn't see it. He was not only belittling the heroic father she revered, but he was casting aspersions on her own career at the same time, who she was, and who she had been before they married. “I think what he did was a hell of a lot harder than that, and calling it a ‘fortuitous accident’ is a real slap in the face.” To her, and to her father. Her eyes were blazing as she said it.

“What got you all riled up today? Was Gail off on one of her tangents?” She had been, of course. She was always stirring the pot in some way, and India had said as much to Doug before, but the things he had just said about her father had really upset her and had nothing to do with Gail. It had to do with her, and how Doug felt about the work she did before they were married.

“That has nothing to do with it. I just don't see how you can discount a Pulitzer prize-winning career and make it sound as though he got a lucky shot with a borrowed Brownie.”

“You're oversimplifying what I said. But let's face it, he wasn't running General Motors. He was a photographer. And I'm sure he was talented, but he also probably got lucky. If he were alive today, he'd probably tell you the same thing himself. Guys like him are usually pretty honest about getting lucky.”

“For chrissake, Doug. What are you saying? Is that what you think of my career too? I was just ‘lucky’?”

“No,” he said calmly, looking mildly uncomfortable about the argument he had inadvertently backed into at the end of a long day. He was wondering if maybe she was just tired or the kids had gotten on her nerves or something. Or maybe it was Gail's rabble-rousing. He had never liked her, and she always made him uncomfortable. He thought she was a bad influence on his wife with her constant complaining. “I think you had a hell of a good time doing what you did for a while. It was a good excuse to stay out and play, probably a little longer than you should have.”

“I might have won a Pulitzer too by now, if I'd stuck with it. Have you ever thought of that?” Her eyes met his squarely. She didn't really believe that, about the Pulitzer, but it was a possibility certainly. She had already made her mark in the business before she gave it up to have children and be a housewife.

“Is that what you think?” he asked her, looking surprised. “Are you sorry you gave it up? Is that what you're saying to me?”

“No, it's not what I'm saying. I've never had any regrets. But I also never thought of it as ‘playing.’ I was damn serious about what I did, and I was good at it …I still am….” But just looking at him, she could see that he didn't understand what she was saying. He made it sound like a game, like something she had done for fun before she settled down to real life. It wasn't “fun,” although she had had a good time at it, but she had risked her life repeatedly to get extraordinary pictures. “Doug, you're belittling what I did. Don't you understand what you're saying?” She wanted him to understand. It was important to her. If he did, it made what Gail had said a lie, that she was wasting her time now. But if he thought what she'd given up was unimportant anyway, what did that make her? In some ways, it made her feel like nothing.

“I think you're oversensitive, and you're overreacting. I'm just saying that working as a photojournalist is not like working in business. It's not as serious, and doesn't require the same kind of self-discipline and judgment.”

“Hell, no, it's a lot harder. If you work in the kind of places my father and I did, your life is on the line every second you're working, and if you're not careful and alert constantly, you get your ass blown off and you die.

That's a hell of a lot tougher than working in an office, shuffling papers.”

“Are you trying to make it sound like you gave up a lifetime career for me?” he asked, looking both annoyed and startled, as he got up and walked across the room to open the can of Coca-Cola she'd brought him. “Are you trying to make me feel guilty?”

“No, but I should get a certain amount of credit at least for my accomplishments. I shelved a very respectable career to come out here to the suburbs and take care of our kids. And you're trying to make it sound like I was just playing around anyway, so why not give it up? It was a sacrifice for me to do that.” She looked at him intently as he drank his soda, wondering just what he did think about her career now that he had opened Pandora's box. And she didn't like what she was seeing in it. It was a real disregard for what she had done, and given up for him.

“Are you sorry you made the ‘sacrifice’?” he asked bluntly, setting the can down on the little table between them.

“No, I'm not. But I think I deserve some credit for it. You can't just discount it.” But he had, that was what had upset her so badly.

“Fine. Then I'll give you credit. Does that settle it? Can we relax now? I had a long day at the office.” But the way he said it only made her angrier, as though he was more important than she was. He picked up his papers again then and was obviously determined to ignore her, as she looked at him in disbelief at what he had said to her. He had not only discounted her career, but her father's. And the way he had said it had really hurt her. It was a lack of respect that she had never felt from him before, and it made all of Gail's comments that afternoon not only real, but valid.

She didn't say another word to him until they went to bed that night, and before that, she stood for a long time in the shower, thinking it all over. He had really upset her, and hurt her feelings. But she didn't mention it to him when she got into bed. She was sure he was going to bring it up himself and apologize. He was usually pretty aware of those things, and good about apologizing when he hurt her.

But he said not a word to her when he turned off the light, and he turned his back and went to sleep, as though nothing had happened. She didn't say goodnight to him, and she lay awake for a long time, thinking about what he had said, and what Gail had said to her, as she lay beside him, and listened to him snoring.

Chapter 2

THE NEXT morning was chaotic, as usual, and she had to drive Jessica to school, because she'd missed her car pool. Doug never said anything to India about their conversation the night before, and he was gone before she could even say good-bye to him. As she cleaned up the kitchen, after she got back from dropping Jessica off, she wondered if he was sorry. She was sure he would say something that night. It was unlike him not to. Maybe he'd had a bad day at the office the day before, or was just feeling feisty and wanted to provoke her. But he had seemed very calm when he'd spoken to her. It upset her to think he had so little regard for everything she'd done before they were married. He had never been quite that insensitive about it, or quite as blatantly outspoken. The phone rang just as she put the last of the dishes in the dishwasher, and she was going to go to her darkroom to develop the pictures she'd taken the day before at soccer. She had promised the captain of the team that she would get them to him quickly.

She answered on the fourth ring, and wondered if it would be Doug, calling to tell her he was sorry. They were planning to go out to dinner that night, at a fancy little French restaurant, and it would be a much nicer evening if he would at least acknowledge that he had been wrong to make her career sound so unimportant and make her feel so lousy.

“Hello?” She was smiling when she answered, sure now that it was he, but the voice on the other end was not Doug's. It was her agent. Raoul Lopez. He was very well known in photojournalism and photography, and at the top of his field. The agency, though not Raoul, had previously represented her father.

“How's the Mother of the Year? Still taking pictures of kids on Santa's lap to give to their mommies?” She had volunteered at a children's shelter the previous year to do just that, and Raoul had not been overly amused by it. For years now, he had been telling her she was wasting her talents. And once every couple of years, she did something for him that gave him hope she might one day come back to the real world. She had done a fabulous story three years before, on abused children in Harlem. She had done it in the daytime while her own kids were in school, and managed not to miss a single car pool. Doug hadn't been pleased but he had let her do it, after India had spent weeks discussing it with him. And, as in the past, she had won an award for it.

“I'm fine. How are you, Raoul?”

“Overworked, as usual. And a little tired of getting the ‘artists’ I represent to be reasonable. Why is it so impossible for creative people to make intelligent decisions?” It sounded like he had already had a bad morning, and listening to him, India was hoping he wasn't going to ask her to do something totally insane. Sometimes, despite the limitations she had set on him for years, he still did that. He was also upset because he had lost one of his star clients, a hell of a nice guy and good friend, in a brief holy war in Iran in early April. “So what are you up to?” he asked, trying to sound a little more cordial. He was a nervous, irascible man, but India was fond of him. He was brilliant at pairing up the right photographer with the right assignment, when they let him.

“I'm loading the dishwasher, actually,” she said with a smile. “Does that fit your image of me?” She laughed and he groaned.

“Only too well, I'm afraid. When are those kids of yours ever going to grow up, India? The world can't wait forever.”

“It'll have to.” Even after they were grown, she wasn't sure Doug would want her to take assignments, and she knew it. But this was what she wanted for now. And she had told Raoul that often enough for him to almost believe her. But he never gave up entirely. He was still hoping that one day she might come to her senses, and run screaming out of Westport. He certainly hoped so. “Are you calling to send me on a mission on muleback somewhere in northern China?” It was the kind of thing he called her with from time to time, although occasionally he called with something reason-able, like the work she had done in Harlem. And she had loved that, which was why she kept her name on his roster.

“Not exactly, but you're getting close,” he said tentatively, wondering how to phrase his question. He knew how impossible she was, and just how devoted to her children and husband. Raoul had neither a spouse nor a family, and could never quite understand why she was so determined to flush her career down the toilet for them. She had a talent like few he had known, and in her case he thought it was a sacrilege to have given up what she had been doing.

And then he decided to take the plunge. All she could do was say no, although he desperately hoped she wouldn't. “It's Korea, actually. It's a story for the Sunday Times Magazine, and they're willing to put it out to someone freelance, instead of a staffer. There's an adoption racket in Seoul that's going sour. The word is they're killing the kids no one will adopt. It's relatively safe, for you at least, unless you ruffle too many feathers. But it's a fantastic story, India. Babies are being murdered over there, and once it runs in the magazine, you can syndicate the story. Someone really has to do it, and they need your pictures to validate the story and I'd rather it be you than anyone else. I know how you love kids, and I just thought …it's perfect for you.” She felt an undeniable rush of adrenaline as she listened. It tugged at her heart in a way that nothing had since the story in Harlem. But Korea? What would she tell Doug and the kids? Who would drive her car pools and make dinner for them? All they had was a cleaning lady twice a week, she had done it all herself for years, and there was no way that they could manage without India to do it all for them.

“How long are we talking about?” A week maybe …maybe Gail would agree to cover for her.

There was a pause, and she could hear him suck in his breath. It was a habit he had whenever he knew she wouldn't like his answer. “Three weeks …maybe four,” he said finally, as she sat down on a stool and closed her eyes. There was no way on earth that she could do it, and she hated to miss the story. But she had her own children to think of.

“You know I can't do that, Raoul. Why did you call me? Just to make me feel bad?”

“Maybe. Maybe one of these days you'll get the fact that the world needs what you do, not just to show them pretty pictures, India, but to make a difference. Maybe you could be the one who stops those babies from getting murdered.”

“That's not fair,” she said heatedly. “You have no right to make me feel guilty about this. There's no way I can take a four-week assignment, and you know it. I have four kids, no help, and a husband.”

“Then hire an au pair, for chrissake, or get divorced. You can't just sit there on your dead ass forever. You've already wasted fourteen years. It's a wonder anyone's still willing to give you work. You're a fool to waste your talent.” For once, he sounded angry with her, and she didn't like what he was saying.

“I haven't ‘wasted’ fourteen years, Raoul. I have happy, healthy kids who are that way because I'm around to take them to school every day, and pick them up, and go to their Little League games, and cook them dinner. And if I'd gotten myself killed sometime in those fourteen years, you wouldn't be here to step into my shoes for me.”

“No, that's a point,” he said, sounding calmer. “But they're old enough now. You could go back to work again, at least on something like this. They're not babies, for chrissake. I'm sure your husband would understand that.” Not after what he'd said the night before. She couldn't even imagine telling him she was going to Korea for a month. It was inconceivable in the context of their marriage.

“I can't do it, Raoul, and you know it. All you're doing now is making me unhappy.” She sounded wistful as she said it.

“Good. Then maybe you'll get going again one of these days. I'd be performing a service for the world if that was all I accomplished by calling.”

“For the world maybe, although you flatter me. I was never that great. But you wouldn't be performing a service for my children.”

“Lots of mothers work. They'd survive it.”

“And if I didn't?” She had the example of her own father dying when she was fifteen. And no one could tell her that couldn't happen, particularly with the kind of stories she was known for doing. The one in Korea would have been tame in comparison to the work she'd done before she was married.

“They'd survive it too,” he said sadly. “I won't send you on the really hot ones. This one in Korea is a little dicey, but it's not like sending you to Bosnia or something.”

“I still can't do it, Raoul. I'm sorry.”

“I know. I was crazy to call you, but I had to try. I'll find someone else. Don't worry about it.” He sounded discouraged.

“Don't forget me completely,” she said sadly, feeling something she hadn't in years, over the assignment she had just turned down. She really wished she could do the story in Korea, and felt deprived that she had to turn it down. Not resentful, just bitterly disappointed. This was the kind of sacrifice she had been talking to Doug about the night before, and that he had discounted so completely. As though what she had done with her camera for all those years, and giving it up for him and the kids, meant nothing.

“I will forget about you one of these days if you don't do something important again soon. You can't take pictures of Santa Claus forever.”

“I might have to. Get me something closer to home, like the piece in Harlem.”

“Stuff like that doesn't come around very often, and you know it. They let the staffers do it. They just wanted something more important out of that piece, and you got lucky.” And then, with a sigh, “I'll see what I can come up with. Just tell your kids to grow up a little faster.”

And what about Doug? How fast was he going to “grow up,” if ever? From the sound of it the night before, he didn't really understand that her career had been important to her. “Thanks for thinking of me anyway. I hope you get someone terrific to do it.” She was worried now about the Korean babies.

“I just got turned down by someone terrific. I'll call you again one of these days. And you owe me on the next one.”

“Then make sure it doesn't require my presence at the top of a tree in Bali.”

“I'll see what I can do, India. Take care of yourself.”

“Thanks. You too,” and then as an afterthought, “I just remembered, I'll be in Cape Cod all summer. July and August. I think you have that number.”

“I do. If you get any great sailboat pictures, call me. We'll sell them to Hallmark.” She had actually done that a couple of times, when the kids were really small. She'd been happy with it, and Raoul had been furious. As far as he was concerned, she was a serious photojournalist and shouldn't be taking pictures of anything or anyone unless they were bleeding, dead, or dying.

“Don't knock it. They covered my kindergarten costs for two years, that's something.”

“You're hopeless.”

They hung up after that, and she was upset about the call all day. For the first time in a long time, she felt as though she was missing something. And she was still looking glum when she ran into Gail that afternoon at the market. Gail was looking happier than usual, wearing a skirt and high heels, and as India approached her, she noticed that Gail was wearing perfume.

“Where have you been? Shopping in the city?”

Gail shook her head with a wicked grin, and lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Lunch with Dan Lewison in Greenwich. He's not quite as devastated as I expected. We had a very nice time, and a couple of glasses of wine. He's a sweet guy, and after you look at him for a while, he's actually pretty attractive.”

“You must have had more than a couple of glasses of wine,” India said, looking at her unhappily. Even hearing about it depressed her. What point was there in having lunch with him? India just couldn't see it.

“What are you looking so down about?” It was rare for India to be in such poor spirits. She was usually pretty “up” about everything. She was always the one telling Gail to cheer up, and assuring her that their life was just “peachy.” Now she looked anything but, as she chatted with Gail, standing next to the produce.

“I had a fight with Doug last night, and my agent just called me with an assignment in Korea. Apparently there's some adoption racket where they're murdering the babies that don't get adopted.”

“Christ, how awful. Be grateful you didn't have to cover that one,” Gail said, looking revolted. “How morbid.”

“I'd have loved doing it. It sounds like a terrific piece, but it would have taken three to four weeks to hang around and get the story. I told him I couldn't do it.”

“Nothing new there. So why are you looking like someone died?” She had gotten to India the day before, in a way she never had in earlier discussions, and Doug's comments, and the call from Raoul, hadn't helped any.

“Doug made a lot of dumb comments last night about my career being sort of a plaything, a toy, and it was no big deal that I gave it up. There's something about earning your living with a camera that makes everyone think they could do it if they wanted to be bothered.” Gail smiled at what she said, and didn't deny it.

“What got into Doug?” Gail knew they didn't fight very often, and India looked particularly upset as she told her.

“I don't know. He's not usually that insensitive. Maybe he had a bad day at the office.”

“Maybe he really doesn't get what you gave up for him and the kids.” That was what India was afraid of, and she was surprised herself to find that it really mattered to her. “Maybe you should make your point by doing the story in Korea.” Gail tried to provoke her into doing it, but India knew better. She knew that would be driving the point home a little too firmly.

“Why should the kids have to suffer because he hurt my feelings? Besides, there's no way I could leave for a month. And we're leaving for the Cape in three weeks … I can't do it.”

“Well, maybe you should do the next one.”

“If there is one. I'm sure Raoul is getting tired of calling me and having me tell him I can't do it.” He hardly ever called anymore anyway. There just weren't many stories that suited her particular limitations.

“Doug will probably come home with an armload of flowers for you tonight, and you'll forget all about it,” Gail said, trying to look reassuring. She felt sorry for her. India was bright and beautiful and talented, and like many of them, she was wasting her life cleaning out the barbecue and driving car pools. It was a waste of an extraordinary talent.

“We're having dinner at Ma Petite Amie. I was looking forward to it, until he got me all riled up.”

“Drink enough wine, and you'll forget all about it. Which reminds me, I'm having lunch with Dan again on Tuesday.”

“I think that's a dumb thing to do,” India said bluntly, putting a box of tomatoes into her basket. “What's that going to do for you?”

“Amuse me. Why not? We're not hurting anyone. Rosalie is in love with Harold, and Jeff will never know, and he'll have my undivided attention for six weeks in Europe.” To Gail it seemed like perfect justification, but to India it didn't.

“It seems so pointless. And what if you fall in love with him?” That was a whole other issue. If what Gail wanted was to be madly in love again, one of these days it might happen. And then what would she do? Dump Jeff? Get divorced? To India, the risks just didn't seem worth it. But on that score anyway, she and Gail were very different.

“I'm not going to fall in love with him. We're just having some fun. Don't be such a spoilsport.”

“What if Jeff were doing the same thing, wouldn't you mind?”

“I'd be bowled over,” Gail said with a look of amusement. “The only thing Jeff ever does at lunch is go to his podiatrist, or get his hair cut.”

But what if he wasn't? What if they were both cheating? To India, particularly in her current mood, it seemed pathetic.

“You need to get a haircut, or a manicure, or a massage or something. Do something to cheer yourself up. I'm not sure giving up a story about dead babies in Korea is something to get so depressed about. Get depressed about something that would be a shame to miss, something fun …like an affair….” She was teasing her then, and India shook her head and grinned ruefully at her.

“How can I love you, when you are the most immoral person I know?” India said, looking at her with affectionate disapproval. “If you were a stranger, and someone told me about you, I'd think you were disgust-Lag.”

“No, you wouldn't. I'm just honest about what I do, and what I think. Most people aren't, and you know that.” There was certainly some truth to that, but Gail went a little overboard both with her point of view and her honesty about it.

“I love you anyway, but one of these days you're going to get yourself in one hell of a mess, and Jeff is going to find out about it.”

“I'm not even sure he'd care. Unless I forgot to pick up his dry cleaning.”

“Don't be so sure about that,” India assured her.

“Dan says Rosalie has been sleeping with Harold for two years, and he had no idea until she told him. Most guys are like that.” It made India wonder suddenly if Doug would suspect if she were having lunch with another man. She liked to think so. It was one of the many things she believed about him. “Anyway, I've got to run. I have to take the kids to the doctor for checkups before we leave for Europe. They're going to camp as soon as we get home, and I haven't even filled out their health forms.”

“Maybe if you stayed home for a change, you could do it at lunchtime,” India teased her, as Gail waved and hurried off to the checkout counter, and India finished buying what she needed for the weekend. It was certainly not an exciting life, but maybe Gail was right. The assignment in Korea would have been a very depressing story. She would have wanted to come home with an armful of Korean babies to save them from getting murdered when no one else would adopt them.

She was still in a somber mood later that afternoon when she picked up the kids and drove home. Jason and Aimee had friends with them, and they all made so much noise that no one noticed that she wasn't talking.

She fixed a snack for all of them, and left it on the kitchen table when she went to take a bath. She had called a sitter that afternoon, and she was going to put dinner together and rent videos for them. For once, India had some free time on her hands, and she luxuriated in the bath, thinking about her husband. She was still upset about what he'd said the night before, but she was just as sure he must have had a bad day at the office.

India was wearing a short black dress and high heels, and her long blond hair was looped into an elegant bun when Doug came home from work. He fixed himself a drink, which he did sometimes on Friday nights, and when he came upstairs, he looked happy to see her.

“Wow, India! You look terrific!” he said, taking a sip of his Bloody Mary. “You look like you spent all day getting ready.”

“Not quite. Just the last hour of it. How was your day?”

“Not bad. The new client meeting went pretty well. I'm almost sure we got the account. It's going to be a very busy summer.” It was the third new account he was in charge of, and he had commented to his secretary that afternoon that he'd be lucky if he got to the Cape by August, but he didn't say anything about it to India as she walked toward him.

“I'm glad we're going out tonight,” she said, looking at him with the same wistful look she'd had in the market when she ran into Gail, but unlike Gail, Doug didn't see it. “I think we need a break, or some fun, or something.”

“That's why I suggested dinner.” He smiled, and took his Bloody Mary into the bathroom with him to shower and change for dinner. He was back half an hour later, wearing gray slacks and a blazer, and a navy tie she had given him for Christmas. He looked very handsome, and they made a striking couple as they stopped on their way out, to say good-night to the children. And ten minutes later, they were at the restaurant, and on their way to a corner table.

It was a pretty little restaurant, and they did a lot of business on the weekends. The food was good, and the atmosphere was cozy and romantic. It was just what they needed to repair the rift of the night before, and India smiled at him as the waiter poured a bottle of French wine, and Doug carefully sipped it and approved it.

“So what did you do today?” Doug asked as he set down his glass. He knew before she said anything that her day would have revolved around the children.

“I got a call from Raoul Lopez.” He looked momentarily surprised, and not particularly curious. The calls from her agent were rare these days, and usually unproductive. “He offered me a very interesting story in Korea.

“That sounds like Raoul.” Doug looked amused, and in no way threatened by the information. “Where was the last place he tried to send you? Zimbabwe? You wonder why he bothers.”

“He thought I might agree to do the story. It was for the Sunday Times Magazine, about an adoption racket that's murdering babies in Korea. But he thought it would take three or four weeks, and I told him I couldn't do it.”

“Obviously. There's no way you could go to Korea, not even for three or four minutes.”

“That's what I told him.” But she realized as she looked at Doug that she wanted him to thank her for not going. She wanted him to understand what she'd given up, and that she would have liked to do it. “He said he'd try again with something closer to home, like the piece in Harlem.”

“Why don't you just take your name off their roster? That really makes more sense. There's no point leaving your name on and having him call you for stories you're not going to do anyway. I'm really surprised he still bothers to call you. Why does he?”

“Because I'm good at what I do,” she said quietly, “and editors still ask for me, apparently. It's flattering, at least.” She was groping for something, asking him for something, and he wasn't getting the message from her. In this area at least, he never did. He missed it completely.

“You never should have done that story in Harlem. It probably gave them the idea that you're still open to offers.” It was obvious to her as she listened to him that he wanted the door to her career closed even more firmly than it had been. And suddenly she was intrigued by the idea of opening it, just a crack, if she could find another assignment near home like the one she'd done in Harlem.

“It was a great story. I'm glad I did it,” she said, as the waiter handed them the menus, but suddenly she wasn't hungry. She was upset again. He didn't seem to understand what she was feeling. But maybe she couldn't blame him. She wasn't even sure she understood it. Suddenly she was missing something she had given up, for all intents and purposes, fourteen years before, and she expected him to know that, without having explained it to him. “I wouldn't mind working again, just a little bit, if I could fit it into everything else I'm doing. I've never really thought about it for all these years. But I'm beginning to think I miss working.”

“What brought that on?”

“I'm not sure,” she said honestly. “I was talking to Gail yesterday and she was harping on me about wasted talent, and then Raoul called today, and that story sounded so enticing.” And their conversation the night before had added fuel to the fire, when he dismissed her career and her father's like just so much playtime. All of a sudden she felt as though she needed to validate her existence. Maybe Gail was right and all she had become was a maid, a short-order cook, and a chauffeur. Maybe it was time to drag out her old career and dust it off a little.

“Gail always is a troublemaker, isn't she? …What about the sweetbreads?” As he had the night before, Doug was dismissing what she was saying, and it made India feel lonely as she looked at him over her menu.

“I think she's still sorry she gave up her career. She probably shouldn't have,” India added, ignoring his question about their dinner, and thinking that Gail probably wouldn't be having lunch with Dan Lewison if she had something else to do, but she said nothing to Doug about it. “I'm lucky. If I go back at some point, I can pick and choose what I do. I don't have to work full-time, or go all the way to Korea to do it.”

“What are you saying to me?” He had ordered for both of them, and faced her squarely across the table, but he did not look pleased by what she was saying. “Are you telling me you want to go back to work, India? That's not possible and you know it.” He didn't even give her a chance to answer his question.

“There's no reason why I couldn't do an occasional story, if it was local, is there?”

“For what? Just to show off your photographs? Why would you want to do that?” He made it sound so vain, and so futile, that she was almost embarrassed by the suggestion. But something about the way he resisted it suddenly made her feel stubborn.

“It's not a matter of showing off. It's about using a gift I have.” Gail had started it all the day before, with her pointed questions, and ever since, the ball had just kept rolling. And his resistance to it made it all seem that much more important.

“If you're so anxious to use your ‘gift,’ “ he said in a mildly contemptuous tone, “use it on the children. You've always taken great pictures of them. Why can't that satisfy you, or is this one of Gail's crusades? Somehow I feel her hand in this, or is Raoul getting you all stirred up? He's just out to make a buck anyway. Let him do it using someone else. There are plenty of other photographers he can send to Korea.”

“I'm sure he'll find one,” India said quietly as the pate they had ordered was put on the table. “I'm not saying I'm irreplaceable, I'm just saying the kids are getting older, and maybe once in a while I could do an assignment.” She was beginning to feel dogged about it.

“We don't need the money, and Sam is only nine, for heaven's sake. India, the kids need you.”

“I wasn't suggesting I leave them, Doug. I'm just saying it might be important to me.” And she wanted him to understand that. Only the day before she had told Gail how little she cared about having given up her career, and now, after listening to her and Raoul, and Doug belittling her the night before, suddenly it all mattered. But he refused to hear it.

Why would it be important to you? That's what I don't understand. What's so important about taking pictures?” She felt as though she were trying to crawl up a glass mountain, and she was getting nowhere.

“It's how I express myself. I'm good at it. I love it, that's all.”

“I told you, then take pictures of the kids. Or do portraits of their friends, and give them to their parents. There's plenty you can do with a camera, without taking assignments.”

“Maybe I'd like to do something important. Did that ever occur to you? Maybe I want to be sure my life has some meaning.”

“Oh, for God's sake.” He put down his fork and looked at her with annoyance. “What on earth has gotten into you? It's Gail. I know it.”

“It's not Gail,” she tried to defend herself, but was feeling hopeless, “it's about me. There has to be more meaning in life than cleaning up apple juice off the floor when the kids spill it.”

“You sound just like Gail now,” he said, looking disgusted.

“What if she's right, though? She's doing a lot of stupid things with her life, because she feels useless, and her life has no purpose. Maybe if she were doing something intelligent with herself, she wouldn't need to do other things that are pointless.”

“If you're trying to tell me she cheats on Jeff, I figured that out years ago. And if he's too blind to see it, it's his own fault. She runs after everything in pants in Westport. Is that what you're threatening me with? Is that what this is really about?” He looked furious with her as the waiter brought their main course. Their romantic night out was being wasted.

“Of course not.” India was quick to reassure him. “I don't know what she does,” she lied to protect her friend, but Gail's indiscretions were irrelevant to them, and none of Doug's business. “I'm talking about me. I'm just saying that maybe I need more in my life than just you and the children. I had a great career before I gave it up, no matter how unimportant you seem to think it was, and maybe I can retrieve some small part of it now to broaden my horizons.”

“You don't have time to broaden your horizons,” he said sensibly. “You're too busy with the children. Unless you want to start hiring baby-sitters constantly, or leaving them in day care. Is that what you have in mind, India? Because there's no other way for you to do it, and frankly I won't let you. You're their mother, and they need you.”

“I understand that, but I managed the story in Harlem without shortchanging them. I could do others like it.”

“I doubt that. And I just don't see the sense in it. You did all that, you had some fun, and you grew up. You can't go back to all that now. You're not a kid in your twenties with no responsibilities. You're a grown woman with a family and a husband.”

“I don't see why one has to preclude the other, as long as I keep my priorities straight. You and the kids come first, the rest would have to work around you.”

“You know, sitting here listening to you, I'm beginning to wonder about your priorities. What you're saying to me sounds incredibly selfish. All you want to do is have a good time, like your little friend, who's running around cheating on her husband because her kids bore her. Is that it? Do we bore you?” He looked highly insulted, and very angry. She had disrupted his whole evening. But he was threatening her self-esteem, and her future.

“Of course you don't bore me. And I'm not Gail.”

“What the hell is she after anyway?” He was cutting his steak viciously as he asked her. “She can't be that oversexed. What is she trying to do, just embarrass her husband?”

“I don't think so. I think she's lonely and dissatisfied, and I feel sorry for her. I'm not telling you what she does is right, Doug. I think she's panicked. She's forty-eight years old, she gave up a terrific career, and she can't see anything in her future except car pools. You don't know what that's like. You have a career. You never gave up anything. You just added to it.”

“Is that how you feel? The way Gail does?” He actually looked worried.

“Not really. I'm a lot happier than she is. But I think about my future too. What happens when the kids are gone? What do I do then? Run around taking pictures of kids I don't know in the playground?”

“You can figure that one out later. You'll have kids at home for the next nine years. That's plenty of time to figure out a game plan. Maybe we'll move back to the city, and you can go to museums.” That was it? All of it? Museums? The thought of it made her shiver. She wanted a lot more than that in her future. From that standpoint, Gail was absolutely right. And in nine years, India wanted to be doing a lot more than killing time. But in nine years it would be that much harder to get back into a career, if Doug would even let her. And it didn't sound like it from what he was saying. “The kids are much too young for you to be thinking about this now. Maybe you could get a job in a gallery or something, once they grow up. Why worry about it?”

“And do what? Look at the photographs other people took, when I could have done it better? You're right, I'm busy now. But what about later?” In the past twenty-four hours, the whole question had come into sharper focus for her.

“Don't borrow problems. And stop listening to that woman. I told you, she's a troublemaker. She's unhappy, and angry, and she's just looking to cause trouble.”

“She doesn't know what she's looking for,” India said sadly. “She's looking for love, because Jeff doesn't excite her.” It was probably too much to admit to him, she realized, but since he seemed to know about her wandering anyway, it didn't seem to make much difference.

“It's ridiculous to be looking for love at our age,” Doug said sternly, taking a sip of his wine, and glaring at his wife across the table. “What the hell is she thinking?”

“I don't think she's really wrong, I just think she's going about it the wrong way,” India said calmly. “She says she's depressed about never being in love again. I guess she and Jeff aren't crazy about each other.”

“Who is, after twenty years of marriage?” he said, looking annoyed again. What India had just said sounded ridiculous to him. “You can't expect to feel at forty-five or fifty the way you did at twenty.”

“No, but you can feel other things. If you're lucky, maybe even more than you felt in the beginning.”

“That's a lot of romantic nonsense, India, and you know it,” he said firmly, as she listened to him with a growing sense of panic.

“Do you think it's nonsense to still be in love with your spouse after fifteen or twenty years?” India couldn't believe what she was hearing.

“I don't think anyone is ‘in love’ anymore by then. And no one with any sense expects to be either.”

“What can you expect?” India asked in a strangled voice, as she set her glass down on the table and looked at her husband.

“Companionship, decency, respect, someone to take care of the kids. Someone you can rely on. That's about all anyone should expect from marriage.”

“You can get a maid, or a dog, to provide the same things for you.”

“What do you think one should expect? Hearts and flowers and valentines? You know better than that, India. Don't tell me you believe in all that. If you do, I'll know you've been spending a lot more time talking to Gail than you ever told me.”

“I'm not expecting miracles, Doug. But I sure want more than just ‘someone to rely on,’ and you should want a lot more than just ‘someone to take care of the children.’ Is that all our marriage means to you?” They were rapidly getting down to specifics.

“We have something that's worked damn well for seventeen years, and it'll continue working, if you don't start rocking the boat too hard, with careers, and assignments and trips to Korea, and a lot of crap about ‘being in love’ after seventeen years. I don't think anyone is capable of that, and I don't think anyone has a right to expect it.” She felt as though she had been slapped as she looked at him, and was horrified by what he was saying.

“As a matter of fact, Doug, I do expect it. I always have, and I had no idea you didn't. I expect you to be ‘in love’ with me till the day you die, or there's no point in our marriage. Just as I'm in love with you, and always have been. Why do you think I stick around? Because our life is so exciting? It isn't. It's about as mundane as it gets, as boring as it can be at times, but I stick around because I love you.”

“Well, that's good to hear. I was beginning to wonder. But I don't think anyone should have a lot of crazy illusions about romance at this point. Being married to someone just isn't romantic.”

“Why not?” She decided to go for broke. He had already shattered most of her dreams in one night, why not push it all the way? What difference did it make now? “It could be, couldn't it? Maybe people don't try hard enough, or spend enough time realizing how lucky they are to have each other. Maybe if Jeff spent more time doing that, maybe then Gail wouldn't be running all over the state having lunch and God knows what else with other people's husbands.”

“I'm sure that has to do with her integrity and morality more than any failure on his part.”

“Don't be so sure. Maybe he's just plain stupid,” India snapped at him.

“No, she is, to have a lot of girlish illusions about romance and ? love you's' at this point. India, that's bullshit, and you know it.”

She was silent for a long moment and then nodded. She was afraid that if she spoke at all, she would burst into tears, or just get up and walk out, but she didn't. She sat there until they finished the meal, making small talk with him. She had heard enough that night to last her for a lifetime. In a single evening, he had challenged everything she believed, and smashed all her dreams about what marriage meant to him, and more importantly, what she did. She was someone he could rely on, who took care of his children. And all she could think of on the way home was that maybe she should call Raoul and take the assignment in Korea. But no matter how angry she was at him, or how disappointed she was by what he'd said, she wouldn't do that to her children.

“I had a nice time tonight,” he said as they drove into their driveway, and she tried not to think of the knot in her stomach. “I'm glad we got the career issue behind us. I think you understand now how I feel about it. I think you should call Raoul next week and take your name off their roster.” It was as though, having expressed himself, he now expected her to simply carry out his orders. The oracle had spoken. She had never known him to be like this before, but she had never challenged him on it in fourteen years either.

“I know how you feel about a lot of things,” she said softly, as they sat in the car for a minute, and he turned the lights off.

“Don't be silly about that nonsense Gail filled your head with, India. It's a lot of garbage she throws around to excuse her own behavior, and if she can get you riled up about it too, all the better. Stay away from her. She just upsets you.” But Gail hadn't. He had. He had said things she knew would trouble her for years, and she would never forget them. He wasn't in love with her, if he ever had been. In his opinion, love was something for fools and children. “We all have to grow up sooner or later,” he said, opening the car door and looking over his shoulder at her. “The trouble is, Gail didn't.”

“No, but you did,” India said miserably, and just as he hadn't the night before, or that night in the restaurant, he didn't get it. In a single night, he had put their marriage on the line, tossed her career out the window like so much fluff, and essentially told her he didn't love her, or at least wasn't in love with her. And in light of that, she didn't know what to think or feel now, or how to go on as they were before, unaffected by it.

“I like the restaurant, don't you?” he asked as they walked into the house. It was quiet, and India suspected that only Jessica would still be awake. The others would be sleeping. They had spent a long time over dinner. It had taken him several hours to destroy the last, and most cherished, of her illusions. “I thought the food was better than usual,” he went on, oblivious to the damage he'd done. He was like the iceberg that had hit the Titanic. But knowing what he'd done, she couldn't help wondering if the ship would sink now. It was hard to believe it wouldn't. Or was she simply to go on, being reliable and steadfast and a good “companion.” That was what he wanted, and what he expected her to give him. It didn't leave much room for her heart, her soul, and nothing with which to feed them.

“I thought it was fine. Thank you, Doug,” she said, and went upstairs to check on their children. She spent a few minutes with Jessica, who was watching TV, and as she had suspected, the others were all asleep, and after she looked into their rooms, she walked quietly into her own bedroom. Doug was getting undressed, and he glanced over at her with a curious look. There was something very strange about the way she stood there.

“You're not still upset, are you, about all that crap Gail told you?” She hesitated for a moment and then shook her head. He was so deaf, so blind, so dumb, that he had no idea what he had just done to her, or their marriage. She knew there was no point now saying more, or trying to explain it. And she knew, just as certainly, as she looked at him, that for an entire lifetime, she would never forget this moment.

Chapter 3

FOR THE next three weeks, India moved through her life feeling like a robot. She fixed breakfast, drove the kids to school, picked them up, and went to every activity from tennis to baseball. For the first time in years, she forgot to take her camera with her, and suddenly now even that seemed pointless. She felt as though she were fatally wounded. Her spirit was dead, and it was only a matter of time before her body followed. Somehow, with what he'd said, and the illusions he'd killed, India felt as though Doug had sucked all the life out of her. It was like letting the air out of her tires. And now, everything she did seemed like an enormous effort.

She ran into Gail constantly, as she always did, and knew she was still seeing Dan Lewison. They had had lunch several more times, and she had made allusions to meeting him at a hotel somewhere. India could guess the rest, but she didn't really want to know, and she didn't ask Gail any questions.

She didn't tell her about what Doug had said, and when Gail noticed that she was depressed, she assumed it was still about the assignment she hadn't taken in Korea.

And India never did call Raoul Lopez to get off the roster. It was the last thing she wanted to do now. All she wanted to do was get away to Cape Cod, and try to forget what had happened. She thought maybe she'd feel better about him again with a little distance between them. She needed to regroup, rethink what he'd said, and try to feel better about him, if she was going to spend the rest of her life with him. But how did you feel the same again about a man who had essentially said he didn't love you, and to whom you were nothing more than a convenient companion? A man who discarded the career you had given up for him, however worthy it had been, with a single flippant gesture. Every time she looked at Doug now, she felt as though she no longer knew him. And he seemed to have no suspicion whatsoever that what he'd said to her had caused major damage. To Doug, it was business as usual. He went into the city every day on the 7:05, and came home for dinner, told her how easy or hard the day had been, and then read his papers. And when she seemed less inclined to make love to him than she had been previously, he put it down to the fact that she was either tired or busy. It never occurred to him that she no longer wanted to make love to him and had no idea what to do about it.

In the end, it was an enormous relief to her when she and the children finally left for their vacation. She had packed everything they needed in three days. They never wore anything fancy on the Cape, just shorts and jeans and bathing suits, and they left most of it there when they left at the end of the summer. But the children always came up with new things they wanted to bring with them. She managed to avoid Doug almost entirely the last week, as he was meeting with two sets of new clients, and spent two nights in the city.

And on the morning they left, he stood on the lawn waving at them, and he almost forgot to kiss her goodbye. When he did, it was hastily, and without much emotion. And for once, she didn't mind it. The kids and the dog were in the station wagon with her, and their bags were in the back, crammed in so tight it took three of them to close the door, and he shouted to her as they drove off, “Don't forget to call me!” She nodded and smiled, and drove away, feeling as though she had left a stranger behind her. He had already told her he couldn't come up the first weekend, and he had told her the night before that it looked as though he wouldn't make it up over the Fourth of July either. He had too much work to do for his new clients. He thought she was an exceptionally good sport about it, when she didn't complain, and thanked her for it. He never noticed that for the past few weeks, since their dinner at Ma Petite Amie, she had been unusually quiet.

It took them six and a half hours to drive from Westport to Harwich, and they stopped several times on the way, at McDonald's. And the children were all in good spirits. They could hardly wait to get to the beach and see their friends there. As they talked about it on the way up, and what they were going to do as soon as they arrived, only Jessica noticed that her mother was distracted. She was sitting in the front seat, next to her mother.

“Something wrong, Mom?”

India was touched that she had noticed. Doug certainly hadn't. He had been business as usual right to the last minute, and seemed almost relieved to see them go, so he could devote himself full-time to his new clients.

“No, I'm fine. Just tired. It's been pretty busy getting ready to leave.” It was a plausible reason for her distraction. She didn't want to tell Jessica she was upset with her father. It was the first time she had ever felt that she and Doug had a serious problem.

“How come Daddy isn't coming up for the first two weeks?” She had noticed that her mother was quieter than usual for weeks now, and she wondered if they had had a fight or something, though usually her parents seemed to fight less than other people.

“He's busy with new clients. He'll be up for the weekend in a couple of weeks, and he's going to spend three weeks with us in August.” Jessica nodded and put the earphones to her Walkman on, and for the rest of the trip India was lost in her own thoughts as she drove the familiar road to Massachusetts. She did it every summer.

She had talked to Gail the day before, and they were leaving that weekend for Paris, but Gail was as unenthused as ever. If possible, even a little more so. She'd been having a good time with Dan Lewison, and hated to leave him now, particularly knowing that it was the kind of relationship that would survive neither time nor distance. By the time she got back, he would have moved on with his life, and begun to settle into his new routine, and would have connected undoubtedly with the flock of hungry divorcees waiting to devour him. And all Gail had to offer him was the occasional clandestine afternoon in a motel, and there were plenty of others waiting to do that. She had no illusions about their importance to each other. And just listening to her talk about it depressed India still further. She wished her a good trip, and told her to call when she got back. Maybe she and the kids could come up to the Cape for a few days later in the summer while Jeff was working. And Gail said she'd love that.

It was late that afternoon when they got to the house in Harwich, and India got out and stretched her legs, and looked at the clear expanse of blue ocean with a feeling of relief. Being here was just what she needed. It was a lovely place, a comfortable old Victorian house, and she always found it blissfully peaceful. They had friends with summerhouses nearby, some from Boston, others from New York, and India was always happy to see them. Although this year, she wanted to spend a few days by herself, with the children. She needed some time to think, and regroup, and recover from the blow of what she'd felt ever since their fateful dinner. For the first time in fourteen years, once they'd settled into the house, she didn't even want to call Doug. She just couldn't. He called that night to make sure they'd arrived. He spoke to the children, and then India.

“Is everything all right?” he asked, and India assured him that everything was fine. The house had been cleaned by a service that week, and was in good order. No leaks, no broken screens or damage from the winter.

She reported it all to him, and he seemed satisfied with what she told him. And then he surprised her with his next question. “Why didn't you call me when you got there? I was afraid something might have happened.” Why? Since hearts and flowers were of no importance to him, what did it matter if she called him? What would that have meant to him? The loss of someone reliable to take care of his children? He could always hire a housekeeper if something happened to her.

“I'm sorry, Doug, We were just busy opening the house and getting settled.”

“You sound tired,” he said sympathetically. She had been for the past few weeks, but he had never noticed either her fatigue or her depression.

“It's a long drive, but we're all fine.” Both children and caretaker were alive and well, as was the Labrador retriever.

“I wish I were there with all of you, instead of here with all my clients,” he said, and sounded as though he meant it.

“You'll be here soon,” she said sympathetically, anxious to get off the phone. She had nothing to say to him at the moment. She felt sapped of all her energy. She had nothing to offer him right now, in light of what he'd said to her, and he didn't seem to understand that. “We'll call you,” she said easily, and a moment later they hung up. As usual, he didn't tell her that he loved her. It didn't matter anyway. It was apparently a word that, at this point in their lives, meant very little to him.

She went back to the children after that, and helped them make their beds, since the cleaning service hadn't done it. And once they were all in bed, she slipped quietly into her darkroom. She hadn't been in it in nearly a year, but she found everything in the same meticulous order she had left it. And when she turned the light on, she saw the wall of some of her father's favorite pictures. There was one she had put up there of Doug too, and she stood and stared at it for a long moment. He had a handsome, familiar face that she knew better than any face in the world, except her children's, but she had known his for longer. And as she looked into his eyes in the photograph she saw all the coldness she had discovered there in the past three weeks, and everything that was missing in them. She wondered why she hadn't seen it sooner. Had she wanted to believe there was something else there? That he still loved her as he had in their youth? That he was still in love with her, as she had believed he was, until he told her how unimportant love was in a marriage? She could hear the words again as though he had just said them to her …what you need is companionship …decency … respect …someone you can rely on to take care of the children. She wondered now if this was really all he wanted. It was so much less than she wanted from him. She turned away then to look at a photograph of her father. He had been tall and thin, and looked like Doug in a way, but there was laughter in his eyes as he looked at you, something happy and excited and amused about his entire demeanor. He had had a funny little tilt to his head when he talked to you, and she could imagine him being in love at any age. He had been so young when he died, only forty-two, and yet he seemed so much more alive in the photograph than Doug did. There had been something so vibrant about him. She knew her mother had suffered from his absences, and their life had been difficult for her, but she also knew how much her mother had loved him, and how much he had loved her. And how angry her mother had been at him for dying. And India could remember as though it were yesterday how devastated she had been when her mother had told her what had happened. She couldn't imagine a world without her father in it somewhere. It was hard to believe he had been gone for twenty-eight years now, it seemed like an entire lifetime to her.

There were her photographs framed on the walls of the darkroom too, and she looked them over carefully for a moment as she stood there. They were good, very good, and captured a feeling and emotion that was almost like looking into a painting. She saw the ravaged faces of hungry children there, and a child sitting alone on a rock holding a doll, crying, while an entire village in Kenya burned behind her. There were faces of old men, and injured soldiers, and a woman laughing with sheer joy as she held her newborn baby. India had helped deliver it, and she still remembered that moment. It had been in a tiny hut somewhere outside Quito when she was in the Peace Corps. They were fragments of her life, frozen in time, and framed, so she could look at them forever. It was still hard for her to believe that all of that was gone from her life now. It had been an exchange she had made, a fair trade she always thought, only now she wondered. Had she gotten enough in return for what she'd given up? She knew she had when she thought of her children. But beyond that, what did she have now? And once the children were grown, what would she have then? Those were the questions she could no longer answer.

She checked the chemicals and the equipment, and made some notes, and then quietly turned off the light and went back to her bedroom. She took off her clothes and put her nightgown on, and then got into bed and turned off the light, and lay there for a long time, listening to the ocean. It was a peaceful sound she forgot every year, and then remembered when she came back here. It lulled her to sleep at night, and she lay listening to it when she woke in the morning. She loved the solemnity of it, the comfort it offered her. It was one of the things she loved about being here. And as she closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep, she savored the fact that she was alone here this time, with only her children, her memories, and the ocean. For now at least, it was all she wanted.

Chapter 4

THE SUN was brilliant when she awoke the next day in Harwich, and the ocean was shimmering as though it were trimmed in silver. The kids were already up, and helping themselves to cereal when she walked in. She was wearing a T-shirt, shorts, and sandals, with her hair piled up on her head, held by two old tortoise-shell pins, and she was unaware of it, but she looked very pretty.

“What's everybody doing today?” she asked as she put a pot of coffee on. It seemed silly to do it just for herself, but she loved sitting on the deck, with a cup of coffee and reading, glancing up occasionally to look at the ocean. It was one of her favorite Cape Cod pastimes.

“I'm going over to see the Boardmans,” Jessica was quick to say. They had three older teenage sons, and a daughter her own age. Jessica had grown up with them, and loved them, and the boys were of particular interest to her now that two of them were in high school, and the third one was a freshman in college.

Jason had a friend down the street too, and had called him and made plans the night before to spend the day with him. Aimee wanted to go swimming at a friend's, and India promised to call and arrange it as soon as she had a cup of coffee, and Sam wanted to walk down the beach with her, and Crockett, the Labrador retriever. It sounded like a good plan to her, and she promised to walk with him a little later. In the meantime, he was happy playing with the toys he had left there the year before, and he was anxious to get his bike out.

By ten o'clock they were all on their way, and she and Sam walked down the steps to the beach, with the dog just behind them. Sam had brought a ball, and he kept throwing it for the dog, who fetched it devotedly, even when Sam threw it in the water. And India walked along happily, watching them, with her camera slung over her shoulder. After nearly thirty years of carrying it, it seemed like part of her body. Her children couldn't imagine seeing her without it.

They had walked almost a mile down the beach before they saw anyone they knew. It was still early in the season and people were only just beginning to arrive for the summer. The first friends they met were a couple she and Doug had known for years. They were both surgeons, from Boston. He was a little older than Doug, and she was a year or two older than he, somewhere near fifty. They had a son at Harvard Medical School, but for the past two years he hadn't come to the Cape, he was too busy, but they were both thrilled that he had decided to follow in their footsteps. They were Jenny and Dick Parker. And they smiled the moment they saw India and Sam approaching.

“I wondered when you'd get here,” Jenny said with a look of delight. India had had a Christmas card from them, as usual, but they rarely spoke during the winter. They only saw each other in the summer at the Cape.

“We came up last night,” India explained. “Doug won't be up for a couple of weeks though. He has too many new clients.”

“That's too bad,” Dick said, as he wrestled with Sam and the dog barked in excitement, running around them in circles. “We're having a party on the Fourth, I was hoping you'd come. You'll have to come without him. And bring the kids. Jenny made me hire a cook this time, after I burned all the ribs and hamburgers last year.”

“The steaks were great though,” India said with a smile, remembering it perfectly. The ribs had gone up in flames, while the hamburgers turned to ashes.

“Thank you for remembering.” Dick grinned at her. He was happy to see her, and he had always had a special fondness for her children, as was evident the way he was playing with Sam. “I hope you will all come.”

“We'd love it. Who else is here?” India asked, and Jenny went down the list of the latest arrivals. There were already a fair number of the regulars in residence, which would be nice for the children.

“And we're having friends up over the Fourth too,” Jenny explained. They always had friends at the house with them, so it was nothing unusual, but this time she seemed especially eager to tell India about her guests. “Serena Smith and her husband will be here.”

“The writer?” India looked momentarily startled. She was on the bestseller list constantly with her steamy novels. And India had always had the impression that she was an interesting woman.

“I went to college with her,” Jenny explained. “We kind of lost touch over the years, although I knew her pretty well then. I ran into her in New York this year. She's a lot of fun, and I like her husband.”

“And wait till you see his sailboat,” Dick said admiringly. “They sailed around the world with it, and it's really quite something. They're going to sail it up from New York with half a dozen friends. They're planning to spend a week here. You have to bring the kids over to see it.”

“Let us know when it's here,” India said, and Dick laughed.

“I don't think I'll have to. You can't miss it. It's a hundred and seventy feet long, with a crew of nine. They I've awfully well, but they're nice people. I think you'll like them. It's a shame Doug won't be here.”

“He'll be heartbroken to miss it,” India said politely. There was no need to explain to them that just looking at a boat, Doug got seasick. But she didn't, and she knew that Sam in particular would be excited to see it.

“I'm sure he knows who Paul is. He's in international banking, Paul Ward.” He had been on the cover of Time twice in the past few years, and she'd read about him in the Wall Street Journal. Somehow she had never connected him with Serena Smith though. She guessed that he was somewhere in his mid-fifties.

“It'll be fun to meet them. We're getting awfully fancy here this year, aren't we? With famous authors and big yachts, and international financiers. It makes the rest of us look a little dull by comparison, doesn't it?” India smiled at them. They always seemed to have an interesting group of people around them.

“I wouldn't call you dull, my dear,” Dick said with a grin, putting an arm around her shoulders. He was glad to see her. He shared her passion for photography, although he was only an amateur, but he had taken some wonderful photographs of the children. “Did you do any assignments this winter?”

“Nothing since Harlem,” she said sadly, and then she told him about the job she'd turned down in Korea.

“That would have been a tough one,” he said after she explained it to him.

“I couldn't leave the children for a month. Doug got mad just hearing about it. He doesn't really want me doing any work.”

“That would be a real crime with a talent like yours,” he said with a thoughtful look, while Jenny chatted with Sam about the sports he'd played that winter. “You should talk Doug into letting you do more work instead of less,” he said seriously, which reminded her of their fateful dinner.

“Doug definitely does not share that point of view,” she said with a rueful smile at their old friend. “He doesn't think work and motherhood are a good mix, I'm afraid.” Something in her eyes told Dick that this was a painful subject for her.

“Let Jenny talk to him about it. I suggested she retire once, about five years ago, and she almost killed me. I just thought she was working too hard, teaching and doing surgery, and she almost divorced me. I don't think I'll try that again until she's eighty.” He glanced lovingly at his wife with a whimsical expression.

“Don't even think about it then,” Jenny warned him with a grin, joining their conversation. “I'm going to teach till I'm at least a hundred.”

“She will too,” he said, smiling at India. He was always bowled over by how beautiful India was, and how natural. She seemed completely unaware of her effect on people. She was so used to watching them through a lens, that it never dawned on her that anyone was looking at her. She told him about a new camera she'd bought then, explained it to him in detail, and promised to let him try it. She had made a point of bringing it with her. And he loved visiting her darkroom. She had even taught him how to use it. He had always been deeply impressed by her talent, far more so than Doug, who had long since come to take it for granted.

The Parkers said they had to go back to their house then to meet some friends, and she promised to come and visit with Sam in a day or two, and encouraged them to drop by any time they wanted.

“Don't forget the Fourth!” they reminded her as she and Sam started to walk on, with Crockett dancing behind them.

“We'll be there,” she promised with a wave, as she and Sam walked away hand in hand, and Dick Parker told his wife how happy he was to see them.

“It's ridiculous that Doug doesn't want her to work,” Jenny said as they walked down the beach, thinking about India's comment to them. “She's not just some little photographer. She did some really fantastic things before they were married.”

“They have a lot of kids though,” he said, trying to see both sides of the argument. He'd always suspected that was how Doug felt about it. He rarely talked about India's photographs, and didn't make much fuss about them.

“So what?” Jenny was annoyed at the excuse, it seemed an inadequate reason to her for India not to take assignments wherever she wanted. “They could get someone to help with the kids. She can't play nursemaid forever, just to soothe his ego.”

“Okay, okay, Attila, I get it,” he teased her. “Tell Doug, don't yell at me.”

“I'm sorry.” She smiled at her husband as he put an arm around her. They had been married since their Harvard days, and were crazy about each other. “I just hate it when men take positions like that. It's so damn unfair. What if she told him to quit his job and take care of the kids? He'd think she was crazy.”

“No kidding. Tell me about it, Dr. Parker.”

“All right, all right. So Simone de Beauvoir was my role model. So kill me.”

“It's okay, you can beat me up anytime you want. I happen to love you, even if you do have strong opinions on an impressive number of subjects.”

“Would you love me if I didn't?” There was still a sparkle in her eyes when she looked at him, and it was obvious how much they loved each other.

“Probably not as much, and I'd have gotten bored years ago.” Being married to Jenny Parker had been anything but boring. The only thing he regretted about being married to her was not having had more children. But she had always been too involved in her work to have more than their son, and he was happy to have the one they did have. Their son, Phillip, was just like his mother, and they both thought he was going to make a great physician. For the moment, he was determined to go into pediatrics, and kids seemed to love him. They both felt it was a good decision.

And as they walked far down the beach, Sam was talking to his mother about the Parkers. He loved seeing them, and Dick's comments about the sailboat hadn't fallen on deaf ears.

“Did you hear about the sailboat their friends are bringing up on the Fourth?” India asked Sam, and he nodded. “It sounds like a really big one.”

“Think they'll let us go on it?” Sam asked with interest. He loved boats and this year he was going to take a sailing class at the yacht club.

“It sounds like it. Dick said he'd take us on it.” Sam's eyes were filled with excitement at the prospect, and India couldn't wait to meet Serena. She'd read two or three of her books and loved them, although she hadn't had time to read the new ones.

When they got to the end of the beach, they turned back, and walked home with their feet in the water. Sam threw the ball for the dog, and he kept retrieving it, and when they got home, the others were still out, and India made lunch, and then they took their bikes out. They rode past friends' houses, and stopped in to say hello. It felt good just being there, in a place they loved, with familiar people. It was the perfect spot for all of them. And at the last house, Sam ran into a whole group of his friends, and India agreed to let him stay for dinner. She rode back to the house alone, and when she got there, the phone was ringing. She thought it might be Doug, and hesitated for a moment before she answered. She still wasn't anxious to talk to him. But when she picked it up, it was Dick Parker.

“The Wards just called,” he told her, sounding excited. “They're coming up tomorrow. Or at least he is, with a boatful of people. She's flying in for the weekend. I wanted to let you know, so you could bring Sam over. Paul says they'll be here in the morning. We'll call you.”

“I'll tell Sam,” India promised, and then went to the kitchen to make herself some soup. As it turned out, none of the kids came home for dinner. But at least they all called to tell her. She felt completely at ease about their independent movements. It was one of the things she liked most about being at the Cape. It was a safe community of people she knew and trusted. There were virtually no strangers, and hardly ever summer renters. The people who owned houses here loved it too much to go anywhere else. It was one of the reasons Doug never wanted to go to Europe, and in some ways she couldn't blame him, although she longed to travel with him and the children.

And when Sam came home that night she told him about the sailboat arriving in the morning. “They promised to call us as soon as it gets here.”

“I hope they don't forget,” Sam said, looking worried, as she tucked him into bed, and kissed him goodnight, and promised him she was sure they wouldn't forget to call them.

The others came home shortly after that. She made lemonade and popcorn for them, and they sat on the deck chatting and laughing, until finally one by one they went off to bed. Doug didn't call that night, and she didn't call him either. It was a relief to have some time to herself, and after the kids were asleep, she disappeared into her darkroom. It was late when she finally went back to her bedroom, and she looked out at the full moon over the ocean. There were a million stars in the sky. It was a perfect night, in a place she loved, and for a moment she missed Doug. Maybe it would have been nice after all if he'd been there, despite their recent differences, and his depressing outlook on marriage. She didn't want to be a “reliable companion” to him, she hated the thought of it. She wanted to be the woman he loved, and still dreamed of. And it was hard to believe even now that he thought so little of that. Maybe he hadn't really meant what he said that night, she told herself hopefully, as she looked at the night sky, and began to get sleepy. He couldn't have meant it …could he? Was it all as cut and dried to him as he had said? She wanted to be so much more than a reliable caretaker for his children. She wanted to run down the beach with him hand in hand in the moonlight, and lie on the sand and kiss, as they had when they were young in Costa Rica. He couldn't have forgotten all that, couldn't have drifted so far from all their early dreams while she wasn't looking. What had happened to the young man he had been then, when they met, twenty years before? Their time in the Peace Corps had all been a kind of aberration for him, and twenty years had changed him into someone very different. He was not the same person he had been. He had grown up, he said. But in doing so, he had missed something … he had lost someone she had loved so much. Enough to give up a whole life for. And she had changed too, but not enough to forget all she had been. It was a shame, for both of them. And as she thought of it, she fell asleep, and didn't wake again until morning.

Chapter 5

IT WAS another brilliantly sunny day when she woke up, and there was a gentle breeze rustling the curtains at her open bedroom window. She stretched and got up, and looked out, and all she could see as she looked out at the ocean was the biggest sailboat she'd ever seen. There were people running around on deck, and a series of flags flying from the mast, its hull was dark blue, and its superstructure silver. It was a spectacular sight, and she knew instantly whose it was. There was no need for the Parkers to call them. You could see the boat for miles. It was a spectacular sight as it sailed slowly past them, its mainmast towering high above the water, and she ran to get Sam to show him.

“Come on …get up … I have something to show you!” She woke him up as she came into his room, and gently pulled back the covers. “It's here!”

“What is?” He was still half asleep when he got up, and followed his mother to the window, where she pointed to the sailboat.

“Wow, Mom! Look at that! It must be the biggest sailboat in the world! Are they already leaving?” He looked worried. He was terrified he'd missed it.

“They must be going to the yacht club.” They had a brightly colored spinnaker up and it was an incredible sight as they headed briskly past them. The wind had picked up just enough, and the boat was exquisitely graceful as she sailed toward the point. And then, India dashed quickly back to her bedroom and grabbed her camera. She and Sam ran out on the deck together, and she got some great pictures of the sailboat. She made a mental note to herself to give a set to Dick Parker once she developed them. The boat was absolutely lovely.

“Can we call Dick now?” Sam could hardly contain his excitement.

“Maybe we should wait a little while, Sam. It's only eight o'clock in the morning.”

“But what if they go back to New York before we get a chance to see it?”

“They just got here, sweetheart, and Dick said they'd be here all week. I don't think you're going to miss it, honest. How about some pancakes first?” It was the only thing she could think of to stall him, and he agreed reluctantly. But finally, at eight-thirty, he couldn't stand it a moment longer and begged her to call them.

Jenny answered the phone, and India apologized for disturbing them so early, but explained the situation to her, and she laughed when she heard about Sam's impatience.

“They just called us from the boat, in fact. They invited us over for lunch. They're going to dock it at the yacht club.”

“That's what I told Sam. It looked like that was where they were headed.” Sam had gone back out to the deck, with binoculars, and the boat had disappeared around the point, and was out of sight now.

“Why don't you come to lunch with us?” Jenny suggested. “I'm sure two more won't make any difference to them. Do you think the others would like to come too? I can always call Paul, I'm sure he wouldn't mind.”

“I'll ask them, and call you back. Thanks so much, Jenny. I'm not sure Sam is going to be able to stand it till lunchtime. You may have to come over and sedate him.”

“Wait till he sees it!” Jenny promised, and when the others got up, India told them about the boat and asked them if they'd like to come, but they all had plans, and their friends seemed more exciting to them than a sailboat.

“Boy, are you guys dumb,” Sam said to them with disgust as they ate their breakfast. India had made pancakes for everyone, and Sam was sitting at the table with them, although he'd eaten before they had. “It's the biggest sailboat in the world] You should see it!”

“How would you know?” Jason looked unimpressed. The I'llton children had a cousin with them from New York, and she was the cutest girl he'd ever seen. No sailboat in the world could hold a candle to her, and he wasn't about to miss an opportunity to spend the day with her, no matter how big the boat was.

“Mom and I saw it this morning. It's as big as …as big as …” Words defied him as India smiled at his description.

Aimee was the only one of the children who got sea-sick like her father, and she didn't want to go on it, even if it was tied up at the dock. And Jessica had already made far more interesting plans with the Boardmans. Three teenage boys, one of them a freshman at Duke, and her best friend were far greater lures than any sailboat.

“Well, Sam and I will go to lunch,” India said easily, “as long as we've been invited. Maybe they'll ask us again, and you can come then. We'll check it out, and I'll take lots of pictures.” A hundred and seventy feet of sailing yacht was definitely an event not to miss, even in her book.

At noon, when she and Sam got on their bikes to go to the yacht club, he was so excited, he could hardly keep his bike straight on the way over. He almost fell twice and India had to tell him to calm down. The sailboat was not going to go anywhere without them, she assured him.

“You think they'll sail it today, Mom?”

“I don't know. Maybe. It's probably kind of a big deal to get in and out. They might not want to. But at least we'll see it.”

“Be sure you take lots of pictures,” he reminded her, and she laughed. It was fun to see him so happy and so excited. And sharing it with him was like seeing it through a child's eyes. She was almost as excited as he was.

They reached the yacht club easily, and rode down the dock staring at it. It was impossible to miss, as it stuck out beyond the end of the dock, its mast towering seventeen stories into the air. At first glance, it almost looked bigger than the yacht club. There were a few nice sailboats there, but nothing that even remotely compared with the one moored at the end of the dock. And much to India's relief, the Parkers were already there to greet them. It would have been embarrassing to board the yacht among strangers. But Sam wouldn't have cared if he had to crawl through pirates to get there. Nothing would have stopped him, as he ran across the gangway into the arms of Dick Parker. And India was right behind him. They had left their bikes on the dock, and she was wearing white shorts and a white T-shirt, with her hair brushed straight down her back and tied with a white ribbon. She looked more like Sam's big sister than his mother as she spotted the Parkers and smiled.

There were a number of people sitting on deck in comfortable chairs, and on two long, elegant blue canvas-covered couches, and seemingly everywhere were deckhands and crew members in navy shorts and white T-shirts. There were at least half a dozen guests, and a tall, youthful-looking gray-haired man stood out among them. As he approached, India could see that his hair had been the same color as her own, but it was woven in with white now, and the color of sand. He had intense blue eyes, and a handsome chiseled face, and he was wearing white shorts and a bright red T-shirt, over powerful shoulders and a long, lean, athletic-looking body. And within an instant, he was standing next to Dick Parker. His eyes first met India's, and then he quickly looked down at Sam with a broad smile and a hand held out to greet him.

“You must be Dick's friend Sam. What took you so long? We've been waiting for you.”

“My mom rides her bike really slow. She falls off if I ride too fast,” he said, by way of explanation.

“I'm very glad you both made it,” their host said in a friendly, welcoming tone, as he glanced at India with laughter in his eyes. He felt an instant kinship with Sam from the moment he met him, and he was somewhat intrigued by his mother. She was a pretty woman with an intelligent air, and a look of good-humored amusement. She was obviously proud of the boy, and as he chatted with him, he decided that her pride was with good reason. He was bright and interested and polite, and he asked a million surprisingly knowledgeable questions. Sam even knew that the yacht was a ketch, guessed the height of the mainmast based on the length of the boat correctly, and knew the names of all the sails. He obviously had a passion for sailboats, which endeared him instantly to his host. It was a full five minutes before Paul Ward could hold a hand out to India and introduce himself to her. By then, Sam already felt as though he owned him. They had become instant friends, and Paul disappeared with him immediately to take him to the wheelhouse.

Dick Parker introduced India to the rest of the guests then. He and Jenny knew all of them, and India sat down and chatted easily as a stewardess offered her champagne or a Bloody Mary. She asked for tomato juice instead, and it appeared what seemed like seconds later, in a heavy crystal glass with the name of the boat carved in the crystal. The boat was called the Sea Star. It had been built especially for Paul in Italy, according to one of the guests, and it was the second boat of its kind Paul had owned. He had traveled around the world on the first one, as well as this one, and everyone commented on the fact that he was an extraordinary sailor.

“Your son will learn a lot from him,” another guest explained. “He raced in the America's Cup Race as a young man, and he's been seriously involved in it ever since then. He keeps saying he's going to retire from Wall Street and just keep sailing around the world, but I don't think Serena will let him do it.” Everyone laughed then.

“Does she sail everywhere with him?” India asked with interest. She was itching to start taking pictures of the boat, but she wanted to do it discreetly, and hoped she'd get the chance to later. But all of the guests laughed at her question. It appeared to be an inside joke, and one of them finally explained it.

“Serena's idea of hard sailing is from Cannes to Saint-Tropez. And Paul feels cheated unless he's sailing through a typhoon in the Indian Ocean. She manages to fly to meet him at various ports, but as infrequently as she can get away with. She keeps trying to get him to buy a plane and spend less time on the boat, but I don't think she'll win that one.” A woman sitting across from India answered her, and the man sitting next to her nodded.

“My money's on Serena. She hates it when he goes away for long trips on the boat. She's a lot happier when they're tied up stern-to in Cap d'Antibes or Saint-Tropez. Serena is very definitely not a sailor.” India could hardly envision a voyage on the Sea Star as a hardship, but maybe the famous author got seasick. But her dislike of long trips on the boat seemed to be well known among them, and inspired half a dozen stories about Serena. She sounded interesting, but not easy, as India listened to them. And as they talked, she quietly took out her camera, and began shooting. They were so busy telling stories they hardly noticed what India was doing, and after a few minutes, someone admired her camera. It was the new one she had wanted to show Dick Parker, and when she did, he loved it. It seemed natural for him to explain about India to the others.

“Her father won a Pulitzer,” he said on her behalf, “and one of these days India will too, if she goes back to work. She's been to as many places in the world as Paul has, but usually with guns pointed at her, or fires raging. You should see some of her pictures,” he said proudly.

“I haven't done any of that in a long time,” she said modestly. “I gave it up a long time ago when I got married.”

“You can still change that,” Jenny said firmly, as the guests chatted easily, and it was another half hour before Sam and Paul Ward reappeared, and Sam was beaming.

Paul had shown him everything, even how the sails worked. Everything on the boat was computerized, and he could sail the huge boat single-handedly if he had to, and had often, with the crew standing by to help him. But he was truly an extraordinary sailor, and even Sam had understood that. Paul had explained it all very simply to him, and he was impressed more than ever by the child's thoughtful questions. Paul had even made some diagrams for him, to explain things more clearly to him.

“I'm afraid you have a serious sailor on your hands,” Paul said to her admiringly when they returned, and Sam sat down to drink the soda a stewardess handed him with a linen napkin. “It's a serious addiction. If I were you, I'd be very worried. I bought my first sailboat at twenty, when I didn't have a dime, and practically had to sell my soul to do it.”

“Can I help you sail, Paul?” Sam asked with a look of adoration, and Paul smiled as he looked down at him and ruffled his hair. He had a nice way with children, and particularly with Sam.

“I'm not sure we'll go out again today, son. How about tomorrow? We were going to take a sail out to some islands. Would you like to join us?” Sam was instantly beside himself with the sheer joy of it, and Paul glanced at India as he asked the question. “Would you like to come with us tomorrow? I think he'd really enjoy it.”

“I'm sure he would.” India smiled back at him. “Are you sure it wouldn't be an imposition?” She didn't want to be a nuisance. She was afraid Sam's enthusiasm would be a little overwhelming.

“He knows more about sailboats than some of my friends. I'd love to show him how it all works, if you have no objection. It isn't often I get to ‘educate’ a young sailor. Most of the people I have on board are more interested in the bar and the size of their cabins. I think he'd really get something out of the sailing.”

“That would be terrific. Thank you.” She felt strangely shy with him. He was an important man, and there was something very powerful about him, which she found a little daunting. But Sam seemed completely at ease with his new friend, and among the guests and the deckhands. Paul had made him feel entirely at home, and India was touched by what she saw. It told her something about Paul, and a few minutes later, chatting with him, she asked him if he had children. She thought he had to, to be so good with a child Sam's age. And she wasn't surprised when he nodded with a smile.

“I have one son, who has hated boats all his life,” he laughed. “He'd rather be burned at the stake than spend ten minutes on a sailboat. He's a grown man now, with two children of his own, and they seem to dislike boats as much as he does. And my wife is scarcely better than my son. She tolerates life on the Sea Star, but barely. Serena and I have never had children. So I'm afraid the burden of my need to teach sailing to someone rests on Sam. It may prove to be a heavy responsibility for him.” He accepted a glass of champagne from a silver tray the stewardess held out to him, and smiled at India, and then he noticed her camera. “Dick tells me you're a woman of extraordinary talents.”

“I'm afraid not. Not anymore, at least. I just take very good photographs of my children.”

“From what Dick has said, I think you're being very modest. He said your specialty was bandits, guerrillas, and war zones.” She laughed at the description of her early years as a photojournalism but he wasn't entirely wrong. She had done a lot of dangerous assignments in some very unusual places. “I've done a bit of that myself, though not with photography. I was a navy pilot when I was young, and then later, before I remarried, I was involved in airlifts to some very out-of-the-way places. I organized a group of pilots, on a volunteer basis, to do rescue missions and supply drops. We were probably in some of the same places.” Just listening to him, she knew she would have liked to photograph his adventures.

“Do you still do it?” she asked, intrigued by him. He was a man of many facets and contrasts. He obviously lived a life of luxury, but somehow managed to combine it with a life filled with danger and excitement. And she also knew of his many victories on Wall Street. He had a reputation for integrity and success that had made him a legend.

“I gave up the airlifts a few years ago. My wife had serious objections to it. She thought it was too dangerous, and she said she had no pressing desire to become a widow yet.”

“That was probably sensible of her.”

“We never lost a plane or a pilot,” he said confidently, “but I didn't want to upset her. I still arrange funding for the project, but I don't fly the missions myself anymore. We flew a number of missions into Bosnia, to help the children while things were rough there. And of course Rwanda.” Everything about him seemed both admirable and impressive, and she was fascinated by him. Just talking to him, she wanted to reach for her camera and take his picture, but she knew she couldn't. He had already been kind enough to Sam, and she didn't want to annoy him.

He chatted with some of the other guests then, and half an hour later, he walked them all into the dining room, where there was an impeccably set table, covered with exquisite china and crystal and embroidered linens. He ran his boat like a fine hotel, or a beautifully run home. Every minute detail had been seen to with perfection. His hospitality was apparently as extraordinary as his sailing.

India was surprised to find herself at Paul's right at lunch, and honored by the place he'd given her. And it enabled them to engage in a considerable amount of conversation. He was fascinating to talk to. He had an extensive knowledge of the world and the arts, a passion for politics, and a lot of strong opinions and interesting views. And at the same time, he had a gentleness, a kindness, and a wisdom that endeared him to her. And more than once, he had her laughing at stories he told on himself. He had a sense of mischief as well, and a wicked sense of humor. But no matter how many subjects they explored about the world at large, the conversation always drifted back to sailing. It was clearly the passion he lived for. And to her left, Sam was deeply engrossed in conversation with Dick Parker on the same subject. And he glanced over now and then to smile at Paul. In one brief afternoon, Paul had become Sam's hero.

“I think I'm falling desperately in love with your son,” Paul confided in an undertone as the stewardesses in the dining room served them coffee in Limoges cups. “He's magical, and he knows an awful lot about sailing. He actually makes me wish I'd had more children.” It was hardly too late for him, India realized. She remembered reading in Fortune magazine that he was fifty-seven, and Serena was roughly fifty. Given the way he felt, it surprised India that he had never had children with her. She knew from something he'd said at lunch that they had been married for eleven years, but he also talked about how intensely busy she was, writing novels, and overseeing the production of the movies made from them, in the most minute detail. She was, in fact, in LA. doing just that at that very moment. He described her as a perfectionist, and completely driven. He said she was both talented and compulsive about her work.

Paul had told India at lunch that he had married while still in college the first time, had only the one son he'd mentioned earlier, and stayed married for fifteen years, and then waited another ten years before he married Serena. She had been thirty-nine when they were married, and for her it had been the first time.

“Actually,” Paul said, explaining it to her, “Serena has never wanted children. She's passionate about her career, and she's always been afraid that children would interfere with it.” He said it without making editorial comment on her decision. But India thought that maybe since he already had a son when he married her, it hadn't mattered to him. It was, in any case, an interesting perspective for India, who had given up a career to have four children. “I don't think she's ever regretted the decision,” he said honestly. “And to tell you the truth, I'm not sure she would ever have been good with kids. She's a very complex woman.” India was dying to ask him what that meant, but didn't dare. And in spite of the ambiguity of what he had said, she got the feeling that he was happy with her.

It was a long, chatty lunch, and Paul and India touched on a wide variety of subjects, and eventually came back to their respectively extensive travel. He still enjoyed going to remote parts of the world, whenever possible on his sailboat. “I don't get to do it as much as I'd like to,” he admitted, “but one of these days, I will. I keep telling myself I'm going to retire early, but with Serena still so involved in her work, there's no point doing that until she has more free time to be with me. And if I read the signs correctly, by the time she slows down,” he smiled at India wistfully, “I'll be in a wheelchair.”

“I hope not.”

“Me too,” he said firmly. “What about you? Are you going back to your career one of these days, or are you still too busy with your children?” He could only imagine what four young children would require of her. To Paul, it sounded more than a little overwhelming, but she sounded as though she enjoyed it. The one person she hadn't said much about was her husband, and that hadn't gone unnoticed. Paul had been quick to notice the absence of any reference to her spouse.

“I don't think I'll ever go back to work,” she said thoughtfully. “My husband is violently opposed to it. He can't even imagine why I'd think about it.” And not even knowing why, she told him then about the assignment in Korea, and Doug's reaction to it. It had been completely beyond him why she would even consider doing it, or be disappointed when she didn't.

“He sounds like he needs to get dragged into the twentieth century. It's a bit foolish to expect a woman to give up her career, and whatever identity and self-esteem goes with it, and not expect some kind of reaction to that kind of sacrifice and loss. Personally, I wouldn't be as brave as he is.” Or as foolish, he thought, but didn't say it. Sooner or later, Paul knew, her husband was going to pay a price for it. Big time. It was inevitable. He had learned that with Serena. Even asking her to take time off to sail with him elicited nothing short of outrage from her. But then again, she was particularly compulsive about her work. “It sounds as though you miss your career, India. Am I right?” He wanted to get to know her better. There was something quiet and magnetic about her that drew her to him, and every time he watched her talk to Sam, something about the warmth of their exchange, and her gentleness with the child, touched him deeply. There were a lot of positive things he could have said about his wife, but nurturing had never been her strong suit, and gentle was not a word he would have used to describe her. She was exciting and passionate and opinionated and powerful and glamorous and brilliant. But she and India seemed as though they had been born on different planets and lived in different worlds. There was a softness to India, and a subtle sensuality, coupled with a sharp mind and mischievous wit, which he found inordinately attractive. And her straightforwardness and honesty were refreshing to him. His dealings with Serena were always fascinatingly convoluted. But that was Serena. And most of all, she loved to provoke him. India appeared to be a far more peaceful person, although she certainly did not appear to be “weak.”

And she was thoughtful before she answered his question about missing her work. “Yes, I do miss it. The funny thing is, I didn't for a very long time. I was too busy to even think about it. But lately, as the kids are starting to grow up, I feel a real void in my life where my work was. I don't know what just yet, but I think I need something to fill it other than children.” It was that that Doug had absolutely refused to hear when she tried to talk to him about it. He just brushed her off, and her feelings on the subject, dismissing it entirely. And it was the first time she had actually translated her thoughts into words and told someone else about how she felt.

“I don't see why you couldn't go back now, maybe on slightly tamer assignments,” Paul suggested reasonably. It was more or less what he had told his wife. She could do one movie a year, and a book every two or three years. She didn't have to do two movies a year, four television shows, and a six-book contract to complete in three years. But Serena didn't want to hear it, and even listening to him say the words had made her feel threatened and provoked a fight.

“I did a piece in Harlem three years ago, on child abuse,” India explained. “That was perfect for me. It was close to home, not dangerous physically. It turned out very well. But I don't get assignments like that often. Whenever they do call, they seem to want me on the kind of assignments I used to do, in places where there are riots or revolutions. I guess they think that's what I'm good at. But taking assignments like that would be too hard on Doug and the kids.”

“Not to mention dangerous for you.” He was frowning as he said it. He wasn't sure he'd like his wife risking her neck for a story either. The worst place Serena had to be to conduct her business was at the Polo Lounge of the Beverly Hills Hotel, or in her publisher's office in New York. She was hardly in danger or at risk. “Well,you ought to figure out some kind of compromise, India. You can't deprive yourself of that kind of nourishment forever. You need it. We all do. That's why I don't retire. Much as I hate to admit it, to some extent, wielding power feeds my ego.” She liked the fact that he was willing to admit it to her. It made him seem vulnerable somehow, which was not a word most people would have used to describe Paul Ward. But India sensed that clearly about him. He was vulnerable, in his feelings for his wife, in the way he talked to her, in the things he shared, even in the way he reached out to Sam. There was a great deal of moral courage to him, and sincerity, and hidden tenderness. There was a lot she liked about him. He was a very impressive man.

It was after three-thirty when they left the lunch table, and Paul volunteered to take Sam out in the little sailing dinghy they kept on board, and teach him how to sail. And Sam was ecstatic when he offered. Paul put a life jacket on the boy, and had the deckhands lower the dinghy to the water, and then they scampered down the ladder, and a moment later, India was watching them heading out toward the ocean. She was only slightly worried that they might capsize, but his friends and the crew reassured her that Paul was responsible, and also a strong swimmer. And she could tell just from his expression how happy Sam was.

She could see him laughing and smiling and looking up at Paul from where she stood, and as she watched them, she took out her camera, and got a series of great shots with her long lens. She could see both their faces clearly, and she had never seen two happier people than her son and his new friend. It was after five when they reluctantly came back to the Sea Star, and Sam scampered back on board.

“Wow! Mom! That was fantastic. It was so cool …and Paul showed me how to do it!” Sam was beaming, and Paul looked pleased too. The two had obviously formed an even greater bond in the dinghy.

“I know. I could see, sweetheart. I got lots of pictures of you,” India said as Paul looked down at her with a big smile, and Sam ran off to get sodas for both of them. He felt remarkably at home on the boat thanks to Paul's hospitality, and as far as Sam was concerned, Paul was his friend for life now. India knew he would never forget the day he had just spent.

“He's a great boy, India. You should be very proud of him. He's smart and kind, and he has integrity, and a great sense of humor. Like his mother,” he added. Getting to know Sam, he felt as though he knew her better. He was a kind of bridge between them that he truly enjoyed.

“You learned all that in an hour in a boat the size of a bathtub?” She was teasing, but she was touched by what he had said about her son.

“There's no better place to learn it. Sailing teaches you a lot about someone, especially in a boat that size. He was very clever about it, and very sensible and careful. You don't need to worry about him.”

“I do anyway.” She grinned, looking up at Paul comfortably. “It's part of my job description. I wouldn't be holding up my end of the deal if I didn't worry about him.”

“He's a terrific sailor,” Paul said almost proudly.

“So are you,” she said simply. “I was watching the whole time.”

“I'd love to see the pictures.”

“I'll develop them for you, and bring them when we come tomorrow.”

“I'd like that,” he said, as Sam ran back to them, holding two Coca-Colas, and handed one to Paul as he grinned at his mother. It had been the best day of his life so far.

They stood for a moment, drinking their Cokes, they were tired and thirsty and happy. The breeze had come up by then, and it had been work for Paid sailing the dinghy. But it was hard to tell which of them had enjoyed it more.

They glanced over at the bar, where some of his guests were playing liar's dice. Others were sunbathing, two were reading, and one was sleeping. It had been a peaceful, easy afternoon, and India had enjoyed it. It was five-thirty when she finally told Sam they had to leave and go home to the others, and he looked crestfallen when she said it.

“You'll be back tomorrow, Sam,” Paul reminded him. “Come down early if you want. We'll do some things together before we sail.”

“How early?” Sam looked hopeful, and Paul and India laughed as they watched him.

“Does nine o'clock sound like the middle of the day to you?” He had a feeling Sam would be there at five, if he let him. “Make that eight-thirty.” And then he glanced at India with a question in his eyes. “Is that all right with you?”

“It's fine. I'll get the other children fed and organized before we leave. They're pretty self-sufficient. They're with their friends all day anyway. They won't miss us.”

“You can bring them if you'd like to. All my guests will be off the boat for the day, it'll be just you and Sam, and me. There's plenty of room for the others, if they'd enjoy it.”

“I'll ask them.” It seemed a shame to miss an opportunity like this, but she had a feeling they wouldn't be tempted. They didn't want to miss a minute with their friends, and Sam was the only one of her children who had fallen in love with sailing. “Thank you for the invitation, in any case, and all your kindness.” She shook his hand before they left, and she felt their eyes lock for a moment. She saw something there but she didn't know what it was …admiration …curiosity …friendship …but she felt it race through her like something indistinguishable and electric, and then the moment was gone, and she and Sam were back on their bikes, as the guests and the crew waved to them. It suddenly felt like leaving home, or a magical vacation. And like Sam, as they rode home, all she wanted to do was turn around and go back to the Sea Star as fast as she could.

It had been a perfect afternoon in every way, and she couldn't help thinking of Paul as she pedaled behind Sam, trying to keep up with him without falling off her bike. There was something very rare and deep about the man she had met that afternoon. And she was sure there was more to him than what they'd seen. They didn't call him the Lion of Wall Street for nothing. There had to be a hard side to him too, perhaps even ruthless. Yet what she had seen was someone very gentle and very caring. And she knew that neither Sam nor she would ever forget the day they had just spent with him.

Chapter 6

THE CHILDREN were all home when Sam and India got back from their afternoon on the Sea Star and everyone had had a good day, and seemed happy to see them. Sam told them all about Paul, the boat, and his adventures in the dinghy, and they listened affectionately, but without much interest. Sam felt about boats the way some small boys were about tanks or airplanes. It didn't make much sense, or hold any magic, for the others. And as they talked, India went to the kitchen to cook dinner.

She made pasta, and salad, and garlic bread, and put some frozen pizzas in the oven. She had a suspicion that additional mouths would appear eventually, and she wasn't wrong. At seven o'clock, when they sat down, four more children turned up, two of them friends of Jason's, and the other two friends of Aimee's. It was the way they lived in the summer. It was casual and relaxed, and she never cared how many kids were underfoot. That was just part of their beach life, it was expected, and she liked it.

Jessica helped her clear the kitchen afterward, while the others went to play, and as soon as they had finished loading the dishwasher, Doug called them. Sam got on the phone first and told him all about the Sea Star. He made it sound like the largest ocean liner in the world when he described how big it was, but he also described in great detail all the intricacies of the sails and the computer system that ran diem. It was obvious that Sam had really learned a lot about sailing from Paul, and Sam had really listened to him.

And when it was finally India's turn to talk to Doug, he asked her about Sam's enthusiasm about it. “What was Sam all worked up about? Is the boat as big as he says, or was it some old tub at the yacht club?”

“It was a very nice tub.” India smiled as she answered, thinking of the day they had spent on it. “The owner is a friend of Dick and Jenny's. I've read about him, and I'm sure you have too. His name is Paul Ward, and he's married to Serena Smith, the author. She's in LA working on a movie, and he and a bunch of friends are here for the week on his sailboat. Maybe he'll still be here when you come up.”

“Spare me,” Doug said, feeling seasick just thinking about it. “You know how I feel about boats, but I'd like to meet him. What's he like? Arrogant as hell and a real son of a bitch beneath the veneer?” It was what Doug expected, knowing of his power and success on Wall Street. It was inconceivable to him that anyone could have that much power and still be a decent human being too.

“No, he seems very human, actually. He was great to Sam, and even took him out in his dinghy,” India said casually, annoyed that Doug automatically assumed that Paul was a bastard.

“I hear he's pretty ruthless. Maybe he was just showing off for his friends. He sounds like the kind of guy who eats his young, and anyone else's.” Doug was persistent in his viewpoint, and India didn't want to argue with him.

“He didn't eat ours, at least. Sam loved him.” She was going to tell him they were going sailing with him again the next day, and then for no particular reason, thought better of it and never mentioned it to him.

“How are you?” He changed the subject then, and spared her from saying more about Paul. There wasn't much more to say anyway, other than that she thought he was terrific, and he thought she should go back to work as soon as possible. She was sure Doug would have loved to hear it.

“I'm fine. Busy with the kids. It's great here. All the same faces, old friends. Jenny and Dick have been wonderful, as usual. The kids are back with all their old pals again. Nothing new here.” It was what she loved about it. The sameness and familiarity. It was like burrowing into an old cozy pillow in a favorite nightgown. “How are you?”

“Tired. Working. I haven't taken a minute off since you left. I figured I'd just buckle down and do it. I still won't make it up for the Fourth though.”

“I know, you told me.” Her voice was noncommittal. She was still angry at him over their conversation during the fateful dinner.

“I didn't want you or the kids to be disappointed,” Doug said apologetically.

“We won't be. We're going to the Parkers for their barbecue.”

“Stick to the steaks, they're the only thing Dick doesn't set fire to.” She smiled at the memory, and told him that they had hired a cook this year. “I miss you guys,” he said comfortably. Collectively. But not “I miss you.” She would have liked to hear that, but she didn't tell him she missed him either. The truth was she didn't. And she was still having conflicting feelings about him ever since their discussions before she left Westport. But somehow, she got the impression he'd forgotten all about it. He had never fully understood how deeply he had upset her, or how devastated she had felt when he talked about what he expected of their marriage. Sometimes she felt as though she didn't know who she was now, his friend, his housekeeper, his “reliable companion.” She didn't want to be any of those, she wanted to be his lover. And she realized now that she wasn't. She felt like a hired hand, a slave, a convenience, an object he took for granted. Like a vehicle he had used to transport his children. She felt no more important to him than the station wagon they had used to get there. It was an empty feeling and it put a distance between them she had never felt before.

“I'll call you tomorrow,” he said impersonally. “Good night, India.” She waited for him to say that he loved her, or missed her, but he didn't. And she wondered, as she hung up, if this was how Gail had arrived at the place where she had been for several years now. Feeling used and bored and empty and unloved. So much so that she had to meet other men in hotels in order to feel better. It was a destination India never wanted to arrive at. She would do anything before she started meeting men in motels, or sleeping with other women's husbands. That was not what she had come this far for. But what had she come for, she asked herself as she walked into the darkroom, lost in her own thoughts.

She took out her chemicals and began developing her film as she mused over her conversation with her husband, and then as she looked at the photographs developing in the tubs, she saw him. Paul. Smiling up at her. Laughing with Sam. Ducking his head in the dinghy, against the horizon looking incredibly handsome. It was an endless string of striking portraits of him, and told the tale of a magical afternoon between a man and a boy. It was the portrait of a hero, and she stood for a long time, looking at the pictures, thinking about him, and Serena. He had used such an odd combination of words to describe her. In some ways she sounded terrifying, in others fatally enticing. She could sense easily that he was in love with her, intrigued by her, and he claimed he was happy with her. And yet, everything he said had told India instinctively that she was anything but easy. But what they seemed to share appeared to suggest excitement. It made her wonder once again what she had with Doug. What did it all mean? And more importantly, what were the essential components of a good marriage? She no longer understood them. The ingredients she thought were necessary she'd been told were unimportant, and the things Paul said about Serena, about her being difficult, obstinate, challenging, aggressive at times, seemed to make him love her. As India thought about it, she decided that deciphering relationships and what made them work was momentarily beyond her. She no longer had the answers she had been so sure of not very long ago.

She hung the pictures up to dry, and left her darkroom to check on the children. Sam had fallen asleep, on the couch, watching a video, and the others were playing tag outside the house, in the dark by flashlight, and Jessica and a friend, one of the Boardman boys, were eating cold pizza in the kitchen. Everything seemed to be in order. All was well in her safe little world.

She carried Sam to bed, and managed to undress him without waking him up. He was exhausted after all the fresh air and excitement he'd had on the Sea Star. And as she looked down at him, she thought of Paul and the pictures she'd taken of him.

But then she had an even stranger thought, as she turned off the light and walked slowly back to her bedroom. She wondered suddenly what it would be like to be doing this alone, if she and Doug were no longer married. How different would it be? She did it all now. She cared for the children, she was here alone. She had all the responsibility, she did all the chores, did all the nurturing and worrying and cooking and cleaning. The only thing she didn't do was support them. It was scary thinking of it, but what if Doug left her? If he died? Would her life be so different? Would she feel more alone than she did now, knowing that she was just a tool to him, a convenience? What would happen to her if she lost him? Years before, she had worried about it, when the kids were small and she felt she couldn't live for an hour without him. But that had been when she thought he was in love with her. But now that she realized he wasn't in love, and felt no need to be, what would it really mean now to be without him? She felt guilty for even thinking of it, as though she had waved a magic wand and “disappeared” him. Just thinking about it was a form of treason. But no one knew what she was thinking. She would never have dared put the thoughts into words, not to anyone, not even Gail. And certainly not to Doug.

She lay on her bed for a while, and picked up a book finally, but she found she couldn't read it. All she could hear were her own questions echoing through her head, and there were a thousand of them. And louder than all of them was the one she feared most. What did their marriage mean to her now? Now that she knew what Doug was thinking. It changed everything, like the subtle turn of a dial that changed the music from sweet melody to endless static that hurt one's eardrums. And she could no longer pretend to herself that what she heard was music. It wasn't. Hadn't been for weeks. Maybe longer than that. Maybe it never had been. That was the worst thought. Or had it been something very sweet, and had they lost it? She considered that possibility the most likely. Maybe it happened to everyone in the end. Eventually, you lost the magic …and wound up bitter or angry, or like Gail, trying to empty an ocean of loneliness with a teacup. It seemed hopeless to her.

She gave up on the book eventually, and went out to the deck to check on the children playing tag, and found they had settled down in the living room finally, and were talking quietly with the television on in the background. And all she could do was stand there, staring up at the stars and wondering what would happen to her life now. Probably nothing. She would drive car pools for the next nine years, until Sam was old enough to drive, or maybe three years before that when Jason could drive him and Aimee, and she would be off the hook then. And then what? More laundry, more meals until they left for college, and then waiting for them to come home for vacations. And what would happen to her and Doug then? What would they say to each other? Suddenly, it all sounded so lonely, and so empty. That was all she felt now. Empty. Broken. Cheated. And yet she had to go on, like a piece of machinery, cranking away, producing whatever it was meant to, until it broke down completely. It didn't seem too hopeful, or too appealing. And as she thought of it, she looked out over the ocean, and saw it. The Sea Star, in all her glory, with all the lights lit in the main saloon and the cabins, with red lights twinkling on the mast, as they went for a night sail. It was the most beautiful thing she'd ever seen, and it looked like the perfect escape. A kind of magic carpet, to wherever you wanted it to take you. She could see why Paul sailed all over the world. What better way to explore new places? It was like taking your house with you, your own safe little world that went everywhere with you. At the moment, India couldn't imagine anything better, and for just an instant, she would have loved to hide there, and she thought Paul Ward was lucky to have it. The boat looked so lovely as it sailed past her. She was sorry that Sam was asleep and couldn't see it, but at least he'd be back on board in the morning, and she knew how much he was looking forward to it.

She got all the kids into bed by eleven, and turned out her own lights shortly after. And in the morning, she got Sam up at seven-thirty. He was on his feet almost before she touched him, anxious to get started. She had already showered and dressed. She was wearing a sky blue T-shirt and white jeans, and pale blue espadrilles Gail had bought for her in France the previous summer, and her hair was braided and clean and tidy, as she walked into the kitchen to make breakfast.

She had promised to leave blueberry muffins and fruit salad for the others, and there were four boxes of cereal for them. They had all told her their plans the night before, including dinner with friends, and she knew they'd be fine without her. And if they had a problem, they could go to any of their neighbors. And Paul had given her the satellite number on the boat, which she left for them, so they could call her in an emergency. Everything was taken care of, and at eight-twenty she and Sam were on their bikes, heading for the yacht club again.

Paul was on deck when they got there, and the guests were just leaving. They had rented a van and were going to visit friends in Gloucester. They were staying overnight, and they waved at India and Sam as they left, and Sam ran onto the boat with a broad grin and Paul put an arm around him.

“I'll bet you slept like a log last night after sailing that dinghy.” He laughed as Sam nodded. “So did I. It's hard work, but it's fun. Today will be a lot easier. I thought we'd sail to New Seabury, stop for lunch, and then come back here after dinner. Does that work for you?” He looked up at India, and she nodded.

“That sounds lovely,” India said happily, as he asked if they'd had breakfast.

“Just cereal,” Sam said forlornly, as though she had starved him. And his mother smiled.

“That's no breakfast for a sailor,” Paul said, looking sympathetic. “How about some waffles? They just made some in the galley. How does that sound?”

“Much better.” Sam approved of the menu, and Paul told India where to leave their things in one of the guest cabins. She walked down the staircase, found the stateroom he had indicated easily, and was startled by what she saw. The room was more beautiful than any hotel room. The walls were paneled in mahogany, there were shiny brass fittings on all the drawers and closets. The room was large and airy, with several portholes, and a huge closet, and there was a fabulous white marble bathroom, with a bathtub and a shower. It was even more luxurious than what she might have expected, and even nicer than their home in Westport. And she recognized easily that the paintings all around her were by famous artists.

She put her bag down on the bed, and noticed that the blanket was cashmere with the emblem of the boat on it. And she took out the envelope of photographs she'd brought with her.

And by the time she got back to the dining room, Sam was up to his neck in waffles, with maple syrup dribbling down his chin as he and Paul engaged in a serious conversation about sailing.

“How about you, India? Waffles?”

“No, thanks,” she smiled, slightly embarrassed. “You would think I never feed him.”

“Sailors need to eat a big breakfast,” he said, smiling at her. “How about coffee for you, India?” He loved the sound of her name, and said it often. He had asked her about it the day before, and she told him her father had been on assignment there when she was born, and Paul had told her how much he liked it. He found it very exotic.

One of the two stewardesses standing by poured India a cup of steaming coffee, in a Limoges cup with little blue stars on it. All the china and crystal had either the boat's logo or stars on it.

It was after nine when Sam finished breakfast, and Paul invited them up to the bridge. It was a gorgeous, sunny day and there was a good breeze blowing. It was perfect weather for sailing, as Paul looked up at the sky and said something to the captain. They were going to motor away from the yacht club, and then set their sails when they got a little distance from it. And Paul showed Sam everything he did, as they prepared to leave the dock, and the deckhands pulled in the fenders and released their moorings. They called to each other, and threw the ropes back on board, as the stewardesses went below to stow any movable objects. India enjoyed sitting out of the way, watching the bustling activity all around them, as Sam stood right beside Paul, while he explained everything to him. And in a few minutes, they had left the dock, and were leaving the harbor.

“Ready?” Paul asked Sam as he turned off the motor. They lowered the keel hydraulically when they left the yacht club.

“Ready,” Sam said anxiously. He could hardly wait to get sailing. Paul showed him which buttons to push, as the giant sails began to unfurl, and he set the genoa, then the staysail, followed by the huge mainsail, the fisherman staysail, and finally the mizzen at precisely the right angle. It took barely a minute for the sails to fill, and suddenly the enormous sailboat began moving. She heeled gracefully, and picked up speed immediately. It was exhilarating and extraordinary, and Sam was beaming as he looked up at Paul. It was the most beautiful sight India had ever seen as they left the shore at a good speed and headed toward New Seabury under full sail.

Paul and Sam adjusted the sails regularly, as they looked up at the huge masts, and Paul then explained all the dials to Sam again, as his mother watched them. Paul and Sam stood side by side at the wheel, and Paul let Sam hold it for a while, as he continued to stand very near him, and then finally he turned it over to the captain. Sam opted to stay with him, and Paul went to sit with India in the cockpit.

“You're going to spoil him. No other sailboat will ever do after this. This is just fantastic.” She was beaming at him, sailing with him was an unforgettable experience, and she loved it, almost as much as Sam.

“I'm glad you like it.” He looked pleased. It was clearly the love of his life, and the place where he was the happiest and the most peaceful. At least that was what he had told her. “I love this boat. I've had a lot of good times on the Sea Star”

“So has everyone who's ever been here, I imagine. I loved listening to your friends' stories.”

“I'm sure half of them are about Serena jumping ship, and threatening to leave every time the boat moves. She's not exactly an avid sailor.”

“Does she get seasick?” India was curious about her.

“Not really. Only once actually. She just hates sailing, and boats.”

“That must be something of a challenge, with you so crazy about them.”

“It means we don't spend as much time together as we ought to. She comes up with a lot of excuses not to be here, and as busy as she is, it's hard to argue with her. I never know if she really needs to be in L.A., or see her publisher, or if she's just coming up with reasons not to be on the Sea Star, I used to try and talk her into it, now I just kind of let her come when she wants to.”

“Does it bother you when she doesn't?” She knew it was a little presumptuous asking him that, but he made her feel so comfortable, she felt as though she could ask him. And she was curious now about what made other people's marriages work, what was their secret for success. It suddenly seemed particularly important. Perhaps she would learn something that would be useful to her.

“Sometimes it does bother me,” he admitted to her, as one of the crew offered them Bloody Marys. It was nearly eleven. “It's lonely without her, but I'm used to it. You can't force someone to do something they don't want. And if you do, you pay a price for it. Sometimes a very big one. I learned that with my first wife. I did absolutely everything wrong that time, and I swore to myself that if I ever married again, it would be different. And it has been. My marriage to Serena is everything my first marriage wasn't. I waited a long time to get married again. I wanted to be sure I was making the right decision, with the right woman.”

“And did you?” She asked the question so gently, he didn't feel invaded by her asking. But in an odd unexpected way, they were becoming friends.

“I think so. We're very different, Serena and I. We don't always want the same things out of life, but we always have a good time with each other. And I respect her. I'm pretty sure it's mutual. I admire her success and her tenacity, and her strength. She has a lot of courage. And sometimes she drives me absolutely crazy.” He smiled as he said it.

“I'm sorry to ask so many questions. I've been asking myself a lot of the same questions these days, and I'm not sure I know the answers. I thought I did. But apparently, the correct answers weren't the ones I always thought they would be.”

“That doesn't sound good,” he said cautiously. And somehow, here, on the ocean, with the sails overhead, they felt as though they could say anything to each other.

“It isn't,” she admitted. She hardly knew him, she realized, but she felt completely safe talking to him. “I have no idea what I'm doing anymore, or where I'm going, or where I've been for the last fourteen years. I've been married for seventeen years, and all of a sudden I wonder if the things I've done with my life make any sense, if they ever did. I thought so, but I'm not so sure now.”

“Like what?” He wanted to hear what she had to say, maybe even to help her. There was something about her that made him want to reach out to her. And it had nothing to do with betraying Serena. This was entirely separate. He felt as though he and India could be friends, and speak their minds to each other.

“I gave up my job fourteen years ago. I was working for The New York Times. I had been for two years, ever since I came back from Asia, and Africa before that …Nicaragua, Costa Rica …Peru … I'd been all over.” But he already knew that. “I came back because Doug told me it would be over between us if I didn't. He had waited for me in the States for more than a year, and that seemed fair. We got married a few months later, and I worked in New York for just over two years, and then I got pregnant with our oldest daughter. And that's when Doug told me I had to quit. He didn't want me running around taking pictures in ghettos and back alleys, and following gangs for a great shot once we had children. That was the deal we made when we got married. Once we had kids, I'd hang it up, and it would be all over. So I did. We moved to Connecticut. I had four kids in five years, and that's what I've been doing ever since. Car pools and diapers.”

“And do you hate it?” He couldn't imagine how she wouldn't. There was too much to her to hide in a diaper pail for fourteen years, or in Connecticut driving car pools. He couldn't understand a man who was blind enough to do that to her. But evidently Doug had been.

“I hate it sometimes,” she answered him honestly. “Who doesn't? It wasn't exactly what I dreamed of doing when I was in high school. And I got used to a very different life when I was on the road. But sometimes I really love it, more than I thought I would. I love my kids, and being with them, and knowing that I'm making a contribution to their lives that will really make a difference.”

“And what about you? What do you get out of it?” He narrowed his eyes as he watched her, concentrating on what she was saying to him.

“I get a certain kind of satisfaction from it. A good feeling being with my children. I like them. They're nice people.”

“So are you.” He smiled at her. “So what are you going to do? Drive car pools until you're too old to drive anymore, or go back to work now?”

“That's the kicker. It just came up recently. My husband is adamant about my not working. It's causing a lot of tension between us. We had a serious conversation about it recently, and he defined to me what he expects of our marriage.” She looked depressed as she said it.

“And what does he?”

“Not much. That's the problem. What he described was a maid, a kind of bus driver who can cook and clean up after the kids. A companion, I think he said. ‘Someone he could rely on to take care of the children.’ That was about all he wanted.”

“I'd say he's not one of the great romantics,” Paul said drily, and she smiled. She liked talking to him, and it made her feel better. For a month now she had been stewing about what Doug had told her, and worse yet what he hadn't.

“It doesn't leave me many illusions about how he views me. And suddenly, when I look back, I realize that's all it's ever been, for a long time anyway. Maybe that's all it ever was. Just a companion with room service, and good housekeeping. And I was so damn busy, I never noticed. Maybe I could live with it if I went back to work again. But he doesn't want me to do that either. In fact,” she looked at Paul intently, “he forbade me to do it.”

“He's very foolish. I played that game once. And I lost. My first wife was an editor at a magazine, while I was still in college. She had a terrific job, and I wonder if I wasn't a little jealous of her. She got pregnant with our son when I graduated and got a job, and I forced her to quit. Men did things like that then. And she hated me forever. She never forgave me. She felt I had ruined her life, and condemned her to a life of running after our son. She wasn't very maternal anyway. She never wanted more kids, and eventually she didn't want me either. The marriage fell apart in ugly ways that were very painful to us. And when it was over, she went back to work. She's a senior editor of Vogue now. But she still hates me. It's a very dangerous thing clipping a woman's wings. The patient does not survive that kind of surgery, or at least not very often. It's why I never interfere with Serena's career. At least I learned that much. And I never forced her to have children. Mary Anne, my first wife, never should have done that either. My son, Sean, was brought up by nannies once she went back to work, went to boarding school at ten, and finally wound up with me at thirteen. And he's still not very close to his mother. At least you've done that right.” He could see in Sam all the love she had lavished on him, and he was sure she had done as much with the others. “You can't force people to do what they don't want and what isn't natural to them. It just doesn't work. I think we all know that. I'm surprised your husband doesn't.”

“I did want it for a long time though. I love my family. I love having the kids. And I don't want to hurt them now by going back to work full-time. I can't trek around the world like I used to. But I think they would survive it if I went now and then, a couple of times a year for a week or two, or worked on stories close to home. All of sudden I feel as though I've given up who I am, and no one gives a damn, especially not my husband. He doesn't appreciate the sacrifice I made. He just dismisses it and makes it sound like I was just out there wasting my time and having fun before we got married.”

“Not from what I hear. Dick Parker says you won a hell of a lot of prizes.”

“Four or five, but it meant a lot to me. All of a sudden, I just can't let go of it. And he doesn't even want to hear about it.”

“So what now? What are you going to do about it? Do what he wants, or raise some hell?” It's what Serena would do, without hesitating for a minute, but it was obvious to Paul that India was very different.

“I don't know the answer to that question,” she said, glancing at Sam. He was still happy as could be, standing next to the captain. He hadn't moved an inch since they started talking. “That's where I left off when I came up here. He told me to take my name off the agency roster.”

“Don't do it,” Paul said firmly. He didn't know her well, but he sensed easily that if she gave up that part of her completely, it would destroy something important in her. It was a form of expression for her, a form of communicating, and being and breathing. She couldn't give up taking pictures, and they both knew it. “Where is he now, by the way?”

“At home. In Westport.”

“Does he realize how upset you are about what he told you?”

“I don't think so. I think he discounts it completely.”

“As I said before, he's very foolish. My ex-wife came at me like a hurricane one day, after three years of taking it out on me in small, insidious ways. But once she came out of the closet with how angry she was, she went straight to the lawyers. I never knew what hit me.”

“I don't think I could do that, but I don't see things the same way anymore either. In just a month, I feel like my whole life is falling apart, and I don't know what to do about it. I don't know what to say, or think, or believe. I'm not even sure I know who he is anymore …or worse, who I am. Two months ago, I was perfectly happy being a housewife. And now, all of a sudden, I'm standing in my darkroom all the time, crying. That reminds me,” she said suddenly. “I brought you something.” She had the envelope on the couch next to her and handed it to him with a shy smile. “Some of them are really terrific.”

He took the photographs out of the envelope then, and looked at them carefully. He was flattered by the shots she had taken of him, and smiled at the ones of Sam, but he was struck by how good she was, and what she had achieved at a considerable distance, with no preparation and no warning. She certainly hadn't lost her touch while doing car pools in Westport.

“You're very good, India,” he said quietly. “These are beautiful.” He started to hand them back to her and she told him he could keep them. She had only kept one of him and Sam, and another of him alone, taken at an interesting angle. She had left it clipped up in her darkroom. “You can't go on wasting your talent.”

“You must think I'm crazy telling you about all this nonsense.”

“No. I think you trust me, and you're right to do that. I won't ever say anything to betray you, India. I hope you know that.”

“I feel a little silly telling you all this, but I just felt as though we could talk. … I respect your judgment.”

“I've made my own mistakes, believe me.” But at least he hadn't this time, and he knew without a doubt that his marriage to Serena was solid. “I'm happy now,” he said to India. “Serena is an extraordinary woman. She doesn't take a lot of guff from me, and I respect her for it. Maybe that's what you need to do now. Go back to him and tell him what you want. It might do him some good to hear it.”

“I'm not sure he would. I tried before I came here, and he just brushed me off. He acts as though I took a job with him seventeen years ago. We made a deal, and now I have to live with it. The real problem,” she said, as tears filled her eyes and she looked at him, “is that I'm not even sure he loves me.”

“He probably does, and is too foolish to know it himself. But if he doesn't love you, as painful as it would be, you need to know it. You're too young and too beautiful to waste your life, and your career, for a man who doesn't love you. I think you know that, and that's what's making you so unhappy.” She nodded and he touched her hand and held it for a long moment. “It's a hell of a waste, India. I hardly know you, but I can tell you, you don't deserve that.”

“And then what? Leave him? That's what I keep asking myself.” Just as she had done the night before, when she tried pretending that Doug wasn't coming back and she was on her own with the children. “How do I even begin to do that? I can't work full-time and take care of my children.”

“Hopefully, you wouldn't have to work full-time, but only when you want to, on the stories you choose to take on. Hell, he owes you something after nearly twenty years. He has to support you.” He looked outraged.

“I haven't even thought that far. I guess, in reality, I just have to get back in my traces and keep going.”

“Why?” he asked her, and for a moment everything stopped inside her.

“Why not?”

“Because giving up who you are, what you do, and what you need is giving up your dreams, and if you give them up, sooner or later, it will kill you. I guarantee it. You'll shrivel up like a prune, and get bitter and angry and mean, and your insides will turn ugly. Look at the people you know, we all know them. Bitter, angry, miserable people who've been cheated in life and hate everyone for it.” She wondered, with a sense of rising panic, if he could already see that in her. And at the look in her eyes, he smiled reassuringly at her. “I don't mean you. But it could happen to you, if you let it. It could happen to any of us. It started to happen to me in my first marriage. I was a bastard to everyone, because I was miserable and I knew she hated me, and I hated her eventually and was too cowardly to say it to her, or to stop being there. Thank God she ended it, or we'd have destroyed each other. At least Serena and I like each other and enjoy what she's doing. I don't like it when she doesn't come on the boat, but she hates the boat, she doesn't hate me. There's a difference.” He was not only intelligent and sensitive, but he was inordinately smart about people, and India already knew that about him. “Do something, India. I'm begging you. Figure out what you want, and don't be afraid to go get it. The world is full of frightened, unhappy people. We don't need another one. And you're much too beautiful and too wonderful to become one. I won't let you.” She wondered for a second how he intended to stop her. What could he do? He was someone she had met the day before, and yet she had told him her whole life story, and all the problems she had suddenly discovered in her marriage. It was the oddest experience she'd ever had, but she trusted him completely, and she loved talking to him. And she knew with every fiber of her soul that she wasn't wrong to trust him.

“I can't even imagine how one comes back from where I've been for so long. What do you do?”

“First, you call your agent, and tell him you really want to go back to work. Then you figure out the rest.It'll come, at the right time, if you let it. You don't have to force it.” Just listening to him gave her a sense of freedom, and without thinking, she leaned over and kissed him on the cheek, as she would have an old friend or a brother.

“Thank you. I think you were the answer to a prayer or something. I've been feeling totally lost for the past month. And I didn't know what to do about it.”

“You're not lost, India. You're just beginning to find yourself. Give it time, and be patient. It's not easy to find your way back after all this time. You're just lucky you still have your talent.” But did she still have a husband? That was the question that was beginning to fill her with panic.

And then, as though on cue, Sam ran over to them. The boat was still heeling considerably, and he ran surefootedly across the deck to where they sat. They were almost in New Seabury and Sam wanted to know if they were going into the yacht club.

“We'll drop anchor and go in with the tender,” Paul explained, and the child looked excited about it.

“After lunch can we come back to the boat and swim?”

“Sure. We can sail the dinghy again too, if you'd like.” Sam nodded, grinning broadly. It all sounded great to him. And as she watched them, India felt grateful to Paul again, and she thought Serena was very lucky. Paul Ward was an incredible human being, and she already felt as though he had been a great friend to her. She felt as though they had known each other for-ever.

Two of the deckhands lowered the tender for them, and one of them stayed in it to take them to the yacht club. Paul got in first, and took India's hand as she got in, and Sam got in right behind her.

They had an easy, happy lunch, talking about a variety of things. They talked about sailing for most of it, and Sam's eyes were wide with admiration when Paul told them some of his adventures going around the world, and even about a hurricane he'd been in in the Caribbean, and a cyclone in the Indian Ocean.