Bittersweet

All he knew was that he needed to talk to her, more and more frequently. He couldn't imagine not talking to her every day now. And India was thinking exactly the same thing as she lay in the bathtub, and wondered where it was going. And what was she going to do when she got back to Westport? She couldn't call him constantly. Doug would see it on the bill, and wonder what she was doing.

She had no idea what she was doing with Paul, or why. And yet she knew she needed him now. He was like a drug she had become addicted to, without realizing how it had happened. But it had. They needed each other. More than either of them was willing to admit, or knew. But little by little, over time, and from a great distance, they were moving slowly toward each other. And then what, she asked herself, as she closed her eyes. What in God's name were they doing? But as she opened them again, she realized it was just one more question to which she had no answer.

And on the Sea Star, thinking about her, and realizing how relieved he was that she was all right, Paul put his hands in his pockets with a thoughtful expression, and walked slowly back to his cabin.

Chapter 11

INDIA CONTINUED to work with the police that week, filling in the details of the story. She took more photographs of the perpetrators, and some heartbreaking ones of the children. In the end, there were thirty-nine children involved, and most of them were in hospitals and shelters and foster homes. Only one, who had been kidnapped two years before, had been returned to her parents. The others had all been abandoned, or sold, or given away, or even bartered. They were truly the lost children, and India couldn't imagine, after what they'd been through, how they would ever recover.

Every night she poured out the horror stories she'd seen to Paul, and that led to talk of other things, their values, their fears, their childhoods. Like hers, his parents were both gone, and he was an only child. His father had been a moderate success, but in most ways nothing like him. Paul had been driven to succeed, by demons of his own, to achieve in excess of everyone around him. And when India talked of her father and his work, it was obvious to Paul that she thought him a hero. But she was also well aware of what his constant absences had cost her. They had never been a real family, because he was always gone, which made her own family life now seem all that much more important. It was the hold that Doug had on her, she now realized, and why she didn't want to lose him. It was why she did everything he said, and followed all his orders, met all his expectations. She didn't want her children to have a life without their father. And although her own mother had worked, her job had never been important to her. It was her father who had been the central figure of their life, and whose absence, when he died, had nearly destroyed them. But she also recognized that the strain his lifestyle and his work had put on them had challenged her parents' marriage. Her mother had never thought him quite the hero that she did, and a lot of the time she was very angry at him. And India knew that his long absences had caused her mother a lot of heartache. It was why she was so nervous now about following in his footsteps, and why she had allowed Doug to force her to abandon a life, and a career, that meant so much to her. But just as her father had never been able to give up the drug of his work, and the passion he had for it, although she herself had sublimated it for so long, she had come back to it, and discovered all too easily in the past few days, how much she loved it. And she knew, as she took photographs of the children's ravaged faces and eyes and lives, that somehow she was making a difference. In exposing their pain to the world, through her camera and her own eyes, she was making sure that it could not so easily happen again. She was making people feel the agony of those children. It was precisely what her father had done with his work, and why he had won the Pulitzer. He deserved it.

It was her last night in London. She had finally finished the story, and she was leaving in the morning. She hadn't seen Paul while she'd been there, but in a way, she felt as though they'd spent the week together. They had discovered things about each other she had never said before, or dreamed about herself, or remotely guessed about him. He had been astonishingly open with her, about his dreams, his most private thoughts, and his years with Serena. And the portrait he painted of her taught India a great deal, not only about her, but about Paul, and what his needs were.

Serena had been powerful in so many ways, she had pushed and driven him further toward his immense success, and supported him when he had doubts about it. She had been a driving force, always right behind him. But she had rarely leaned on him herself, was leery of needing him too much, and although she'd been his closest friend, she was afraid of being too close to him or anyone, though Paul didn't seem to mind it. They had been partners, but she had never nurtured him or anyone the way India did with everyone around her. Paul had discovered in his new friend a never-ending source of warmth and tenderness and comfort. And the gentle hand she held out to him was one he trusted. In every possible way, the two women couldn't have been more different. And India's kindness to him was what seemed to keep him afloat now, just as his ever-present strength for her seemed to have become essential to her survival. The question was, for both of them, where did they go now?

He called late the night before she left, and he sounded lonelier than usual. “Will you call me when you go back?” Paul asked. She never had before. It had always been Paul who called her. But even he realized that it would be awkward to call her regularly in Westport.

“I'm not sure I can,” she said honestly, thinking about it, as she lay comfortably on her bed, in her cozy room at Claridge's. “I'm not sure Doug would understand it. I'm not even sure I do.” She smiled, wishing he would clarify it for her. But he couldn't. He was still far too steeped in his memories of his wife, to know what he wanted from India, if anything. What they both cherished from each other was their friendship. And even if Paul no longer was, India was after all still married.

“Can I call you there? Often, I mean …like now …?” he asked. They had both come to rely on their daily phone calls. After speaking to the children every night, she looked forward to their long conversations. But back in Westport, it would be different.

“I think so. You can call me during the day.” The time difference would work well for them, as long as he was still in Europe. And then she sighed, thinking of Doug, and what she owed him. “I guess I should feel guilty about talking to you. I wouldn't want Doug doing the same thing …talking to some woman….”

“But you wouldn't treat him the way he's treated you either, would you?” In fact, they both knew she hadn't.She had always been loving, supportive, kind, reasonable, and understanding. She had more than lived up to her half of the bargain, the “deal” Doug constantly spoke of. It was Doug who had let her down, by refusing to meet her needs or understand her feelings, and giving her so little warmth and comfort.

“He's not a bad man, Paul. … I was very happy for a long time. Maybe I just grew up or something. We were so busy for so long, with all the kids, or at least I was, I guess I stopped paying attention to what he was giving me, or wasn't. It never occurred to me to say, ‘Hey …wait … I need more than this … or ask him if he loved me. And now, it feels like it's too late. He's gotten away with giving me so little for so long, that he doesn't understand that I want more, for myself, and from him. He thinks I'm crazy.”

“You're not crazy, India. Far from it,” Paul reassured her. “Do you think you can get it back, to get what you want out of it again?”

“I don't know.” It was what she had asked herself over and over. “I just don't know. I don't think he hears me.

“He's a fool if he doesn't.” Paul knew that very clearly. She was a woman well worth keeping.

“Did you and Serena ever have problems like this?” He said funny things about her sometimes, about how demanding and difficult she had been, but he didn't seem to mind it.

“Not really. She didn't put up with much. When I stepped on her toes, she let me have it. And when I didn't give her enough, she told me. Serena made her needs very clear, and her expectations, and she set very clear limits. I guess that made it easy. I always knew where I stood with her. She taught me a lot about relationships. I made a real mess of it the first time. Kind of like Doug, probably even a little worse. I was so busy establishing myself and making money, I let the relationship go right down the tubes and never saw it. And I walked all over my wife while I did it. I told you, she still hates me. And I'm not so sure I blame her.” And then he laughed into the phone, thinking about it. “I think Serena trained me. I was pretty dumb before that.”

But if he had been, he no longer was. India knew by then that he was not only extremely sensitive, but also unusually perceptive and able to express his perceptions. And no matter what she explained to him, he always seemed to “get it.”

“The only trouble is,” he went on, “I can't imagine doing all that again, without Serena. It wasn't generic. It worked because of her, because of who she was, her powers and her magic. I don't think I could ever love another woman.” They were hard words to hear, but India believed him. “There will never be another person in my life like her.” Nor would he try to find one. He had decided that on the Sea Star.

“That may be true right now,” India said cautiously, thinking of him as he lay in his cabin, “but you don't know what the future will bring. You're not old enough to give all that up. Maybe in time, you'll feel differently and someone will come along who is important to you.” She wasn't pleading her own case, so much as pleading for him. It was impossible to think that, at fifty-seven, that aspect of his life was over. He was too young, too vital, too decent, and at the moment much too lonely.

“I know I couldn't do it,” he said firmly. But she knew that time might tell a different story.

“You don't have to think about that now,” India said gently. It was too soon for him to even think about another woman. And yet he was calling India every day, and they had become fast friends. And always somewhere, in the time they spent talking to each other, there was a hint of something else, something more, and despite the neutrality they claimed, they nonetheless reacted to each other as man and woman. But Paul insisted to himself, when he thought about it, that he wasn't in love with India, or pursuing her as a woman. They were friends, and he wanted to help her out of a difficult situation. He never said it quite so bluntly to her, but he thought her marriage was a disaster, and Doug a bastard. She was being exploited and ignored and used, and he was convinced that Doug didn't even care about her. If he did, he would have let her pursue her career, even helped her to do it. He would have cherished her, and supported her, and at least told her he loved her. Instead, he blackmailed and threatened her, and locked her up in an airless little box, for his own convenience. Paul had nothing but contempt for him. But in spite of that, he didn't want to put India in jeopardy when she went back, and he promised to be cautious when he called her.

“Can't you just tell him we're friends? That I'm sort of an adopted, self-appointed older brother?” She laughed at the suggestion, and Paul's naïveté. What man would understand that? And she knew that Doug viewed her as his possession. He didn't want another man using what was his, even if only for conversation and comfort.

“I know he wouldn't understand it.” And neither did she, because the undercurrent of what she felt from Paul was not what she knew she would have felt from a brother. There was far more to it than that, and she knew it. But Paul was in no way ready to face that. If nothing else, out of loyalty to Serena.

He had told her that week that he'd been having dreams about his wife, about being on the plane with her, crashing with her, and saving himself. And she was accusing him, in the dreams, of not trying to help her, and surviving when she hadn't. She blamed him, he said, for not going down with her. The psychological implications of the dreams were easy to decipher.

“Is that how you feel?” India had asked him. “That it's your fault she died?”

“I blame myself for not dying with her,” he said in a choked voice, and India knew he was crying.

“It's not your fault, Paul. You know that. It wasn't meant to happen.” He had a massive case of survivor guilt, for outliving her, which was part of why he was hiding on the Sea Star. But India knew, as he did, that sooner or later Paul would have to face it. Sooner or later, he'd have to go back to the world. But it was still too soon. She had only been gone for three months, and he just wasn't ready. But eventually he'd have to go back. He couldn't hide forever. “Give it time,” she always said gently.

“I'm never going to get over this, India,” he said stubbornly. “I know it.”

“You will, if you want to. What do you think Serena would say?”

“She'd kick my ass.” He laughed as he said it. “If she were in my shoes, she'd have sold the boat by now, bought a flat in London, a house in Paris, and be giving parties. She always told me not to count on her playing the grieving widow, if I died, so not to bother having a heart attack because I worked too hard. She said she would find it incredibly boring. I know she didn't mean all that, but she would have handled this much better than I have. I think she was probably stronger than I am.

But India knew he was strong too, he was just deeply attached to his wife, and the bonds were not easy to sever, not that he had to. She kept trying to tell him to take Serena with him, the good parts of her, the memories, the joys, the wit, the wisdom, the excitement they had shared, the happiness she'd given him. But he had not yet found a way to do that. And in the meantime, with India, he could find a warm place to hide, a hand to hold, and a gentle soul to give him comfort. In the past week alone, he had come to need her more than he would have admitted. And the thought of not being able to call her whenever he wanted to now was beginning to upset him. And knowing she was in enemy territory, he was going to be worried about her. But the enemy he feared for her was, in fact, her husband. And Paul was nothing. A voice on the phone. A man she had met a few times the previous summer. He was in no way prepared to be more than that to her. But whatever it was they had, or had found together, he wanted.

“I'll call you at lunchtime every day,” he promised. But that left a void over the weekends.

“I'll call you on the weekends,” she said, feeling faintly guilty. “Maybe I can get to a pay phone, when I take Sam to soccer or something.” There was something sneaky about it that disturbed her. But she didn't want her calls to him via the Satcom on their phone bill. And innocent as it was, she knew she couldn't explain this to her husband. It was the first secret pact she had made with anyone, the first clandestine thing she'd ever done, and yet when she questioned herself about it, she knew that it was different than Gail meeting men in motels. This was different.

They talked longer than usual that night, and they both sounded lonely when they finally ended the conversation. She felt as though she had spent her last evening in London with him. The inspectors she had worked with all week had invited her out, but she said she was too tired to go, and she was. She was happy staying in her hotel room and talking to Paul on the phone.

And she was surprised the next morning when he called just before she left the hotel. She had just finished closing her suitcase.

“I just wanted to say good-bye, and wish you a safe trip home,” he said, sounding a little sheepish. Sometimes, when he called her, he felt like a kid again, and in spite of himself, he liked it. “Say hi to Sam for me when you see him.” And then he wondered if she could do that, or if he would say something to his father. Theirs was certainly an odd situation. They were phone pals.

“Take care of yourself, Paul,” she said again. “And thank you …” He had given her so much support while she did her stories. He was the champion of her cause to go back to work, and it was thanks to his encouragement that she had finally done it.

“Don't forget to send me the pictures. I'll tell you where to send them.” He had addresses here and there to get his mail, and contracts and business papers sent to him from his office. “I can't wait to see them.”

They chatted for a few more minutes, and there was suddenly an odd moment of silence, as she looked out the window over the rooftops of London. “I'll miss you,” she said, so softly he almost didn't hear her. It was nice being in the same part of the world with him, even if she hadn't seen him. In Westport, she felt like she was on another planet. But at least she could call him.

“I miss you already,” he said, forgetting himself, and Serena. “Don't let anyone upset you.” They both knew who he meant, and she nodded.

“Don't be too hard on yourself …take it easy….”

“I will. You too. I'll call you on Monday.” It was Friday, and they had a whole weekend to get through, unless she called him from a pay phone. And she suddenly wondered if they could do it. After spending so much time on the phone every day while she was there, she couldn't help wondering what it would be like not to talk to him for a few days. It made her feel lonely just thinking about it.

She had to run to catch her plane then, and they hung up. And she thought about him all the way to the airport, and on the plane. She sat staring out the window for a long time, thinking about him, and the things he had said, about himself, and Serena. He was so sure that he would never love anyone again, and a part of her didn't believe that. Another part of her wondered if he was in love with her. But that was foolish. They were only friends. It was what she kept telling herself all the way back to the States. It didn't matter what she felt. It was exactly what he said and nothing more. A friendship.

Chapter 18

WHEN INDIA walked into the house at five-fifteen on Friday night, the kids were all in the kitchen, eating snacks, and playing and teasing each other, and the dog was barking. And just looking at them made it feel as though she had never left them. It made London seem like a dream, and the stories she'd covered unreal, and her friendship with Paul nonexistent. This was her life, her reality, her existence.

And the moment they saw her, Aimee let out a squeal, and Jason and Sam both ran toward her, as Jessica waved to her with a broad grin while holding the phone and chatting to one of her buddies. And suddenly she had her arms full of children, and she realized how much she'd missed them. Her life had seemed so grown-up for a week, so independent, so free, and it had been exciting. But this was even better.

“Wow! I missed you guys!” she said as she held them close to her, and then they broke free, and told her all at once what had happened all week. Sam had scored the winning goal at soccer, twice, Aimee had lost two more teeth, Jason had had his braces off, and according to them, Jessica had a new boyfriend. It was business as usual as she listened to them, and after ten minutes of celebrating her return, everyone went upstairs to do homework, call friends, or watch TV. By six o'clock it was as though she had never left them.

She took her suitcase upstairs and sat on the bed, looking around her bedroom. Nothing had changed. It was the same safe little world, and her children had survived her absence. So had she. In an odd way, it made the trip seem completely unreal, and like a figment of her imagination.

The only time it became a reality was when she saw Doug's face when he came home at seven. He looked like a storm cloud, and he barely managed to say hello to her before they sat down to dinner. The babysitter had stayed to help her, and had left before Doug came in. They were having steak and mashed potatoes and string beans, and even the kitchen looked tidy, as India went to kiss him. She was still wearing her traveling clothes, black wool pants and a warm sweater so she wouldn't be cold on the plane. And he turned away as she tried to kiss him. She hadn't talked to him since she left eight days before, the morning of Thanksgiving. Every time she had called, the kids had said he was out or busy, and he had never called her.

“How was your trip?” he asked formally as he sat down, and the children noticed the chill between them.

“It was great,” India said easily, and then she told them all about the wedding. The girls were particularly hungry for the details. But even Jason and Sam were impressed when she told them about the Kings and Queens and Prime Ministers, and that the President and First Lady had been there.

“Did you say hi from me?” Sam asked with a giggle.

“Of course I did,” India smiled at him, “and the President said, ‘Say hi to my friend Sam.’” But Sam laughed as she said it. They were all in good spirits, except Doug, who continued to look angry all through dinner.

And the dam finally broke when they got upstairs to their bedroom. “You seem to have enjoyed yourself,” he said accusingly. He could detect no remorse in her whatsoever. Worse yet, he could see no fear of the displeasure she had caused him, or the consequences it might lead to. But that had been Paul's gift to her. She felt more at ease in her own skin than she had in years, and even proud of what she'd accomplished. But watching Doug as he sat down and glared at her, she finally felt a little tremor.

“I did some good work over there,” she said quietly, but without apology. She was mostly sorry that he couldn't share the good feelings with her. “The children seem fine.” It was their common bond, the one thing they seemed to have left to cling to, since they no longer seemed to have each other. He still hadn't touched her, or put an arm around her, or kissed her. He was obviously much too angry.

“No thanks to you,” he said, referring to her comment about the children. “It's interesting that you're willing to do the same thing to them your father did to you. Have you thought of that at all this week?” He was trying to make her feel guilty, but thus far not succeeding.

“London for a week is not Da Nang for six months, or Cambodia for a year. That's very different.”

“Eventually, you'll work up to that, India. It's only a matter of time, I'm sure.” He was being incredibly nasty to her.

“No, it isn't. I'm very clear on what I'm willing to do.”

“Really, and what is that? Maybe you should tell me.

“Just an occasional assignment like this,” she said simply.

“It's all about your vanity, isn't it? And your ego. It's not enough to be here and take care of your children. You need to go out in the world and show off.” He made it sound like she was a stripper.

“I love what I do, Doug. And I love you, and the children. They're not mutually exclusive.”

“They might be. That's not entirely clear yet.” There was an obvious threat in what he was saying, and the way he said it made her angry. She was tired from her trip. It was two o'clock in the morning for her, and Doug had been rotten to her from the moment he saw her.

“What does that mean? Are you threatening me?” She was getting angry too as she listened to him.

“You knew the potential risk when you walked out on us on Thanksgiving.”

“I didn't ‘walk out on you,’ Doug. I made Thanks-giving dinner the night before I left, and the kids were fine with it.”

“Well, I wasn't, and you knew that.”

“It's not always about you, Doug.” That was what had changed between them. At least some of it had to be about her now. “Why can't you just let this go? I did it. The kids are fine. We survived it. It was a week out of our lives, and it was good for me. Can't you see that?” She was still struggling to make him hear her. But even if he heard, her happiness was of no interest to him.

“What I see is a lifestyle that doesn't suit me. That's the problem, India.” She saw, as she listened to him, that it was about controlling her. He was angry at what he saw as her insubordination and treason. But she didn't want to be controlled by him. She wanted him to love her. And she was beginning to think he didn't. She had thought that for a while now.

“I'm sorry you have to make this such a big deal. It doesn't have to be. Why not just live with it for a while and see what happens? If it gets too complicated, if it's too hard on the kids, if we really can't live with it, then let's talk about it.” She tried to reason with him but he didn't answer. What she had suggested was rational, but he wasn't. Without saying another word to her, he picked up a magazine and started reading, and that was the end of the conversation. She had been dismissed. As far as Doug was concerned, it wasn't even worth discussing it with her.

She unpacked her suitcase, went to bed, and wished she could have called Paul. But there was no way she could, and by then it was five o'clock in the morning for him, wherever he was, in Sicily, or Corsica, or beginning to make his way to Venice. He seemed part of another lifetime, a distant dream that would never be a reality for her. He was a voice on the phone. And Doug was what she had to contend with, and live with.

She took Sam to soccer the next day, and she and Doug successfully avoided speaking to each other for the rest of the weekend. She saw Gail, who talked about her Christmas shopping. And after India dropped Sam off, she took her film to Raoul Lopez in the city. They went to lunch and she filled him in on all the details. He was particularly excited about her second story, and knew it was explosive material. And on her way back from the city at four o'clock, she pulled out of the traffic and stopped at a gas station. She knew the Satcom number by heart, and had purchased twenty dollars in quarters at the airport the day before, for an opportunity like this one.

A British voice answered briskly at the other end. “Good evening, Sea Star.” She recognized him now as the chief steward, said hello to him, and asked for Paul. It was ten o'clock at night, and she suspected he was probably in his cabin, reading.

Paul came on the line very quickly, and sounded happy to hear her. “Hi, India. Where are you?”

She laughed before she answered as she looked around her. “Freezing to death in a pay phone at a gas station, on my way back to Westport. I had to drop off my film in the city.” It had just started snowing.

“Is everything all right?” He sounded worried.

“More or less. The kids are fine. I don't think they even missed me.” But it was so different for them than it had been for her as a child. She had been all alone with her mother. They had each other, and a happy stable life that she had carefully provided for them. “Doug hasn't spoken to me since I got home, except to tell me how rotten I was for going. Not much has changed here.” Nor would it, she was realizing. This barren landscape was her life now.

“How are the pictures?” He was always excited about her work, particularly about the stories she'd just done in London.

“I don't know yet. They didn't want me to develop them myself. Big magazines do their own lab work and editing. I'm out of the loop now.”

“When will they be out?”

“The wedding in a few days. Raoul has sold the prostitution ring photos to an international syndicate so it will be later in the month. How are you?” Her feet were getting numb in the cold, and her hand felt as though it were frozen to the phone, but she didn't care. She was happy to hear him. It was a warm, friendly voice in the darkness of her life at the moment.

“I'm fine. I was beginning to think you weren't going to call, and I was getting worried.” He had fantasized a warm, romantic reunion with her husband when she got home, and he was a little startled to realize that the thought of it unnerved him.

“I haven't stopped since I got back. I took Sam to soccer this morning, and I had to go into the city. Tonight, I'm taking the kids to the movies.” It was something to do while Doug ignored her. It would have been so much nicer to have dinner with him and tell him all about London, but there was no chance of that now. Instead she was calling Paul from a phone booth, just to have a sympathetic adult to talk to. “Where are you?”

“We just left Corsica, and we're heading south to the Straits of Messina, on our way back up to Venice.”

“I wish I were there with you,” she said, and meant it, and then wondered how it sounded. But it sounded good to him too. They would have talked all night, and played liar's dice, listened to music, and sailed all day. It was a lovely fantasy for both of them, but there were parts of it neither of them had come to terms with.

“I wish you were here too,” he said, sounding husky.

“Did you sleep all right last night?” Knowing of his trouble with that now, it was a question she always asked him, and it touched him.

“More or less.”

“Bad dreams again?” His survivor guilt haunted him, and his visions of Serena.

“Yeah, sort of.”

“Try warm milk.”

“I'd rather try sleeping pills, if I had some.” It was beginning to upset him. His nights had become one long restless battle, particularly lately.

“Don't do that. Try a warm bath, or go up on the bridge and sail for a while.”

“Yes, ma'am,” he teased her, happier than he wanted to be to hear her. “Are you freezing, India?” His voice sounded sexy and gentle.

“Yes,” she laughed, “but it's worth it.” There was something very odd about doing something so clandestine, and she hated to be so sneaky. But it was great to hear him, and she reminded herself as she listened to him, that their conversations were harmless. “It's snowing. I can't even think about the fact that Christmas is in four weeks. I haven't done anything about it.” And as soon as she said it, she was sorry. She knew Christmas would be an agony for him this year. He wasn't going to Saint Moritz, as he had every year with Serena.

“I'll bet Sam loves it,” he said calmly. “Does he still believe in Santa Claus?”

“More or less. I think he kind of doesn't, but he's afraid to take a chance, so he pretends he does, just to be on the safe side.” They both laughed, and then the operator came on the line and asked for more of her quarters. “I've got to go, I'm out of money,” she said regretfully.

“Call me whenever you want to. And I'll call you on Monday,” he confirmed. “And, India?” He seemed about to say something important, and she felt her heart skip a beat. There were times when she thought they were dancing close to the line now, and she didn't know what to do once they got there, or worse yet, crossed it.

“Yes?” she said bravely.

“Keep your chin up.” She smiled at what he'd said to her, both relieved and disappointed. They were still in safe territory, but she wondered if they would stay there forever. Sometimes it was more than a little confusing sorting out her feelings. She was married to a man who didn't seem to care about her, and calling a man thousands of miles away from a phone booth, and worried about how he was sleeping. In a weird, inexplicable way, it was like being married to two men, and having a real relationship with neither.

“I'll talk to you soon,” she said, as plumes of frosty steam curled into the frigid air in the phone booth.

“Thanks for calling,” he said warmly.

They both hung up and stood rooted to the spot for a long moment, she thinking of what she was doing now, going to these lengths to speak to him, and he encouraging her to do it. And as they both walked away from their phones, they were equally confused, and equally happy to have spoken to each other.

When she got back to Westport, everyone was waiting for her to start dinner, and they were arguing over what movie to go to. Doug was working on some papers he'd brought home, and didn't say a word to her, or ask her where she'd gone to. And looking at him, as he sat down to dinner next to her, she felt a shiver of guilt run through her. How would she have liked it, she asked herself, if Doug was calling women from pay phones? But it wasn't like that, she reassured herself. Paul was a friend, a confidant, a mentor. And the real issue, she realized, was not what Paul was providing in her life, but what Doug wasn't.

In the end, after grousing about it, Doug decided to come to the movies with them, and they went to one of those huge complexes, which showed nine different movies, and he and the boys went to something suitably violent, while she and the girls saw the latest Julia Roberts movie. And when they got home, everyone was happy and in good spirits.

All in all, despite the strain between her and Doug, it was a passably good weekend, as good as it ever was now. In order to survive the loneliness of her life, India found she had to apply different standards. As long as they didn't have any major fights, and he didn't threaten to leave her, it qualified as a decent weekend. Hardly a standard of perfection. And, as promised, Paul called her on Monday.

She told him about the movie she'd seen, Raoul's call that morning to tell her the magazines were ecstatic about her photographs, and she asked him how his dreams were. He said he had slept well the night before, and then told her Serena's new book would be out soon, the one with India's photograph of her on the back cover. And it made him sad to think about it. It was as though she were still there, when in fact she wasn't. And India nodded as she listened.

And after a while, she and Paul hung up,' after covering a variety of subjects. She picked up the kids that afternoon, and did some Christmas shopping. And for the next two weeks, Paul called every few days, to hear her news, and tell her where he was, and what he was thinking. He was beginning to dread Christmas, and he was talking more about Serena.

India's whole focus was on him when they talked, and on the children when she was with them. And she dealt with Doug as best she could, though he hadn't warmed up to her again since before Thanksgiving, and there might as well have been a glass wall between them in their bedroom. They saw each other, but never touched, or even approached each other. They had become nothing more than roommates.

India was still hoping to make the marriage work, but she had no idea how to do it. She was willing to make whatever concessions she had to, within reason. “Reason” for her now no longer included turning down all possible assignments. But maybe, with luck, they'd get through a peaceful Christmas. She hoped so, for the children.

She mentioned it to Gail once or twice, and looked as depressed about it as she felt. But other than an affair to boost India's spirits and spice things up, Gail couldn't think of anything to suggest to help them. And India still hadn't told her about her conversations with Paul. She had kept that as her darkest secret. Only she and Paul knew about it. It made them conspirators and allies.

She had just talked to him, in fact, on the day that Doug stormed into the house from a late train and asked her to come upstairs to their bedroom. She had no idea what had happened to make him so furious, as he set his briefcase on the bed, snapped it open viciously, and threw a magazine at her feet with a single brutal gesture.

“You lied to me!” he raged, as she stared at him un-comprehendingly. All she could think of were her calls to Paul, and she hadn't in fact lied. She just hadn't told him. But it was not her calls to Paul that had upset him. He knew nothing about him. “You told me you were going to London to cover a wedding” He pointed to the magazine lying at her feet, and she saw that he was shaking with rage over what he'd seen there.

“I did cover a wedding,” she said, looking surprised, and a little frightened. She had never seen him as furious in all the years she'd known him. “I showed you the pictures.” The story had come out the week before, and the photographs had been terrific. The children had loved them, but Doug had refused to even look at them.

“Then what's this?” he asked, picking the magazine up off the floor and waving it in her face, as she realized what had happened. The second story must have broken. She took the magazine from him, and looked at it, and nodded slowly.

“I did another story while I was there,” she said quietly, but her hands were shaking. They had broken the story earlier than she expected. She had been meaning to say something to him, but the right moment had never come, and now he was livid. It was obvious that he had gone right over the edge because of it, and not only because she did a story without telling him, but he was outraged by the subject.

“It's total smut. The worst garbage I've ever seen. How could you even take pictures like that and put your name on them? It's sheer pornography, absolute filth, and you know it! It's disgusting!”

“It is disgusting. It was terrible …but there was nothing pornographic about the pictures. It's a story about abused children. I wanted people to feel exactly what you do, about what happened to them. I wanted people to feel sick and outraged. That's the whole point of what I was doing.” He had in fact proven that she'd done a good job with it, but he was not outraged at the perpetrators, he was incensed at her for covering the story. His point of view was more than a little twisted.

“I think you're twisted to have had any part of it, India. Think of your own children, how will they feel when they know you covered this? They're going to be as ashamed of you as I am.” She had never realized how narrow he was, how limited, and how archaic. It was depressing to hear him say it.

“I hope not,” she said quietly. “I hope they understand, if you don't, that I wanted to help, to stop a terrible crime from happening again. That's what my work is about, not just taking pretty pictures at weddings. In fact, this is a lot more up my alley than covering a wedding.”

“I think you're a very sick person,” he said coldly.

“I think our marriage is much sicker than I am, Doug. I don't understand your reaction.”

“You deceived me. I would never have let you go over there to do this, which is undoubtedly why you didn't tell me. India, you were deceitful.”

“For chrissake, Doug. Grow up. There's a real world out there full of dangers and tragedies and terrible people. If no one exposes them, what's going to stop those people from hurting me, or you, or our children? Don't you understand that?”

“All I understand is that you lied to me in order to take photographs of a lot of filth and teenage prostitutes and revolting old men. If that's what you want in your life, India, fine, go for it. But I want no part of it, or of you, if this is the world you want to live in.”

“I've been getting that message loud and clear from you,” she said, looking at him with disbelief. There was no pride, no praise, no recognition of what she might have accomplished with her story. She hadn't even seen it, but she knew that if it had elicited this reaction from him, it must have been as powerful as she had intended. “I thought you'd get over it, maybe even ‘forgive’ me for wanting to have a little more in my life than just picking Sam up at soccer, but I'm beginning to think it is going to go on forever like this, with you punishing me for what you perceive as my many offenses.”

“You're not the woman I married, India,” he accused, as she looked at him with sorrow.

“Yes, I am, Doug. That's exactly who I am. I haven't been that person in a long time. I've only been the person you wanted me to become. And I tried. God knows I tried. But I think I could be both people, the one you want, and the one I've always been, the one I was before I was your wife. But you won't let me. All you want to do is kill that person. All you want is what you can make me.

“I want what you owe me,” he said. And for the first time in seventeen years, after what he'd just said to her, she felt she owed him nothing.

“I don't owe you anything, Doug, any more than you owe me. All we owe each other is to be good to our children, and make each other happy. Neither of us owes the other a life of misery, or of forcing each other into being something we can't be, or worse yet, depriving each other of something that makes us feel better, as human beings. What kind of a ‘deal’ is that? Not a very good one.” She said it with a look of grief, and everything about the way she stood there and looked at him said she felt defeated.

“I'm getting out of here,” he said, looking at her furiously. He was enraged by everything she had said to him, as well as the article she'd done in London. She had been making him miserable for the last six months, and he was sick and tired of it. As far as he was concerned, she had broken every contract she had ever made with him when they married. “I've had it up to here with your bullshit,” he said, as he pulled a suitcase out of the top of his closet, threw it on the bed, and started throwing things in it. He wasn't even looking at what he was packing, he was just throwing in handfuls of ties, loose socks, and whatever underwear he found in his drawers without caring what it looked like.

“Are you divorcing me?” she asked miserably. It was a hell of a time of year to do it. But there never was a good one.

“I don't know yet,” he said, as he snapped his suitcase shut. “I'm going to stay in a hotel in the city. At least I won't have to do that goddamn commute every day, and then come home to listen to you bitch about your career and how unfair I'm being to you. Why did you even bother to get married?”

With a handful of words he had cast aside the years she had devoted tirelessly to him and their children. With a single gesture he was willing to throw away seventeen years of their marriage. But she had no idea what to do now to stop him, or change things. She just couldn't give up everything to please him. In the end, it would do just as much harm as what he was doing now. And she didn't entirely disagree with him. The last six months had been a nightmare.

He stomped down the stairs and out the front door without saying a word to her, or the children watching TV in the living room. And he slammed the door as hard as he could behind him. India looked out the window and saw him drive away, and she could see it had started snowing. Tears rolled slowly down her cheeks as she picked up the magazine he had left on the floor. She sat down heavily in a chair, and looked at it, and realized as she did, that it was the best thing she'd ever done, and made the Harlem child abuse story look like a fairy tale in comparison. This one was brutal. And everything those children had been through showed in their eyes and on their faces. And as she went from page to page, all India could think was that she was glad she'd done it. No matter what Doug thought.

It was a long, lonely night for her, thinking of Doug, and wondering where he was. He had never called to tell her what hotel he had decided to stay in. She lay awake, and thought about him all night, and everything that had happened since June. It was beginning to look like a mountain the size of Everest that stood between them, and she had no idea how to scale it.

At three o'clock, she rolled over and looked at the clock again, and realized that it was already nine in the morning in Venice. And with a rock still sitting on her heart, she dialed and asked for Paul, and was relieved when she heard him.

“Are you okay?” he asked, sounding worried. “You sound awful. Are you sick, India?”

“Sort of.” She started to cry as soon as she said it. It was odd calling him about Doug, but she needed a shoulder to cry on. And she could hardly call Gail at three o'clock in the morning in Westport. “Doug walked out on me tonight. On us. He's staying at a hotel in the city.”

“What happened?”

“That story on the kids in London broke. It's beautiful. The best thing I ever did. He thought it was disgusting, he called it pornography, and said I was sick to cover something like that, and he wants no part of me as a result. He said I lied to him about doing the story. I did,” she sighed, “but if I had told him the truth, he wouldn't have let me do it. And Paul, it's terrific. Even after all this, I'm glad I did it.”

“I'll go to one of the hotels here today to get it.” It was in an international publication and he was sure he could find it. “I want to see it.” And then he addressed her immediate problem. “What are you going to do about your husband?”

“I don't know. Wait. See what he does. I don't know what to tell the kids. If he calms down, it seems stupid to upset them. If he doesn't, they'll have to know sooner or later.” And then she started crying again. “It's only nine days till Christmas…. Why did he have to do this now? It's going to ruin their Christmas.”

“He did it because he's a son of a bitch,” Paul said in a voice India had never heard him use before, “and he's been hurting you ever since the day I met you. I don't know what it was like before, India. But I'd be willing to bet that the only reason it worked for so long is because you made all the concessions.” She had only recently begun to see that. “He's been a total shit to you ever since last summer, from what you said. And just what I've heard in the last few months should be enough to make you walk out on him, never mind what he wants.” He was absolutely furious at what she'd told him. “You did something very important with that story and you know it. You're an incredible human being, a great mother, and I'm sure you've been a good wife to him. He has no right to be such a bastard to you. You're a decent, talented, nice person, and he doesn't deserve you.”

India felt as though she'd watched an express train roar by as she listened. Paul was livid. “I'm tired of listening to you tell me stories about how he hurts you. He has no right to do that. Maybe he did the right thing today. Maybe in the long run, it will be a blessing for you and the children.” But she wasn't sure yet. She was still feeling the shock and the loss and the shame of what Doug had told her. She would never forget the look on his face as he stormed out of their bedroom.

“India,” Paul went on then, “I want you to hear me. You're going to be okay. You're going to be just fine. You have your kids, and your work. And he'll have to support you. You're not going to be abandoned. This is not like when your father died. This is very different.” He knew from her that her father hadn't left them a dime when he died, he had nothing, and her mother had had to take extra jobs to make ends meet. She never complained, but they had been frightened for a long time about literally starving.

“You're not going to starve. Your kids are going to be okay, and so are you, and you have each other.” But if Doug left, she would no longer have a husband. And for nearly twenty years now, her identity had been entirely tied up with him. She felt as though a part of her had just been torn away, and she was left with a gaping wound now, no matter how unhappy he had made her. This wasn't going to be easy either. It might even have been easier to give up her career, and shrivel up and die inside, doing what he told her, she told herself. But even she knew she didn't believe that. She was just scared now. But Paul was helping. Even his anger at Doug put things into sharper focus for her.

It also made her wonder for a moment if Paul was going to be there for her. But he had said nothing about that. They talked to each other almost every day, about everything that crossed their minds, and shared their most hidden secrets, but nothing had ever been said between them about the future. And this hardly seemed the time to ask him.

“Do you know where he is?” Paul asked, as she blew her nose.

“I have no idea. He never called to tell me.”

“He will eventually. Maybe this is for the best. I think you should call a lawyer.” But she didn't feel ready to do that. There was still a chance that Doug would calm down and come back, and they could still limp hand in hand into the future. “Can you get some sleep?” he asked sympathetically. He wished he were there to comfort her. She sounded like a frightened child as he listened to her.

“I don't think so.” It was already four o'clock in the morning.

“Try, before the kids get up. I'll call you in the morning.”

“Thanks, Paul,” she said, as tears filled her eyes again. She was still feeling overwhelmed by everything that had happened, but he understood that.

“Everything's going to be all right,” he told her, sounding confident. He had the confidence for her that he no longer had for his own life.

After they hung up, she lay in bed for a while, thinking about him, and about Doug, and everything that had happened in the past six months. And all she could think of in the dark of night was that she was going to be alone now.

And on the boat, Paul was staring unhappily out to sea, thinking of her and the constant abuse she was taking from Doug. He was sick of it on her behalf, wished he could say as much to Doug, and tell him never to come near her again. But he knew he had no right to do that.

He took the tender out after a while, and went to the Cipriani, and found the magazine her photos were in. He stood and looked at them in the lobby. They were sensational, and if Doug objected to them, as far as Paul was concerned, he was crazy. Paul couldn't have been more proud of her, and he called her at nine o'clock, her time, to tell her.

“You really like them?” she asked, sounding incredulous and pleased. Doug still hadn't called, and she was standing barefoot in her nightgown in the kitchen, making coffee. The kids were still sleeping.

“I've never seen anything so moving or so impressive. You made me cry when I read it.”

“Me too,” she admitted. But all Doug had seen was the sleaziness of the prostitution ring and somehow associated India with it.

“Did you get any sleep?” he asked, still sounding worried.

“Not much. About an hour. I fell asleep around seven.”

“Try and take a nap today. And give yourself a big pat on the back from me, for this story.”

“Thank you,” she said. They talked for a few more minutes, and then hung up. Raoul called her a little later, and said essentially the same thing Paul had about the story.

“If you don't win a Pulitzer for this, India, I'll invent a new prize for you myself. This is the most powerful thing I've ever seen in pictures.”

“Thank you.”

“What did your husband say?” he asked, sure that this would finally convince him to let her do the work she was so good at, and that meant so much to her.

“He left me.”

There was a long pause as Raoul listened. “You're kidding, right?”

“No, I'm not. He walked out last night. I told you, he means business.”

“He's crazy. He should be carrying you around on his shoulders.”

“Not exactly.”

“I'm sorry, India.” He sounded as though he meant it. He had always liked her, and never had understood her husband's position about her working.

“Me too,” she said sadly.

“Maybe he'll come back after he calms down.”

“I hope so,” she said, but she no longer knew what she did hope. And Paul was slowly becoming part of an ever more tangled picture. She no longer knew if she wanted to fix it with Doug, or dare to believe that somehow, somewhere, she and Paul would manage to crawl through their respective griefs and manage to find each other. The hope of that, slim as it was, was becoming increasingly appealing. But he had never made any indication to her that that was even a remote possibility, and most of the time, she was fairly sure it wasn't. She couldn't leave a seventeen-year marriage for a vague fantasy she had about a man who swore he would never again have a woman in his life, and was determined to spend the rest of his life hiding on a sailboat. Whatever it was she had with Paul meant a great deal to her, but it was only a slim reed to hang on to. And in truth, it was more friendship than romance.

After she talked to Raoul, she and the children managed to get through the day, and she told them that Doug had had to go out of town on business to see clients. She never heard from him all weekend or from Paul again, and on Monday morning, she called Doug at the office.

“How are you?” she asked bleakly.

“I still feel the same way, if that's what you're asking,” he said tersely. “Nothing's going to change, India, unless you do.” And they were both beginning to realize that was unlikely.

“Where does that leave us?”

“In pretty deep water, if you ask me,” Doug said unsympathetically.

“That's a pretty tough thing to do to the kids over Christmas. Don't you think we could at least put this aside until after the holidays, and then try to resolve it?” It was a reasonable solution, if not to the problem, then at least to not ruining Christmas for the children.

“I'll think about it,” he answered, and then told her he had to meet with clients. He had told her the hotel where he was staying, and she didn't hear from him for the next two days. And on Wednesday he called her, and agreed to come back, at least through Christmas. “For the kids' sake.” But he made no apology to her, and held out no olive branch, and she guessed correctly that his return to the house would be extremely stressful.

She talked to Paul every day that week. He called her most of the time, but she called him occasionally for moral support, and on Friday night, a week after he had left, Doug returned to Westport. It was only four days before Christmas, and the kids were beginning to wonder why he had been gone since the previous weekend. The excuse that he had to see clients had been wearing thin, and they all seemed pleased to see him.

But Doug's return complicated things for India. It made it impossible for Paul to call her again, but she went to a phone booth every day over the weekend. On Monday, it was Christmas Eve, and on her way home from the grocery store, she called Paul collect from a pay phone. He sounded as depressed as she was. He was keening for Serena. And she was miserable with Doug. He had devoted himself to making the holidays as difficult as he could for her, and she just hoped they made it through Christmas, for the children.

“We're a mess, aren't we?” Paul smiled wistfully as he talked to her. Even being on the boat no longer cheered him. He just kept sifting through his memories, and had even gone through some of the things she had left in their cabin. “I still can't believe she's gone,” he said to India, sounding bereft. And she still couldn't believe she was about to lose her marriage. It was hard to understand how lives got so screwed up, how people made such a mess of things. Paul, of course, didn't have to blame himself, or feel it was his fault. But India still wondered in her own case. Doug was so willing to blame her for everything, that at times she actually believed him.

“Are you going to do anything nice over the holidays?” she asked, wishing she could think of something to cheer him. But staying on the boat, as he did, she hadn't even been able to send him a present. She had written him a silly poem, and faxed it to the boat that morning from the post office, and he'd said he loved it. But that didn't solve their larger problems. “Are you going to church?” Venice certainly seemed a good place to do that.

“God and I are having a little problem these days, I don't believe in Him, and He doesn't believe in me. For the moment, it's a standoff.”

“It might just be pretty and make you feel good,” she suggested, stamping her feet in the freezing cold in the outdoor phone booth.

“It's more likely to make me angry, and feel worse,” he said, sounding stubborn. In his opinion, if there was a God, he wouldn't have lost Serena, and India didn't want to argue with him about religion. “What about you? Do you go to church on Christmas Eve?”

“We do. We go to midnight mass and take the children.”

“Doug should be doing some serious soul searching for the way he's been treating you in the last six months.” Not to mention before that. And then, out of the blue, “I miss her so much, India, I can't stand it. Sometimes I think that the sheer pain of it is going to blow me to bits, I feel like it's going to rip my chest out.”

“Just keep thinking of what she would have said to you. Don't forget that. Listen to her …she wouldn't want you to feel like this forever.” And he wouldn't, but right now was the worst. She had been gone for less than four months, and it was Christmas. India felt helpless in the face of his agony, and at this distance. If they were together, at least she might have been able to put her arms around him, and hug him. That might have been something. But Paul couldn't even find solace in India's words now.

“Serena always had more guts than I did.”

“No, she didn't. You were pretty evenly matched in that way, I suspect,” India said firmly. “You can take it, if you have to. You have no choice now. You just have to get through it. There's a light at the end of that tunnel somewhere,” she said, trying to make him hold on for as long as he had to. She would have liked to tell him that she would be there for him, but who knew what was going to happen to them. Nothing was sure now.

“What about you? What light do you see at the end of your tunnel?” He sounded more depressed than she had ever heard him.

“I don't know yet. I'm not that far. I just hope there is one.”

“There will be. You'll find what you want at some point.” Would she? She was beginning to wonder, and he did not seem to want to volunteer to be there for her either. At this point, he still felt he couldn't. He was still looking back, at Serena. And then he startled India completely with what he did say. “I wish I could tell you I'd be there for you, India. I wish I could be. But I know I won't be. I'm not going to be the light at the end of the tunnel for you. I can't even be there for myself anymore, let alone for someone else.” Let alone a woman fourteen years younger than he, with a whole life ahead of her, and four young children to take care of. He had thought of it more than once, and no matter how fond he was of her, or how much they needed each other now, he knew that in the long run he had nothing to give her. He had already come to that conclusion. Only that morning, in fact, as he stood looking out at Saint Mark's Square, from the Sea Star. “I have nothing left to give anyone,” he went on. “I gave it all to Serena.”

“I understand,” India said quietly. “It's all right. I don't expect anything from you, Paul. All we can do is be here for each other as friends right now. Hopefully, later on, we'll both be in a better place to make it on our own.” But right then, they were both acutely aware that they needed each other's hand to get over the rough places they were facing. But he had certainly made himself clear to her. He would not be at the end of the tunnel for her. He didn't want to be there. It was a taste of reality for her, and left her few illusions. It was not what she had been hoping for, whether she had faced it or not, but it was honest. Paul was always honest with her.

They talked for a little while longer, and finally she knew she had to go home. She was frozen to the bone by then anyway, and it had not been a happy conversation. And with tears in her eyes, she wished him a Merry Christmas.

“You too, India …” he said sadly. “I hope next year is better for both of us. We both deserve it.”

And then, for no sane reason she could fathom given what he'd said to her, she wanted to tell him that she loved him, but she didn't. That would have been crazy. But it was something they both needed, and had too little of, except from each other. The words remained unsaid, but the gifts they had given each other, of time and caring and tenderness, spoke for themselves, whether or not they heard them, or chose to.

She went back home after her call, with a heavy heart. He had told her what she had been wondering for months, and didn't want to hear, but at least she couldn't fool herself now about what might happen someday, or what she meant to him. It was precisely what she had told herself it was, nothing more than an extraordinary friendship. She could not use him as a safety net into which to leap from her burning marriage. And in her heart of hearts, she knew he was right not to be that.

She and Doug went to midnight mass, as they always did, and took all four children with them. And when they got home, she put the last presents under the tree, while Sam put out cookies for Santa, and carrots and salt for the reindeer. The others were good sports about leaving him his illusions.

And in the morning, there were squeals of delight as they opened their gifts. She had chosen them carefully and spent a lot of time on it, and even Doug was pleased with what she gave him. She gave him a new blazer, which he needed desperately, and a handsome new leather briefcase. The gifts were without fantasy, but they suited him to perfection, and genuinely pleased him. And he had given her a plain gold bracelet, which she also liked. What she didn't like was the continuing atmosphere of hostility between them.

The cease-fire between them was brief, and by that night, she could sense the tension increasing, when they retreated to their bedroom. And she was afraid that he was going to leave again now that Christmas was behind them. But when she brought the subject up, somewhat anxiously, he said he had decided to stay until after New Year's. He was taking the week off between the holidays, which she thought might help, but in fact it made things worse and they seemed to be fighting daily.

She went out to call Paul whenever she could, but she missed him a couple of times when he was off the boat, and she had told him he couldn't call her until after New Year's.

And it was just after New Year's in fact when Doug walked into the kitchen carrying an envelope, with his face as white as the paper he held, and his dark eyes blazing. He had just picked their mail up, and he stood in front of her, while she was folding towels, and waved the envelope in her face. It looked like their phone bill.

“Just exactly what is this?” he said, almost too enraged to speak as he threw it at her.

“It looks like our phone bill.” She wondered if it was too high, and then suddenly she remembered with a sense of panic. She had called Paul several times from home during the week Doug had left her.

“You're damn right it is,” he said, pacing around the room like a lion. “Is that what all this was about? Is that it? It had nothing to do with your ‘career,’ did it, all this crap for all these months? How long have you been sleeping with him, India? Ever since the summer?”

She picked the bill up and looked at it. There were five calls to the Sea Star.

“I'm not sleeping with him, Doug. We're friends,” she said quietly, but her heart was pounding. How could she ever explain it to him? It was obvious what it looked like, and she wasn't sure she blamed him. But it truly was nothing more than a friendship. Even Paul had confirmed it. “I was upset. You had walked out on me. He's called a couple of times to talk about his wife. He knows I liked her. He's desperately unhappy. That's all it is. Two unhappy people crying on each other's shoulders.” It was embarrassing to admit, but in truth there wasn't a lot more to tell him.

“I don't believe you,” Doug said with utter fury. “I think you've been sleeping with him since last summer.”

“That's not true, and you know it. If I were, I wouldn't be as upset about us, or trying so hard to get through to you.”

“Bullshit. All you've done is fight for your ‘career,’ so you could dump me and the kids and get out of here. Did you meet him in London?”

“Of course not,” she said calmly, although she didn't feel it. She felt sad and afraid and somewhat guilty. It was as though the last shred of what was left between them had just gone up in smoke. There was nothing left to fight for. It was hopeless.

“Did he call you?”

“Yes, he did,” she said honestly.

“What do you do? Have sex on the phone with him? Some kind of kinky disgusting kicks that turn you both on?” The image he painted for her made her shudder.

“No, he cries about his wife. And I cry about you. It's not exactly sexy.”

“You're both sick, and you deserve each other.” She wished she did, but unfortunately, that was not the case either. “I'm not going to put up with this, India. I've had it. You're of no use to me, and you'll be of no use to him either. You're a lousy wife, and a lousy lover,” he threw in for good measure, though she wasn't even sure why he did it, except maybe to hurt her. “All you're interested in is your career, that's all you care about now. Well, India, you've got it.” And as though to punctuate his words and the plummeting of her heart, the phone rang. She picked it up, praying it wasn't Paul, to make matters still worse, but it wasn't. It was Raoul, and he sounded excited. She told him she couldn't talk just now, but he insisted she had to, and she saw that Doug was watching, and she was afraid he would think it was Paul, so she let him tell her what he wanted.

He had an assignment for her, right here in the States. In Montana. It was about a religious cult that had cropped up and seemingly gone berserk. They were laying siege, holding hostages, and the FBI was camped around them. There were over a hundred people involved, at least half of them children.

“This is going to be a biggie, India,” Raoul promised, as she listened.

“I can't do it now.”

“You have to. The magazine wants you. I wouldn't call you if it wasn't important. Do you want it or not?”

“Can I call you back? I'm talking to my husband.”

“Oh shit. Is he back? All right, call me back in the next two hours. I have to give them an answer.”

“Tell them I can't, and I'm sorry.” She was definite this time. She didn't want to add any fuel to the fire Doug had just set, using their marriage as kindling.

“Call me back,” Raoul insisted.

“I'll try,” was all she'd promise.

“Who was that?” Doug asked, looking suspicious.

“Raoul Lopez.”

“What did he want?”

“He has an assignment, in Montana. I told him I can't take it. You heard me.”

“What difference does it make now, India? It's over.” He said it with such venom that this time she knew he meant it. “I've had it. I'm finished. You're not the woman I married, or the one I want. I don't want to be married to you anymore. It's as simple as that. You can tell Raoul, or Paul Ward, or anyone you want to. I'm calling my lawyer on Monday.”

“You can't do that,” she said, with tears in her eyes, begging for mercy.

“Yes, I can, and I'm going to. Go do your story.”

“Right now that's not important.”

“Yes, it is. You were willing to fuck up our marriage for that, India, now go get it. It's what you wanted.”

“It shouldn't have been a choice. I could have done both.”

“Not married to me, you couldn't.”

But suddenly, being married to him wasn't an option she wanted. Just looking at him, staring at her angrily, she knew he didn't love her. And as painful as it was to realize, she knew it was something she had to face now. And as she saw it in his eyes, all the fight went out of her, and she turned and left him standing alone with their laundry.

She grabbed her coat and went outside, and took a deep breath of the cold air, feeling it sear her lungs. She felt as though her heart were breaking, and yet at the same time she knew that, as terrifying as it was to her, she had to be free now. She couldn't live with his threats anymore, or her terror that he would abandon her, she couldn't live with the mantle of guilt he tried to make her wear, or the constant accusations. She just couldn't do it. She had to let him take it all from her, and leave her to stand alone naked. She had nothing but her children now, her camera, her life, her freedom. And the marriage she had cherished for so long, clung to and hung on to, and tried to fight for, was dead and gone. It was as dead as Serena. And as she had told Paul about his own life, all she had to do now was hang on, be strong, and live through it.

Chapter 19

INDIA TURNED down the story in Montana after all, and instead she and Doug told the children they were separating. It was the worst day in her life, and one she hated herself for. This was something she had never wanted to do to them, just as she had never wanted to lose her father. She knew it would change their lives, as it would hers, and yet at the same time, she knew that, because she loved them, they would survive it.

“You mean you and Dad are divorcing}” Sam asked with a look of horror, and she wanted to rip her heart out. But Doug had done it for her.

“Yeah, stupid, what do you think they've just been saying?', Aimee said, choking on a sob, looking daggers at her parents. She hated them both for destroying the perfect life she'd had. They had destroyed all her illusions in a single instant.

Jason said nothing at all, but ran to his room and slammed the door, and when they saw him again, with red, swollen eyes, he pretended nothing had happened.

But at the end of their explanations to them, Jessica turned on her mother. “I hate you,” she said viciously. “This is all your fault, with your stupid magazines and stupid pictures. I heard you fighting with Daddy about it. Why did you have to do that?” She was sobbing and childlike, and had lost all her grown-up airs in an instant.

“Because it's important to me, it's part of who I am, Jess, and I need to do it,” India tried to explain. “It's not as important to me as you are, or Dad, but it meant a lot to me and I hoped that Daddy would understand it.”

“I think you're stupid, both of you!” she shouted, and then ran upstairs to her own room, to lie on her bed and sob, while India wished she could explain it to her. But how did you tell a fourteen-year-old that you no longer loved her father? That he had broken your heart, and destroyed something inside you? She wasn't sure she even understood it.

And then Sam came to sit in her lap and sobbed. He cried for hours, shaking piteously as she held him.

“Will we still see Dad?” he asked, sounding heartbroken.

“Of course you will,” she said, the tears on her own cheeks flowing like rivers. She would have liked to take it all back, to tell them it wasn't true, to make it never have happened. But it had. There was no turning back. Now they all had to face it.

No one wanted to eat after that, but she made them all chicken soup for dinner. And while she was cleaning up, Sam wandered back into the kitchen, looking stricken.

“Dad says you have a boyfriend. Is that true?” India looked horrified as she turned to face him.

“Of course not.”

“He said it was Paul. Is that true, Mom?” He needed to know, and she understood that. It had been a vicious thing for Doug to do. But nothing surprised her.

“No, it's not true, sweetheart.”

“Then why did Daddy say that?” He wanted to believe her.

“Because he's angry, and hurt. We both are. Grownups say stupid things. Sometimes when they're upset. I haven't seen Paul since you did last summer.” She didn't tell him she had talked to him. He didn't need to know that. And in any case, he wasn't her boyfriend. He was never going to be an issue in Sam's life, except as a friend, and fellow sailor. “I'm sorry Daddy said that to you. Don't worry about it.”

But what she said to Doug that night was a great deal stronger. She accused him of using their children to hurt her, and told him that if he ever did it again, he'd regret it.

“It's the truth, isn't it?”

“No, it's not, and you know it. It's too easy to blame this on someone else. This is our doing, we screwed this up, no one helped us. You can't blame a man I talked to on the phone, no matter how often I talked to him, or didn't. If you want to know who's responsible for this, go look in the mirror.”

Doug left the house with his bags packed the next morning. He said he was going to find an apartment in the city. And he told her that once he got settled, he wanted to see the kids on the weekends. And suddenly she realized how many things they'd have to work out, how often he saw the kids, and when and where, if she got to keep the house, what he was going to pay her for child support. Suddenly she realized how totally all their lives would be affected.

She stayed home and cried for five days after he left, mourning what she had had with him, and what she had lost. And sensing the distress she was in, Paul kept a discreet distance, and didn't call her.

She finally called him a week after Doug had left, and talked to him for a long time about the children. They were still upset, and Jessica was still furious with her, but the others seemed to be adjusting. Sam was sad, but Doug had come out to visit them, and took them out for lunch and a movie on Sunday. She had asked him if he wanted to come in when he dropped them off, just to talk, but he had looked at her as though she were a stranger.

“I have nothing to say to you, India. Do you have a lawyer yet?” She had told him she hadn't. She hadn't felt ready to face that. But from everything Doug said to her, she knew it was over. Part of her wanted it to be, wanted to get away from the constant agony of it, and part of her still mourned the good years they had had together. She knew it would take her a long time to get over it, just as it was taking Paul time to get over Serena. And he understood that.

He was back in the south of France by then, in Cap d'Antibes, and he started calling every day again. And little by little through the weeks of January, she started to feel better. And Gail gave her the name of a divorce attorney. She still couldn't believe what had happened to them.

“What do you think did it?” Gail asked her one morning in early February over cappuccino.

“Everything,” India said honestly. “Time. Doug wanting me not to go back to work. His refusing to hear what I was feeling. My refusing to do what he wanted. Looking back at it now, I'm surprised we lasted this long.”

“I always figured you two were a sure thing forever.”

“So did I,” India said, smiling wistfully at her. “But those are the ones you have to watch out for. The perfect marriages we all believe in just aren't. It only worked as long as I played by his rules. As soon as I rocked the boat a little bit, and tried to add some of mine, it was all over.”

“Are you sorry? Sorry that you rocked the boat, I mean?”

“Sometimes. It would have been easier not to do it, but after a while, I couldn't. I needed more than he was willing to give me. I see that now. And this is pretty scary.” The kids were her responsibility now. There was no one to be there for her, to come home to her at night, to care if she got sick, or broke a leg, or died. She had no parents, no siblings, no family, other than her children. But listening to her put Gail's own marriage into question. It hadn't been good for years, but she had never seriously thought about leaving her husband, even if she liked complaining about him. The weird part was that for India, everything had seemed fine, and then all of a sudden it wasn't. And it was over.

“What are you going to do now? Will you sell the house?” Gail looked worried for her.

“Doug says I don't have to. He can afford to let me stay here. I can stay in it until the kids grow up, or go to college, and then we can sell it. Or before that, if I get married,” she grinned at Gail ruefully. “I don't think that's likely, unless Dan Lewison asks me out.” There wasn't a soul in Westport she wanted to go out with. And all of the men Gail was seeing on the sly were married.

“You've got a lot of courage,” Gail said with admiration. “I've bitched about Jeff for years, and I'm not even sure I like him. But I don't think I could do this.”

“Yes, you could, if you had to. If you knew you had more to lose if you didn't. That's what happened to me. You probably love Jeff more than you think, you just don't want to admit it.”

“Listening to you talk about the kids, the house, alimony, vacations, I may go home tonight and kiss him,” Gail said, with a look of terror. And India smiled at her.

“Maybe you should.” But she no longer regretted what had happened. She knew it was for the best now. As scary as it was for her, and it had been, in a funny way, she knew it was what she wanted. And if nothing else, she had freedom. She had all the responsibility of the children, but she knew she could organize it so she could take some local assignments.

Raoul sent her on one in Washington in February. It was an interview with the First Lady. It wasn't as exciting as a war zone, but it was close to home, and it kept her hand in. And then she did another story about a coal mine in Kentucky. She had no time for any social life but by then, Doug had an apartment, and according to Gail, who had heard it on the grapevine, a girlfriend. He hadn't wasted much time, and had started seeing her a month after he left home. She was divorced and had two kids, and lived in Greenwich. She had never worked, talked too much, had great legs, and was very pretty. Three of Gail's friends knew her and made a point to tell her everything so it would get back to India. They thought she should have the information.

Paul still called her every day, and he was finally beginning to sound better. He still had bad dreams, but he had regained his sense of humor, and he was starting to talk about business. And although he wouldn't admit it, India suspected that he missed it. Serena had been gone for six months by then, and although India knew he still missed her desperately, he was starting to tell some of the funnier stories about her, about the outrageous things she'd done, the people she had insulted brilliantly, and the vendettas she had engaged in. They painted her in a less saintly light than the things he had said about her before that. And it indicated he hadn't entirely lost his perspective about her. But what also showed, each time they spoke, was how much he still loved her.

He had been a huge support to India once Doug was gone, and he always said she was better off, and when she was down, he had trouble seeing why she missed him. The fact that she had been married to Doug for longer than he had known his wife, somehow escaped him. He thought Doug was a bastard and India was well rid of him, and he was hard put to see why she was sometimes sad about it. It was hard for him to under-stand that she had not only lost a husband, but a life, and all the trappings that went with it, just as he had.

In early March he was still on the Sea Star, but she was beginning to think he sounded restless. She knew his moods by then, his quirks, his needs, his terrors, and his pet peeves. In an odd way sometimes it almost felt as though they were married. They knew so much about each other. And he knew all the same things about her. But he still insisted, when they talked about it, that he was never going to be the light at the end of the tunnel for her. He would always be there for her, he claimed, as a friend, but he kept telling her she had to find someone to go out with.

“Okay, start leaving my phone number on bathroom walls in the south of France. I haven't seen anyone in Westport.”

“You're not trying,” he scolded.

“You're right. They're all ugly, stupid, or married. Or alcoholics. There are a lot of those here. And I don't need one.”

“Too bad. I was about to suggest AA meetings. That might be a good place to find a date,” he teased.

“Be nice, or I'll start shipping divorcees to the boat for you, and believe me, that would be pretty scary.” They had an easy relationship that allowed for both solace and humor, and they had been talking to each other daily for so long that neither of them could imagine living without it, though it wrought havoc on her phone bill. And the strangest part of it was that she had no idea when she would see him again, if ever. This seemed to be all they wanted. The romantic overtone between them had begun to die down, and after Doug left in January, India seemed to be less concerned about it. Paul had made himself clear to her before that, about his intentions with her, or lack of them, and whatever electricity they had once felt, seemed to have gone underground for a long time now. They were more like brother and sister.

So she felt quite comfortable telling him about a man she had met at Sam's soccer game, who was so repulsive she had actually taken a picture of him. He was fat, bald, rude, chewed gum, picked his nose, had belched in her face, and then asked her for a date on Tuesday.

“And what did you say to him?” Paul asked, sounding amused. He loved listening to her stories. In spite of all her troubles, she still had a mischievous sense of humor.

“I told him I'd meet him at the Village Grille, of course. Hell, do you think I want to be an old maid forever?” But the truth was, she did now. She really didn't want to find anyone, she was still smarting from the last one. And she got what she needed from their phone calls. In some ways, it was keeping her from getting her feet wet. And she was still trying hard not to.

“I'm sorry to hear that,” Paul said, feigning disappointment.

“Why?” she teased him. “Are you jealous?”

“Obviously. But aside from that, I'm flying in to New York next week, and I thought maybe we could have lunch or something … or even dinner …but now that you're busy …”

“You're what}” She couldn't believe what he was saying. She had begun to think he would be on the Sea Star forever, and was merely a figment of her imagination. “Do you mean that?”

“There's a board meeting my partners say I have to attend, so I thought I'd see how New York looks after all this time, and …well, you know …even the Sea Star gets a little boring.”

“I never thought I'd hear you say that,” she said, beaming.

“Neither did I. Thank God Serena can't hear me.” But he didn't sound as sad now when he talked about her.

“When are you coming?”

“Sunday night.” He'd been wrestling with the idea for weeks, and hadn't said anything to her. He didn't want to get her hopes up. And he was still a little nervous about seeing her. For all his brave words, there was something about her that touched him deeply. “Any chance you want to meet me?” He felt like a kid asking for a date as he said it.

“At the airport?”

“Well, yes, that's usual. I'm not arriving by boat this time. Would that be a nuisance, coming in from Westport?”

“I think it could be arranged.” And then she wondered. “When did you decide this?” She wondered if he had decided on the spur of the moment, or if he'd planned it.

“About a week ago. I didn't say anything, because I wanted to be sure I meant it. But I bought my ticket this morning, so I guess I'm coming. It'll be good to see you, India.” There was something odd about the way he said it, but she decided it was just emotional for him coming back to New York, and staying at his apartment. He had left the day after the funeral and hadn't been back since then. And she still remembered all too clearly how devastated he had looked at Saint Ignatius. But at least he'd had some time to heal in the meantime.

“I can't wait to see you,” she said simply, wondering how long he was staying, but not wanting to ask him. She didn't know if he was coming home for good, or just trying it on for size. She suspected he didn't know either, and didn't want to press him. “I guess I'll have to cancel my date then. The sacrifices we make for our friends …”

“Keep his number. You still might need it.” They chatted for a few minutes, and then hung up. He promised to give her the details of his arrival later. And in Westport, India sat looking out the window for a long time, looking for a sign of spring. But there was none. The trees were still bare, the ground was bleak. But knowing he was coming back made her feel as though something ought to be in bloom again. They had both survived such a long, lonely winter. They deserved some small reward for what they'd gone through. But life didn't always give rewards, she knew by then. There were no prizes for despair, or tragedy, or loss, or courage. There was just more of the same. And now and then, some small flower peeking through the snow, to spur you on, and give you hope, and remind you of better days. To remind you that one day, after the winter, there would be spring, and eventually summer.

But for the moment, there was still no sign of it for her. There were long, lonely days, and nothing more to hang on to but his phone calls. And now he was coming home. But as she walked slowly upstairs with a smile, she told herself it meant nothing. But in spite of that, it would be good to see him.

Chapter 20

INDIA DROVE her station wagon to the airport on Sunday night, after leaving the children with a sitter. There was a light rain falling, and the traffic was bad, and it seemed to take forever. But she had given herself plenty of time for delays, and when she parked the car in the garage, she still had half an hour to spare before Paul got there.

She wandered around the terminal, looked at the shops, and checked herself in the mirror. She had worn a gray pantsuit and high heels, and she was carrying a trenchcoat. She had thought of wearing something more glamorous for him, like her black suit, but in the end, she decided it was silly. They were just friends, and they knew each other so well by now, she would have felt foolish trying to look seductive or sexy. She had worn her hair in a French twist, which was her one concession to dressing up for him, and makeup.

But now as she stood waiting for him, she began to wonder what he expected of her, and why he had asked her to meet him. She wondered if he was afraid to come back to New York, to face his memories there, and she suspected that he would be. It wouldn't be easy for him, even after all this time, especially going back to their apartment. He had hidden in a cocoon for the past six months, cloistered on the Sea Star, and holding her hand, for whatever comfort she could provide, from the distance. But whatever his reason for calling her, she was happy to be there.

She checked her watch repeatedly, and looked up at the board, to see if he'd arrived, wondering if he'd be delayed. And finally the notice to his flight was changed, and told her that he'd landed. But she knew it would still be a while. He had to go through Customs. It seemed interminable to her, standing there, waiting for him.

It was another half hour before passengers began to dribble out, fat grandmothers, and men in jeans, two fashion models carrying their portfolios, and a vast array of ordinary people and young children. She wasn't sure if they were from his flight, but finally she began to hear a flood of English accents, and knew this had to be the flight from London. And then suddenly, she panicked, wondering if she'd missed him. There was an enormous crowd in the terminal, and people were eddying all around her. She hadn't seen him in nearly a year, six months since the funeral, but that had been only a glimpse. The last time she'd had a good look at him was the previous summer. And what if he didn't recognize her? What if he'd forgotten what she looked like?

She was looking around for him when she heard a familiar voice right behind her.

“I wasn't expecting you to wear your hair up,” was the first thing he said to her. He had been looking for her braid, and nearly missed her. And she spun around quickly to see him and all she could remember were Gail's words when she'd come back from Cape Cod, telling her that the press had called him “indecently handsome …and ruggedly alluring.” He was every bit of it as he smiled at her, and then pulled her to him. She had forgotten how tall he was, and how blue his eyes were. His hair was cropped short, and he had a deep suntan from the wind and sun on the Sea Star. “You look terrific,” he said as he hugged her close, and she felt breathless for a moment. This was the voice she had talked to for six months, her confidant, the man who knew everything about her, and had held her hand through the unraveling of her marriage. But suddenly, seeing him again, she felt shy and embarrassed.

“So do you.” She smiled up at him as he pulled away from her to see her better. “You look so healthy.”

“I should. I've done nothing but sit on my boat for the past six months, and get fat and lazy.” But he looked neither. He looked powerful and young and athletic, better even than he had the previous summer. If anything, he was thinner.

“You've lost weight,” he commented about her too, as he picked up his bags again, and they walked slowly toward the exit. He had only brought a small overnight case, and his briefcase. He had everything he needed at his apartment. “It suits you,” he complimented her. He looked so pleased to see her that she was still grinning.

“I was just thinking you have too. How was the flight?” It was the kind of conversation she would have had with Doug, if she'd picked him up. In a way, they knew each other so well, it was almost like being married. But she didn't delude herself, as they walked out of the terminal, Paul was neither her husband nor her boyfriend. He was something very different. But it was wonderful no longer talking to a disembodied voice. He was real and tangible and alive, as he stood next to her, smiling. “I can't believe you're here.” She had begun to think he would be away forever, and she'd never see him.

“Neither can I,” he beamed, “and the flight was dreadful. There must have been two hundred screaming babies, all of whom had been abandoned by their mothers. And the woman next to me talked all the way from London, about her garden. If I never hear about another rosebush again, I'll be happy.” India laughed as she listened. They walked toward where she had left her car, and he tossed his bags into the backseat as soon as they found it. “Would you like me to drive?” he offered, but she assumed he was tired and hesitated.

“Do you trust me?” She knew how some men hated women drivers. Doug had.

“You drive more car pools than I do, and you haven't had three Scotches.” It had been the only antidote to the crying children, he'd decided. But he looked completely sober.

They got into her car, and she turned to look at him for an instant, as her eyes grew serious and he met them with his equally blue ones. Their eyes were almost the same color. “I just wanted to thank you,” she said softly.

“What for?” He seemed startled.

“For keeping me going all this time. I couldn't have gotten through it without you.” But she had done the same for him, and he knew that.

“How's it going now? Is Doug still torturing you?”

“No, his lawyer's taken over for him.” She smiled as she turned the key in the ignition. “But I think we've pretty much settled it.” Doug had offered her enough child support and alimony to live on comfortably, as long as she took a few assignments every year to pad it out a little. He had made her a very decent offer, and she could keep the house for nine years, until Sam went to college, or she remarried. Her lawyer had told her to take it. And she'd be divorced by Christmas. She'd discussed most of the terms with Paul already on the phone, and he had told her he thought it was probably the best she could do. It wasn't extravagant, but it was acceptable, and it still left Doug enough to live on, and even remarry, if he chose to. He made fairly decent money. Not by Paul's standards, but by normal ones. And they had agreed to split their savings, which wasn't an enormous sum, but it gave her something to fall back on.

“I can't believe I'm back, India,” he said, as they watched the skyline appear. She knew it had to seem strange to him, after all this time, and the places he'd been. Turkey, Yugoslavia, Corsica, Sicily …Venice … Viareggio …Portofino …Cap d'Antibes. He had chosen some pretty places to hide in, but they hadn't brought him much joy during his months of suffering. And as she had guessed, he was nervous about going to his apartment. He said as much to India on the way into town, and she smiled gently at him.

“Maybe you should stay at a hotel,” she suggested sensibly. She was nervous for him. She knew about his dreams, and the trouble he had sleeping, although lately he said he was better.

It was so odd to be sitting next to him now, after all their hours on the phone, for months and months, and all the secrets they had told each other. It was odder still putting the voice and the man together. It was something for both of them to get used to. He kept combing her with his eyes, while she was driving, and he looked happy to be there.

“I was thinking about a hotel too,” he confessed. “I'll see how it goes tonight. I need to organize my papers anyway. The board meeting is tomorrow.” His partners had threatened his life if he failed to join them. It had been hard enough making do without him for six months, and he had already missed two board meetings, for the last two quarters. And they felt that this time he had to be there.

“Will it be a difficult meeting?” she asked easily as they sped onto the FDR Drive, next to the East River.

“I hope not. Mostly boring.” And then he glanced at her seriously for a moment. “Would you like to go somewhere for dinner?”

“Now?” She looked surprised, and he laughed.

“No. I meant tomorrow. It's two o'clock in the morning for me right now, and I'm a little bleary-eyed. But I thought maybe tomorrow night we could go somewhere you'd enjoy. What's your favorite? ‘2G? Cote Basque? Daniel?”

She laughed at the suggestions he was offering her. He was forgetting what her life was. “Actually, I was thinking more like Jack in the Box or Denny's. You forget, I only eat out with my children these days.” And Doug never used to bring her into the city for dinner. They came in a couple of times a year, to go to the theater, and they usually ate somewhere nearby. Doug was not one to take his wife to fancy restaurants, only clients. “Why don't you decide?”

“How about Daniel?” It had been one of Serena's favorite restaurants, but he liked it too. Serena thought Daniel wasn't as showy as La Grenouille and Cote Basque, which was exactly what he liked about it, and she didn't. He thought it was more elegant, and subtler than the others. And the food was terrific.

“I've never been there,” she confessed. “But I've read about it. One of my friends says it's the best in New York.” Going out with Paul was certainly different from her little life in Westport.

“Can you find a sitter?”

She smiled at him as they turned off the FDR Drive on Seventy-ninth Street. “Thank you for asking.” It had to have been years since he worried about things like that, but it was nice of him to consider what she had to do to get some freedom. “I'll find one. Would you like to come out and meet the kids this weekend? Sam would love to see you.”

“That would be fun. We could take them to pizza and a movie.” He knew this was a favorite for them and he wanted to share it with her. It was a whole new world for both of them, and India was still a little bowled over by his unexpected appearance. She had no idea what it meant yet, or how long he would be staying. And she thought it would be rude to ask him. Besides which, she was sure he had lots of other friends to see, and she had no idea how much time she'd be spending with him. Probably very little, and they'd be back to daily phone calls. But that was all she expected of him.

His apartment was on Fifth Avenue, just above Seventy-third Street, in an elegant building with a doorman, who seemed amazed to see him. “Mr. Ward!” he said, and stuck his hand out, as Paul shook it.

“Hello, Rosario. How's New York been treating you?”

“Pretty good, Mr. Ward, thank you. You been on your boat all this time?” He had heard rumors of it, and they sent his mail to his office.

“Yes, I have,” Paul confirmed with a broad smile as he and India walked into the building.

Rosario wanted to tell him how sorry he was about his wife, but with a pretty blonde with him, it didn't seem appropriate. He wondered if it was his new girlfriend, and hoped so, for his sake.

India rode up in the elevator with him, and waited while he looked for his key in his briefcase, and as he fumbled with the lock, she saw that his hand was shaking. She gently touched his sleeve then, and he turned to look at her, thinking she was going to ask him something.

“It's okay,” she said softly. “Go easy, Paul….” He smiled at her. She knew exactly what he was thinking. She always did. And more importantly, what he was feeling. She was that way on the phone as well, and he had come to love her for it. She was a place he could always come to for comfort. And before turning the key in the lock again, he put his briefcase down and hugged her.

“Thank you. I think this is going to be even harder than I expected.”

“Maybe not; Let's try it.” She was right there with him, as he had been for her for the past six months. She knew she could always call him and find him, waiting for her, on the Sea Star, Suddenly the face she saw no longer seemed so separate from the voice she knew like a brother. It was one man, one soul, one person she had come to rely on.

And slowly, he turned the key in the lock, the door opened, and he turned the light on. No one but the cleaning woman had been there since September. The apartment looked immaculate, but seemed very empty and silent, as India looked around a spacious black and white hallway, filled with lithographs and modern sculptures. And there was one very handsome Jackson Pollock painting.

Paul didn't say anything to her, but walked straight into the living room, and turned more lights on. It was a huge, handsome room, filled with an interesting mixture of antique and modern furniture. There was a Miro, a Chagall, and a group of bright, interesting paintings by unknown artists. It was all very eclectic, and for some reason, reminded her enormously of Serena. Everything in the apartment seemed to have her stamp on it, her style, her force, her humor. There were photographs of her everywhere, from her book covers mostly, and there was a large portrait of her over the fireplace. Paul stood silently beside India, mesmerized by it.

“I had forgotten how beautiful she was,” he said in a ragged whisper. “I try not to think about it.” India nodded, knowing how difficult this was for him, but she also knew he had to go through it. She wondered if he was going to move the painting eventually, or leave it there forever. It had a commanding presence, as she had. And then he walked into a smaller, paneled room, where his desk was, and set down his briefcase, as India followed. She was beginning to wonder if she was intruding, and should leave him. There was no way to know, but to ask him.

“Should I leave you?” she asked quietly, and was surprised when he looked disappointed, and a little hurt, as he looked up at her.

“So soon? Can't you stay a while, India? Or do you have to go back to the children?”

“I'm fine. I just don't want to be a nuisance.”

He left himself bare then, but she knew him anyway, and he was not afraid to show her his sorrow. “I need you. Do you want a drink or something?”

“I shouldn't. I have to drive back to Westport.”

“I hate having you do that,” he said, falling comfortably into a velvet settee that faced a smaller marble fireplace than the one in the living room. The whole room was done in deep blue velvet, and the painting over the mantel was a Renoir. “I should get a driver for you when you come into town. Or I can drive you back myself sometimes if you'd prefer it.”

“I don't mind driving.” She smiled, grateful for the thoughtful gesture. He got up to make himself a drink then, a light Scotch and soda, and she accepted a Coca-Cola. “The apartment is beautiful,” she said softly. But she had expected that. The Sea Star was no less lovely than this, and in some ways it was more so.

“Serena did it all herself,” he sighed, looking at India, and seeing again how beautiful she was. She was even more striking than he remembered, with all her blondness, and classic features. She sat on the couch with her long legs crossed gracefully. It reminded him of the summer before, when they had sat for hours, talking on the Sea Star. “Serena had so many talents,” he said, thinking of his late wife again. “I don't think there was anything she couldn't do. Sometimes it was hard to live with.” He had said as much to her before, but here in the apartment, India could see it. The whole place had an easy elegance, and a kind of wit and spice that had been characteristic of her. “I don't know what I'll do with this place,” he sighed. “I guess I should pack it up and sell it.”

“Maybe you shouldn't,” India said, sipping her Coca-Cola. “It's a wonderful apartment. Maybe you should just move things around a little.”

Paul chuckled at the suggestion. “Serena would have killed me for that. She always felt that if she put something somewhere, God had told her to do it. She raised hell if I moved an ashtray. But maybe you're right. Maybe I need to make it more mine. It's still so her now. I'd forgotten until we just walked in how powerful her style was.” She had never touched anything on the boat, or cared about it, that had been Paul's world, which was why it had been so easy to be on it since September. There, the reminders were fewer and more muted. Here, she resonated from the rafters.

“What about you?” he asked then. “Are you going to redo the house in Westport, and get Doug out of your hair? Did he take a lot of his things?” There had been some discussion of it, but in the end, other than his computer, and a few old souvenirs from college, he had taken very little. Neither of them had wanted to upset the children more than they had to.

“He didn't take much. And I think it would unnerve the kids if I started making changes. They already have enough to adjust to.” He knew it was like her to think of that, and to suggest to him he only “move” things, rather than tell him what to get rid of. That wasn't her style anyway, but she was also well aware that it was not her place to tell him what to do with his apartment. She was, as in all things, respectful of him, and he liked that. In all the months he'd talked to her, he had never felt threatened by her. Instead, she provided a safe haven for him. And then, she wondered about something. It seemed a safe question to ask him. “Are you going to bring the boat back here now?”

He looked thoughtful as he answered. “I haven't decided yet. It depends how long I stay, and I haven't figured that out yet. It depends how it goes.” He looked at her, and she assumed he was referring to his business, and how comfortable he was in the apartment. “I was thinking I might bring it to the Caribbean for a while. Maybe in April. That's a nice time of year in that part of the world. Have you ever been there?”

“It's one of the few places I've missed,” she laughed easily. “They haven't had any wars there.”

“They did in Grenada,” he teased.

“I missed that one.”

“Maybe if I bring the boat to Antigua, you and the children could come down for a few days, or over one of their vacations.”

“They'd love that,” she said easily, in spite of Aimee's seasickness, but she knew she could give her medication for it. And as she spoke to him, she saw Paul glance at one of Serena's pictures with a look of discomfort. There seemed to be one on every table, and she felt sorry for him. “Are you hungry?” she asked him then, trying to provide some distraction. “Would you like me to make you something to eat? I make a great omelette, or a peanut butter sandwich.”

“I love peanut butter.” He grinned, aware of what she was trying to do, and grateful to her for trying. But it was hopeless, and he knew it. Being in the apartment they had shared was like breathing Serena's perfume. “I love peanut butter, with olives and bananas.” He laughed at the face she made.

“That is disgusting. Don't tell Sam about it. It sounds like one of his concoctions. Do you have any here? I'll whip up something.”

“I don't think there's much here, but we can look.” He wasn't sure what was still in the freezer. And at least in the kitchen, he knew he wouldn't be so overwhelmed by memories. Serena never set foot in it. They ate in restaurants, hired a caterer or a chef, or Paul cooked for her. In eleven years, she had never once cooked him dinner, and had been proud of it.

India followed him through the dining room, with a huge antique table and silver everywhere, into the spartan black granite kitchen. It looked like something out of Architectural Digest, and she was sure that at some point they had photographed it.

But all they found were some ancient frozen hors d'oeuvres some caterer had left, and a neat row of sodas.

“Looks like you'll have an interesting breakfast tomorrow.”

“I didn't tell anyone I was coming, and I guess my secretary didn't think I'd stay here. She said she'd get me a reservation at the Carlyle in case I decided not to. I might try that tomorrow.” He looked at India with an odd expression, and she smiled at him. It was so good to see him. “I'm sorry I don't have anything to feed you, India.”

“I'm not hungry, I just thought you were,” and then she glanced at her watch. “You must be exhausted.”

“I'm holding up. It's nice being with you.” He wasn't happy thinking about being alone in the apartment with his memories, and all the reminders of Serena. He knew that all her clothes were still in her dressing room, and he dreaded seeing them. He hadn't asked anyone to do anything about them. And later, he would have to walk through all of it to get to his own closets. He cringed inwardly, knowing what he'd see there, her slippers and her dressing gown, and her handbags and dresses, all arranged in neat rows by color and designer. She had been incredibly organized and obsessive about everything, even her wardrobe.

“Tell me when you need to go back to Westport.” He didn't want her on the road too late. It was dangerous driving back alone, he knew, but he didn't want her to leave either. After all these months of talking to her, he wanted to be close to her, but he wasn't sure how to say it. And it seemed wrong here to even put an arm around her. She interpreted his correctness as a sign of the fraternal quality of their friendship, but he had no idea how to change that.

They talked about the children then, and his board meeting the next day. He explained what it was about, and told her something more about his business. And he asked her if she'd heard anything lately from Raoul. She hadn't mentioned him in a while, and he hadn't called her for any more assignments, which she said was just as well, since she didn't want to leave the children at the moment. The divorce was still too fresh a concept for them, and she wanted to be around to make sure they made the adjustment.

They talked for a long time, as they always did, and then finally he looked at his watch, and told her that he thought she should go, so she wasn't on the road too late. It was already after midnight, and she wouldn't be home till one in the morning. But as he walked her slowly to the door, he looked like a child about to lose his best friend, and for an instant, she hated to leave him.

“Will you be okay?” she asked protectively, forgetting for a moment that he'd been halfway around the world without her.

“I hope so,” he said honestly, but not entirely certain that he would be.

“If you're not, call me. I don't mind what time you call. Don't be afraid to wake me.”

“Thank you,” he said gently, and then he seemed to hesitate, as though he wanted to say something to her, but decided not to. “It's good to be here,” he said, looking at her, and not meaning the apartment.

“It's good to have you,” she smiled at the man who had become her friend, and meant it.

He went down in the elevator with her, and saw her into her car, and pointed to the door locks as she nodded. She rolled down the window and thanked him again, and he said he'd call her the next day after his meeting.

“Does seven-thirty dinner tomorrow night sound all right to you?” he asked, and she smiled and nodded.

“Sounds great. How dressy is Daniel?”

“Not too much. Nice.” It was something he would have said to Serena, and India got it. The black suit, with suede pumps, and her pearl earrings. “I'll call you.”

“Take care …get some sleep …” she said as she drove off with a wave, thinking of him. He didn't even have warm milk there to soothe him if he needed it, and on the way home, she worried about him. It was wonderful having him there, better even than talking to him on the phone, and if she'd let herself, she'd have allowed her thoughts to run wild about him, but she knew she couldn't do that. She turned on the radio, and hummed to herself, thinking about dinner the next day with him at Daniel.

Chapter 21

PAUL CALLED India at seven in the morning the night after he arrived, and he sounded forlorn, and exhausted the moment he spoke. He said he had had a terrible night, and was moving to the Carlyle.

“Oh Paul, I'm sorry.” It had been predictable of course, there was just too much of Serena in the apartment. “You're going to be exhausted for your meeting.”

“It was awful,” he confessed to her, “worse than I thought. I guess I shouldn't have tried to stay here.” He sounded like he'd been crying.

“Maybe eventually you can make a few changes.” It was comforting talking to him on the phone, and she felt braver immediately. This was the voice she knew. It was still a little hard to put it together with the man, who was still so new to her, and whom she had seen so seldom. But the voice had been a constant in her life for some time now.

“I'm not sure what to do, other than sell the place intact.” But he wasn't ready to do that either, and she knew it. “I'll meet you at the Carlyle tonight. In the Bemelmans Bar at seven. We can have a drink there before we go across the street to Daniel.”

“I'll be there. What are you doing about breakfast, by the way? You can't go to work on an empty stomach.” It was the kind of thing she worried about, having kids, and it made him smile. No one had worried about that for him for years. If ever. Not even Serena. He could have starved for all she cared. Serena never ate breakfast, and thought he didn't need to either.

“I'll have something at the office. They have a whole kitchen and two chefs. I'm sure they can dig up something, at least a cup of coffee. I'm going to go in early.” He would have gone anywhere, just to get out of the apartment. The closets had almost done him in the night before, and he had been crying since six o'clock that morning. “I'm not sure I can ever come back here,” he said in a choked voice.

“It'll get easier,” she reassured him. It had been difficult for him even on the Sea Star at first. Returning to the apartment he had shared with his wife was just too big a dose of reality too soon, and coming back to New York was probably emotional for him too. None of it was easy, and she knew it.

“Thanks for being there,” he said, and then he heard strange banging noises and a dog barking. “Where are you, by the way? It sounds like bedlam.”

“It is.” She smiled. “I'm making breakfast for the kids, and the dog is going crazy.” He liked the sound of it. It sounded very friendly.

“How's Sam?”

“Hungry.” She grinned.

“Go feed him. I'll call you later.”

She was out all afternoon, and she came back after she picked them all up at school. She had run into Gail, who told her Doug's girlfriend had spent the weekend with him with her kids. She had heard it from two women she ran into in the market. And India was surprised to realize it bothered her. He had a right to do what he wanted, but he hadn't wasted much time. They'd only been separated for two months. And she had no one. Except Paul. But that was different. And she didn't mention him to Gail. She never did. It had remained a well-guarded secret.

The sitter came at five o'clock, while India dressed, and she left for the city at six. And this time, the children complained about her leaving.

“Why are you going out again?” Sam whined at her, as she kissed him. “You went out last night.”

“I have friends in town. I'll see you in the morning.” She knew he was going to ask her who they were, but she beat a hasty retreat before he could do it. She wasn't going to tell him. It was none of their business. And she didn't want to worry them. She knew they were upset about Doug's girlfriend and her two children. They didn't need anyone else to worry about, even if Paul was no threat to them.

There was a lot of traffic on the way into town, and she arrived ten minutes late, in the black suit, and new shoes, with her hair in a French twist again, and her only pair of pearl earrings. This was a new experience for her, getting dressed up at night, and driving herself into the city for dinner. Paul had reiterated his offer of a driver but being picked up by a limousine and whisked away like Cinderella would have really startled the kids, she laughed. They would think she was going out with a movie star, or a drug dealer. It was a lot simpler just driving herself into the city, and sparing herself their questions and comments.

“You look beautiful,” Paul said with a smile when he saw her, and she noticed that he looked tired. It had been a long day for him, especially after being away from work for so long. Everyone wanted a piece of him, and all of his attention, and he was still a little jet-lagged. “How was your day?” he asked, as she sat down. “Not as busy as mine, I hope. I'd forgotten how exhausting work is.” He smiled, and she ordered a glass of white wine. There was plenty of time for it to wear off before she had to drive back to Westport.

“I just did errands, and picked up the kids.” She told him what Gail had said about Doug, and he raised an eyebrow.

“He sure didn't waste any time.” But he was glad. It meant he wouldn't be bothering India, and Paul was pleased to hear it.

“How was your board meeting?” India asked with interest.

“Challenging. And I talked to my son. They're having another baby. That's a hopeful sign. It's sort of a symbol of faith in the future, I always think. Maybe at their age, they're not that philosophical about it.” But as India looked at him, he didn't look like a grandfather to her. He was such a handsome man, and he didn't look his age, although he claimed that night that he felt it. She assured him it was only jet lag. But he admitted that the night before had upset him.

“I think you did the right thing moving here,” she said encouragingly.

“It's a bit stupid, with an apartment a few blocks away. But I couldn't have taken another night of it. I had all the same dreams again … of her telling me I should have gone down with her.”

“She would never have said that, and you know it,” India said firmly. It was a liberty saying that to him, but she would have said it on the phone, and she was getting used to seeing him in person. It was nice finding him at the end of her day, dressing for dinner, and going out with him. She hadn't done that in a long time, and as she sipped her wine, he was smiling at her.

“You almost sounded like Serena for a minute.” But India was very much her own person. “She hated it when I felt sorry for myself, and she always gave me hell. So you're right with what you said, as usual. You're right a lot, India. About many things.” The only thing she hadn't been right about was her marriage. She should have put her foot down years before, and let him leave her. But without his support, Paul knew she never could have done it.

They left for Daniel when they finished their drinks, and the maitre d' settled them at a cozy corner table. He made a big fuss over Paul, and India could see he'd been there often. And the maitre d' looked obviously intrigued to see India with him.

“Everyone is wondering who you are.” Paul smiled. “You look like a model in that suit, India. And I like your hair that way, it suits you.” But he also missed her braid and the way she had looked when he had met her on the Sea Star. She had been so perfectly at ease on the boat with him, and they'd had such a good time with Sam. He couldn't wait to have them back on the boat again. And he had decided that afternoon to bring the boat across the Atlantic to Antigua. He was going to suggest to her that they take the kids there over Easter. But first he helped her order dinner.

They ordered lobster bisque to start, then squab for her, and he ordered steak au poivre, endive salad, and soufflé for dessert. It was a sumptuous dinner.

And as the waiter poured them wine, Paul confirmed to her that he wanted her to come to Antigua over Easter with the children.

“Isn't there someone you'd rather have?” she asked modestly. “There are an awful lot of us. And the children will drive you crazy.”

“Not if they're like Sam. We can put all four of them in two cabins, and still have other guests if we want. I just thought it might be fun to have them on board. I thought I might invite Sean, but he's a very timid sailor, and with his wife pregnant, I don't think they'll come. But I can ask. Your kids might enjoy his children, although they're still pretty young. And Sam and I can sail the boat, while the rest of you play Har's dice, or watch videos, or something.” He looked hopeful that they would come, and India was very touched. It was an irresistible invitation, and Doug had already said he had other plans for the vacation. He and his new friend were going to Disney World with her children, and his own children had been hurt not to be included in the invitation. But as Gail had said, that was the way divorces were. A lot of fathers lost interest in their kids once they found a girlfriend.

“Are you serious about Antigua, Paul?” India asked cautiously over their soup. “You don't have to do that.”

“No, but I want to. And if you get nervous about it, India, you can stay in your cabin and call me in the wheelhouse on the phone. And then you'll remember who I am.” He was teasing her, but he was not unaware of the adjustment she was making. There were a lot of adjustments these days for both of them. He had come nose to nose with his own the night before in the apartment. But India laughed at his suggestion.

“That might work pretty well, actually. Maybe I should go out now and call you from the phone booth.”

“I wouldn't answer,” he said seriously.

“Why not?” She seemed surprised, as he looked at her with an odd expression.

“I'm on a date. First one I've had in years. I have a lot to relearn, I'm afraid. I'm not sure I remember how you do this.” There was something very vulnerable in his eyes as he said it, and when she answered, it was barely more than a whisper.

“Is this a date? I thought we were friends.” He had completely confused her.

“Can't we be both?” He looked at her honestly. He had come to New York for more than just business, although he hadn't said it to her. After talking to her for the last six months, he wanted to see her.

“I suppose we could,” she said, suddenly looking nervous.

“You're spilling your soup,” he pointed out to her, and she grinned. She had been completely taken aback by his question. “If you're going to go out to dinner with me, India, you can't spill your soup all over the table.” He sat back and looked at her, as she put her spoon down.

“I'm not sure I understand what you're saying.” She didn't want to. She didn't want him to change anything. He had already told her they were only friends, at Christmas, before Doug left her. She had been standing in a phone booth, freezing, when Paul told her that he didn't want to be the light at the end of the tunnel for her. And if that were true, how could this be a date? What did he mean? And why had he changed it? “I think you're scaring the pants off me, if that's an appropriate thing to say in this case.”

He couldn't help smiling at her. She looked very beautiful and very young, and naive. She hadn't dated even longer than he hadn't. It had been more than twenty years since she met Doug in the Peace Corps. “Am I really scaring you, India?” He looked suddenly worried. “I don't want to frighten you. Do you mean that?”

“A little. I thought we were just friends. That was what you said … at Christmas….”

“Did I? That was a long time ago.” Then he did remember. And he had meant it. But three months had gone by. The agony of Serena's memory had dimmed a little bit. And Doug had left her. “I'm not sure what I said, but I was probably being very stupid.” She could feel her heart pound as he said it. “I think it was an extremely tasteless remark about not being a light at the end of the tunnel.” She didn't understand what had happened to change it. He sighed as he looked at her, and took her hand carefully in his own, and held it across the table. “I get scared sometimes …and sad … I miss Serena …and I say things I probably shouldn't.” Did he mean now? Or then? India could feel tears fill her eyes as she watched him. She didn't want to do anything to jeopardize what they had. She didn't want to lose him. And if this went too far, he might regret it, and run off to the safety of the boat again. Maybe tins time forever.

“I don't think you know what you're doing,” she said, as he gently wiped her eyes with his napkin.

“You may be right. But why don't you let me figure it out, and not worry about it so much. Just trust me, India. Let's figure it out together.” She closed her eyes for a minute, enjoying the moment, and then nodded. And when she looked at him again, he was smiling. He liked what was happening to them, and what he was feeling for her. Instead of mourning the end, he was savoring the tenderness of the beginning.

Their mood lightened again after that, and he told her funny things that had happened on the boat, people who had gotten drunk or misbehaved, and a woman who had had an affair with his captain, and another woman who had left the portholes in her cabin open and nearly sank the boat. India shuddered at that story as she listened to him.

“I'll remember not to do that.”

“I'll remind you. It's so embarrassing when we sink, and very hard on the carpets.” Her eyes grew wide as she listened. She knew less about sailboats than Sam did, and Paul was taking full advantage of it, although the story about the portholes was true, and they had little reminders in the cabins now, in case anyone forgot it. “You know,” he went on, looking calmly at her, “it's remarkable. The Sea Star is so well built, we've only capsized once.” Her mouth opened, as she looked at him with terror, and then realized what he was doing to her.

“I hate you,” she said, sounding just like Sam, and he laughed at her.

“I'm not frightening you, am I? I thought you'd be impressed. She actually does very well when we capsize, spins right around, and comes right back up again. All we have to do is dry the sails off. I'll show you.”

“Forget Antigua,” she said firmly. But by then, she knew what he was doing. He was just having a little fun with her. “Tell those stories to Sam. At least he won't believe them.”

“He might.” Paul's eyes danced. He was enjoying her company, the dinner, and the wine. It was the most fun he'd had in a long time, longer than he wanted to think of. “I'm very convincing.”

“Yes, you are,” she said with a shy smile. She liked his sense of humor, and his style, and she was as at ease with him now as she'd been on the phone. They had had a wonderful evening. And after dinner, they walked slowly back to the Carlyle. It was still early, and he asked her if she'd like to come up for a few minutes before she drove back to Westport. She still had time. She really didn't have to start back until later. And the sitter had agreed to stay over in case India came home too late, which meant she had all the time she wanted.

“My suite isn't too bad, but it's not exactly Versailles,” he apologized. “I think it's someone's apartment. They lease them for months at a time.” He didn't offer to take her back to the bar, and they went up in the elevator as he told her about the Sea Star, and told her what to expect in Antigua. He said they could visit a number of other islands. In fact, they could do anything she wanted.

The elevator stopped at nine, and he let her into a large, comfortable room that was handsomely decorated, though nothing like his apartment. It was predictably impersonal, but there were flowers everywhere, and a bar with everything they could have wanted. He poured her some wine, but she didn't drink, since she still had to drive back to Westport. There were fruit and pastries as well, provided by the hotel, but neither of them was hungry after the huge meal they'd just eaten at Daniel.

India sat down on the couch, and Paul sat down next to her. He was still talking about the boat, and then he stopped and looked at her, and she felt the same electricity course through her that she had felt when she first met him. Aside from his obvious good looks, there was something irresistibly attractive about him.

“I can't believe we're sitting here,” he said. “I keep expecting to wake up on the boat, and have someone tell me you're calling.”

“It is funny, isn't it?” She smiled, remembering all the times they'd talked, and all the things they'd said, for so many months, the times she had called him from freezing pay phones before Doug left her. She laughed when she thought about it. “I thought I was going to get frostbite.” She had carried rolls of quarters for months, so she could call him whenever she wanted.

“We've been through some hard times, you and I,”he said quietly, but thinking only of her now, and not the people they had lost, or been at other times. All he could see were her eyes, the gentleness in them, and all he felt was what had grown between them in his months on the Sea Star.

He said nothing more to her then, but leaned over very quietly, took her in his arms, and kissed her. And as she felt his lips on hers, she had the answers to all her questions. It was a long time before they spoke again, and when they did, his voice was soft and hoarse with passion. “I think I've fallen in love with you, India,” he whispered. It was not in any way what he had expected, or what she had thought would happen between them when she saw him. She had long since told herself that this would never happen.

“I tried so hard not to tell you, not to even let myself feel it,” she said, feeling all the same things he did.

“So did I,” he said quietly, holding her close to him, with an arm around her shoulders. “I knew it a long time ago, but I was always afraid it wasn't what you wanted.”

“I thought … I was afraid …” She had been so certain that there was no way she could measure up to Serena in his eyes. She hadn't dared to hope, but she didn't say that to him now. He kissed her again, and he held her with such strength that she felt breathless. And then without a word, he stood up and walked her slowly to his bedroom, and then stopped in the doorway.

“I'll do whatever you want,” he said with a look of sorrow in his eyes. He knew that with that single gesture, he was leaving one life and entering another, if that was what she wanted. He loved her more than he had ever thought possible, and he knew it with perfect clarity at that moment. “If you want to go back to Westport, it's all right…. I'll understand.” But she shook her head as she looked at him. She didn't want to go anywhere now without him. Like him, she had known this for a long time. She had fought it valiantly, she had been there for him, and called him from ice-cold phone booths. But now that was all behind them.

“I love you, Paul,” she said softly.

He turned the lights out then, and laid her on the bed, and lay next to her, holding her and touching her, and reveling in all her warmth and softness and glory. He peeled the black suit away, and everything he found beneath it, and they clung to each other with a hunger neither of them had realized they had for each other. And when she lay naked next to him, he looked down at her with all the love and tenderness he felt for her.

“You're so beautiful, India,” he whispered, as she reached up to him with the smile he had remembered for so long and the arms he had been starving for, and gently she brought him to her.

They met and held and danced in the skies, as together they found what they had been looking for, in the arms of someone whom they not only loved, but who loved them. It was everything neither of them had had before, and only discovered now, with each other. It was like being born again, for both of them, as they clung to life and hope and the dreams they each had forgotten, and long since ceased to believe in. And as she moaned softly in his arms, he brought her to places she had never known, and had only dimly realized she longed for. And when it was over, it was not an end, but a beginning.

They lay quietly side by side for a long time, and then he kissed her again, and after a while she fell asleep beside him. He watched her sleep for a long time, and then he closed his eyes and slept as he hadn't in months, with her love to bring him home again from his agonizing journey to lonely places.

The sun was coming up when they woke, and he made love to her again, and she lay in his arms afterward and sighed and told him she had never known it could be like that.

“It can't,” he said with a smile, still somewhat in awe of her, and what had come to them. She was everything he had so desperately wanted and never allowed himself to realize in all the months he'd called her. “I'm never going to let you go again,” he said happily. “You're going to have to go everywhere with me …work …the boat … I can't live without this.”

“You're going to have to,” she smiled up at him mischievously, “I have to drive back to Westport.” He groaned at the prospect of losing her, even until that evening.

“Can you come back tonight?” he asked, before he let her move from him. He wanted to make love to her again, but they both needed time to recover.

She knew it would be hard to leave the children again for the third night, and she looked at him hopefully. “Can you come out to Westport?”

“What about the children?”

“We'll think of something…. You can sleep with Sam.”

“That would be interesting.” He laughed, and she giggled, and slowly she unwound her body from his, still overwhelmed by everything that had happened.

He watched her walk across the room, and he didn't tell her this time that she was the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen. Saying it seemed somehow a disrespect to Serena. But he had found with India something he'd never even had with her. The fascination of Serena had been that she had never given herself to anyone completely, not even him after all those years. She always kept a piece of herself apart, as though to prove to him that he would never own her. The difference between them was that India gave herself to him completely. She opened herself to him, in all her warmth and vulnerability, and he felt as though he could disappear for a thousand years into all she gave him. He felt safe with her, and together they shared an ecstasy that satisfied him completely.

He stood in the shower with her, and then watched her dress, and then he put his own clothes on, as she looked at him, and smiled mysteriously. She was thinking that whoever had said it about him had been right … he was indecently handsome.

He rode down in the elevator with her, thinking of what she meant to him, and when she got in her car, he looked at her, wanting to remember this moment for a lifetime.

“Be careful. … I love you, India.” She leaned out of the car to kiss him, with her long blond hair streaming past her shoulders. He touched it and it felt like silk to him, as she smiled up at him, all innocence and trust and hope and dreams, with the glow of what had happened still in her eyes, as she looked at him with a peaceful expression.

“I love you too. Call me, I'll give you directions.” He watched her as she drove away, with all the power of his love for her. And then as he walked back into the hotel, he felt a knife of remorse slice through his soul, as he remembered Serena.

Chapter 22

PAUL DROVE to Westport that night, and had dinner with them. It was the first time he had met India's other children. And he thought they were very sweet, and very funny.

Sam entertained them all through the meal. And Paul and Jason had a very grown-up conversation about sailing. Aimee cautiously flirted with him, trying out her skills; she was very pretty and looked a great deal like her mother. And only Jessica seemed to have reservations about him, and immediately after dinner, she went upstairs to do her homework.

“You passed inspection,” India said with a smile, as she sat down in the living room with him afterward, once they'd all gone upstairs to call their friends and watch TV. “Jason said you were cool. Aimee thought you were okay. And you already know Sam loves you.”

“And Jessica hates me,” he said matter-of-factly.

“No. She didn't say anything, which means she doesn't hate you. If she did, she'd tell you.”

“That's comforting,” he said with a look of amusement. They were good kids, and he could see she had done her job well. They were bright and secure, and happy. And the conversation at the table had been lively.

They went upstairs eventually, on tiptoe, after they knew the kids were in bed. She locked her door, and they made love as quietly as they could, although Paul was a little nervous about it.

“Are you sure this is all right?” he whispered afterward. On the wings of passion, he hadn't bothered to ask her, but she nodded as they lay in the dark and whispered.

“The door is locked, and they're all sound sleepers.”

“The innocence of children,” he whispered. “We're not going to be able to fool them for long. I can't spend the night, can I?” He already knew the answer to his question.

“Not yet. We need to give them time. They're already upset about Doug's girlfriend. They spend their weekends with her.” Paul thought to himself about the bad luck of arriving on the scene second. The prospect of driving back to New York at four in the morning didn't thrill him.

In the end, he stayed till six, and slept fitfully, and although he dreamt of airplanes, he didn't dream about Serena. India tiptoed downstairs with him, and promised to come into the city that night to see him. But as he drove back to town, he realized that this wasn't going to be easy. If nothing else, the distance and lack of sleep were going to kill him. But she was worth it.

He was seeing Sean on Thursday night, and on the weekend the kids were going to their father's, and India was going to come to the city and stay at the Carlyle with him. So far, they had it all organized, but the prospect of commuting to Westport on alternate nights, and hiding from the kids, seemed somewhat complicated to him. And all he could think of was the perversity of God's sense of humor. At his age, the prospect of a woman with four children and a dog, and a house in Connecticut, was going to provide an interesting challenge. But she was also the most exciting woman he had ever slept with. That made up for something. The dog maybe.

But at four o'clock that afternoon when he left the office for a massage and a nap, he was exhausted. And he only looked slightly better when he took her to dinner that night at Gino's.

“How were the kids?” he asked with a look of concern. “Did they say anything? Did they hear me leave this morning?”

“Of course not.” She smiled at him. With the flexibility spawned by fourteen years of motherhood, she looked undaunted. But then again she was fourteen years younger than he was, though he had already proven to both of them that in some areas at least, it was not going to be a problem.

But that night when they got back to the hotel, they were both so tired they fell asleep watching TV, and she didn't wake up until seven the next morning.

“Oh my God!” she shrieked when she saw what time it was. “The sitter's going to kill me! I told her I'd be home at midnight.” India grabbed the phone, leaning a breast enticingly over him, and told a complicated tale about a friend who'd had an accident, and having been in the ICU with her all night. And then she called Gail and asked her to take her car pool. The entire situation was resolved in a matter of minutes, and they settled back into his bed again, and made up for what they hadn't done the night before, with extraordinary vigor.

And then Paul ordered room service for both of them, and she sat across from him wearing only his shirt, and looking gloriously sexy.

“Have you ever thought of an apartment in the city?” he asked cautiously, as she read the Wall Street Journal. She had always read it after Doug left in the morning, and she had continued his subscription after he left her.

“Doug said we'd move back after Sam went to college.”

“I may not live that long,” he said vaguely, and she looked at him cautiously over the paper.

“This must be hard for you,” she said sympathetically. He had only been home for three days, and it wasn't hard yet, but he could see the potential.

“Not yet. But it will be. And you can't keep running back and forth to Westport.” He didn't like to think of her on the road at four o'clock in the morning, or himself either. At least it wasn't snowing. But eventually, it would be.

“There are only three more months of school,” she said practically. But neither of them wanted to face reality at this point. Their relationship had leapt full blown from birth to manhood. It was something to think about, realizing he hadn't fully considered the logistics of her situation, with everything from sitters to car pools. It had been a long time since he'd had to deal with that with Sean, who was thirty-one. And he also remembered that Sean hadn't done much for his love life. He had systematically hated everyone his father dated. Paul hadn't met Serena till Sean was in college. And Sean hadn't liked her then either. It had taken him years to form any kind of friendship with her. And by then, he himself was married. Thinking of him then reminded Paul that he was taking him to dinner that night. It meant he had a night off from the commute to Westport, and on Friday, India was spending the weekend with him in the city.

They finished breakfast and got dressed, and she left with him, when he left the hotel to go to the office. And he smiled at her as she got into her car again and looked up at him in all her devastating blond beauty.

“I think I'm a little crazy, but I love you,” he said, and meant it. And as he watched her drive away, he forced himself not to think of Serena. It was always hardest for him when he left India. When he was with her, he didn't let himself think about Serena. This was still a major adjustment. But he had jumped into it with both feet, and he wasn't sorry.

He mentioned India to Sean that night, and told him about them, and he was surprised when Sean was less than enthused, and almost paternally cautious.

“Isn't it a little soon, Dad?”

“To be dating?” Paul was surprised by his reaction. Even once they made friends, Sean had never been that crazy about Serena. He always thought she was too flashy. And India was anything but that, she was quiet and discreet, and distinguished and unassuming. But Sean hadn't met her, so he didn't know it.

“Maybe,” Sean said, in answer to his question. “It's only been six months, and you were so much in love with Serena.”

“I was, and am. But don't you think I have a right to be with someone?” It was an honest question, and deserved a fair answer.

“Why? At your age, you don't need to get remarried.”

“Who said anything about marriage?” He flinched at his son's words and extrasensory perception. He had been thinking about it only that morning, when contemplating the commute to Westport. There was no way they could do that forever.

“Well, if you don't want to get married, why date? Besides, you have the Sea Star.” It seemed like a reasonable trade-off to him. And Paul was less than amused to realize that, at fifty-seven, his son thought he was too old to be dating.

“Since when are you so interested in yachting? Besides, I just thought you'd be interested in what I'm doing. One of these days, I'd like you to meet her.”

“If you're not going to marry her, Dad, I don't need to meet her,” Sean said bluntly, instantly creating an impossible situation. If Paul introduced India to him now it meant they were getting married. And to provide a little distraction, he told him instead about her work and her enormous talent.

“Great,” Sean said without much interest. “Does she have kids?” Another psychic stroke of genius on his part. Paul nodded vaguely, as Sean honed in on him further. “How many?”

“A few.” Paul said it with a feeling of rising panic, and Sean sensed it.

“How many?” he repeated.

“Four.”

“Young ones?”

“Nine to fourteen.” He decided he might as well tell him. Why hide it?

“Are you kidding?”

“No.”

“Are you crazy?”

“Maybe.” He was beginning to wonder.

“You can't even stand my kids for more than ten minutes.”

“Yours are younger. And they cry all the time. Hers don't.”

“Wait. They'll go to jail. They'll get drunk. They'll get into drugs. They'll get pregnant, or maybe she will. Dad, you'll love it.”

“Don't be such a pain in the ass at your age. You didn't.”

“You don't know half the stuff I did. Besides, you didn't let me. Dad, look, at your age, you don't need a woman with four kids. Why can't you find someone a little older?”

“How about Georgia O'Keeffe? Is that old enough for you? She must be in her nineties.”

“I think she's dead,” Sean said without humor. “Come on, be serious. Go back to the boat and relax. I think you're having a midlife crisis.”

“Thank you for your optimism,” Paul said drily, but in spite of what he was saying to his son, Sean had shaken him a little. It was hard to sell a woman with four children. “If I'm having a midlife crisis, by the way, that means you expect me to live to a hundred and fourteen. I'll do my best to oblige you. And no, I'm not senile. She's a good friend, and a nice woman, and I like her. I just thought you'd want to know, that's all. Forget it.”

“No,” Sean said sternly, getting even for all the lectures Paul had given him before, during, and since college, “you forget it.” And with that, they moved on to other subjects, but it was obvious as they left ‘2G that Sean was still worried. He said he'd call his father on the weekend about seeing the kids, and Paul didn't have the heart to tell him he was busy. He just said he'd call him if he didn't go away for the weekend. But Sean knew instantly what that meant. And when he went home to his wife, racked with morning sickness and looking green, he told her his father had lost his marbles. But to her credit, she had the same reaction as her father-in-law, and told her husband not to be so stuffy. His father had a perfect right to do what he wanted, and Sean told her in no uncertain terms to mind her own business.

But the dreams Paul had that night were far worse than anything Sean could have wished on him. He dreamt of Serena all night, and airplanes exploding in midair. Twice he woke and heard her screaming at him about what he'd done, and then he heard her sobbing because he'd been unfaithful to her. And Paul felt ninety when he woke up in the morning. And one thing Sean had said had stuck in his mind like a cactus. What if India got pregnant? The thought of it made him nauseous. And when she called him in the office that afternoon and left the message that she'd be at the hotel to meet him at five-thirty, he had his secretary call back to say he'd be there.

But the moment he saw her, he forgot his nightmares and Sean's warnings. The instant he kissed her, he melted. They wound up in bed before dinnertime, and finally sent for room service at midnight. She was the most bewitching woman he'd ever known, and in spite of how many children she had, he knew he loved her. Worse than that. He was crazy about her. And the weekend they spent together was pure magic.

They walked in Central Park and held hands, went to the Metropolitan, and the movies. They saw a love story that ended badly, and they both cried. They bought books together, and read, and listened to music. They loved all the same things, and she talked with great anticipation about their cruise together on the Sea Star. She shared all her dreams with him, and her fears, as she had on the phone, and by Sunday afternoon, he hated the idea of her leaving, but she had to pick up the children after dinner. And when she drove away again, he couldn't stand the prospect of a night without her.

And Sunday night was worse than Thursday had been. He dreamed that he lay in Serena's arms all night, and she begged him not to let her die, she wanted to stay with him forever. He woke up at three A.M. and sobbed for an hour, racked with guilt over what he was doing. He never went back to sleep, and in the morning he knew he should never have survived her. He couldn't bear to live through it. And when he called India, she sounded so sweet, and she was obviously concerned about him.

He felt like a dead man himself when he left the hotel for the office. He had promised to go to Westport that night, but at six o'clock he called her and told her he couldn't. He just couldn't face her. He needed another night to himself, just to think about Serena, and what he was doing. He thought he'd probably feel better in the morning, and India had promised to drive into the city. She had a sitter who could stay overnight, and she had told the children she was visiting a sick friend, and had to stay over with her. But how often could she do that?

And when she got to the hotel that night, Paul was waiting for her. He looked gray, and India was instantly worried. She asked him what he'd eaten, and if he had a fever, and he told her calmly that he didn't.

“You don't look well, sweetheart,” she said gently. And he felt like a serial killer. After the months they'd shared on the phone, he knew her too well, knew how she thought and what she felt, and everything that she believed in. She believed in hope and dreams and honesty and loyalty and all the best of human emotions. She also believed in happy endings, and this one wasn't. It couldn't be. He had realized in the two days he hadn't spent with her that he was still in love with Serena, and felt sure now that he always would be.

He sat down next to India on the couch and looked at her, and she felt her heart sliding slowly to her feet. All he could see was the golden hair, the huge blue eyes growing bigger by the minute, and her face getting so pale it scared him.

“I think you know what I'm going to say,” he said miserably.

“I don't want to hear it,” she said hoarsely. “What happened?”

“I woke up, India. I came to my senses.”

“No, you didn't,” she said, fighting back tears, “you went crazy.” She knew the words before he said them, and her heart was pounding so hard she thought it was going to leap out of her chest. She was terrified to lose him. She had waited a lifetime for him.

“I was crazy when I told you I loved you. I didn't. I was excited by you. … I wanted it to be everything I thought it was. You're the most wonderful woman I've ever known. But I'm in love with Serena. I always will be. I know it. I can't do this.”

“You're scared. That's all it is. You panicked,” she said, beginning to sound desperate.

“I'm panicking now,” he said honestly, looking at her. He didn't want the responsibility of her. He couldn't do it. He knew it. Sean was right. He was senile. “India, you have four kids. You have a house in Westport.”

“What's that got to do with it? I'll put them up for adoption.” She was half kidding, but her eyes filled with tears instantly. She could see he meant it. She was fighting for her life and he didn't want to hear it. “I love you.”

“You don't even know me. All I am is a voice on the phone. A dream. An illusion.”

“I know you,” she said desperately. “And you know me. This isn't fair.” She started to cry openly and he took her in his arms and held her. He felt like a murderer, but he knew he had to escape her. For his own survival.

“It's better now. It would be worse later,” he said sensibly. “We'll just get attached to each other, and then what? I can't do this. Serena won't let me.”

“She's gone, Paul.” She said it gently, through her tears, even then not wanting to hurt him, while he hurt her. “She wouldn't want you to be unhappy.”

“Yes she would. She would never want me to be with another woman.”

“She was smarter than that. And she loved you. I can't believe you're doing this.” It had been a week. Seven days, and she had given herself to him completely, and now he was telling her it was over. A week ago, two days ago, he had told her how much he loved her. He wanted her to move to the city. He liked her children. He hated the commute, but who didn't? “Can't you give this a chance?”

“No, I can't. I won't. For your sake as well as mine. I'm going back to the boat. My son is right, I'm too old for this. You need someone younger. I can't take on four kids. I can't. When he was that age, Sean almost drove me crazy. I'd forgotten it, now I remember. And that was twenty years ago. I was thirty-seven. Now I'm a hundred. No, India,” he said sternly, looking at her as she cried, but he was doing it for Serena. He owed it to her, he had let her die alone on an airplane. That never should have happened. He should have gone with her. “You've got to go now.” He stood up and pulled India to her feet as she stood in front of him and sobbed. She had never expected this of him, and she hadn't been prepared for it. She had never suspected this would happen. He loved her. She knew it.

“What about Antigua?” she asked through her tears, as though it still mattered. But it was something to hang on to. And then he took that from her too. He wanted it all back now. His heart, his life, their future.

“Forget it,” he said coldly. “Go somewhere else. With a nice guy. I'm not that person. The best of me died with Serena.”

“No, it didn't. I love the best and the worst of you,” she said, and meant it, but he didn't want to hear that either. He wanted nothing more from her. It was over. And then she looked up at him with eyes that tore his heart out.

“What'll I tell the children?”

“Tell them what a bastard I am. They'll believe you.”

“No, they won't. And I don't either. You're just scared. You're scared of being happy.” It was truer than she knew, and truer than he wanted her to see now.

“Go home, India,” he said, and opened the door for her. “Go back to your kids. They need you.”

“So do you,” she said, believing it, and knowing him better than he did. “More than they do.” She stood in the doorway, looking at him for a long time then, sobbing pitifully, and her last words to him were “I love you.”

And as she walked away, he closed the door quietly behind her, and walked into his bedroom. He lay on the bed he had lain on with her, and sobbed as he thought of her. He wanted he back, he wanted her to be part of him, but he knew he couldn't. It was too late for him.

He was gone. Serena had taken him with her. And he owed her this now. He knew it. For not dying with her. For letting her down. He had betrayed her, and he couldn't do it again. He had no right to what India wanted to give him.

And as he lay on his bed and cried, India drove back to Westport, blinded by tears, hysterical. She couldn't believe what had happened. She couldn't believe what he had done to her. It was worse than anything Doug had done. But the difference was she loved him, and she knew he loved her. As she drove home, she was so distraught, so racked with pain, that she never saw the car next to her move out of its lane and cut in front of her. She didn't even have time to think before it hit her. She bounced off the divider, and back again into another lane, as the car spun wildly around her and she hit her head on the steering wheel, and the car stopped finally. There was a salty taste in her mouth and there was blood everywhere, as someone opened the door, and she looked at them, and fainted.

Chapter 23

IT WAS after midnight when India called Gail. She had fourteen stitches in her head, a broken arm, a concussion, and whiplash. And her car was totaled. But she was alive, and it could have been worse. She had hit two other cars, but fortunately no one else was injured. She was at the hospital in Westport. India cried when she explained her injuries to Gail. She had thought of calling Paul first, but even in her confused state, she decided not to. She didn't want him to feel sorry for her, or guilty. It was her own fault. There was no point blaming him now.

She was sobbing incoherently when she called Gail and asked if she could come and get her. Gail sounded panicked, and arrived half an hour later, in Nikes, with a coat over her nightgown. She had left Jeff with the children.

“My God, India, what happened?”

“Nothing. I'm okay.” But she was still sobbing, and badly shaken.

“You look like shit,” Gail said bluntly, and she saw then that India was going to have a black eye to go with the rest. It was the first accident she'd ever had, and it was a doozy. “Were you drinking?” She whispered so no one could hear her. The police had already come and gone, but there were nurses all around them in the trauma unit.

“No. I wasn't,” India answered, trying to stand up, but she threw up two minutes later. The hospital had said she could go home, but Gail thought she should stay there. “I can't. I have to go home to the kids. They'll worry about me.”

“They're going to worry more if they see you,” Gail said honestly. But India insisted. She just wanted to go home, and die quietly, in her own bed, with her head under the covers.

They left the hospital ten minutes later, with India wearing a blanket over her blood-soaked clothes, and holding a metal bowl in case she threw up, which she did four times on the way home, as she continued to cry softly.

“Did something happen? Did you have a fight with Doug or something?” Gail could see in her eyes that something terrible had happened.

“No, I'm fine,” India kept repeating. “I'm fine. I'm sorry.”

“Don't be sorry, for God's sake.” Gail was worried sick about her. She half carried her up the stairs, put her to bed, and stayed nearby so she could hear her. She tried to give her a cup of tea, but India didn't want it. She just lay there crying until she finally fell asleep at six o'clock in the morning. And when they got up, Gail explained to the children that their mother had had a little accident, but she was fine. She had bumped her head, and had a headache.

“Where's the car?” Sam asked, looking puzzled, and surprised to see Gail making them breakfast in her nightgown instead of their mother. The sitter had left before that.

“The car is gone,” Gail explained as she made pancakes for them. She had been up all night, watching India, and she looked it. “Forever,” she added, and Jason whistled.

“Wow! It must have been a bad one.”

“It was, but she was very lucky.”

“Can I see her?” Aimee wanted to know, looking worried.

“I think we should let her sleep. You can see her later,” Gail said firmly.

They ate their breakfast quietly, sensing that the accident had been more serious than Gail had said, and when they left for school, Gail went back up to see her. India was still sleeping. She left her a note, and went home to change, and promised to come back later.

India woke up at noon, and begging herself not to, she dialed Paul anyway. She just wanted to hear his voice. She wasn't even sure he'd take it, and she wasn't going to tell him about the accident. She was surprised when he got on the line very quickly.

“Are you all right?” he asked, sounding worried. He had been up all night, but it was better than his nightmares. He had been worried sick about her.

“Sure, I'm fine.” She sounded weak and sleepy, but she tried to make herself sound normal, for his sake.

“Did you get home okay last night?”

“Yeah. It was fine,” she lied, as tears slid down her cheeks. He could hear that she was lying, and all he could remember was the look of devastation in her eyes when she had left him.

“I was afraid you were too upset to drive. I thought about it as soon as you left. But I didn't want to call and wake the children.”

“They were fine. I'm fine. How are you?” She sounded a little wonky, but he assumed she had slept as little as he had.

“Not so great,” he said, sounding grim. And then he told her, “I'm leaving for the boat tonight. They're still in Gibraltar. And then I'm going to make the crossing to Antigua. Or go somewhere else. I haven't figured it out yet.”

“Oh,” she said, feeling slightly sicker. She had been hoping he had changed his mind again. Anything was possible, she hoped. But apparently, it wasn't.

“And, India,” he delivered the coup de grace with one swift blow. It was better that way. Straight to the heart. But cleanly. “Don't call me.”

“Why not?”

“We'll just drive each other crazy. We have to let this go now. I was wrong, terribly, terribly wrong. And I'm sorry.”

“Me too,” she said sadly. Her headache was nothing compared to the rest of what she was feeling.

“I'm older than you are. I should have known better. You'll get over it. We both will.” But he would never get over Serena. He knew that now. And he had killed India to please Serena. Wherever Serena was, he hoped that she was happy. And he hoped that the misery he felt now repaid some of the debt he owed her for not dying with her. “Take care of yourself,” he said, as India nodded, crying too hard to speak for a minute, while he waited.

“I love you. I just want you to know that. If you get sane again, call me.”

“I am sane. Finally. And I won't call you. I want you to know that.” He didn't want to hold any hope out to her. That would have been even crueler. He knew now that Serena owned his soul forever. The rest wasn't worth having. “Good-bye,” he said softly then, and hung up without waiting for her to answer. She heard the dial tone in her ear, and set the phone down gently. And then she closed her eyes and sobbed, wishing she had died in the car crash. It would have been so much simpler.

Gail came back to check on her that afternoon, when she picked the kids up from school for her, and she thought India looked worse when she sat down next to her bed. She hadn't eaten all day, but she insisted she didn't want to.

“You have to, baby. You're going to get even sicker.” Gail made her a cup of tea and begged her to drink it, and as India finally put it to her lips, all she could do was think of Paul and she choked on it. She couldn't even swallow. And then, just looking at her, Gail knew. She didn't know who, but she knew what had happened. “It's about a guy, isn't it?” she asked gently, and India said nothing. “Don't let him do this to you, India. You don't deserve it. Not again.” Doug had been bad enough, she didn't need a worse one. “You'll be okay. I promise, whoever he is, he's not worth it.”

“Yes, he is.” India started to cry all over again as she set the tea down. She hadn't even touched it. “He is worth it …that's the trouble.” Gail didn't dare ask her who the guy was, but she had an odd feeling. India had never said anything about him. Not since the previous summer. And there was no reason to suspect. But as their eyes met, Gail had a sixth sense. The man in question had to be Paul Ward. How they had met and what they'd done remained a mystery. Gail thought India had said he was in Europe. But he had come back. Gail was certain. And he had done this to her. She had never seen India look like that before. She had only seen one other woman look this devastated, her own sister when she was twenty. She had committed suicide over the boy next door, and Gail had found her. It had been the tragedy of her life, and she would never forget it. And as she looked at India now she was terrified, wondering if she had wanted to die the night before. If she had let the accident happen. But even India herself didn't know. She just lay in her bed again, and closed her eyes, and all she could think of was Paul, as Gail watched her and cried for her.

Chapter 24

FOR THE rest of the month, India recovered slowly. The stitches on her head had left a scar that followed the edge of her hairline alongside her left temple for several inches. Within three weeks of the accident, it was still bright red, but they promised that within six months no one would see it, and it could have been worse. Much worse. She could have been brain damaged or dead, and she had been very lucky. There had been a plastic surgeon on duty in the trauma unit that night, and he had stitched her head up for her. He was pleased with his handiwork when he checked her three weeks later. And the broken arm only took four weeks, and was her left arm, so she wasn't totally handicapped by it. The injury that gave her the most trouble was the whiplash, and she was still wearing a collar for it when Raoul called her in April. He had a story for her in the city. A magazine was doing a story of the victim of a rape. It promised to be a sensational trial, and they needed photographs of it. She hesitated for two days, and then decided to take the story. She needed the distraction, and when India met her, she liked the woman. She was twenty-five years old and had been a famous fashion model, but the rapist had slashed her face and ended her career on a grassy knoll on a night in Central Park, where he had taken her at gunpoint when she got out of a cab on Fifth Avenue.

The story took two days, and the only thing she didn't like about it was that they met at the Carlyle, and it reminded her of Paul, but other than that it went very well. And the pictures made a big splash when they were published a week later. She hadn't heard from Paul in a month by then, and she hadn't called him. She had no idea where he was, and she tried not to think about it. She still felt like she was in a daze a month after he had left her. It had been like getting everything she'd ever dreamed of, and then losing it. The only difference was that the model was visibly destroyed. The scars that India carried with her now were just as deep, but could not be seen. Only she could feel them.

She still found it hard to believe she would never hear from him again, but by May, she had no choice but to accept it. He had left her life, with his agonies and his own scars, and his memories of Serena. And he had left something inside her broken, which she knew would never repair. She had to live with it now, along with her lost marriage. And for some reason, it hurt her more than losing Doug. It had hurt her more than anything ever had before, except losing her father. It was the death of hope at a time when she was already vulnerable and disappointed. But she knew this would heal in time. It was just a question of how long it would take her. Maybe her entire lifetime. But she had no choice now, she knew. The dream was gone. He had taken it with him, along with her heart and the love she had given him. And all she had left was the knowledge that he had loved her. No matter what he had said to her in the end, she still knew it was true. He had loved her, for a time, no matter how much he now denied it.

She had lunch with Gail in early May on her birthday. India took Gail out for her birthday every year. It was a tradition between them. India had finally bought a new car the day before, a brand-new station wagon, and Gail was admiring it with her, when she looked at India strangely. There was a question she had wanted to ask her for two months, but she hadn't dared. And now India seemed so much better, that she felt a little braver. It was none of her business, she knew. But her curiosity had plagued her. And when they sat down to lunch, Gail asked her finally. India didn't answer for a long time, and then she sighed and looked away. And then finally, with a look of agony, she faced her. There was no point keeping the secret now. It no longer mattered.

“Yes, it was Paul. We had been talking to each other for a long time, almost since the summer. Actually, since just after Serena died. After a while, he called me every day. He was my best friend, my brother …my everything for a while. He was my light at the end of the tunnel,” she smiled, “although he swore he never would be. And then he came back to New York and told me he was in love with me. I think I was in love with him right from the first. And he felt the same. Even when Serena was alive, although he'd never admit that, and I don't think he really knew it. There was something very powerful between us, and it frightened him. Terribly. More than he could handle. It was over in a week. He said it was because of my kids, and his age, and a lot of stupid things that didn't matter. It was really because of him. He felt too guilty toward Serena, he said he was still in love with her. Anyway, he ended it the night I had the accident.” She still cried when she talked about it, as she looked at Gail, with tears streaming down her cheeks like rivers.

“Did you want to kill yourself that night?” That was what had haunted Gail since March, and the other question she had wanted to ask her. It had reminded her of her sister so much, but at least India had been saved, and she seemed more herself now.

“I think so,” she said honestly. “I wanted to die. But I didn't have the courage to do it. I still don't remember how it happened. All I know is that I was crying, and I felt like my life had come to an end. And then I woke up in the hospital. And the next thing I remember is going home with you, with a terrible pain in my head. But my heart felt a lot worse than my head did.”

“Have you heard from him at all?” Gail asked sadly. It was a terrible story, and had very nearly come to a worse ending.

India shook her head. “No. And I don't think I ever will again. It really is over. It's taken me a long time to get that. But I do now. I haven't called him, and I won't. I don't want to torture him any more than he is already. We've both been through enough. I guess it's time to let go.” Gail nodded, hoping she really had. If he really didn't want her, she had to accept that. And it sounded as though she had, however painful it had been for her.

They had a pleasant lunch after that at Fernando's Steak House. And they talked about other things. Her kids, the story she had done about the model, and eventually Doug's girlfriend. India was bothered by it, but not terribly. She still cared about Doug, but she was relieved to be out of the marriage. Her life was much simpler now, and quieter. There was no one she wanted to go out with. She didn't think she'd be up to that for a long time, after Paul. And Gail didn't say anything more about it. India was in no condition to be dating anyone, or going on blind dates, or casual ones, or having a quick flash of flesh in a motel. That had never been her style anyway. And Gail could see easily now how wounded she was, far more than her scars or her broken arm, or still tender neck. The real wounds were deep inside, where no one could see them, or touch them. They had been left there by Paul, his final gift to her, and India was convinced they would take a lifetime to heal. She had never loved any man, as she loved him, and she couldn't imagine going through it again. One day there would be someone, Gail was sure, but he would never touch the part of India Paul Ward had.

Raoul called the day they took the cast off her arm, and he said he had a story for her. She was expecting another local assignment, like the rape trial. He knew about the accident, and she figured he'd been going easy on her.

“How good do you feel?” he asked her cautiously, and she laughed. She was actually beginning to smile again.

“Why? Do you want to take me dancing? Okay, I guess. Though I don't think I'm up to tap yet. Maybe a little slow samba. What did you have in mind?”

“How do you feel about African rhythms these days?” he asked, and she could feel something spark deep inside her. It reminded her of the old days. “How does Rwanda sound to you?”

“Very far away,” she said honestly.

And he was equally honest with her. “It is. And it'll be a tough story. There's a hospital in the jungle, taking care of the orphans who have gathered there over the last few years. Some of them are badly scarred, and still very damaged. They have terrible diseases, terrible problems. And there's not much help for them there. A bunch of Americans have kind of adopted the project, along with some missionaries from France, Belgium, and New Zealand. It's still kind of a melting pot of volunteers. It would make a great story if you want to do it. I won't push you. I know you've been sick, and you've got your kids to think of. It's up to you, India. I won't push. It's your decision.”

“How long would it take?” she asked thoughtfully, mulling over what he'd said.

“Honestly? About three weeks, could be four. I think you could do it in three.” If she did, she had to figure out what to do with her children.

“I'd love to do it,” she said, without really thinking about it. It was exactly what she had wanted when she had come back to work. And although it was a tough spot, there was no immediate danger for her there, other than the usual tropical hazards, and disease. And all her shots for that part of the world were out of date. “Can I think about it for a couple of days?”“I have to know tomorrow.”

“I'll see what I can do.” She sat by the phone, thinking for a little while, and then she decided to take the bull by the horns. She had nothing to lose. All he could do was refuse her.

She called Doug at his office, and told him about the story. She wanted to know if he would take care of the children while she was away. There was a long silence at the other end and then he asked her a question she hadn't expected, but it made sense.

“Could I stay with them in Westport?” For once, there was no accusation, there were no insults, no threats. It no longer mattered to him what she did, as long as she was responsible about what she did with their children.

“Sure. I guess so. It would probably be better for them anyway.”

And then the kicker. “Could Tanya come with me?” She'd been living with him for several weeks, with both her kids. India wasn't anxious to have all of them under her roof, though she had room for them too. She thought about it for a long moment, but the trip to Africa rested on that for her, and reluctantly she agreed. She wasn't thrilled that he'd asked her, but if it meant his taking over for her, it was worth it to her to let him bring Tanya and her children too, although she wasn't sure what her own children would say about it. She knew they hated Tanya, and both her kids. “It's a deal then,” he said, and she smiled. It was the concept he always used, the one he most believed in.

“Thank you,” she said, and meant it. “It sounds like a great story.” She was excited about it now, and she couldn't wait to call Raoul to tell him.

“How soon do you leave?”

“I'll tell you as soon as I know. I suspect pretty soon.”

“Sooner than that,” Raoul told her. She had to get all her shots immediately. She was leaving in a week. She whistled when he told her. It didn't give her much time to get organized, but she knew what she had to do.

She called Doug right back, and told him. He saw no problem with it, and she thanked him again. They were like strangers to each other now. It was hard to believe they had been married for seventeen years. Their marriage had ended so abruptly and so completely. It made her wonder now how much he had ever cared, and how important she had really been to him. And she could only assume that Tanya was a lot better than she was at following his rules. She had never worked, India knew. Her husband was a doctor. And he had given her an enormous settlement when he divorced her to marry his nurse, so Tanya was financially independent, and wouldn't be a burden on him.

India told the children about her trip that night, and that their father would be staying with them. They were pleased about that, but they all groaned when they heard that Tanya and her children were coming with him.

“Do they have to?” Aimee moaned, while Jason looked horrified.

“I'm not staying here,” Jessica announced grandly. She was fifteen now. But she had nowhere else to go.

“Can I stay with Gail?” Sam moaned.

“No,” India said firmly. “You can all stay here, and be nice about it. Daddy is doing me a favor by staying here, so I can do the story. And if that's how it has to be, you have to live with it. It's only for three weeks.”

“Three weeks!” Everybody screamed in unison. “Why?”

“Because it's a long way to go. And that's how long it will take.”

They all took appropriate revenge on her by either not speaking to her, or arguing with her about everything they could think of, from what they wore to where they went to who they went with. And for the next week she was sick. The shots made her violently sick to her stomach, and gave her a fever. But she was willing to do anything she had to, to make the trip and do the story.

The night before she left, she took them all out to dinner, and they grudgingly agreed to be nice to Tanya, if they really had to. But they swore that none of them would talk to her kids.

“You have to be nice. For Daddy's sake,” she reminded them.

And that night, halfway through the night, Sam crawled into her bed. He had just turned ten. And Jason thirteen. Aimee was now twelve. But the only one who still slept with her from time to time was Sam. He was going to miss her. But she knew that, with Doug there, they'd be fine. Tanya had even called to tell her she'd take over her car pools, and it made India realize for the first time that she was probably going to stick around. It was strange to realize that Doug's life had moved on so completely. The waters had closed over her, but she didn't object to Tanya as much as her children did. They said that she was “creepy,” and talked to them like babies, and wore too much makeup and perfume. But from India's perspective, it could have been a lot worse. He could have wound up with some twenty-two-year-old bimbo who hated the kids, and at least Tanya didn't. She seemed to be a good sport about them.

They were moving in the day she left, and she had everything ready for them. Lists, and instructions, a week's worth of food in the refrigerator and the freezer. She would have frozen some microwave dinners too, but Doug had told her that Tanya loved to cook, and wouldn't mind cooking for the children.

And when the children left for school, India kissed all of them after making breakfast, and reminded them to be good. She had left emergency numbers, in case they needed them, but she had warned everyone that she would be hard to reach. The field hospital had a radio of some kind, and messages to her would have to be relayed through there. More than anything, she knew it would be hard on the kids not to talk to her. And on her as well. But at least she knew they were in good hands, and thanks to Doug and Tanya, they could stay home, and not have their lives disrupted.

She called Gail before she left, and asked her to keep an eye on things, and Gail wished her luck. As much as she hated to see her go, she knew it would do her good. It was only since she'd gotten the assignment in Africa that she had begun to look like herself again. It had been two months since Paul had left her. And ever since then, India had looked dead. And for all intents and purposes, she was, and felt it. Gail hoped that somehow the trip would bring her back. She would be so busy, and so far away, and so much at the opposite end of the world, that she wouldn't have anything to remind her of him.

India started the first leg of the trip with a noon flight to London. She was spending the night at an airport hotel there, and then flying on to Kampala, in Uganda, the next day. From there she had to take a small plane to Kigali, the capital of Rwanda, and after that, she had to drive to Cyangugu, at the southern end of Lake Kivu, in a jeep through the bush. She left in blue jeans and hiking boots, with a down jacket, her old camera bag slung over her shoulder, and everything she was taking in one small tote bag. And as she left the house, she stopped for a minute, looked around, patted the dog, and prayed silently that everything would be all right till she got back.

“Take care of them for me,” she said to Crockett, as he looked at her and wagged his tail. And then, with a small smile of anticipation she walked out to the shuttle waiting to take her to the airport.

As it turned out, the trip was endless. And the last two legs of the trip were even worse than Raoul had said. The small plane from Kigali to Cyangugu was a tiny egg-crate that only carried two passengers, and there was hardly room for her one small bag. It bumped along terrifyingly, barely scraping over the top of the trees, and they landed in a clearing between some scrawny bushes. But the scenery was incredible, and she had already started shooting before they touched ground. The jeep they had promised her turned out to be an old Russian truck, and God only knew where they had found it, but it was obvious to her after half an hour, that wherever they had found it, it had been abandoned by its previous owners because it no longer worked. And the half-hour drive turned out to be two and a half. They had to stop every half hour to fix the truck, or push other stalled vehicles out of die mud. She was becoming an expert with spark plugs and a jerry can by the time they were halfway there.

They had assigned her a South African driver, and he had come with a New Zealander, who had been in the area for three years. He said he loved it and explained a lot to her about the tribes in the area, mainly Hutu and Tutsi, and where the children had come from who were in the field hospital where they worked.

“It'll make a hell of a story,” he assured her. He was a good-looking young guy, and it depressed her to realize he was probably half her age. In this part of the world, you had to be young to be willing to put up with the hardships. At forty-four, she was practically an old lady compared to the other people on the team. But she was only staying for three weeks.

“Where do you get your supplies from?” she asked, as they bumped along. It was long after dark by then, but both he and the driver had assured her it was safe. The only thing they had to worry about, they said, was the occasional elephant or tiger. But they were both carrying guns, and had promised they were good shots.

“We get our supplies from anywhere we can,” he said, answering her question, as they rattled along in the darkness.

“Hopefully not the same place you got the truck.”

He laughed and told her they got a lot of supplies airlifted in from foreign countries. And some aid from the Red Cross. It was two o'clock in the morning when they arrived, and they took her straight to her tent. It was tiny and airless, and looked like ancient war surplus from an underdeveloped country, but by then she didn't care. They gave her a sleeping bag and a cot, and suggested she sleep with her shoes on, in case elephants or rhinos passed through the camp, and she had to move fast. And they warned her that there were snakes.

“Great,” she said. But this was Africa, not London, and she was so tired, she would have slept standing up.

She was woken by sounds of movement in the camp the next morning, and as she came out of the tent, still in the same clothes she wore the night before, with uncombed hair and teeth that needed brushing, she saw the field hospital up ahead. It was a huge Quonset hut that a group of Australians had built two years before. And everyone seemed to be moving around with a purpose. She felt like a sloth standing there trying to get her bearings, still half asleep.

“Nice trip?” an Englishwoman asked her crisply with a bright smile, and told her where the loo was. There was a mess tent behind the hospital, and after India brushed her teeth and washed her face and whatever else she could reach, she combed her hair and braided it, and headed there.

It was a glorious morning, and it was already hot. She had left her down jacket in the tent, and she was starving. There was an odd mixture of African food for the natives, and an unappetizing assortment of frozen food and powdered eggs for everyone else. Most people opted for a piece of fruit, and all she really needed was coffee, and then she was going to look up the list of people she had to see to get her story started.

She was finishing her second cup of coffee, with a piece of dry toast, when a group of men walked in, with the New Zealander she had met the night before, and someone said they were pilots. She was looking at the back of one of them with interest. There was something vaguely familiar about him. But he was wearing a flight jacket and a baseball cap, and she couldn't see his face. And it didn't matter anyway. She didn't know anyone here. She wondered if it was someone she knew from her old days of trekking around the world. Even that was unlikely. Most of the people she had known had either retired, moved on, or been killed. There weren't too many other options in her line of work, and most people didn't keep doing this kind of thing forever. There were too many risks attached to it, and most sane people were only too happy to trade it eventually for an office and a desk.

She was still looking at them, when the New Zealander waved to her, and started walking toward her. And as he did, the three pilots followed. One of them was short and heavyset. The second one was black. And as she stared at him and gasped, she saw that the third one was Paul. He stared at her just as she stared at him, with a mixture of horror and disbelief, and by then the group had reached the table where she sat. Ian, the New Zealander, introduced them all to her, and it was impossible not to see the expression on her face as her eyes met Paul's. Her already pale face had gone sheet white as she looked right at him.

“Do you two know each other?” Ian asked uncomfortably. He could see instantly that something was very wrong. If she could have designed the one scene in her life she didn't want to live through, it was happening at that moment.

“We've met before,” she managed to say politely, and shook everyone's hand. She remembered instantly the stories he had told her about organizing airlifts to areas like this before he married Serena, and having reduced his participation to funding after that. Apparently, he had gone back to a more active role. And when the others moved on, Paul managed to hang back He looked down at India, and was obviously as upset as she was. No one in the world could have guessed that either of them would be there. It was an accident of the worst sort, as far as India was concerned.

“I'm sorry, India,” he said sincerely. He could see how distraught she was. She had come here, to the remotest part of the world, to recover and forget him, and now here he was. It was a nightmare. “I had no idea….”

“Oh, yes, you did.” She tried to smile at him. It was the only thing to do now. “You planned this to torture me. I just know it.” He was relieved to see a smile on her face, however small.

“I wouldn't do that to you. I hope you know that.”

“You might.” She was only half kidding, but she knew their meeting was an accident. “Is this a scene out of the worst movie in your life? It is mine.”

“I know. When did you get here?” He looked worried.

“Last night.”

“We just arrived an hour ago from Cyangugu.”

“So I heard. How long will you be here?” She was praying he was going to say that day only. But no such luck.

“Two months. We're going to be taking supplies in and out for them, but I'll be staying here, and using it as a base camp.”

“Great,” she said limply, still unable to believe this was happening to them.

“What about you? How long are you here for?” he asked cautiously.

“Three or four weeks. I guess we'll have to make the best of it, won't we?” she said, sounding strained. Just looking at him was painful. It was like digging a machete through a fresh wound. He looked better than ever, though a little thinner, and a little drawn, but still painfully handsome, and more youthful than ever. The months they'd been apart didn't seem to have left their mark on him.

“I'll try to stay out of your way,” he promised. But neither of them had understood yet how closely everyone worked here. They were all together constantly all day. This was a real team, and there was nowhere for them to go to escape each other.

“Thanks.” She got up and put her coffee cup on a tray, and as she turned she saw that he was watching her with a pained expression. She wasn't mean enough to ask him how his dreams had been. Hers had been terrifying nightmares, mostly about him, since March.

“How are you?” he asked softly as she started to walk away.

“How do you think?” He nodded, and he couldn't identify it at first, but there was something different about her face. And as she left, he realized with a start, that she had a fresh scar running down one side of her face. He wanted to ask her about it but she'd already walked away. And as he went back to the others, he felt a familiar knife stab. But it wasn't Serena this time. It was India, and everything he still felt for her. He hadn't expected to still feel that way.

Chapter 25

FOR THE next two days, India and Paul did everything they could to avoid each other, but it was obvious to both of them that was impossible, and in the end more trouble than it was worth.

He sat down at the same table where she was eating dinner at the end of the second day, and looked at her in despair.

“This is hopeless, isn't it?” he said in a low voice, so no one would hear him. He would have left if he could, but they were doing important work. And he knew she was covering a big story. Neither of them could remove themselves. It was going to be a rough few weeks for her. And it was no easier for him. His heart ground to a stop every time he saw her. And she was everywhere. A dozen times a day, he found himself looking into her face. And every time he did, he felt even worse when their eyes met. There was something in her eyes, so deeply bruised and painful. Just looking at her made him want to cry, or reach out to her.

“Don't worry about it,” she said in her calm, gentle way. But there was no way he couldn't. It was easy to see what he had done to her. And her lip trembled as she looked away. She didn't want to see him, didn't want to feel the things he had awoken in her, but they had been there since the first time they met, and she realized with chagrin now, that they still were and perhaps always would be. She was beginning to believe this was a wound that would remain unhealed forever. He really was the love of her life. But even lost loves could be forgotten, she told herself. She had been given a superhuman challenge, and it had to be met. Somehow.

Within minutes, the others left the table, and not knowing what else to do, he looked at her, with worry in his eyes. “What happened to you?” he asked. She hadn't had the scar when he last saw her in New York, and it was very long and very fresh. And the day before, when he had seen her in the morning, she had had an orthopedic collar around her neck. She still wore it now and then when her neck hurt. And it had after the long trip. And now he gently touched the scar and she pulled away to avoid his touch.

“It's a dueling scar,” she said, trying to make light of it, but he was not amused. “I had an accident,” she said simply.

“In a car?” She nodded. “When?” He wanted to know all the details, what had happened to her since he had left her. He knew that all the other scars he'd given her were buried too deeply to see, unlike the one on her face.

“A while ago,” she said vaguely. But just looking at her, he knew, and he felt sick.

“Was it right afterward?” He was tormented by the thought of it, and felt even more guilty than he had at first. He knew just from looking at her that it must have been right after he ended it with her.

“That night” was all she said.

“That night?” he repeated, looking horrified. “On your way home?” She nodded. “I knew I shouldn't have let you drive. I had an awful feeling about it.”

“So did I,” she said, thinking of what he had done to her. She might have died. And nearly had. And wished she had for a while anyway.

“Was it very bad?”

“Bad enough.”

“Why didn't you tell me when you called the next day?”

“It wasn't your problem anymore. It was mine.” He remembered then how strange she had sounded when she had called him, giddy and out of it and a little incoherent. But he had assumed she was just terribly upset, which she was.

“I feel terrible. What can I say?”

“Don't worry about it. I'm fine.” But her eyes told him a different tale. She was trying to keep her distance from him physically, since she couldn't otherwise. But so far nothing had worked, and being so constantly close to him, and seeing what was in his eyes didn't help. She knew him too well, and knew his pain, just as he knew hers. And she could see too that he still felt all the same things she did. He always had. No matter what he had said to her, he hadn't stopped loving her. And she could still see it now. Somehow, that made it worse. It was all such a waste. He had wasted two lives, their happiness, their future. She wondered if that was why he had come here too. To escape. Just as she had come here to escape her memories of him. It was bittersweet irony that they had both come to the same place. God's little sense of humor hard at work again. Or destiny perhaps.