Daddy

CRITICAL RAVES FOR

DANIELLE STEEL“STEEL IS ONE OF THE BEST!”—Los Angeles Times“THE PLOTS OF DANIELLE STEEL'S NOVELS TWIST AND WEAVE AS INCREDIBLE STORIES UNFOLD TO THE DELIGHT OF HER ENORMOUS READING PUBLIC!”—United Press International“Ms. Steel's fans won't be disappointed!”—The New York Times Book Review“Steel writes convincingly about universal human emotions.”—Publishers Weekly“One of the world's most popular authors.”—The Baton Rouge SunA LITERARY GUILD DUAL MAIN SELECTION

A DOUBLEDAY BOOK CLUB MAIN SELECTION“ENTIRELY PLAUSIBLE … VERY MUCH ABOUT 'REAL' PEOPLE … DADDY HAS MORE MALE TEARS THAN YOU FIND IN YOUR AVERAGE NOVEL—BUT THEN, OLIVER'S IS A FOUR-HANDKERCHIEF SITUATION.”—Daily News (New York)“A REFRESHING NEW TANGENT … A WELL-DONE, OFFBEAT STORY.”—Los Angeles Times“A BITTERSWEET STORY … IT'S DIFFICULT TO TURN THE PAGES FAST ENOUGH.”—US magazine“CAPTIVATING … A GREAT STORY, A REAL PAGE-TURNER, FULL OF INSIGHT AND COMPASSION AND CHARACTERS THAT WILL TUG AT YOUR HEART AS THEY STRUGGLE WITH THE CHANGES IN THEIR LIVES. YOU'LL WANT TO CHEER THEM ON AS THEY LEARN TO COPE… STEEL IS AT THE TOP OF HER BEST-SELLING FORM.”—Houston Chronicle“MAY EVEN BE THE BEST OF THE TWO DOZEN NOVELS STEEL HAS MINED IN 17 YEARS.”—Fort Worth Morning Star-Telegram“THERE AREN'T ANY SLOW MOMENTS, AND THE THREE GENERATIONS GIVE THE AUTHOR A LARGE CANVAS ON WHICH TO SKETCH IN DE TAILS OF SINGLE PARENTHOOD, ROMANCE, AND MODERN SEX IN AN EVER-CHANGING WORLD.”—Richmond Times-Dispatch“FAST-PACED PLOTTING.”—The Plain Dealer (Cleveland)“ONE COUNTS ON DANIELLE STEEL FOR A STORY THAT ENTERTAINS AND INFORMS … IT WOULD BE HARD TO FIND A BETTER BIT OF POPULAR FICTION FOR READING ON A COLD NIGHT.”—The Chattanooga Times“A PAGE-TURNER … [WE] GROW TO CARE ABOUT HER CHARACTERS … FRESH, NEW … HER MOST INTERESTING AND UNIQUE NOVEL IN MANY YEARS.”—Rave Reviews“STEEL CONTINUES TO DO WHAT SHE DOES VERY, VERY WELL.”—Kirkus Reviews

Books by Danielle Steel

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

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www.damellesteel.comDELL PUBLISHING.

DADDY

Daddy

a cognizant original v5 release october 14 2010

Chapter 1

The snowflakes fell in big white clusters, clinging together like a drawing in a fairy tale, just like in the books Sarah used to read to the children. She sat at the typewriter, looking out the window, watching snow cover the lawn, hanging from the trees like lace, and she completely forgot the story she'd been chasing around in her head since early that morning. It was so damn picturesque. So pretty. Everything was pretty here. It was a storybook life in a storybook town, and the people around her seemed like storybook people. They were exactly what she had never wanted to become, and now she was one of them, and had been for years. And probably always would be. Sarah MacCormick, the rebel, the assistant editor of the Crimson, the girl who had graduated from Radcliffe in 1969 at the top of her class and knew she was different, had become one of them. Overnight. Or almost. In truth, it had taken almost twenty years. And now she was Sarah Watson. Mrs. Oliver Wendell Watson. She lived in Purchase, New York, in a beautiful house they almost owned, after fourteen years of struggling with the mortgage. She had three children, one dog, the last hamster had finally died the year before. And she had a husband she loved. Dear sweet Ollie. He graduated from Harvard Business School when she finished Radcliffe, and they'd been in love since her sophomore year. But he was everything that she wasn't. He was conservative when she was wild, he had believed in what they had tried to do in Vietnam, and for a while she had hated him for it. She had even stopped seeing him for a time after graduation, because she insisted that they were too different She had gone to live in SoHo, in New York, and tried to write, and she'd actually done pretty well. She'd been published twice in The Atlantic Monthly, and once … holy of holies … in The New Yorker. She was good and she knew it. And Oliver lived uptown, in an apartment he shared with two friends on East 79th Street, and with his MBA, he got a pretty good job in an ad agency on Madison Avenue. She wanted to hate him for it, wanted to hate him for conforming, but she didn't. Even then, she knew how much she loved him.

He talked about things like living in the country, having Irish setters, wanting four kids, and a wife who didn't work, and she made fun of him for it. But he just grinned that incredible boyish grin that made her heart pound even then … even when she pretended to herself that what she really wanted was a man with hair longer than her own … an artist … a sculptor … a writer … someone “creative.” Oliver was creative, and he was smart. He had graduated magna from Harvard, and the trends of the sixties had never touched him. When she marched, he fished her out of jail, when she argued with him, even calling him names, he explained quietly and rationally what he believed in. And he was so damn decent, so good-hearted, he was her best friend, even when he made her angry. They would meet in the Village sometimes, or uptown for coffee, or drinks, or lunch, and he would tell her what he was doing and ask her about the latest piece she was writing. He knew she was good, too, but he didn't see why she couldn't be “creative” and married.

“… Marriage is for women who are looking for someone to support them. I want to take care of myself, Oliver Watson.” And she was capable of it, or she had been then, after a fashion. She had worked as a part-time gallery sitter in SoHo, and a free-lance writer. And she'd made money at it. Sometimes. But now, sometimes, she wondered if she would still be able to take care of herself, to support herself, to fill out her own tax forms, and make sure her health insurance hadn't lapsed. In the eighteen years they'd been married, she'd become so dependent on him. He took care of all the little problems in her life, and most of the big ones. It was like living in a hermetically sealed world, with Ollie always there to protect her.

She counted on him for everything, and more often than not, it scared her. What if something happened to him? Could she manage? Would she be able to keep the house, to support herself, or the kids? She tried to talk to him about it sometimes, and he only laughed, and told her she'd never have to worry. He hadn't made a fortune, but he had done well and he was responsible. He had lots of life insurance. Madison Avenue had been good to him, and at forty-four, he was the number three man at Hinkley, Burrows, and Dawson, one of the biggest ad agencies in the country. He had brought in their four biggest accounts himself and he was valuable to the firm, and respected among his peers. He had been one of the youngest vice-presidents in the business, and she was proud of him. But it still scared her. What was she doing out here, in pretty little Purchase, watching the snow fall, and waiting for the kids to come home, while she pretended to write a story … a story that would never be written, that would never end, that would never go anywhere, just like the others she had tried to write in the last two years. She had decided to go back to writing on the eve of her thirty-ninth birthday. It had been an important decision for her. Thirty-nine had actually been worse than turning forty. By forty, she was resigned to “impending doom,” as she woefully called it. Oliver took her to Europe alone for a month for her fortieth birthday. The kids were away at camp, two of them anyway, and her mother-in-law had kept Sam. He had only been seven then, and it was the first time she'd left him. It had been like opening the gates to heaven when she got to Paris … no car pools … no children … no pets … no PTA … no benefit dinners to run for the school or the local hospitals … no one … nothing … except the two of them, and four unforgettable weeks in Europe. Paris … Rome … driving through Tuscany, a brief stop on the Italian Riviera, and then a few days on a boat he rented, drifting between Cannes and St. Tropez … driving up to Eze and Saint-Paul-de-Vence, and dinner at the Colombe d'Or, and then a few final whirlwind days in London. She had scribbled constantly during the trip, and filled seven notebooks. But when she got home … nothing. None of it wanted to be woven into stories, or tales, or articles, or even poems. She just sat there, staring at her notebooks, and a blank page in her typewriter that she never seemed to fill. And she was still doing it a year and a half later. At forty-one, she felt as though her entire life were behind her. And Oliver always laughed at her when she said it.

“Christ, Sarrie … you haven't changed a bit since I met you.” And he meant it. It was almost true. But not quite. She, and those who wanted to be critical, could tell the difference. The shining dark red hair that used to hang down her back in sheets of coppery brilliance had faded to a reddish brown now. She wore it to her shoulders and there were more than a few threads of silver, which bothered the children more than they did Sarah. The bright blue eyes were the same, they were a dark, vibrant blue, and the creamy skin was still fine and for the most part unlined, but there were tiny traces of time here and there, but Oliver only said that they gave her face more expression. She was a pretty woman, and she had been a pretty girl, long and lean, with a good figure and graceful hands, and a sense of humor that danced in her eyes. It was that that he had loved about her from the first. Her laughter and her fire, and her courage, and her rabid determination to stick by what she believed in. There were those who thought her difficult when she was young, but not Ollie. Never Ollie. He liked the way she thought, and the things she said, and the way she said them. They had a relationship built on mutual respect and caring, and they had a very good time in bed. They always had, and they still did. Sometimes he even thought that after twenty years it was better. And it was, in some ways. They knew each other perfectly, like satin-smooth wood that had been touched and caressed and traveled a thousand times by loving hands and the tenderness of true belonging.

It had taken him exactly two years to convince her to marry him after her SoHo days, and at twenty-three she had become Mrs. Oliver Watson. Balking all the way, and in typical fashion, she had refused to have a traditional wedding. They had been married in the garden of his parents' Pound Ridge home, and her parents and her younger sister had come from Chicago. Sarah had worn a bright red dress and a big picture hat, and she looked more like a young girl in a painting than a bride, but they had both been happy. They had gone to Bermuda for their honeymoon, and the weather had been lousy, but they never noticed. They laughed and played, and stayed in bed until the late afternoon, emerging only for an early foray in the staid dining room of the hotel, and then they would hurry back to their room again, giggling and laughing, like two children.

It was three weeks after that that Sarah was less amused. They were living in a small apartment on Second Avenue, in a building filled with stewardesses and young executives, and “singles” who seemed to turn the entire building into a constant party.

He had come home from work to find her looking as though her best friend had died. But it was no friend, it was only “the rabbit.” She had been puzzled by the absence of her period once they got home, but she had been religious about using her diaphragm, and knew she couldn't be pregnant. She had worn it practically night and day from the altar till they got home from their honeymoon, but somehow, some way, something had gone wrong, and she was pregnant. And she wanted to have an abortion. Oliver was horrified that she would even think of it. But Sarah was even more so at the thought of having children so quickly.

“We don't want a family yet … I want to get a job again … to do something …”She'dbeen thinking of getting a job this time as an editor at a literary magazine, her stories hadn't been selling quite as well, and she had applied to Columbia Graduate School to do some work toward her master's. She had quit the gallery-sitting job as soon as she married Ollie, because commuting to SoHo every day wouldn't have been convenient.

“You can always get a job later!” He reasoned with her. He comforted, he cajoled, he did everything he could to try to make her feel better. But she was inconsolable, and every evening on the way home, he was suddenly overwhelmed by a wave of terror … what if she did it … if she went to someone while he was at work, and had an abortion. But she didn't. Somehow, she was too sick, and too exhausted, and too depressed to even attempt it, and the next thing she knew she was waddling around their apartment, wondering how she could have let it happen. But Oliver was thrilled. He wanted four kids, he had always said so, and even if it stretched their budget just then, he was willing to face it. He was doing well, advancing rapidly in the firm, and even if they had been starving, he wouldn't have let her get an abortion. He just wouldn't. It was their baby. Theirs. And long before the baby came, he loved it.

Benjamin Watson arrived with a shock of bright red hair, and a look of astonishment in his bright eyes, exactly nine months and three days after his parents' wedding. He looked anxious to discover the world, cried a lot, and looked almost exactly like his mother, much to Oliver's delight, who was thrilled to have a son, and particularly one who looked like Sarah. Benjamin grew like a weed, and had more than Sarah's looks. He had her determination, her stubbornness, and her fiery temper. And there were days when she thought she would strangle the child before Oliver got home to soothe them. Within minutes of his arrival on the scene, he had the baby cooing happily, laughing, playing peekaboo, and he walked around the house, carrying him in his arms, while Sarah collapsed in a chair with a sigh and a glass of wine, wondering how she was going to survive it. Motherhood was definitely not her strong suit, and the apartment was so small, it was driving her crazy. When the weather was bad, as it often was that year, they couldn't get out at all, and the baby's screams seemed to echo off the walls until she thought she would go crazy. Oliver wanted to move them out of town somewhere to a home of their own, but that dream was still a long way off, they couldn't afford it. Sarah offered to get a job, but whenever they tried to figure it out, it seemed pointless, whatever she might have earned would have gone to pay a sitter, leaving them with no more money than they had before. The only ourpose it would serve would be to get her out of the house, and although it appealed to Sarah, Oliver thought that it was important for her to be with the baby.

“Talk about chauvinistic, Ol. What do you expect me to do, sit here all day and talk to myself while he screams?” There were days when she really thought she couldn't take it. And the prospect of having the four children he still wanted made her suicidal.

Her own parents were no help because they were in Chicago, and for all their good intentions, his weren't much better. His mother had had one child, and the memory of how to cope with it seemed to have escaped her. Being around Benjamin only seemed to make her nervous. But not nearly as nervous as it was making Sarah.

Eventually the baby settled down, and Benjamin seemed a lot less terrifying to her by the time he was walking. They were finally out of the woods They rented a house on Long Island for the summer, and in another year she could send him to nursery school … one more year … she was almost home free … and then she could go back to writing. She had given up the idea of a job. She wanted to write a novel. Everything was starting to look up, and then she got the flu. It was the flu to end all flus, and after a month of it, she was convinced she was dying. She had never been so sick in her life. She had a cold that simply would not go away, a cough that sounded like TB, and she was nauseated from morning till night from coughing. In the end, after four weeks of battling it, she decided to go to the expense and see the doctor. She had the flu, but she had more than that. She was expecting another baby. This time there was no anger, no rages, no outrage or fury, there was simply despair, and what seemed to Oliver like hours and hours and hours of crying. She couldn't face it, she couldn't do it again. She couldn't handle another child, and Benjamin wasn't even out of diapers, and now there would be two of them. It was the only time she had actually seen Oliver down too. He didn't know what to do to turn her around. And just like the first time, he was thrilled about the baby, but telling her that only made her cry harder.

“I can't … I just can't, Ollie … please … don't make me. …” They argued about an abortion again, and once she almost swayed him, for fear that if he didn't agree, she might go crazy. But he talked her out of it, and he got a raise when she was halfway through the pregnancy, and spent every penny of it hiring a woman to come in and help her with Benjamin three afternoons a week. She was an Irish girl from a family of thirteen children, and she was just what Sarah needed. Suddenly she could go out, to libraries, to meet friends, to art galleries and museums, and her disposition improved immeasurably. She even started to enjoy Benjamin, and once or twice she took him to the museum with her. And Oliver knew that although she wouldn't admit it to him, she was beginning to look forward to their second baby.

Melissa was born when Benjamin was two, and Oliver started thinking seriously about moving his family to the country. They looked at houses in Connecticut almost every weekend, and finally decided they just couldn't afford them. They tried Long Island, West-chester, and it seemed as though every weekend they were riding to look at houses. Pound Ridge, Rye, Bronxville, Katonah, and then finally, after a year, they found just what they wanted in Purchase. It was an old farmhouse that hadn't been lived in in twenty years, and it needed an enormous amount of work. It was part of an estate, and they got it for a song in probate. A song that still cost them dearly to sing, but scraping and saving and doing most of the work themselves, they turned it into a remarkably pretty place within a year, and they were both proud of it. “But this does not mean I'm going to have more children, Oliver Watson!” As far as she was concerned, it was enough of a sacrifice that she was living in the suburbs. She had sworn that she would never do that when they were dating. But even she had to admit that it made more sense. The apartment on Second Avenue had been impossible to manage, and everything else they'd looked at in town seemed tiny and was ridiculously expensive. Here the children had their own rooms.

There was a huge but cozy living room with a fireplace, a library they lovingly filled with books, a cozy kitchen with two brick walls, heavy wooden beams overhead, and an old-fashioned stove that Sarah insisted on restoring and keeping. It had huge bay windows that looked over what she magically turned into a garden, and she could watch the children playing outside when she was cooking. With their move to the country, she had lost the Irish girl, and it was just as well, because for the moment they couldn't afford her.

Benjamin was three by then anyway, and he was in school every morning, and two years later Melissa was in school too, and Sarah told herself she would go back to writing. But somehow there was no time anymore.

She always had things to do. She was doing volunteer work at the local hospital, working one day a week at the children's school, running errands, doing car pools, keeping the house clean, ironing Ollie's shirts, and working in the garden. It was a hell of a switch for the once assistant editor of the Crimson. But the funny thing was, she didn't mind it.

Once they left New York, it was as though a part of her got left behind there, the part of her that had still been fighting marriage and motherhood. Suddenly, she seemed a part of the peaceful little world around her. She met other women with children the same age, there were couples they played tennis and bridge with on the weekends, her volunteer work seemed to be constantly more demanding, and the thrashing and fighting she had done was all but forgotten. And along with all of that went her writing. She didn't even miss it anymore. All she wanted was what she had, a happy, busy little life with her husband and children.

Benjamin's screaming babyhood began to fade into distant memory and he turned into a sweet sunny child, who not only had her looks but seemed to share all her interests and passions and values. He was like a little sponge, soaking up everything she was, and in many ways, he was like a mirror of Sarah. Oliver saw it and laughed, and although Sarah seldom admitted it to anyone, in some ways it flattered and amused her. He was so much like her. Melissa was a sweet child too, she was easier than Benjamin had been, and in some ways she was more like her father. She had an easy smile, and a happy attitude about life. And she didn't seem to want much from either of them. She was happy following Sarah everywhere with a book or a doll or a puzzle. Sometimes, Sarah even forgot she was in the next room. She was an undemanding little girl, and she had Oliver's blond hair and green eyes, yet she didn't really look like him. She looked more like his mother actually, which when commented on by her in-laws never failed to annoy Sarah.

She and Oliver's mother had never really become friends. Mrs. Watson had been outspoken early on and had told her only son what she thought of Sarah before they were married. She thought her a headstrong, difficult girl, who wanted her own way at any price, and she always feared that one day she might hurt Oliver badly. But so far Sarah had been a good wife to him, she admitted to her husband begrudgingly when he stood up for the girl, but Sarah always felt that the older woman was watching her, as though waiting for some slip, some faux pas, some terrible failing that would prove her right in the end. The only joy the two women shared was the two children, who delighted Mrs. Watson, and whom Sarah loved now as though she had wanted them from the first, which Mrs. Watson still remembered she hadn't. Oliver had never told her anything, but she had sensed what was going on, without being told. She was an intelligent woman with a quick eye, and she knew perfectly well that Sarah hadn't been happy to be pregnant, nor had she enjoyed Benjamin's early days, but on the other hand, she had to admit that he hadn't been an easy baby. He had unnerved her, too, with his constant colicky screaming. But all of that was forgotten now, as the children grew, and Sarah and Oliver thrived, both of them busy and happy, and doing well. And Sarah finally seemed to have given up her literary aspirations, which had always seemed a little excessive to Mrs. Watson.

“She's a good girl, Phyllis. Don't be so hard on her. She was young when they got married. And she makes Oliver very happy.” Her husband had always been more philosophical than she was.

“I know … but I always get the feeling that she wants something more, something just out of reach … something that will cost Oliver dearly.” It was an astute remark, more so than she knew. But George Watson shook his head with an indulgent smile.

“Ollie can handle her.”

“I'm not sure he wants to. I think he'd let her have anything she wants, whatever the cost to him. He's that kind of man.” She smiled gently up at the husband she had loved for almost forty years, years that were too precious to even count now. They had become bonded like one body, one soul, long since. She couldn't even remember a time without him. “He's just like his father. Too good. Sometimes that can be dangerous in the hands of the wrong woman.” She was always concerned about her son, and even after all these years, always faintly distrustful of Sarah.

But the compliment had not gone unnoticed by her husband, as he smiled down at his bride with the look that still made her tingle. “Give the girl a little credit, Phyllis. She hasn't hurt our boy, and she's given him, and us, two beautiful children.” Indeed they were, and although neither of them looked exactly like their father, they both had some of his classic good looks. Oliver was tall and graceful and athletic-looking, with thick, straight blond hair that had been the envy of every mother when he was a child, and every girl when he was in college. And although Sarah seldom acknowledged it to him, because she didn't want to bloat his ego beyond something she could cope with, more than once she had heard it said that Oliver Watson was the best-looking man in Purchase. For six months of the year, he had a deep tan, and his green eyes seemed to dance with mischief and laughter. And yet he was unaware of his good looks, which made him all the more attractive.

“Do you think they'll have more children, George?” Phyllis often wondered but would never have dared to ask her son, much less Sarah.

“I don't know, darling. I think they have a full life as it is. And these days, you can never be too sure of what's going to happen. Oliver is in an insecure business. Advertising is nothing like banking when I was a young man. You can't count on anything anymore. It's probably wiser for them not to.” George Watson had been talking that way for the past year. He had lived long enough to watch many of his investments, once so sound, begin to shrink and dwindle. The cost of living was astonishingly high, and he and Phyllis had to be careful. They had a pretty little house in Westchester they had bought fifteen years before, around the time when Oliver was in college. They knew that he'd never be coming home again for any great length of time, and it seemed foolish to continue hanging on to their rambling old house in New London. But George worried about their finances constantly now. It wasn't that they were destitute by any means, but if they both lived another twenty-five years, which at fifty-nine and sixty-two they still could, and he hoped they did, it could stretch their savings beyond their limit. He had just retired from the bank and was getting a decent pension. And he had made numerous wise investments over the years, but still … you could never be too careful. It was what he told Oliver every time he saw him. He had seen a lot in his lifetime, one big war and several small ones. He had fought in Guadalcanal, and been lucky enough to survive it. He had been twelve in the crash of '29, he knew just how brutal the Depression had been, and he had seen the economy go up and down over the years. He wanted his son to be careful. “I don't see why they'd want any more children.”

And Sarah completely agreed with him. It was one of the few subjects on which she and George Watson were in total agreement. Whenever the subject came up with Oliver, once in a while in bed late at night, or on a quiet walk in the woods in a remote corner of Purchase, she always told him she thought it was silly to even consider it. “Why would we want more kids now, Ollie? Melissa and Benjamin are growing up. They're easy, they have their own lives. In a few years we'll be able to do anything we want. Why tie ourselves down with all those headaches again?” Even the thought of it made her shudder.

“It wouldn't be the same this time. We could afford someone to help us. I don't know … I just think it would be nice. One day we might regret not having more children.” He looked at her tenderly with the eyes that almost made women swoon at the PTA, but Sarah pretended not to notice.

“The kids wouldn't even like the idea by now. Benjamin's seven, and Melissa's five. A baby would seem like an intrusion to them. You have to think of that. We owe something to them too.” She sounded so definite, so sure, and he smiled and took her hand as they walked back to where they had parked the ear. He had just bought his first Mercedes. And she didn't know it yet, but he was going to give her a fur coat for Christmas. He had just picked it out at Bergdorf Goodman, and it was being monogrammed with her initials.

“You certainly sound sure.” As always, he sounded disappointed.

“I am sure.” And she was. There was no way he was going to talk her into having another baby. She was thirty-one years old, and she liked her life just fine the way it was. She was swamped with committee work all day long, she spent half her life running car pools, and the rest of it going to Cub Scouts and Melissa's ballet class. Enough was enough. He had tamed her as far as she was willing to be tamed. They had the picket fence, and the two kids, and the house in the country, and they had even bought an Irish setter the year before. More than that she could not give, even for Ollie.

“What do you say we take the kids skiing after Christmas?” he asked as they got in the car. He liked to stay close to home for the actual holidays, because he thought it was more fun to be at home, and he thought it was nicer for his parents. Sarah's parents had her sister and her kids, and they went to Chicago every Christmas from Grosse Pointe, but his parents had only him. And Sarah had no burning desire to go home for the holidays anyway. They had done it once, and she had complained about it for three years. Her sister annoyed her, and Sarah and her mother had never gotten along either, so the arrangement they had was perfect.

“That would be fun. Where? Vermont?”

“What about something a little racier this year? What about Aspen?”

“Are you serious? That must have been one hell of a bonus you got last week.” He had brought in the agency's biggest client ever. He still hadn't told her how big the bonus was, and they had both been so busy in the last week, she hadn't pressed him.

“Big enough to splurge a little if you'd like to. Or we could stay around here, and then go away just the two of us after the kids are back in school, if you want to. My mom would come and stay with them.” She had before, and now that they were a little older, it worked better, “What do you think?”

“I think it sounds terrific!” She gave him a hug, and they ended up necking in the new car, which smelled of men's cologne and new leather.

And in the end, they did both. They went to Aspen with the kids for the week between Christmas and New Year, and a month later, he took Sarah away for a romantic week in Jamaica at Round Hill, in their own villa, overlooking Montego Bay. They laughed about their honeymoon in Bermuda, about how they had never left their room, and barely managed to stay in the dining room long enough to have dinner. This vacation was no different. They played tennis and swam and lay on the beach every morning, but by late afternoon, they were making passionate love in the privacy of the villa. And four nights out of six they made special arrangements for room service. It was the most romantic trip they had ever taken, and they both felt reborn when they left Jamaica. Sarah was always amazed to realize how passionately she still loved him. She had known him for twelve years, been married to him for eight, and yet she felt as though their romance was still fresh, and it was obvious that Oliver felt the same about Sarah. He devoured her with the energy of an eighteen-year-old, and more than that, he loved to talk to her for hours. The sex they shared had always been great, but with the years came new vistas, new ideas, new horizons, and their ideas were no longer as diverse or as sharply polarized as they once had been. With the years, they had grown slowly together, and he teased her about becoming more conservative, while he had slowly become a little more liberal. But he felt as though they had slowly become one person, with one mind, one heart, and one direction.

They returned from Jamaica in a kind of haze, mellowed, slowed down from their usual pace, and the morning after they returned, Oliver sat at breakfast and admitted that he hated to leave her and go to the office. They exchanged a secret look over the children's heads at breakfast. She had burned the toast, left lumps the size of eggs in the Cream of Wheat, and the bacon was almost raw when she served it.

“Great breakfast, Mom!” Benjamin teased. “You must have had a terrific time on vacation, you forgot how to cook!” He guffawed at his own joke, and Melissa giggled. She was still much shyer than Benjamin, and at five she worshiped him as her first and only hero, after her father.

The children left for school in their car pools, and Oliver to catch his train, and Sarah found it impossible to get going. She was disorganized all day, and she felt as though she couldn't get anything done. By dinnertime, she still hadn't left the house, and had puttered around all day, getting nothing accomplished. She assumed it was the price of having had too good a time on vacation.

But the condition persisted for weeks. She barely managed to crawl through the days, and just doing car pools and chauffeuring the kids from here to there seemed to sap all the energy she had, and by ten o'clock at night she was in bed, gently snoring.

“It must be old age,” she groaned to Oliver one Saturday morning as she attempted to sort through a stack of bills, and unable to do even that without feeling exhausted and distracted.

“Maybe you're anemic.” She had been once or twice before, and it seemed a simple explanation of what was becoming an annoying problem. She hadn't accomplished anything in a month, and she had two spring benefits to put on, and all of it seemed like too much trouble.

On Monday morning, she went into the doctor's office for a blood test and a checkup, and for no reason she could think of, when she picked up the children that afternoon she already felt better.

“I think it's all in my head,” she reported to Oliver when he called to say he had to work late and wouldn't be home for dinner. “I went in for a checkup today, and I already feel better.”

“What did he say?”

“Nothing much.” She didn't tell him that the doctor had asked if she was depressed, or unhappy, or if she and Ollie were having trouble. Apparently one of the early signs of depression was chronic exhaustion. Whatever it was, it was nothing serious, she was sure of that. Even the doctor said she seemed to be in good health, she had even gained five pounds in three weeks since their trip to Jamaica. It was no wonder, all she did was sit around and sleep. Even her diligent reading had been neglected, and she hadn't gotten back to her weekly tennis game again. She had promised to the next day, and was on her way out the door, feeling tired, but with racket in hand, when the doctor called her.

“Everything's fine, Sarah.” He had called her himself, which worried her at first, but then she decided it was just a kindness after all the years she'd known him. “You're in good health, no anemia, no major problems.” She could almost hear him smiling, and she was so tired, it annoyed her.

“Then why am I so goddamn tired all the time? I can hardly put one foot after another.”

“Your memory is failing you, my dear.”

“Terrific. You're telling me I'm getting senile? Great. That's just what I wanted to hear at nine-fifteen in the morning.”

“How about some good news then?”

“Like what?”

“Like a new baby.” He sounded as though he had just announced a million-dollar gift and she felt as though she was going to faint dead away in her kitchen, tennis racket in hand, as she listened.

“Are you kidding? In this house, that's no joke. My children are practically grown … I … I can't … shit!” She sat down heavily in a convenient chair, fighting back tears. He couldn't mean it. But she knew he did. And suddenly she knew what she had been unwilling to face. Denial had kept her from knowing the truth. She hadn't missed a period because she was anemic or overworked or overage. She was pregnant. She hadn't even told Ollie. She had told herself it was nothing. Some nothing. But this time there was no doubt what she would do. This was 1979. Her children were a reasonable age. She was thirty-one years old. And abortions were legal. This time Oliver was not going to talk her out of it. She was not going to have a baby. “How pregnant am I?” But she knew … it had to be … it had happened in Jamaica … just like it had happened in Bermuda when she conceived Benjamin on their honeymoon … goddamn vacation.

“When was your last period?” She calculated rapidly backward and told him. In medical parlance, she was six weeks pregnant. In “people talk,” it was only about a month, which meant she had plenty of time to get an abortion. For a moment, she even wondered about getting one without saying anything to Ollie. But she wasn't going to mention it to their doctor. She would call her gynecologist and get an appointment. “Congratulations, Sarah. You're a lucky girl. I hope Oliver will be happy.”

“I'm sure he will be.” Her voice felt like lead in her throat as she thanked him and hung up, and with shaking fingers dialed her gynecologist and made an appointment for the following morning. And then, in a panic, she remembered her tennis partners waiting for her on the court at the Westchester Country Club. She would have liked not to go, but it wouldn't have been fair to them, and she hurried out the door and turned the key in the ignition of her station wagon. And as she did, she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. This couldn't be happening to her … it couldn't be … it wasn't fair … when she grew up she was going to be a writer … when … if … or maybe not. Maybe all she'd ever be was a housewife. The ultimate condemnation when she was in college. The thing she had never wanted to be, and now was. That was all she was, wasn't it? A housewife. She said it out loud in the car as though it were a dirty word … a baby … Jesus Christ … a baby … and what did it matter if it would be different this time, if they could afford help, if the house was big enough to accommodate all of them. The baby would still scream all night, still need to be bathed and dressed and fed and taken care of, and nurtured, and driven around and taken to the orthodontist one day. She would never get a chance to do what she wanted now. Never. She felt as though the unborn child, the mere knowledge of it, were threatening her very existence. And she wouldn't let it.

She forced the car into reverse and shot out of the driveway, and ten minutes later she was at the tennis courts, looking pale, and feeling sick, knowing what she did now.

She managed to keep the patter of conversation somehow, and that night she was grateful that Ollie had to stay late at the office, working on a presentation for a new client. A very big one. But what did it matter now how big his clients were? In Sarah's mind, her life was over.

She was asleep when he got home that night, and managed somehow to get through breakfast the next morning. He asked her what was bothering her, and she told him she had a splitting headache.

“Did you find out about those tests yet? Ill bet you really are anemic.” He looked suddenly worried, and instead of loving him for it, she hated him as she thought of what he had planted inside her.

“Not yet. They haven't called.” She turned away to put the plates in the dishwasher so he wouldn't see the lie in her eyes, and a few minutes later he was gone, and the children had been picked up by their car pools. And an hour later she was at the gynecologist's office, planning for her abortion, but the doctor threw her a curve, and asked her how Ollie felt about what she was doing. “I … he … uh …” She couldn't lie to the man. He knew her too well, and in addition to that, she liked him. She looked directly at him with a strange light in her eye, and silently dared him to defy her. “I haven't told him.”

“About the abortion or the baby?” He looked startled. He had always thought that they had a very happy marriage, the kind in which two people confide easily and openly in each other.

“Neither one. And I'm not going to.” His face set as he listened to her and he slowly shook his head in disapproval.

“I think you're making a mistake, Sarah. He has a right to know. It's his child too.” And then he had an uncomfortable thought. Perhaps there were things about them he didn't know. Anything was possible. “It is … isn't it?”

She smiled in answer. “Of course it is. I just don't want to have it.” She told him all the reasons why and he made no comment, but when she was through, he repeated again that he thought she should discuss it with her husband. He urged her to think about it, and after she had he would make the appointment for her, but not before.

“You're still a very young woman. You're certainly not too old to have this baby.”

“I want my freedom. In eleven years, my son will be in college, and my daughter two years later. If I have this baby, I'll be tied down for another twenty years. I'm not ready to make that kind of commitment.” It sounded incredibly selfish, even to her ears, but she couldn't help it. That was how she felt. And no one was going to change that.

“Is that what Oliver feels too?” She didn't answer for a long moment. She didn't want to tell him that Ollie had always wanted more children.

“I haven't discussed it with him,”

“Well, I think you should. Call me in a few days, Sarah. You have time to make the decision and still do things safely.”

“Time isn't going to change anything.” She felt defiant and angry and let down as she left his office. He was the one who was supposed to solve the problem for her and now he wasn't.

She went home and cried, and when Oliver came home at eleven o'clock that night, she was in bed, feigning another headache. The children were long since asleep, and she had left the TV on in the bedroom, droning at her as she waited for him to come home, but still sure she wouldn't tell him.

“How'd it go today? You look tired.” She looked up at him sadly as he walked into the bedroom.

“It went okay,” he said as he sat down on the edge of the bed and smiled at her and loosened his tie. The blond hair looked tousled by the wind, and he was tired, but he still looked unbearably handsome. How could he look like that? Life was so simple for him. All he had to do was go to an office every day and deal with real people in a real world. He got to have all the fun, while she spent every waking hour with women and children. There were things about life that weren't fair, and in her eyes, that was one of them. There were times when she wished she were a man, when she wished she had lived her life differently, when she wished she had gotten a job years before, instead of doing what she'd done. But this was so easy. She had taken the easy way out. She had had two kids, moved to the suburbs, and given up her dreams. And now she was having another baby … but she wasn't, she told herself rapidly … she was having an abortion. “What's wrong, Sarrie?” He looked worried as he bent to kiss her. He knew her too well, and he could see the anguish in her eyes, the anguish not born of guilt for what she wanted to do, but of anger at what had happened.

“Nothing. I'm tired too.”

“The kids give you a hard time today?”

“No … they were fine.”

“So what's wrong?” he persisted.

“Nothing,” she lied.

“Bullshit.” He took off his jacket, opened his shirt, and moved closer to her on the bed. “Don't try and kid me. You're worried sick about something.” And then a sudden wave of terror hit him. It had happened to a guy he knew at the office six months before. They discovered that his wife had cancer and four months later she was dead, leaving him devastated and alone with three children. Oliver knew he couldn't have lived through it if he lost Sarah. He had loved her for too long. She was everything to him. “Did the tests come back? Is there something I should know?”

For an instant she thought of what the doctor had said … You should tell him, Sarah … he has a right to know … it's his baby too … But I don't want to! something inside her screamed. “The tests were fine.” And then, forced by the honesty they had always shared, she let herself be pressed into telling him something she knew she'd regret later. “More or less.”

The pain of worry sliced through him like a knife as he gently took her hand in his own. “What does that mean?” He could barely speak and he never took his eyes from hers. “What did they tell you?”

She realized instantly what he thought and knew she couldn't cause him any more worry. She didn't want any more of his children, but she loved him. “It's nothing like that. Don't look so scared.” She leaned over to kiss him, and as he held her she could feel him tremble.

“Then what is it?”

She spoke in a whisper, from an abyss of despair, then slowly raised her eyes to his again, still wanting not to tell him. “I'm pregnant.”

For an instant, neither of them moved as her words sank in, and his whole body seemed to go slack from the tension that had seized him when she started speaking. “Oh my God … why in hell didn't you tell me?” He sat back and grinned and then his smile faded as he read the look in her eyes. She looked as though she would have preferred having cancer.

“I didn't know until yesterday. Stupid, I guess. It must have happened in Jamaica.”

He couldn't repress a grin and for an instant she wanted to hit him. “I'll be damned. I never even thought of that. I guess it's been a while, my memory is rusty.” His voice and eyes were gentle, but she pulled her hand from his and lay back against the pillows, as though to get as far away from him as she could. It was all his fault.

“I'm having an abortion.”

“Oh? When did you decide that?”

“Within about thirty seconds of hearing the news. Ollie, I can't do this.”

“Is something wrong?”

She shook her head slowly, suddenly knowing what a bitter fight it was going to be between them, but she wasn't willing to lose this time. She was not going to have this baby. “I'm too old. And it isn't even fair to the children.”

“That's crap, and you know it. They'd probably be thrilled if we told them.”

“Well, we're not going to. It's going to be all over in a few days.”

“Is that right?” He got up and started to pace the room. “Simple as that, is it? What is it with you? Every time you get pregnant, we have to go through this fucking insanity about abortion.”

“It's not insanity. It is my sanity. I don't want another baby. You go to the office every day, you have your own life. I'm stuck out here playing car pool and PTA mom, and I'm not going to re-up for another twenty years. “I've done ten, and the way I see it, I'm halfway through, and you're not going to change that.”

“And then what? What's so worthwhile killing this baby for? You're going to become a brain surgeon maybe? For chrissake, you're doing important things here, you're raising our children. Is that too big a sacrifice for Miss Cliffie to make for God and Country? I know you used to think you should be in SoHo with the Great Unwashed, writing poems and the Great American Novel. Personally, I think this has a little more merit, and I thought that by now you'd figured that much out too. For chrissake, Sarah, grow up!”

“I have grown up, God damn you. I've grown up, grown out, and grown old, and I'm not going to throw my life away for everyone else forever. Give me a chance, for chrissake. What about me? There are»more than just kids in this world, Oliver, or hadn't you noticed?”

“I notice that you have a damn easy life out here. While I work my balls off in New York, you play tennis with your friends, and make cookies with Melissa, and that's what you should be doing. But don't tell me what a fucking hardship that is, Sarah, I just don't buy it. And a baby isn't going to change any of that.”

“Bullshit!”

The fight raged until two in the morning, and the next night, and the next night, and the night after. It raged through the weekend and into the following week, with tears on both sides, and slamming doors, and ugly accusations. It finally boiled down to Oliver begging Sarah to have the baby, and eventually throwing up his hands, and telling her to do whatever the hell she wanted.

She scheduled the abortion twice, and even made the mistake of calling her sister in Grosse Pointe, which turned into an even bigger fight when her sister told her she thought she was indecent, immoral, and more than likely crazy.

It went on for weeks, and in the end, they were both drained, damaged, disillusioned, but somehow they managed to piece it all back together and Sarah did not have the abortion. But Oliver agreed that after this one,; she could have her tubes tied. He thought it was an unfortunate choice, but he also realized that neither of them could survive another attack like this one on the very foundations of their marriage, and Sarah assured him that under no circumstances was she going to be having another surprise baby when she was forty.

The baby came on Election Day, with Oliver standing in the delivery room, encouraging Sarah, who told him she hated him every time she had a contraction, and she had assured Ollie almost hourly for the past eight months that she was never going to give a damn about this baby. He told her he would love it for both of them, and the children were thrilled at the prospect. Benjamin was eight by then and intrigued and excited by the whole thing, and to Melissa, at six, it was like having a live doll to play with. Only Sarah had remained unenthusiastic about the impending arrival. And as the baby's head appeared, Oliver watched in wonder as Samuel Watson made his way into the world, with a loud cry and a look of amazement at his father. They handed the baby to Oliver first and he gently gave him to Sarah, who lay with tears streaming down her cheeks, remembering all the ugly things she had said about this baby. He had black hair and Ollie's green eyes, and creamy skin, and a look in his eyes that somehow foretold great wisdom and great humor. He was the kind of baby you fell in love with the moment you saw him, and as fervently as she had resisted him, Sarah fell as ardently in love with him from the instant she held him. He was “her” baby, no crier, no screamer, an easy, peaceful, happy baby, right from the first. He became her great passion in life, and she regaled Oliver nightly with tales of Sam's accomplishment and genius. He was just simply a very delicious baby, and everyone was crazy about him right from the first, Ollie, Sarah, his brother and sister, his grandparents. He was terrific, and he proved Ollie right, although he was gracious enough never to say it but they both knew. Ollie had been right, and they were both grateful that Sarah had had him. Everything about him was easy and lovable and fun, and he never became the burden Sarah had feared he would be.

To make matters easier, Ollie had hired a housekeeper for her, a local woman who'd worked for a bishop for fifteen years and wanted to find a household with a little life and fun. She loved Melissa and Benjamin, and like everyone else, she fell in love with Sam the minute she saw him. He had round cherub cheeks and a smile to match, and fat little arms and legs that begged you to squeeze and hold and kiss him. And more often than not Agnes, his benevolent guardian, and Sarah, his adoring mother, found themselves each kissing one chubby cheek as the three noses met and they laughed and Sam squealed with amusement. Agnes was exactly what Sarah had needed, she only wished she had had her when Benjamin was screaming the walls down on Second Avenue with colic, but they couldn't have afforded her then anyway. Now everything was different. And as Ollie had predicted, it was all surprisingly easy.

Sarah didn't have to make breakfast anymore. She didn't have to make dinner anymore. She didn't vacuum or clean or do laundry. They had a cleaning woman twice a week, and the miraculous Agnes. She was happy living in a tiny little room they built onto what had once been a deck, outside the guest room, which was now the baby's bedroom. And day and night, he was surrounded by his sister checking up on him, his brother bringing him baseball mitts and footballs, Sarah, Oliver, and Agnes. And amazingly, he did not become a spoiled brat, but instead, he was a remarkably pleasant child, who remained the joy of the house, and brought sunshine into everyone's life around him. The nightmare of the child that would destroy Sarah's life never materialized, but by the same token he provided her no excuses. He needed no special extra time, he caused no trouble in school, he was just as happy to play with Agnes or Melissa as he was with her, or most especially Benjamin or his father, and Sarah had no excuse now.

And before she knew it, Benjamin was suddenly seventeen and in his last year of high school, Melissa fifteen and permanently grafted to a telephone she would drag inexplicably into an upstairs closet, to sit huddled on the floor amid old ski clothes to speak to boys no one had ever heard of, and Sam was nine, content to play in his own room, busy with his own routine, and singularly undemanding of his mother's attention—all of which left Sarah with no reason whatsoever why she couldn't write. She couldn't blame the blank pages or the silence of the typewriter on the children.

And as she sat watching the snow fall, she wondered what she would say to Ollie. She wished he wouldn't ask her how the writing was going. For almost two years now, he had evidenced sincere concern and it was driving her crazy. She couldn't tell him that nothing was coming, that it was going nowhere, that at forty-one her worst fears had come true. Her life really was over. She had never felt so stale and old and tired, and this time she knew she wasn't pregnant. As promised, and agreed, she had had her tubes tied years before, after Sam's arrival. This was something very different. This was the slow, demoralizing realization that your life is going nowhere, that the dreams you had at twenty had dissipated years before and were very likely never real in the first place. She was never going to be a writer now. At thirty-five, knowing that would have destroyed her, at thirty-nine, it might have killed her. At forty-one, it filled her with sadness. There was nothing left now, except the ordinariness of her life, while Ollie climbed to greatness. It was an odd feeling. Even her children were more important than she was. Everyone had something going in their lives. Benjamin was an outstanding athlete and a terrific student. Melissa was incredibly artistic and, surprisingly, a real beauty. She talked about becoming an actress sometimes, and both she and Benjamin talked about Harvard. Sam sang with the choir and had the voice of an angel, but more than that, he had the soul of someone so warm and dear that the whole world loved him. And what did she have? The children. Ol-lie. The house. The fact that she'd gone to Radcliffe twenty years before. So what? Who cared? Who knew? Who remembered? She had only one hope left, and even that was a slim one, another slice of unreality in her pie of nothingness. There was no way she could do it anyway. How? She lived here. They needed her. Or did they? They had Agnes … but she couldn't do that to Ollie … She smiled sadly to herself as Agnes let the dog out and he bounded through the snow, barking and leaping. They were all so happy. All of them. Even Agnes. But why did she feel so empty? What was gone? What had she lost? What had she never had? What did she want now? Something. Everything. She wanted all of it. Fame. Success. Fulfillment. Big stuff. Big guns. And she knew she would never have it. She would sit here forever, watching the snow fall, while life passed her by, and Ollie brought in new clients. She had her own Mercedes now, she had two fur coats. She had three terrific children, thanks to Ollie's persistence, and one fantastic husband, and nothing of her own that mattered. No talent. No accomplishment. It was all gone now. The girl that she had been was gone forever.

“The mail is in, Mrs. Watson,” Agnes spoke softly as she set it down on the desk beside her.

“Thanks, Agnes. Anything that looks good?”

“Mostly bills. And I think a school letter for Benjamin. It's addressed to you though.” Benjamin was in the process of filling out his Harvard application for the following year, but he hadn't even sent it in yet. They wouldn't be writing to him, nor to Sarah about him. This was something different and she knew it. She knew what the answer was going to be, but her hand trembled anyway as she reached out and took it from Agnes. She stood very still for a moment, staring at it, thinking back … to when things were different … but that was all gone now. All gone. She had to force herself to remember that, as she tore it open, with her back to Agnes, and then walked slowly into the living room, to stand amid the sunny chintzes and bright flowered prints that brought them summer and spring even in the midst of winter.

She opened the letter slowly, as though peeling away a shell, as though breaking open her life … but she didn't let herself think that. She sat down slowly in her chair, never seeing Agnes watching her, with a puzzled look in her eyes as Sarah read … slowly … painfully … and then felt her breath catch in amazement. It couldn't be. It was wrong. She had read it wrong. It had to be. But it wasn't. The words were there. My God … the words were there … and suddenly she felt her body fill, as though with light and music. She didn't feel empty anymore. It was as though there was something inside her now. Better than a baby. It was herself … She was there. She was back again. And she read the line again, and again, and again.

… “We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted for the master's program at Harvard University” … pleased to inform you … pleased to inform you … the words blurred as the tears rolled slowly down her cheeks. It was a dream, only a dream. There was no way she could do it. She couldn't leave them. Couldn't go back to school. And yet she had applied months before, in September, when the children went back to school and she was bored and lonely. Just to try it … just to see if … and now they were telling her they wanted her. But she couldn't. But as she looked up she saw the snow still falling outside, the dog still barking and cavorting and Agnes watching her from the doorway. She knew she had to. They'd understand. They'd have to understand … it wouldn't be for very long … and then she would be a person again. A person of her own. She would be real … She would be Sarah.

Chapter 2

“Bad news in that letter, Mrs. Watson?” Agnes bad seen Sarah's face go pale as she watched her, and then she had seen tears glistening on her cheeks as Sarah stared out the window. There was no way that Agnes could understand all that she was feeling now. The excitement … the disbelief … the hope … and the terror. She had left her alone in the den with her own thoughts, and it was a full hour before Sarah walked into the kitchen.

“No … no … just a surprise …”Sarah looked vague, almost shell-shocked, neither happy nor sad, as she wandered distractedly around the kitchen, straightening things out without seeing them, pushing a chair into the table, picking a tiny piece of paper off the floor. It was as though she didn't know what to do now. As though she were seeing her home for the first time, or the last. What in hell was she going to do? She couldn't go back to Harvard now. She couldn't possibly leave them. She silently wondered why she had even applied. It was ridiculous, a pipe dream, Ollie would laugh at her … and yet … somehow it wasn't funny now. It was frightening and sad and wonderful, and an opportunity she didn't want to give up, even for them. She had never felt so torn in her life. And she knew she couldn't tell Ollie. Not yet. Maybe after the holidays. Christmas was only two weeks away. She could tell him after that. Maybe they'd go skiing for a few days and she could tell him then. But what in God's name would she tell him? … I want to go back to school, Ol … I'm moving up to Boston for a year or two … I have to get out of here … but tears filled her eyes again, and for a desperate moment, she knew she didn't want to leave them.

Agnes was watching her, not believing what she had said. There had to have been more than a surprise in the letter she'd read. Or if it was, it couldn't have been a good one.

“What time are the kids coming home?” Sarah looked vaguely at the spare little woman bustling around the kitchen, making preparations for dinner. Usually she was grateful for her; suddenly now, Agnes was making her feel useless. Her shining white hair was pulled tightly back in a bun, her face set, lips pursed as she set the kitchen table. The children ate in the kitchen with her whenever she and Oliver went out, and sometimes when Oliver and Sarah were at home, they all ate in the kitchen together. But most of the time when she and Ollie were home, they ate in the dining room. It was something Oliver liked to do, he liked the ceremony of it, the tradition of sitting down together in a civilized way, and talking about what they'd done all day. It was his way of getting away from the pressures of work, and keeping up with what they did, especially the children. But tonight she and Ollie were going out with friends, to a new restaurant in nearby Rye. The phone broke into Sarah's thoughts before Agnes could answer her, and Sarah hurried to answer it. Maybe it was Ollie. She suddenly wanted to be near to him, to hear his voice, to keep him close to her. Suddenly, in a single moment, with the letter she'd just read, everything was changing.

The call was from their friends. They had to cancel their dinner date that night. She had a terrible sore throat, and he had to stay late at the office. Sarah turned toward Agnes with a pensive look. “I guess we'll stay home tonight and eat with the kids. The people we were having dinner with just canceled.”

Agnes nodded, watching her, and then spoke up. “Why don't you go out with Mr. Watson anyway?” Sarah looked as though she needed the distraction. And Sarah smiled at her. The two women knew each other well, and yet Agnes always kept a respectful distance. She wasn't afraid to speak her mind, to give them hell when she thought she should, particularly for the children's sake, yet even when she railed at them, which she sometimes did, they were “Mr. and Mrs. Watson.” “Mr. Watson isn't very fond of meat loaf.”

Sarah grinned at her. She was right. He wasn't. Maybe they should go out. But suddenly she didn't want to be alone with him. And as she tried to decide, she heard the front door slam and a voice call out, and a moment later, Benjamin strode into the cozy kitchen. At seventeen, he was six feet tall, with bright red hair, and his mother's dark blue eyes. His cheeks were red from the cold, and he pulled his watch cap from his head and threw it on the table.

“Disgusting boy!” Agnes waved a wooden spoon at him, looking fierce, but the love she felt for him was evident in her eyes. “Get that hat off my kitchen table!”

He laughed, and grinned warmly at her, stuffing the hat in the pocket of his peacoat. “Sorry, Aggie … Hi, Mom.” Instead of the hat, he tossed an armload of books onto the table. “Boy, it's cold out there.” His hands were red, he never wore gloves, and he had walked the last block home, a friend had dropped him off. And he strode straight to the refrigerator to give himself sustenance until dinner. He ate constantly, portions that would have frightened anyone, yet'he was thin as a rail, and had his father's spare frame and powerful shoulders.

“Stay out of there. You'll be eating dinner in less than an hour.” Agnes waved the spoon again and he grinned.

“Just a snack, Aggie … it's okay … I'm starving.” He stuffed a handful of salami into his mouth as Sarah looked at him. He was a man, and a handsome one. He had his own life, own friends, and in a few months he'd be in college. Did he really need her now? Would it make a difference to him? Suddenly she couldn't imagine that her presence there meant anything to him, as he turned to look at her, struck by the somber look in her eyes. “Something wrong, Mom?”

“No, no,” she shook her head fervently, just as she had when Agnes had asked her. “I was just trying to decide whether or not to go out to dinner with your father. What are you up to tonight? Still studying for exams?”

He nodded. He was a good student, a fine young man, a person she admired, her firstborn, and still the most like her in many ways, although he was less rebellious than she had been at his age. “Yeah, my last one's tomorrow. Chemistry. I'm going over to Bill's to study with him tonight. Can I have the car?” That was all he needed from her in truth, their refrigerator and her car keys.

She smiled slowly at him. She would miss him if she went. She would miss all of them … especially Sam … oh God … and Ollie … “Sure … just be sure you drive carefully. If it gets any colder, this stuff'll turn to ice. Can't he come here, come to think of it?” But Benjamin was quick to shake his head, always determined, just as she was.

“He came here the last three times. I told him I'd go there tonight. Mel's going to be out anyway. Did she call you?”

Their mother shook her head. “Not yet.” She never did. She always forgot to call. She did exactly as she pleased, and always had, without making a fuss about it. She led her own life. At fifteen, Melissa was the soul of independence. “What do you mean, 'she's out tonight'? It's a Tuesday.” She had only just been allowed to date since that September, and it was confined to one weekend night, with boys her parents had met, under circumstances they approved of. “And how's she getting home?”

“I told her I'd pick her up.” He picked up an apple from the basket on the kitchen counter and took a bite. “She has rehearsal tonight. She's in some play with the drama club. She's okay, Mom.” They both heard the front door slam again, and Sarah saw Agnes glance at the clock with a private smile, as she glanced hurriedly at her meat loaf.

There was suddenly the heavy sound of boots, as though a man had arrived in their midst, a wild woof! and a muffled crash, the slamming of another door, more barking, and then suddenly Sam and Andy, the Irish setter, exploded into the kitchen. The dog was leaving paw prints everywhere, leaping on the boy with the shining dark hair and green eyes just like his father's. He wore a broad, happy-go-lucky smile, his hair was wet, and his boots and the dog's feet had dragged in tons of snow, which were rapidly turning into puddles on the kitchen floor, as Andy leapt to lick his face, and put two paws on Sam's shoulders.

“Hi, guys! Boy, it smells good in here. What's for dinner? Meat loaf?”

Agnes turned to smile broadly at him, and then saw the disaster he was rapidly making of her kitchen, as Sarah and Benjamin laughed. Sam was hopeless, he could turn any room into a trash heap in a matter of moments.

“Get out of here, you wicked boy! And where's your hat? You'll catch your death with wet hair like that!” She waved the wooden spoon at him as she had at Benjamin before, but this time with greater zeal, and hurried off to get him a towel, clucking and growling and scolding.

“Hi, Mom.” He hurried over to kiss her, Andy wagging his tail ferociously as he watched and Sam played with him, kicking off his boots then and leaving them in a heap in the middle of the kitchen floor, where Andy found them with delight and fled with one of them to the living room couch, where he deposited it amid shrieks from Agnes.

“Get out of here! Both of you! Go upstairs and take a bath!” she called after him, as he hurried up the stairs with Andy in hot pursuit, as Sam left his coat on the floor at the foot of the stairs and Sarah called after him.

“Come back and pick up your stuff!” But he was already long gone, down the hall, with Andy barking after him, and Agnes was already busy mopping up her kitchen. Benjamin hurried up the stairs to his own room to organize his books for that night, and when Sarah walked slowly up after them, she couldn't help thinking how much she would miss them.

The phone rang as she reached the master bedroom. It was Melissa calling to say what Sarah already knew, that she was staying at school late to rehearse with the drama club, and Benjamin would pick her up on his way home. And then Ollie called, and he wanted to go out that night, even without their friends, just as Agnes had suggested.

“Well have a quiet dinner, just the two of us. I think I'd like that better anyway.” She could feel the warmth of his voice all the way from New York, and there were tears in her eyes when she hung up the phone. What was she going to say to him? Nothing. Not tonight. She'd have to wait. She had already promised herself she wouldn't tell him till after Christmas.

She puttered around their room, straightening things, listening to the sounds of the children beyond, touching familiar objects, and thinking about her husband. And then she lay down on their bed, thinking of all of them, of what they meant to her. And yet they were costing her something, too, without knowing it, without meaning to, each one in his or her own way had taken something from her, and given something back too … but suddenly what they gave her wasn't enough, and it was no longer what she wanted. It was a terrible thing to admit. A terrible thing to say to them, and she knew she never could. But she wanted her own life now. She was ready for it. She wanted to be more than Agnes was, standing in the kitchen waiting for them to come home every day, and eventually waiting for them to leave forever. It wouldn't be long now. Benjamin would be gone in the fall. And Melissa two years after that, and then there was Sam … but she'd be through with what she wanted to do long before he left home. So what difference did it make? Why couldn't she do what she wanted to for a change, yet while saying that to herself, she felt unbearably guilty.

The phone broke into her thoughts again and it was her father-in-law, sounding distressed and tired. He had had problems with his heart of late, and Phyllis hadn't been well either.

“Hi, George, what's up?”

“Is Oliver there?” He was curt with her this time, which was unlike him.

“No, he's not.” She frowned worriedly, she was fond of him, although she was less so of Phyllis. “Is something wrong?”

“I … no … actually, I'm not sure. Phyllis went out shopping at noon, by herself, and she hasn't come home yet. And with this weather … well, I was concerned, and she hasn't called. It's just not like her.” She was sixty-nine years old, and strong, but lately they had all found her a little distracted. She had had pneumonia a few months before, and afterward she hadn't seemed quite herself, and Sarah knew that George worried endlessly about her. At seventy-two, he seemed somehow more alert than his wife, yet at the same time much frailer. He was still handsome, like his son, tall and straight with gentle eyes and a lovely smile, and yet there were times when he seemed older than he was, and Oliver worried about him.

“I'm sure she's just forgotten the time. You know how women are when they go shopping.” Sarah wanted to reassure him. It wasn't good for his heart to fret about every little thing, and undoubtedly Phyllis would walk in at any moment.

“I was wondering if I ought to go looking for her. I thought maybe Oliver …”Lately, he was relying on Ollie more, which wasn't like him either.

“I'll have him call the minute he comes home.” And that would mean the end of their dinner out, unless she came back before. But on the other hand, maybe it was just as well. Suddenly, Sarah didn't want to be alone with her husband.

But George called again before Oliver got home. Phyllis was home safe and sound. She'd had trouble getting a cab, and didn't have the change to call. He didn't tell Sarah that she looked disheveled to him somehow, and the cabdriver had told him she'd had trouble remembering her address, and when George questioned her, he realized with shock that she no longer knew their phone number, and that was why she hadn't called him. “I'm sorry I troubled you, my dear.”

“Don't be silly, George. You can call us anytime. You know that.”

“Thank you.” At the other end, he cast a worried glance at his wife, humming to herself as she wandered aimlessly around the kitchen. Lately, he had been cooking for her, but they both pretended that it was because he liked having something to do, and he liked to say that he was a better cook than she was. “Give Oliver my love when he comes home, and if he has time, please ask him to call me.”

“I will,” she promised, and promptly forgot when Oliver got home a few minutes later. He was hurrying to shower and dress and insisted that he wanted to take her out to dinner. “But Sam will be all alone tonight.” She wanted desperately to stay home, not to face him alone across a table. There was nothing she could say to him. Not yet. And it was easier to hide here in their own home. To hide behind the children and the television set. To hide behind anything. Anything was better than having to face him.

“Is Agnes going out?” Ollie questioned her as he shaved, watching the news at the same time, barely glancing at her, but pleased at the prospect of their evening together. He had a surprise for her. He had just gotten a big promotion and a raise. The top of the ladder, at his firm, was in clear sight now. At forty-four, Oliver Watson was the stuff that business legends were made of. He had it all, he knew, and he was grateful for that, a job he loved, a wife he adored, and three kids he was crazy about. What more was there in life? Absolutely nothing he could think of.

“No, Agnes'U be here, but I thought …”

“Don't. Get dressed.” He gently patted her behind as she walked past him, and then stopped her and put his arms around her as he turned off his razor. “I love you, do you know that?” She did. Only too well. And she loved him, too, which made everything she wanted to do now that much harder.

“I love you too.” Her eyes were sad and he pulled her closer.

“You sure don't look happy about it. Tough day today?”

“Not really.” There was no tough anymore. The kids were busy and almost gone, Agnes took care of the house, she had been slowing down her committee work for the past two years, to give herself time to write, which she never did anyway. What could be tough in the perfect life? Nothing, except constant emptiness and total boredom. “Just tired, I guess. Oh … I almost forgot. Your father called. He wants you to call him.”

“Everything okay?” He worried about his parents a lot. They were getting old, and his father seemed so frail ever since his heart attack. “Is he feeling all right?”

“He sounded fine. Once your mother got back. He called because she went shopping this afternoon and she was late coming back. I think he was worried about her in this weather.”

“He worries too much about everything. That's why he had that heart attack. She can take care of herself, I keep telling him that. He keeps insisting that she gets confused, but I think she's a lot less confused than he thinks. I'll call him when we get home, if it's not too late. Come on,” he urged her on with a smile, “hurry up. Our reservation's at seven.”

They kissed Sam good night when they left, and gave Agnes the phone number of the restaurant. Benjamin was already gone, and he hadn't said good-bye to them. He had taken the keys to Sarah's car and left right after devouring most of the meat loaf, two plates of vegetables, and a piece of Agnes's apple pie. And Sarah felt sure that as soon as he got to Bill's he would eat again, and probably finish off the pie when he got home that night. She used to worry that he'd get fat, but there seemed to be no fear of that, he was a bottomless pit, and if it hadn't been for the broad shoulders, he would have looked like the proverbial beanpole.

The restaurant was lovely when they arrived, cozy, quaint, with French Provincial decor and a fire roaring in a fireplace. The food was good, and Oliver ordered an excellent California Chardonnay. They both relaxed and Sarah listened as he told her about the promotion and the raise. It was strange listening to him now. For years, she had lived vicariously through him, and now suddenly she had her own life. It was like listening to someone else. She was pleased for him, but his success was no longer a shared accomplishment, It was his alone. She knew that now. And as they finished their meal, he sat back and looked at her, sensing that something had changed, but not sure what it was. He usually read her well, but not tonight. There was something distant and sad about the way she looked at him, and he suddenly felt a finger of fear touch his heart. What if she were having an affair? Even a passing one … one of those suburban wives' involvements with the insurance man, or the orthodontist, or one of their friends. He couldn't believe it of her. She had always been so loyal to him, it was the way she was, straight-arrow and sure and honest, it was part of what he loved so much about her. It couldn't be that. And he had never cheated on her. But he just couldn't figure out what was going on with her, and as he ordered champagne and dessert, he looked at her in the candlelight and thought she had never looked lovelier or younger. At forty-one, she was better-looking than most women at thirty. The dark red hair still shone, her figure was great, her waistline almost as trim as it had been before their babies.

“What's bothering you, sweetheart?” His voice was a caress as he reached out and took her hand. He was a good man, a decent one, she knew that, and she also knew how much he loved her.

“Nothing. Why? What makes you say that? I had a wonderful time tonight.” She was lying, but she didn't want him to know. He always did anyway. He knew her too well. Twenty-two years was a long, long time.

“I'd say on a scale of ten, tonight was about a two in your book. Maybe a one. If you count going to the dentist as a zero.”

She laughed at him, and he chuckled as he poured her champagne. “You're crazy, you know that?” she accused him.

“Yeah. About you. Imagine an old fart like me still being nuts about his wife. Pretty amusing, huh, after eighteen years of marriage.”

“I take it forty-four is an 'old fart' now? When did you decide that?”

He lowered his voice conspiratorially as he answered. “When I couldn't make love to you the third time last Sunday night. I think that pushed me over the edge into that category forever.”

She grinned. Their lovemaking was almost always terrific. “I thought twice in an hour and a half wasn't too shabby myself. Besides, you'd had a hell of a lot of wine to drink. Don't forget that.”

He looked at the empty wine bottle and the champagne in front of them and grinned at her. “I guess that blows tonight, too, huh?”

“I don't know. Maybe we ought to go home and check it out before you're too far gone.” She was laughing at him, glad they'd gone out to dinner after all. It had relieved some of her tension.

“Thanks a lot. But I want to know what's bothering you first.”

“Absolutely nothing.” And at that precise moment, she was being honest.

“Maybe not now, but a little while ago, something was. You looked like your best friend had died when I came home.”

“No, I didn't.” But she had been feeling some of that. He was her best friend, after all, and if she went back to school, in some ways she would lose him. “Don't be silly, Ol.”

“Don't try to bullshit me. Something's worrying you, or preoccupying you. Is it your writing?” He knew she hadn't written anything in two years, but it didn't matter to him. He just wanted her to be happy.

“Maybe. I'm not getting anywhere with that. Maybe I can't write anymore. Maybe that was just a flash in my youth.” She shrugged and for the first time in two years, it didn't seem to matter.

“I don't believe that, Sarah. You were good. I think it'll come back to you in time. Maybe you just haven't figured out what you want to write about. Maybe you ought to get out in the world more … do something different …” Without knowing it, he was opening the door to her, but she was terrified to walk through it. No matter what she did, or said, or how she said it, once she told him, everything in their lives would be changed forever.

“I've been thinking about that.” She advanced cautiously.

“And?” He waited.

“What do you mean 'and'?” She was scared of him. It was rare for her. But for the first time in her life, she was terrified of her husband.

“You never think about anything without coming to some kind of conclusion, or taking action.”

“You know me too well.” She smiled, suddenly looking sad again, and desperately not wanting to tell him.

“What aren't you telling me, Sarrie? Not knowing what's on your mind is driving me crazy.”

“Nothing is on my mind.” But she wasn't convincing either of them, and she was going around in circles. “Maybe it's just midlife crisis.”

“That again?” He grinned. “You went through that two years ago, and you only get one go around. Next time it's my turn. Come on, baby … what is it?”

“I don't know, Ollie …”

“Is it us?” His eyes looked sad as he asked her.

“Of course not. How could it be us? You're wonderful … it's just me, I guess. Growing pains. Or the lack of them. I feel like I've been stagnant ever since we got married.” He waited, holding his breath, the champagne, and the wine, and the party atmosphere all but forgotten. “I haven't done anything. And you've accomplished so much.”

“Don't be ridiculous. I'm a guy like a million other ad men.”

“The hell you are. Look at you. Look at what you just told me over dinner. In five years, you'll be the head of Hinkley, Burrows, and Dawson, if it takes you that long, which I doubt. You're one of the biggest success stories in the business.”

“That doesn't mean anything, Sarah. You know that. It's transitory. It's nice. But so what? You've raised three great kids. That's a hell of a lot more important.”

“But what difference does that make now? They've grown up, or practically, in a year or two they'll be gone. Mel and Benjamin anyway, and then what? I sit and wait around for Sam to go, too, and then I spend the rest of my life watching soap operas and talking to Agnes?” Her eyes filled with tears at the prospect, and he laughed. He had never known her to watch daytime TV. She was far more likely to bury herself in Baudelaire or Kafka.

“You paint a mighty gloomy picture, my love. Nothing's stopping you from what you want to do.” He meant it, but he had no concept of the scope of her ambitions. He never had. She had buried them all long before, left them behind somewhere in a duffel bag or an old trunk, with her Radcliffe diploma.

“You don't really mean that.”

“Of course I do. You can do volunteer work, get a part-time job, write short stories again. You can do absolutely anything you set your mind to.”

She took a breath. The time was now, whether she was ready or not. She had to tell him. “I want to go back to school.” Her voice was barely audible across the narrow table.

“I think that's a great idea.” He looked relieved. She was not in love with someone else. All she wanted was to take some courses. “You could go to the state university right in Purchase. Hell, if you spread it out over time, you could even get your master's.” But the way he said it suddenly annoyed her. She could go to a local school, and “spread it out over time.” How much time? Ten years? Twenty? She could be one of those grandmothers taking creative-writing courses and producing nothing.

“That isn't what I had in mind.” Her voice was suddenly firm and much stronger. He was the enemy now, the one who had kept her from everything she wanted.

“What were you thinking of?” He looked confused.

She closed her eyes for an instant, and then opened them and looked at him. “I've been accepted for the master's program at Harvard.” There was an endless silence between them as he stared at her and tried to understand what she was saying.

“What is that supposed to mean?” Suddenly he didn't understand anything. What was she saying to him, this woman he thought he knew, who had lain next to him for two decades. Suddenly, in the blink of an eye, she had become a stranger. “When did you apply for that?”

“At the end of August.” She spoke very quietly. The determination he remembered from her youth was burning in her eyes again. Right before him, she was becoming another person.

“That's nice. It would have been nice of you to mention it. And what did you intend to do about it if you were accepted?”

“I never thought I would be. I just did it for the hell of it … I guess when Benjamin started talking about applying to Harvard.”

“How touching, a mother-and-son team. And now? Now what are you going to do?” His heart was pounding and he suddenly wished they were at home, so he could pace the room, and not sit stuck in a corner of a restaurant at a table that had instantly become claustrophobic. “What are you telling me? You're not serious about this, are you?”

Her eyes met his like blue ice, as she nodded slowly. “Yes, I am, Ollie.”

“You're going back to Cambridge?” He had lived there for seven years and she for four, but that was lifetimes ago. Never in his life had he ever considered going back there.

“I'm thinking about it.” She was doing more than that, but she couldn't face telling him yet. It was too brutal.

“And what am I supposed to do? Quit my job and come with you?”

“I don't know. I haven't figured that out yet. I don't expect you to do anything. This is my decision.”

“Is it? Is it? And what about us? What do you expect us to do while you play student again? May I remind you that Melissa will be home for another two years, and Sam for nine, or had you forgotten?” He was furious now, and he signaled the waiter for the check with an impatient gesture. She was crazy. That was what she was. Crazy. He would have preferred that she tell him she was having an affair. That would have been easier to deal with, or at least he thought so at the moment.

“I haven't forgotten any of that. I just need to think this out.” She spoke quietly, as he peeled off a wad of bills and left it on the table.

“You need a good shrink, that's what you need. You're acting like a bored, neurotic housewife.” He stood up and she glared at him, the full frustration of the past twenty years boiling up in her until she could no longer contain it.

“You don't know anything about me.” She stood, facing him, as the waiters watched politely from the distance, and the diners nearby pretended not to listen. “You don't know what it's like, giving up everything you've ever dreamed of. You've got it all, a career, a family, a wife waiting for you at home like a faithful little dog, waiting to bring you the newspaper and fetch your slippers. Well, what about me, God damn it! When do I get mine? When do I get to do what I want to do? When you're dead, when the kids are gone, when I'm ninety? Well, I'm not going to wait that long. I want it now, before I'm too old to do anything worthwhile, before I'm too old to give a damn anymore, or enjoy it. I'm not going to sit around and wait until you start calling our children because you can't figure out whether I got lost when I went shopping, or I was so goddamn tired of my life I just decided not to come home again. I'm not waiting for that, Oliver Watson!” A woman at a nearby table wanted to stand up and cheer, she had four children and had given up the dream of medical school to marry a man who had cheated on her for twenty years and took her totally for granted. But Oliver stalked out of the restaurant, and Sarah picked up her coat and bag and walked out behind him. They were in the parking lot before he spoke to her again and there were tears in his eyes this time, but she wasn't sure if they were from the cold or hurt and anger. It was hard to tell. But what she didn't understand was that she was destroying everything he believed in. He had been good to her, he loved her, he loved their kids, he had never wanted her to work, because he wanted to take care of her, to love, honor, cherish, and protect her. And now she hated him for it and wanted to go back to school, but worse than that, if she went back to Harvard, she would have to leave them. It wasn't school he objected to, it was where it was, and what she would have to do to them to get there.

“Are you telling me you're leaving me? Is that what this is about? Are you walking out on us? And just exactly how long have you known that?”

“I only got the letter of acceptance this afternoon, Oliver. I haven't even absorbed it yet myself. And no, I'm not leaving you.” She tried to calm down. “I can come home for vacations and weekends.”

“Oh for chrissake … and what are we supposed to do? What about Mel and Sam?”

“They have Agnes.” They stood in the snow, shouting at each other, and Sarah wished with all her heart that she had waited to tell him. She hadn't even sorted it out herself yet.

“And what about me? I have Agnes too? She'll be thrilled to hear it.”

Sarah smiled at him. Even in anguish, he was decent and funny. “Come on, Ollie … let's just let this thing cool down. We both need to think about it.”

“No, we don't.” His face was suddenly more serious than she had ever seen it. “There should be absolutely nothing to think about. You're a married woman with a husband and three kids. There's no way you can go to a school almost two hundred miles away, unless you walk out on us, plain and simple.”

“It's not that simple. Don't make it that simple, Ol-lie. What if I really need to do this?”

“You're being self-indulgent.” He unlocked the car, yanked open the door, and slid behind the wheel, and when she got in, he stared at her, with fresh questions. “How exactly do you intend to pay for this, or are you expecting me to put you and Benjamin through Harvard?” It was going to be something of a strain on them having one child in college, let alone two when Mel went. And adding Sarah to their burdens seemed even more absurd, but she had long since figured that out, in case she was ever accepted.

“I still have the money my grandmother left me. With the exception of the new roof we put on the house, I've never touched it.”

“I thought that money was earmarked for the kids. We agreed that money was sacred.”

“Maybe it'll mean more to them to have a mother who does something worthwhile with her life, like writing something that might mean something to them one day, or getting a job that does someone some good, or doing something useful.”

“It's a lovely thought, but frankly I think your children would rather have a mother than a literary example.” He sounded bitter as he drove the short distance to the house, and then sat huddled in the car, outside the house in the driveway. “You've already made up your mind, haven't you? You're going to do it, aren't you, Sarrie?” He sounded so sad, and this time when he turned to look at her, she knew that the tears in his eyes weren't from the wind, they were from what she had told him.

Her eyes were damp too as she hesitated, looking out at the snow, and then she turned to face him. “I think maybe I have to, Ollie … I don't know if I can ever explain it … but I have to. It won't be for long, I promise … I'll work as hard as I can, as fast as I can.” But she wasn't kidding anyone. They both knew it was an intense two-year program.

“How can you do this?” He wanted to say “to me,” but it sounded too selfish.

“I have to.” Her voice was a whisper as a car pulled up behind them, and the lights from the headlights behind them lit up their faces. She could see tears rolling down his cheeks and all she wanted to do was hold him. “I'm so sorry … I didn't want to tell you now … I wanted to tell you after Christmas.”

“What difference does it make?” He glanced behind them at Benjamin and Melissa getting out of the other car, and then back at his wife, the wife he was about to lose, who was leaving them to go back to school, and might never come back, no matter what she said. He knew that nothing would ever be the same again. They both did. “What are you going to tell them?”

The kids waited for them to get out, watching them, and chatting in the cold night air, as Sarah glanced at them, with a stone in her heart. “I don't know yet. Let's get through the holiday first.” Oliver nodded, and opened the door, wiping the tears from his cheeks hurriedly so his children wouldn't see them.

“Hi, Dad. How was dinner?” Benjamin appeared to be in high spirits, and Melissa, all legs and long blond hair, was smiling. She still had her stage makeup on. It had been a dress rehearsal for the play, and she'd loved it.

“It was fun,” Sarah answered quickly for him, smiling brightly. “It's a cute place.” Oliver glanced at her, wondering how she could do it, how she could talk to them at all, how she could pretend, how she could face them. Maybe there were things about her he didn't know, had never known, and maybe didn't want to.

He walked into the house, said good night to the kids, and walked slowly upstairs, feeling old and tired, and disillusioned, and he watched her as she quietly closed their bedroom door and faced him. “I'm sorry, Ollie … I really am.”

“So am I.” He still didn't believe it. Maybe she'd change her mind. Maybe it was change of life. Or a brain tumor. Or a sign of a major depression. Maybe she was crazy, maybe she always had been. But he didn't care what she was. She was his wife and he loved her. He wanted her to stay, to take back the things she had said, to tell him she couldn't leave him for anything … him … not just the children … him … but as she stood watching him with somber eyes, he knew she wouldn't do it. She meant what she had said. She was going back to Harvard. She was leaving them. And as the realization cut through to his heart like a knife, he wondered what he would do without her. He wanted to cry just thinking about it, he wanted to die as he lay in bed that night, next to her, feeling her warmth beside him. But it was as though she was already gone. He lay next to her, aching for her, longing for the years that had flown past, and wanting her more than he ever had, but he rolled slowly on his side, away from her so she wouldn't see him cry, and never touched her.

Chapter 3

The days before Christmas seemed to crawl past, and Oliver almost hated to come home now. He alternated between hating her and loving her more than he ever had before, and trying to think of ways to change her mind. But the decision had been made now. They talked about it constantly, late at night, when the children were in bed, and he saw a brutal stubbornness in Sarah that he had thought she had given up years before. But in her mind, she was fighting for her life now.

She promised that nothing would change, that she would come home every Friday night, that she loved him as she had before, yet they both knew she was kidding herself. She would have papers to write, exams to study for, there was no way she could commute, and coming home to bury herself in her books would only frustrate him and the children. Things had to change when she went back to school. It was inevitable, whether she wanted to face it or not. He tried to convince her to go to a different school, somewhere closer to home, even Columbia would be better than going all the way back to Harvard. But she was determined to go back there. He wondered at times if it was to recapture her youth, to turn the clock back to a simpler time, and yet he liked their life so much better now. And he could never understand how she would be able to leave the children.

They still knew nothing of their mother's plans. The older ones sensed a certain tension in the air, and Melissa asked her more than once if she and Dad had had a fight, but Sarah just brushed them off with a carefree air. She was determined not to spoil Christmas for them, and she knew her announcement was going to upset them. She had decided to tell them the day after Christmas and Ollie agreed because he thought he could still change her mind. They went to Melissa's play and then decorated the Christmas tree in what seemed like perfect harmony, singing carols, making jokes, while Oliver and Benjamin struggled with the lights, and Sam ate the popcorn faster than Melissa and Sarah could string it. Watching them, Oliver felt as though his heart would break. She couldn't do this to them, it wasn't fair, and how was he going to take care of them? And no matter how dear she was, Agnes was only hired help after all. And he worked in New York all day long. He had visions of Benjamin and Melissa running wild and Sam going into a decline, while their mother played graduate student at Harvard.

It was Christmas Eve before he sat down alone with her, in front of a roaring fire in the library, and faced her soberly and asked her not to go through with her plans. He had already decided that if he had to, he was going to beg her.

“You just can't do this to them.” He had lost ten pounds in two weeks, and the strain in the air was killing both of them, but Sarah was adamant. She had written to accept the week before, and she was leaving in two weeks to find a place to stay in Boston. Her classes started on the fifteenth of January. All that remained was to get through Christmas, pack her things, and tell the children.

“Ollie, let's not go through this again.”

He wanted to jump up and shake her. But she was withdrawn from him, as though she couldn't bear facing the pain she knew she had caused him.

The children had hung their stockings near the tree, and late that night, he and Sarah brought the presents down. She and Agnes had been wrapping them for weeks. She had gone all out this year, almost as though it were their final Christmas. Ollie had bought her an emerald ring at Van Cleef the week before, it was beautiful and something he knew she had always wanted. It was a plain band set with small diamond baguettes, and in the center a beautifully cut square emerald. He wanted to give it to her that night, but suddenly it seemed more like a bribe than a gift, and he was sorry he had bought it.

When they went to bed that night, Sarah set the alarm for six. She wanted to get up early to stuff the turkey. Agnes would be up early to do most of the work anyway, but Sarah wanted to do the turkey her- self, another final gift to them, and it was a family tradition.

She lay in bed, after they turned out the lights, thinking quietly, and listening to Ollie breathe. She knew he was awake, and could imagine only too easily what he was thinking. He had been beside himself for the past two weeks. They had argued, cried, talked, discussed, and still she knew she was doing the right thing, for herself anyway. Now all she wanted was to get it over with, to start her new life, and get away from them, and the pain she knew she was causing Ollie.

“I wish you'd stop acting as though I were leaving here for good.” Her voice was gentle in the darkness.

“You are though, aren't you?” His voice sounded so sad, she couldn't bear to hear it.

“I told you. I'll come home every weekend I can, and there are plenty of vacations.”

“And how long do you think that will last? You can't commute and go to school. I just don't understand how you can do this.” He had said that a thousand times in the last two weeks, and silently he kept searching for another reason, for something he had done, or failed to do, it had to be that. She couldn't just want an entirely different life, away from them, if she really loved him.

“Maybe after it's all over it'll make more sense to you. Maybe if I make something of myself as a result of this, then you'll respect what I've done. If that happens, then it'll be worth it.”

“I respect you now. I always have.” He turned to look at her in the moonlight. She looked as lovely as she always had to him, maybe more so now with the pain of losing her a constant reminder of how much he loved her. And then, already aching for them, for what they didn't know and he did, “When exactly are you going to tell the children?”

“I thought tomorrow night, after your parents go home.”

“It's a hell of a way to wind up Christmas.”

“I don't think I ought to wait any longer. The children know something's going on. Mel's been suspicious all week, and Benjamin's been gone. With him, that's always a sign that he knows something's wrong and doesn't know how to face it.”

“And how do you think they're going to feel after they hear the news?”

“Like we do, probably. Scared, confused, maybe excited for me. I think Benjamin and Mel will be able to understand. I'm worried about Sam, though.” She spoke softly and turned to look at Ollie, reaching quietly for his hand, and her voice trembled when she spoke again, thinking of their last baby. “Take good care of him, Ollie … he needs you more than he needs me. …”

“He needs you too. I only see him a couple of hours a day and all we talk about is football, baseball, and homework.”

“That's a start. Maybe you'll all be closer after this.”

“I thought we were.” That was the part that hurt most. He had thought they had everything. The perfect family. The perfect life. The perfect marriage. “I always thought everything was so just right between us … I never understood how you felt about all this … I mean … well, I did when you got pregnant, but I always thought that after that, and even before Sam, you were happy.” It hurt him so much to think that he hadn't given her everything she wanted.

“I was … I have been … I just wanted something you couldn't give me. It has to come from within, and I guess I never found it.” She felt so guilty for making him feel inadequate. He had always been the perfect husband.

“And if you don't find it now?”

“I give up, I guess.” But she knew she would. She already had in part. Just making the decision to go had changed her.

“I think you could find it right here. Maybe all you needed was more freedom.”

She moved closer to him in their comfortable bed, and he put an arm around her. “I had all the freedom I needed. I just didn't know what to do with it.”

“Oh baby …” He buried his face in her hair, and his eyes filled with tears again, but as she laid her face against his chest, he could feel her tears and her shoulders tremble. “Why are we doing this? Can't we just turn the clock back a few weeks and forget this ever happened?”

Even through her tears she shook her head and then looked up at him. “I don't think so. I would always feel I'd missed something. I'll come back … I promise … I swear. I love you too much not to.” But something in his heart told him it just wouldn't happen no matter what she said. It was safer to keep her at home, to never let her go. Once gone, anything could happen.

They lay for a long time, holding each other tight, their faces side by side, their lips meeting from time to time, and at last his hunger for her got the best of him.

For the first time in two weeks, he took her with a passion and a longing that had been long since forgotten. There was a desperation to their lovemaking that had never been there before, a thirst, a loneliness, an insatiable hunger. And she felt it, too, along with guilt, regret, and a sorrow that almost overwhelmed her as they shuddered in unison and lay side by side kissing afterward, until finally he slept in her arms … Oliver … the boy she had loved long since … the man he had become … the love that had begun and now might end at Harvard.

Chapter 4

Christmas morning was a frantic rush. The table, the turkey, the presents, the phone calls from Chicago, and three calls from the Watsons. George called to say that Phyllis wasn't quite herself, and Oliver brushed it off as his father getting too wound up again over nothing. They were expected at noon, and arrived at almost two o'clock, with armloads of gifts for everyone, including a cashmere shawl for Agnes, and a huge soup bone for Andy. And contrary to George's warnings, Phyllis seemed remarkably well and looked lovely in a new purple wool dress she'd bought the day she'd gone shopping for hours and hours and worried her husband.

They opened presents for what seemed like ages, and Sarah was stunned by the emerald ring Ollie had given her early that morning when he sat at the kitchen table, at the crack of dawn, watching her stuff the turkey. She had given him a sheepskin coat, some tapes she knew he wanted, some ties and socks, and silly things, and a beautiful new black leather briefcase. And as a joke, he'd given her a funny little red “school bag,” to remind her that she was just “a kid to him,” and a gold compass to find her way home, inscribed with the words Come Home Soon. I Love You. Ollie.

“What's that for, Dad?” Sam had inquired, noticing the gift when Sarah opened it. “You and Mom going camping? That's a pretty fancy compass.”

“Your mom's a pretty fancy woman. I just thought it might be useful if she got lost sometime.” He smiled, and Sam laughed, and Sarah gently reached out to touch Ollie. She kissed him tenderly, and afterward he followed her out to the kitchen to help carve the turkey.

The meal itself was an uneventful one, except that halfway through, Grandma Phyllis started to get nervous. She seemed to jump out of her seat every chance she got, helping to carry plates that didn't need to go anywhere, bringing things in from the kitchen that didn't belong, and asking everyone ten times if they were ready for another helping.

“What's the matter with Grandma?” Sam whispered to his father at one point, when Phyllis had scurried after Agnes, insisting that she was going to help her. “She never used to like to help in the kitchen that much.” Oliver had noticed it too, but imagined that she was just ill at ease about something. She seemed unusually agitated.

“I think she just wants to help your mom and Agnes.

Old people get like that sometimes. They want everyone to know that they're still useful.”

“Oh.” Sam nodded, satisfied, but the others had noticed it too. And Mel looked worried as she glanced at her mother. Sarah only shook her head, not wanting the questions to form in words. It was suddenly obvious to her that her mother-in-law had some kind of a problem.

But the meal went smoothly other than that. And everyone ate too many helpings of everything, and then collapsed in the living room, while Sarah, Agnes, and Phyllis tidied up the kitchen. Melissa joined them for a while, but then came to sit with the men and her two brothers.

She looked worriedly at Grandpa George, and sat down next to him when she returned. “What's the matter with Grandma? She seems so nervous.”

“She gets like that sometimes, agitated. It's difficult to calm her down, sometimes it's just better to let her wear herself out as long as she's not doing any harm. Is she okay out there?”

“I think so. She's running around the kitchen like a whirlwind.” But the truth was she wasn't really doing anything, just talking incessantly and moving dirty plates from here to there and back again without getting anything accomplished. Sarah and Agnes had noticed it, too, but no one had said anything, and eventually they had told Mel to go on into the other room. And with that, her grandmother had looked up, at the sound of her name, looking straight at her only female grandchild.

“Mel? Is she here? Oh I'd love to see her, where is she?” Melissa had been stunned into silence and her mother had motioned her to go into the other room, but she was still shaken when she sat down next to her grandfather, and asked for an explanation.

“She's so confused. I've never seen her like that before.”

“It's been happening to her more and more often.” George Watson looked sadly at his son. It was exactly what he had been trying to explain to Ollie. Yet sometimes she was right as rain, and he wondered if he himself was imagining her confusion. It was hard to know what to think. One day she seemed totally out of control, and the next she seemed fine again, and sometimes she changed from hour to hour. It was both frightening and confusing. “I don't know what it is, Mel. I wish I did. Old age, I suppose, but she seems too young for that.” Phyllis Watson was only sixty-nine years old, and her husband was three years older.

And a few minutes later, Phyllis and Sarah walked back into the room, and the older woman seemed much calmer. She sat down quietly in a chair, and chatted with Benjamin, who was telling her about applying to Harvard. He was applying to Princeton, too, Stanford on the West Coast, Brown, Duke, and Georgetown. With his grades and athletic skill, he had a host of great schools to choose from. But he still hoped that he would get into Harvard, and now so did Sarah. It would be exciting to be in school with him. Maybe if that happened, he would forgive her for leaving home eight months before he left for college. Ollie had even suggested that she wait until Benjamin left for school, but she didn't want to postpone anything. She had waited too many years for this to be willing to wait another hour. It was the kind of reaction Phyllis had foretold years before, but now she might not even remember or understand that.

“How soon will you hear from all those schools?” George Watson was excited for his grandson.

“Probably not until late April.”

“That's a long time to wait, for a boy your age.”

“Yes, it is.” Benjamin smiled and looked at his father lovingly. “Dad and I are going to tour the schools this spring while I wait. I know most of them, but I've never been to Duke, or Stanford.”

“That's much too far away. I still think you should go to Princeton.” George's old school, and everyone smiled. George always thought that everyone should go to Princeton.

“I might, if I don't get into Harvard. Maybe you'll get Mel to go there one day.” She groaned and threw a half-eaten cookie at him.

“You know I want to go to UCLA and study drama.”

“Yeah, if you don't get married first.” He usually said “knocked up,” but he wouldn't have dared in front of his parents. She was having a hot romance with a boy in his class, and although he didn't think she had gone “all the way” yet, he suspected that things were getting closer. But she had also recently become aware of his new romance, with a good-looking blond girl with a sensational figure, Sandra Carter.

The evening wore on, and eventually the senior Watsons went home, and just after they did, Oliver looked questioningly at Sarah. She had been oddly quiet for the last half hour, and he knew she was thinking about what she would say to the children. In a way, they were all so tired that it would have been better to wait another day, but she had thought about it for so long that now she wanted to tell them.

Benjamin was about to ask her for the keys to the car, and Melissa wanted to call a friend, and Sam was already yawning when Agnes appeared in the doorway.

“It's time for Sam to go to bed. I'll take him up if you want, Mrs. Watson.” Everything in the kitchen was put away and she wanted to retire to her room, to enjoy the new television set the Watsons had given her for Christmas.

“I'll take him up in a while. We want to talk first. Thank you, Agnes.” Sarah smiled at her, and for an instant Agnes stopped, there was something odd in her employer's eyes, but she only nodded and wished them all a merry Christmas, before going to her room for the night. Sam looked up at his mother with wide, tired eyes.

“What are we going to talk about?”

“Mom … can I … I was supposed to go out …” Benjamin looked anxious to get out as he glanced at his new watch, and Sarah shook her head this time.

“I'd like you to wait. There's something I want to talk to you all about.”

“Something wrong?” He looked puzzled, and Mel looked down at them, she was already halfway up the stairs, but Sarah waited as they all gathered again and sat down. This seemed like official business now, and Oliver took a chair across the room, near the fire, wondering what she would say to them, and how they would take it.

“I don't quite know where to start.” Sarah felt breathless suddenly, as she looked at all of them, her tall, handsome son, her daughter so grown up now, yet still a child, and Sam cuddled sleepily into the couch beside her. “There's something I've wanted to do for a long time, and I'm going to do it now, but it's not going to be easy for any of us. It's a big change. But the first thing I want you all to know is how much I love you, how much I care … but something I've always believed, and told all of you, is that you have to be true to yourself,” she squeezed Sam's hand, and avoided Oliver's eyes as she went on, “you have to do what you think is right, even if it's hard to do sometimes.” She took another breath and there was dead silence in the room as they waited. They were frightened of what she was going to say. She looked so serious suddenly, and Benjamin noticed that their father looked pale. Maybe they were getting divorced, or having another kid, a baby wouldn't be so bad, a divorce would be the end of the world. None of them could imagine what it was. “I'm going back to school.” She sighed as she said the words.

“You are?” Mel looked stunned.

“Where?” Benjamin asked.

“Why?” Sam wanted to know. It sounded dumb to him. School was for kids, and he couldn't wait to get out. Imagine going back when you were grown up. It sure wasn't something he'd want to do at her age. “Is Dad going back to school too?”

Sarah smiled, but Oliver did not. It would have been easier for all of them if he were. Then they would all have gone to Cambridge. But she was the only one moving on, they were staying right here, with their safe, comfortable lives. Only she needed to sail out of port, out of the safe harbor of their lives, into unknown waters. But the thought exhilarated more than frightened her. One day she would explain that to them, but not now. Now they needed to know how it would affect them. And it would. There was no denying that. Especially Sam, who sat looking up expectantly at her. It tore at her heart, just looking at him. But still, she knew she had to leave them.

“No, Dad's not going back to school. Just me. I'm going back to Harvard in a couple of weeks.”

“Harvard?” Benjamin looked shocked. “You? Why?” He didn't understand. How could she go to school in Boston? And then slowly he understood. He glanced at his father's eyes and saw it all, the loneliness, the pain, the sorrow she had put there, but there was something anguished and sad in her eyes now too.

“I'm going to come home as often as I can. And you'll still have Dad and Agnes to take care of you.”

“You mean you're leaving us?” Sam sat bolt upright next to her, his eyes wide and instantly filled with terror. “Like for good?”

“No, not for good,” she was quick to add. “Just for a while. I can come home for weekends and vacations.” She decided to tell them the truth. She owed them that much. “The program is for two years.”

“Two years? 'Sam started to cry and for a moment no one else spoke as she tried to put her arms around him and he wrenched away, running into the middle of the room, toward his father. “You're going away and leaving us? Why? Don't you love us anymore?” She got up and reached out to him but he wanted none of it, and there were tears bright in her eyes now too. She had expected it to be hard, but not like this, and suddenly she ached at the pain she was causing all of them, yet she still knew it was what she had to do, for her own sake.

“Of course I love you, Sam … all of you … I just need to do this … for myself …” She tried to explain, but he couldn't hear her through his sobs, he had run to Mel and was clinging to her now as she started to cry too. She hung on to her little brother as though they both might drown, and looked up at her mother with accusing eyes.

“Why, Mom?” They were the two most painful words she had ever heard, and she looked to Oliver for help, but he said nothing now. He was as heartbroken over it as their children

“It's hard to explain. It's just something I've wanted to do for a long time.”

“Is it you and Dad?” Mel asked through her tears as she held on to Sam. “Are you getting divorced?”

“No, we're not. Nothing's going to change. I just need to go away for a while, to accomplish something for myself, to be someone on my own, without all of you.” She didn't tell them they were dragging her down, that they kept her from creating anything on her own. It would have been unfair to them, but so was this. It was easy to see that now. In a way Oliver had been right, he always was, but she knew that she was right too. They'd survive, and she'd come back to them a better person. If she stayed, she would die. She knew that for sure now.

“Can't you go to school here?” Benjamin asked her quietly. He looked shocked too. But he was too old to cry. He just kept looking at her, as though wanting to understand, sure that there was another reason for all this. Maybe they were getting divorced and didn't want to tell the kids. But then why didn't she take the kids with her? It just didn't make sense. All he knew was that their family was falling apart, and he wasn't sure why. But he wanted to believe that she had good reasons for this. He loved her so much. He wanted to understand her side, too, but he couldn't.

“I don't think I could get anything done here, Benjamin. Harvard is the right place for me.” She smiled sadly, feeling Sam's sobs tear through her guts like a physical pain, but not daring to approach him. Every time she tried, he flailed out wildly at her. And Oliver was keeping his distance from him too. “Maybe we'll both be there together in the fall.”

“That would be nice.” Benjamin smiled at her. He would always believe in her, and the things she did, but inside he was staggering from the blow. He felt as if his whole life had been blown apart in a single moment. It had never dawned on him that either of his parents would go anywhere. They were there to stay … or maybe not after all. But he would never have thought that she would be the one to go. He could hardly think as he sat in his chair trying to stay calm, watching Oliver in the corner of the room, and then he stood up and looked at his dad, and asked him point-blank, “Dad, what do you think about this?”

“It's your mother's decision, Son. We can't stand in her way. And she hasn't given us much choice. She believes she's doing the right thing, and we just have to make the best of it and support her.” He met Sarah's eyes then, and for him something had changed. She had hurt his children now, not just him, and he would never forget that, but he also knew that he would always love her. “We're going to miss you, Sarrie.” The beauty of Christmas was forgotten now, the laughter, and the traditions and the gifts. This was the hardest night of their lives, but it could have been worse. Something could have happened to one of them. This was just for a while, or so she said. Two years. It seemed like an eternity to them now, as Sarah attempted to approach Mel and Sam again. Sam just cried more and Mel held up her hand to keep her away and looked at both her parents with equal anger.

“I think you're lying to us. I think you're leaving for good, and you don't have the guts to tell us. But if you are, why aren't you taking us with you?”

“Because I'm not. And what would you do in Cambridge? Lose all your friends here? Go to a new school? Live in a tiny apartment with me while I write papers and study for exams? Benjamin's in his senior year, you have two more to go. Do you really want to snake all that up? And I couldn't take care of you while I'm going to school. You're much better off here with Daddy and Aggie, in your own home, going to a school you love, with friends you've had for years, in familiar surroundings.”

“You're walking out on us.” Mel's eyes were filled with shards of anger and pain, and Sam's sobs had never dimmed once. Mel turned on her father then. “You must have done something awful to her to make her walk out on us like this.” She hated them both and knew she always would. Forever.

Sarah was quick to his defense. “That's not true, Mel. Your father has nothing to do with this.”

“People don't just go away to school. Not grown-ups anyway. You must hate us all a lot to go.” Sam's sobs grew to a wail, and Mel stood up and held him in her arms. And then he turned to look at his mother again, his face ravaged by tears, and she took no step toward him this time. He was no longer hers. He was theirs now.

Sam could hardly speak through his sobs. “Iss … iss … that true? Do … do … you … hate us, Mom?” Her heart broke at the thought and tears spilled down her cheeks as she shook her head.

“No, I don't. I love you with all my heart … all of you, and Daddy.” She was crying now, and Oliver turned away from all of them, as they stood silently watching each other, not knowing what to do. Their family had been destroyed in one fell swoop. And then, quietly, he walked over to Mel and took Sam in his arms, and Sam clung to him as he had years before, when he was a baby.

“It's gonna be all right, Son … we're gonna be okay.” He bent and tried to kiss Mel, but she pulled away from him, and ran up to her room, and an instant later they heard the door slam, and then slowly Oliver walked up the stairs with Sam, and Sarah and Benjamin were left alone. He looked at her, still in shock, unable to believe what he'd heard, yet knowing it was true.

“Mom … why?”

He was old enough to talk to openly and she always had. “I'm not sure I know. I just know I can't do this anymore, and that seems right. That's all I know. I want to be more than this. More than someone who drives car pools and waits for Sam to come home from school.” For a moment, it sounded to Ben as though she hated being their mother.

“But couldn't you wait?” Other moms did.

“Not long enough. I have to do it now.” She blew her nose, but the tears wouldn't stop. It was awful hurting them, but without meaning to, they were hurting her too. They had for years. And so had Ollie.

Benjamin nodded, wishing he understood. He loved her and wished her well, but secretly he thought it was a terrible thing to do. He couldn't imagine leaving a child. He had never thought she would do a thing like that. But she had, and she was, and now everything was changed. What was left? Nothing. A bunch of kids. A father who worked all the time. And a hired woman to cook for them. Suddenly, he couldn't wait to get out in the fall. He would have left sooner if he could. He had no family anymore. Just a bunch of people he lived with. It was almost as if she'd died, only worse, because she could have stayed if she wanted to. And it was knowing that she didn't want to that really hurt him. All that crap about how she cared about them. If she did, she'd stay, but she was going. That said it all. He looked down at his feet, and then back up at her, feeling guilty for his thoughts, and wanting to get out of the house as fast as he could. He had always believed in her, even more than in his dad, and suddenly she was screwing all of them. Just like that. Him, Mel, Sam, even his dad. He felt sorry for him, but there was nothing he could do to change it.

“I'm sorry to ask you now … I was wondering if … do you think Dad would mind if I took the car for a while?”

She shook her head, wondering what he really thought. He had always been the one she was closest to. “I'm sure it's okay.” It was as though suddenly she no longer had any authority. She had turned in her keys. It was a glimpse of what coming back on weekends would be like. They wouldn't be used to having her around, she wouldn't have any authority over them anymore. It wasn't going to be easy, no matter what she did. “Are you all right?” She was worried about him. She knew that even if he wasn't saying much, he was hard hit. And he was still only seventeen, after all. She didn't want him going out and getting drunk and then trying to drive home, or some other wild idea. “Where are you going at this hour?” It was after ten o'clock on Christmas night and she wasn't crazy about the idea of having him on the roads.

“Just to see a friend. I'll be back in a while.”

“Okay.” She nodded and he turned to go, and then suddenly she reached out to him and grabbed his hand. “I love you … please always remember that …” She was crying again, and he wanted to say something to her, but he didn't. She had hurt him too much, hurt all of them. All he could do was nod, and walk to the front door as he picked up his coat. And a moment later he was gone. She shuddered as the front door slammed, and then she walked slowly up the stairs to their bedroom. She could still hear sobs coming from Mel's room, and the door was locked when she tried, and Mel wouldn't answer her, and there was no sound from Sam's, and she didn't dare go in and wake him. She walked into her own room, and sat down on the bed, feeling as if she'd been hit by a truck, and it was an hour later when Oliver finally came in. He found her lying on the bed, staring at the wall, her eyes still full of tears.

“How is he?” She hadn't even gone to him. He was Oliver's now, no longer hers. They all were. She might as well be gone and then she realized that she should leave as soon as possible. It would probably be easier for all of them, now that they knew she was going.

“He's asleep.” Oliver sank down in a chair with an exhausted sigh. It had been a long day, and an endless night, and he didn't want to play games with her anymore. She was ruining their lives, all for what she wanted. His mother had been right. But it was too late now. They were in it up to their necks, and if his kids were going to survive, he had to start swimming fast. He had just gotten his feet wet with Sam, and there was still Mel to worry about, and Benjamin. He had seen the look in the boy's eyes. Even at seventeen he was badly shaken up by what Sarah had done. “I don't know if any of them are ever going to recover from this.”

“Don't say things like that. I feel bad enough as it is.”

“Maybe not. Maybe if you felt bad enough, you wouldn't do it. They're never going to trust anyone again, least of all me. If their own mother walks out on them, what do you suppose they're going to expect from the rest of the world? Just what do you think this is going to do to them, make them better people? Hell, no. They'll be lucky if they survive. We all will.”

“What if I'd died?”

“That would have been easier for them. At least it wouldn't have been your choice, and even that apparently makes kids feel rejected.”

“Thanks a lot. So you're telling me that I'm the ultimate bad guy, is that it?” She was angry again. He was trying to beat her with guilt, and she felt guilty enough already.

“Maybe I am telling you that, Sarah. Maybe you are. Maybe you're just a real selfish bitch, and you don't give a damn about any of us. That's possible, isn't it?”

“Maybe. Are you telling me you don't want me back?”

“Don't put words in my mouth.” The trouble was, he did, he always would, no matter what she did to him and the kids, but he hated her now for what she had just done to them. Sam had held on to him like a drowning child, and he was. He was going to hurt for a long, long time, and Oliver meant what he had said. He wondered if all of them would be marked by this for life. Surely Sam would, particularly if she didn't come back to stay, which Oliver realized was entirely possible, even though she denied that now, but things were going to change for her once she was at Harvard again. There were going to be other people in her life, and Oliver and the kids would be far, far from there. There were no guarantees now, for either of them.

“I think I should leave in the next few days. It's too hard on all of us if I stay for the next two weeks.”

“That's up to you.” He walked into the bathroom and got undressed. He suddenly didn't feel close to her anymore. They had made love only the night before, and now she seemed like a stranger to him. A stranger who had walked into his house and emotionally abused his kids. “When do you think you'll go?” he asked when he came back and sat down on the bed.

“Day after tomorrow maybe. I have to get organized.”

“Maybe I should take the kids away so they don't see you leave.”

“That might be a thought.” She looked at him sadly then, there was nothing left to say. They had said it all, the accusations, the regrets, the apologies, the explanations, and now the tears. “I don't know what to say to you anymore.” Especially after tonight, after watching their children cry. And yet she was still going.

“Neither do I.” She looked numb and broken.

They lay in silence in the dark, and at last, at 2:00 A.M., he fell asleep. But Sarah lay wide awake until the dawn, and it was only then that she heard Benjamin come in. But she said nothing to him. He was a good boy, and he'd had a hard time. This was going to be hard for him too. He was still only a boy, or so she thought.

He had become a man that night, and it had been a strange and beautiful experience for him. Sandra's parents had been away, and he had made love to her for the first time. It was as though he had been given a woman of his own in exchange for the one he had lost earlier that evening. It was an odd, bittersweet night for him, and after that they had talked long into the night, about what was happening at home, and how he felt about it. He could talk to Sandra, as he could to no one else, and then they had made love again, and at last he had come home, to his own bed, to think of the new love he had, and what it meant, and the mother he had lost, and suddenly that seemed a little less awesome to him, because of Sandra.

Sarah lay listening to the sounds of the house as they all slept, wishing she was one of them again. But she wasn't anymore. It was as though she were someone else, and the only thing left was to get on with her new life now. She was still excited about that, in spite of what it had cost in hearts and lives. And as they all slept, she got up and began to pack. She packed everything she wanted in three suitcases and when Oliver got up in the morning, she was through. She had showered and dressed, and made a reservation on a plane. She had called a hotel in Cambridge where she had once stayed. And she had made up her mind to leave by that afternoon at the latest.

“Where are you going at this hour?” Oliver looked surprised to see her dressed when he got up, and he sensed that a lot had gone on while he slept.

“Nowhere yet. I'm leaving tonight. Ill tell the kids when they get up. They can't be much more upset than they already are. Why don't you take them away somewhere for a breather?”

“I'll try. I'll see what I can do.” He showered and changed and made some calls. And at breakfast they both told them that Sarah was leaving sooner than she'd planned, and he was taking them skiing in Vermont. He asked Agnes to pack for Sam, and for a moment Benjamin seemed to hold back. He said there were some things he wanted to do for school during the rest of the vacation.

“During Christmas break?” Oliver looked skeptical and wondered if it was a girl.

“How long will we be gone?”

“Three or four days.” Long enough to distract everyone if that was possible, and then back to the pall that would have fallen over the house when she left. It was already there now. They had looked shocked when she said she was leaving that day, but they were already so numb from the pain of the night before that nothing surprised them now, and they just nodded over the breakfasts they barely touched. Benjamin looked tired and didn't say much, he hardly ate, and Mel wasn't speaking to anyone, and Sam looked constantly at his father, as though to be sure he was still there and hadn't left them.

In the end, Benjamin agreed to come to Vermont with them and they managed to leave the house by four, before Sarah left for the airport. The good-byes were terrible, and Sam was crying again when they left her. Agnes stood in the doorway rigid with dismay, and even Benjamin had tears in his eyes this time, Sarah couldn't even speak, and Oliver was crying openly as they drove away. He looked in the mirror only once, and almost felt his heart physically break as he saw her standing there, in front of the house, her arm lifted in a last wave. His whole life was gone, in one moment, the woman he loved, and everything he had built. Vanished, in exchange for the insanity she wanted. And he figured it didn't hurt for his kids to see him cry. He was hurting as badly as they were, and as he looked down at Sam, he smiled through his tears, and pulled the boy closer to him.

“Come on, champ, we're gonna be okay, you know. And so is Mom.” There were still tears in his eyes as he tried to smile at Sam and the other children.

“Will we ever see her again?” It was just what Ollie had feared. Sam trusted nothing and no one now, but Ollie wasn't sure he did himself, who could blame him?

“Of course we will. And one of these days we won't feel quite this bad. It hurts like hell right now though, doesn't it?” His voice choked up again, and in the backseat Benjamin blew his nose. Mel was crying, too, but she was lost in her own thoughts, and said nothing to any of them, and hadn't since that morning.

It was going to be odd being mother and father to them, odd doing the things she had done for them … taking them to the doctor … the orthodontist … buying Sam's shoes … when would he find the time for all of it? How would he manage without her? But more importantly than that, how would he live without the woman he loved, without her hand and her life and her comfort and her laughter? It was a long quiet drive to Vermont, and no one spoke until they were well into Massachusetts and stopped for dinner.

Sarah was in Boston by then, and on her way to Cambridge, to start a new life. The life she had wanted, without them.

Chapter 5

In the end, the skiing was fun, and after the first few days they all started to come to life again, although some of them more slowly than others. Sam had nightmares at night, and he cried easily now, but he laughed, too, and he had a great time skiing with his father. And Benjamin even entered a downhill race before they went home, but whenever he wasn't skiing, he was calling friends, as though they alone held the solution to all his problems. Only Mel remained withdrawn, skiing halfheartedly and avoiding the rest of them. She was the only female in their midst now, and Oliver tried to boost her spirits repeatedly, but she wouldn't even let him get near her. She seemed to have nothing to say to them, the only one she ever spoke to was Sam, and even with him she was painfully quiet.

Oliver kept busy with all of them, renting skis and boots for them, loading and unloading the car, organizing meals, tucking Sam into bed, keeping an eye on Mel, making sure everyone was properly dressed, and by eight o'clock at night he was exhausted. He could barely get through their evening meal, and at night he fell into bed with Sam. He had decided to share a room with him, in case the child was too lonely. And Sam wet the bed twice, which kept Oliver busy even at night, changing sheets, turning the mattress around, and finding fresh blankets. It was obvious that Sam was deeply distressed, as they all were, but Ollie had his hands so full with them that he hardly had time to think of Sarah. It was only at night, as he lay in bed, that he could feel the ache in his heart, and when he woke in the morning, the pain of the memory of her struck him with the weight of a mountain. It was a little bit as though she had died, and it was only on the third day they were in Vermont that Ollie even brought her name up. He said something about “Mom,” and their heads spun around, each of them wearing the clear evidence of their pain, and he was instantly sorry he had said it.

It was New Year's Day when they drove back, and they were all in better spirits, and looked incredibly healthy. It was when they got home that it hit them again. The house was too quiet, the dog was asleep, and even Aggie was out. And Oliver realized that they had all secretly hoped that Sarah would be waiting for them, but she wasn't. She was long gone, and even though Oliver had her number at the hotel in Cambridge, he didn't call her that night. He put Sam to bed, after Mel helped him make dinner. Benjamin went out. He appeared in the kitchen dressed for what looked like a date as the others sat at the kitchen table.

“So soon?” Ollie smiled. None of them had even unpacked. “Must be someone special.”

Benjamin smiled noncommittally at his father. “Just a friend. Can I borrow the car, Dad?”

“Don't come home late, Son. And be careful. There will still be a lot of drunks on the road tonight.” At least he was grateful that his son was cautious and he knew he never drove if he drank. More than once, Benjamin had called them to pick him up, even if he'd just had a beer or two with friends. Sarah had drummed that into him, that and a lot of other things. She had left her mark on all of them, and now she was gone, and Oliver wondered when she would come home for the much promised weekend. She'd only been gone for six days, and it already felt like a lifetime.

It was strange going to bed alone that night, and he lay in bed thinking about her, as he had all week, and trying to pretend to himself that he really wasn't. At midnight, he finally turned on the light, and tried reading some papers he had brought home from the office. His boss had been a good sport about giving him the week off on such short notice, and he was in better shape now, but not much. He was still awake when Benjamin came home at one o'clock, and stopped in the doorway to say good night. Oliver had left the door open so he could hear Sam, and Benjamin stood looking sadly at him, as he put the car keys down on a table.

“It must be hard on you, Dad … I mean … with Mom gone.”

Oliver nodded. There wasn't much he could say to him. It was hard on all of them. “I guess well get used to it, and she'll come home soon.” But he didn't sound convinced, and Benjamin nodded. “Did you have a good time tonight? It's kind of late to be coming home at this hour on a school night.”

“Yeah … I kind of lost track of the time. Sorry, Dad.” He smiled and said good night. An hour later Oliver heard Sam crying, and he hurried into his bedroom. The boy was still asleep, and Ollie sat down next to him and stroked his head. His dark hair was damp, and eventually he settled down again. But at four o'clock, Oliver felt him slip into bed beside him. The child cuddled up next to him, and Ollie thought about carrying him back to his room, but in truth he found he was grateful to have him near him, and he turned over and went back to sleep. And father and son slept peacefully until morning.

At breakfast the next day, there was the usual chaos. Aggie cooked waffles and bacon for everyone, which was usually a weekend treat, saved only for special occasions. It was as though she knew they needed something special now, and she had packed an extra nice lunch for Sam, with all his favorites. She was going to drive his car pool now, and Ollie left for the train feeling disorganized and rushed, which was unlike him. He had been busy leaving instructions for everyone, and reminded everyone to come home on time and get to work on their homework. That was what Sarah did, wasn't it? Or was it? Everything had always seemed so peaceful when she was there, so in control, and so happy when he left for the office. And once there, he was greeted by a week's stack of work and reports on pending projects. He couldn't leave until seven o'clock that night, and it was close to nine when he got home. Benjamin was out again, Mel was on the phone with friends, and Sam was watching TV in his father's bed, having forgotten to do his homework, and Aggie hadn't pressed him. She told Oliver she hadn't wanted to upset him.

“Can I sleep with you, Dad?”

“Don't you think you should sleep in your own bed, Son?” He was afraid it might become a nightly habit.

“Just tonight? … please … I promise, I'll be good.”

Oliver smiled at him, and stooped to kiss the top of his head. “I'd be a lot happier if you'd done your homework.”

“I forgot.”

“Apparently.” He took off his coat and tie, set down his briefcase near the desk, and sat down on the bed next to Sam, wondering if Sarah had called, but not daring to ask him. “What'd you do today?”

“Nothing much. Aggie let me watch TV when I got home.” They both knew Sarah had never let him do that. Things were changing rapidly without her, a little too much so for Ollie.

“Where's Benjamin?”

“Out.” Sam looked unconcerned.

“So I gathered.” And he was going to have to handle that too. He was not allowed to go out on weekday nights, even if this was his senior year. He was only seventeen, and Ollie wasn't about to let him run wild without Sarah. “Tell you what, champ. I'll let you sleep here tonight, but that's it. Tomorrow you go back to your own bed. Deal?”

“Deal.” They shook hands on it as the child grinned, and Oliver turned off the light.

“I'm going to go downstairs to get something to eat. Get some sleep.”

“G'night, Dad.” He looked happy as he snuggled into the big bed, taking over the half that had been Sarah's.

“Sleep tight …” Oliver stood looking at him for a long moment from the doorway. “I love you.” He whispered the words, and then went to check on Mel. She had dragged the hall phone into her bedroom, and there was disorder everywhere, clothes, books, hot rollers, shoes. It was a wonder she could get into the room at all, and she looked up at her father with a curious look as he waited for her to end the call. But she only covered the receiver with her hand.

“You want something, Dad?”

“Yes. Hello and a kiss might be nice. Have you done your homework?”

“Hello. And yes, I have.” She sounded annoyed even to be asked the question.

“Want to keep me company while I eat dinner?” She hesitated, and then nodded, looking none too pleased. She would have preferred staying on the phone with her friend, but her father had made it sound like a command performance. The truth was, he didn't want to eat alone, and she was the only candidate in the house, other than Aggie.

“Okay. I'll be right down.” He picked his way gingerly across the room, and went downstairs to find the dinner Aggie had left him. She had wrapped the plate in tinfoil and left it in the oven to stay warm, but when he uncovered it, there wasn't much there he wanted.

The lamb chops were overcooked, the baked potato was still hard, and the broccoli had died hours before. Even the smell of it didn't appeal to him, and he threw it all out and made himself fried eggs and fresh-squeezed orange juice, waiting for Mel to join him. He gave up eventually and by the time she came down, he was finished eating.

“Where's Benjamin?” He thought she might know, but she only shrugged.

“With friends, I guess,”

“On a weekday night? That's not very smart.” She shrugged again, and looked pained to be baby-sitting for her father. “Are you spending any time with Sam when you get home?” He worried about Sam most of all, especially when it was hard for him to get home on time. The child needed more in his life now than just Aggie.

“I have a lot of homework to do, Dad.”

“That didn't look like homework to me just now, in your bedroom.”

“He's in bed, isn't he?”

“He wasn't when I got home. He needs you now, Mel. We all do.” He smiled. “You're the lady of the house now that Mom's gone.” But it was a responsibility she had never wanted. She wanted to be free to be with her friends, or at least talk to them. It wasn't her fault her Mom had gone. It was his. If he hadn't done whatever he did that she still couldn't figure out, Sarah would probably never have left them. “I want you to spend time with him. Talk to him, keep him company for a little while, check his homework.”

“Why? He's got Aggie.”

“That's not the same thing. Come on, Mel, be nice to him. You always used to treat him like your baby.” She had even cradled him the night Sarah told them she was leaving. But now, it was as though she wanted no part of any of them. Like Sarah, she had divorced herself from all of them. And Oliver suddenly wondered if Benjamin was having the same reaction. He seemed to want to be out all the time, and that was going to have to stop too. He just wished he had more time with all of them, to help them cope with their reactions and their problems. The phone rang as he was talking to her, and he almost sighed when he heard his father on the line. He was too tired to talk to him now. It was after ten o'clock, and he wanted to shower and climb into bed with Sam. It had been a brutal day at the office, and coming home at night was no longer easy either.

“Hi, Dad. How are you?”

“I'm all right.” He seemed to hesitate, and Oliver watched Mel escape while he talked to his father. “But your mother's not.”

“Oh? Is she sick?” For once, Oliver was too tired to be very worried.

“It's a long story, Son.” The older man sighed as Oliver waited for the news. “She had a brain scan this afternoon.”

“My God … what for?”

“She's been acting confused … and she got lost last week while you were gone. I mean really lost this time, and she fell off some steps and sprained her ankle.” Oliver felt suddenly guilty for not calling from Vermont, but he had had his hands full too. “She's lucky, I suppose, at her age, she could have broken her hip, or worse.” But it couldn't be much worse than what they had told him.

“Dad, they don't do brain scans for a sprained ankle. What is it?” His father seemed to be wandering too, and Oliver was too tired to listen to a long story.

He seemed to hesitate again. “I was wondering if … could I drive over to see you?”

“Now?” Oliver sounded stunned. “Dad, what's wrong?”

“I just need to talk, that's all. And our neighbor Margaret Porter will keep an eye on her. She's been a great help. Her husband had the same kind of problems.”

“What problems? What are you talking about? What did they find?” Oliver sounded impatient with him, which was rare, but he was so tired and suddenly very worried.

“No tumors, nothing like that. That was a possibility, of course. Look … if it's too late …” But it was obvious that he needed to talk to someone, and Ollie didn't have the heart to tell him not to come over.

“No, it's fine, Dad, come on over.”

He put a pot of coffee on and made himself a cup, wondering again where Benjamin was and when he was coming home. It was too late to be out on a school night, and he was anxious to tell him just that. But his father arrived first, looking worn and pale. He looked years older than he had just a week before on Christmas, and it reminded Oliver again of his father's weak heart. He wondered if he should be out driving alone at night, but he didn't want to upset him now by asking.

“Come on in, Dad.” He hoped the doorbell hadn't woken Sam, as he escorted his father into the big, friendly kitchen. His father declined the coffee, but took a cup of instant decaf, and let himself slowly down into one of the kitchen chairs, as Ollie watched him. “You look worn out.” He probably shouldn't have let him come, but he had thought his father needed to talk, and he was right. He slowly told Oliver the results of the brain scan.

“She has Alzheimer's, Son. Her brain is visibly shrinking, according to the scan. They can't be sure of course, but that and her recent behavior seem to confirm the diagnosis.”

“That's ridiculous.” Oliver didn't want to believe it. “Get another diagnosis.” But George Watson only shook his head. He knew better.

“There's no point. I know they're right. You don't know the things she's been doing lately. She gets lost, she gets confused, she forgets simple things she's known all her life, like how to use a phone, the names of friends.” Tears filled his eyes. “Sometimes she even gets confused about who I am. She's not sure if I'm me, or you. She called me Oliver for days last week, and then she flew into a rage when I tried to correct her. She uses language I've never heard her use before. Sometimes I'm embarrassed to take her out in public. She called the bank teller we see every week a 'fucking asshole' the other day. The poor woman almost fainted.” Oliver smiled in spite of himself. But it wasn't funny. It was sad. And then suddenly George looked around with a puzzled air. “Where's Sarah? In bed?”

For a moment, Oliver thought of telling him she was out, but there was no point hiding the truth from him.

He had to find out sometime. The odd thing was that he felt ashamed of it, as though he had failed to keep his wife, as though it were clearly all his fault. “She's gone, Dad.”

“Gone where?” His father looked blank. “Gone out?”

“No, gone back to school. To Harvard.”

“She left you?” George looked stunned. “When did that happen? She was here with you on Christmas …”It seemed impossible to comprehend, but he suddenly saw the sorrow in his son's eyes, and now he understood it. “Oh God, Ollie … I'm so sorry … When did all this come up?”

“She told me about three weeks ago. She enrolled in their master's program last fall, but I think there's more to it than that. She says she's coming back, but I'm not sure of that. I think she's kidding herself more than she's kidding us. I don't know what to believe yet. We'll have to wait and see what happens.”

“How are the children taking it?”

“On the surface, pretty well. I took them skiing last week, and it did us all a lot of good. That's why I didn't call you. She left the day after Christmas. But in reality, I think we're all still in shock. Mel blames it all on me, Sam has nightmares every night, and Benjamin seems to be handling it by hiding out with his friends day and night. Maybe I'm not sure I blame him. Maybe if that had happened to me at his age, I'd have done the same thing.” But the idea of his mother leaving them was inconceivable to both of them, and it brought their thoughts back to her, after Oliver's astounding revelation. “What are you going to do about Mom?”

“I'm not sure what I can do. They said that at the rate she's going, she could degenerate pretty rapidly. Eventually, she won't recognize anyone, she won't know me.” His eyes filled with tears again, he couldn't bear to think of it. He felt as though he were losing her day by day, and the thought of it made him feel all the more sharply Oliver's pain over losing Sarah. But he was young enough, he'd find someone else one day. Phyllis was the only woman George had ever loved, and after forty-seven years he couldn't bear the thought of losing her. He took out a linen handkerchief, blew his nose, and took a deep breath as he went on again. “They said it could take six months or a year, or a lot less, before she's in a totally removed state. They just don't know. But they think it will be hard to keep her at home once that happens. I don't know what to do …” His voice quavered and Oliver's heart went out to him. He reached out and took his hand. It was hard for him to believe they were talking about his own mother, the woman who had always been so intelligent and strong, and now she was forgetting everything she had ever known and breaking his father's heart in the process.

“You can't let yourself get too overwrought about this, or it'll make you sick too.”

“That's what Margaret says. She's the neighbor I told you about. She's always been very good to us. Her husband suffered from Alzheimer's for years, and she finally had to put him in a home. She had two heart attacks herself, and she couldn't take care of him herself anymore. He was like that for six years, and he finally passed away last August.” He looked miserably at his son. “Ollie … I can't stand the thought of losing her … of her not remembering anything … it's like watching her fade away bit by bit, and she's so difficult now. And she was always so good-natured.”

“I thought she seemed a little agitated on Christmas Day, but I didn't realize anything like this was happening. I was too wrapped up in my own problems, I guess. What can I do to help?” It was hideous, he was losing his mother and his wife, and his daughter would hardly speak to him. The women in his life were fading fast, but he had to think of his father now, and not himself. “What can I do for you, Dad?”

“Just be there, I guess.” The two men's eyes met and held, and Oliver felt a closeness to him he hadn't felt in years.

“I love you, Dad.” He wasn't ashamed to say it now, although years before, the words might have embarrassed his father. When Oliver was young, his father had been very stern. But he had softened over the years, and he needed his son desperately now, more than he'd ever needed anyone.

“I love you too, Son.” They were both crying openly, and George blew his nose again, as Oliver heard the front door open and close quietly, and he turned to see Benjamin walking swiftly up the stairs and he called out to him.

“Not so fast, young man. Where've you been until eleven-thirty at night on a weekday?”

Benjamin turned, looking flushed from the cold and embarrassment, and then he looked surprised to see his grandfather sitting there. “Out with friends … sorry, Dad. I didn't think you'd mind. Hi, Grampa, what are you doing here? Something wrong?”

“Your grandmother's not well.” Oliver was suddenly stern, and feeling strong again. His father's warmth seemed to give him new strength, at least someone still cared about him. And his father needed him, and so did the kids, even if Sarah didn't need him anymore. “And you know damn well you're not allowed to go out on a school night. You pull that again and you're grounded for two weeks. Got that, mister?”

“Okay, okay … I told you I was sorry.” Oliver nodded. The boy looked odd. Not drunk or stoned, but as though there was something different about him suddenly. He seemed more of a man, and he didn't seem inclined to argue. “What's wrong with Grandma?”

His grandfather looked up unhappily, and Oliver spoke up quickly for him. “Your grandmother's been having some problems.”

“Will she be okay?” Benjamin looked suddenly young and very frightened. It was as though Tie couldn't bear the thought of losing anyone else. He looked worriedly at the two men, and Oliver patted his shoulder. “She'll be okay. Your grandpa needs some support, that's all. Maybe you can find some spare time for him, away from all those friends that are so appealing.”

“Sure, Grampa. I'll come over and visit this weekend.” The boy was fond of him, and George Watson was crazy about his grandchildren. Sometimes Oliver thought he liked them better than he had his only son. He was mellower now and better able to enjoy them.

“Your grandmother and I would like that.” He stood up, feeling tired and old, and touched the boy's arm, as though it might restore some youth to him. “Thank you both. I'd better be getting home now. Mrs. Porter will be wanting to get home. I left your grandmother with her.” He walked slowly to the front door, with Benjamin and Oliver following.

“Will you be all right, Dad?” Oliver wondered if he should drive him home, but his father insisted that he preferred his independence. “Call when you get home then.”

“Don't be foolish!” George snapped. “I'm fine. It's your mother who's not well.” But his face softened again then, and he hugged Oliver to him. “Thank you, Son … for everything … and … I'm sorry about …”He glanced at Benjamin, and his look took them both in. “… about Sarah. Call if you need anything. When your mother's feeling a little better, maybe Sam could come over and spend a weekend.” But it didn't sound as though she was going to be getting any better.

Both men watched George drive away, and Oliver sighed as he closed the front door. Nothing was simple anymore. For anyone. It was sobering to think about the problem with his mother. He turned to look at Benjamin then, wondering what was going on in his life that he wasn't sharing.

“So where are you going these days when you're out till all hours?” He eyed him carefully as they turned out the lights and headed upstairs.

“Just out with friends. Same old crowd.” But something in the way he moved his mouth told Ollie he was lying.

“I wish I thought you were telling me the truth.”

Benjamin gave a start and turned to look at him. “What makes you say that?”

“It's a girl, isn't it?” Oliver was smarter than he knew, and Benjamin looked away with an odd smile that said it all.

“Maybe it is. It's no big deal.” But it was. A very big deal. His first affair, and he was crazy about her. They were spending every minute they could in bed. Her parents were out all the time. Both her parents worked, and they seemed to go out a lot, and she was the last child at home, so they had plenty of free time to themselves, and they knew exactly what to do with it. Sandra was his first big love. She was a pretty girl from his school. They were in the same chemistry class, and he was helping her pass it. She was on academic probation all the time, unlike him, and she didn't really care. She was a lot more interested in him, and he loved the way her body felt when he touched her. He loved everything about her.

“Why don't you bring her around sometime? Does Mel know her too? I'd like to meet her.”

“Yeah … maybe … sometime… G'night, Dad.” He disappeared swiftly into his room, and Oliver smiled to himself as he walked into his bedroom, and saw Sam, just as the telephone started ringing. He hurried into the bathroom with it, with the long cord Sarah had had installed so she could talk on the phone while she was in the tub, and in a hushed voice he answered. He thought that maybe it would be his father. But his heart stopped. It was Sarah.

“Hello?”

“Is that you?”

“Yes.” A long pause while he tried to regain his composure. “How are you, Sarah?”

“I'm fine. I found an apartment today. How are the kids?”

“Holding up.” He listened, aching for her, and then suddenly hating her again for leaving. “It hasn't been easy for them.” She ignored the remark.

“How was skiing?”

“Fine. The kids had a good time.” But it wasn't the same without you … he wanted to say the words to her, but he didn't. Instead, he said the one thing that he had promised himself he wouldn't. “When are you coming home for the weekend?”

“I just left a week ago.” Gone, the promise to return every weekend. He had known it would be like this, but she had so ardently denied it. And now she suddenly sounded so callous and so different. It was hard to believe she had actually cried with him before she left. Now she sounded like a casual acquaintance, calling to say hi, instead of his wife of eighteen years, having just moved to a hotel near Boston. “I thought we ought to give everyone time to adjust. After last week, I think we all need a breather.” That was why she had left them in the first place, for a “breather.”

“And how long will that be?” He hated himself for pressing her, but he found that he couldn't help it. “A week? A month? A year? I think the children need to see you.”

“I need to see them too. But I think we ought to give it a few weeks, give them a chance to settle down.” And what about me? He wanted to shout the words at her, but he didn't.

“They miss you a lot.” And so did he.

“I miss them too.” She sounded uncomfortable, as though she were anxious to get off. She couldn't stand the guilt of talking to him. “I just wanted to give you the address of my new apartment. I'll move in on Saturday, and as soon as I have a phone, I'll call you.”

“And in the meantime? What if there's an emergency with the children?” The very mention of it panicked him, but he had a right to know where she was. He needed to know, if only for his own sake.

“I don't know. You can leave a message for me at the hotel. And after that, I guess you could send a telegram to that address if you had to. It shouldn't take me long to get a phone in.”

The ice in his voice was only to hide the pain. “That sounds like a ridiculous arrangement.”

“It's the best I can do. Look, I've got to go.”

“Why? Is someone waiting for you?” He hated himself for saying that too, but as he listened to her, he was passionately jealous.

“Don't be ridiculous. It's late, that's all. Look, Ol … I miss you …” It was the cruelest thing she could have said. She didn't have to be there at all. She had gone by choice, she had torn his heart right through his guts, and now she dared to tell him she missed him.

“You've got a lot of gall, Sarah. I don't understand the game you're playing.”

“There's no game. You know exactly why I came here. I need to do this.”

“You also said you'd come home every weekend. You lied.”

“I didn't lie. But I've thought it over, and I just think it would be hard on everyone. You, me, the children.”

“This ridiculous sabbatical of yours is also hard on everyone, and what am I supposed to do while you're gone? Lock myself in the bathroom with Playboy?”

“Ollie … don't … please … it's hard for both of us.” But it was her choice, not his.

“I didn't walk out on you. I never would have done this.”

“I had no choice.”

“You're full of shit. My mother was right years ago. You're selfish.”

“Let's not start that again. For chrissake, Ollie, it's after midnight.” And then, suddenly, she was curious, “Why are you whispering?” She had expected him to be in bed, but there was an echo as they talked.

“Sam's in our bed. I'm in the bathroom.”

“Is he sick?” She sounded suddenly concerned, and it only made him angry. What would she have done if he was? Fly home? Maybe he should tell her Sam was sick after all. But the truth was worse.

“He has nightmares every night. And he's been wetting his bed. He wanted to sleep with me tonight.”

There was a long silence as she envisioned them in what had only days ago been her bed, and then she spoke softly. “He's lucky to have you. Take care. I'll call you as soon as I get the phone.”

He wanted to say more to her, but it was obvious that she didn't. “Take care of yourself.” He wanted to tell her he still loved her, but he didn't say that either. She was kidding herself about everything, about coming back to them, about not being gone for good, about coming home for weekends and vacations. She had left them, that was the simple truth of it. She had walked out on all of them. And the worst of it was that he knew, no matter what, no matter why, no matter how, he would always love her.

Chapter 6

The first weeks without her were hard. And it seepied as though every morning breakfast was a disaster. The eggs were never quite right, the orange juice was too pulpy, the toast too dark or too light, and even Ollie's coffee tasted different to him. It was ridiculous, he knew. Aggie had been cooking for them for ten years, and they loved her, but they had grown used to Sarah's breakfasts. Sam seemed to whine all the time, more than once Ollie saw him kick the dog, Mel remained sullen throughout, and Benjamin no longer graced them with his presence. Instead he flew out the door, insisting that he never ate breakfast. And suddenly Oliver always seemed to be arguing with them. Mel wanted to go out both weekend nights, Benjamin was still coming home too late during the week, but claiming that he was studying with friends, and Sam was restless at night and always wound up in Ollie's bed, which was comforting at first, but after a while got on his nerves. The peaceful family they had been had vanished.

Sarah eventually called when she got her phone, two weeks later than promised, and she still hadn't come home to see them. She thought it was too soon, and now all their conversations were brief and bitter. And she seemed almost afraid of the kids, as though she couldn't bring herself to comfort them. She was keeping up the pretense that she would come home to them one day, smarter, better educated, and successful. But Ollie knew better. Overnight the marriage he had cherished for eighteen years had wound up in the trash. And it affected the way he saw everything, the house, the kids, their friends, even his clients at the office. He was angry at everyone, at her of course, and himself as well, secretly convinced, as Mel still was, that he had done something wrong, and it was his fault.

Their friends called and invited him out, word had gotten around slowly, once Aggie started driving Sarah's car pool. But he didn't want to see anyone. They were curious, and gossipy, and just too damn nosy. And in the midst of it all, George seemed to be calling night and day, with horrifying reports of Ollie's mother's backward progress. She was even more forgetful now, a danger to herself in some ways, and George was distraught and clinging to his son for comfort. But Ollie could barely keep his own life afloat. It was hard enough coping with the children. He thought of taking all of them to a shrink, but when he called Sam's teacher to talk about it, she insisted that everything they were feeling was normal. It was understandable that Sam was difficult and argumentative and whiny, his grades were suffering in school, and so were Mel's. And it was obvious that she still blamed her father for her mother's absence. The school psychologist said that was healthy too. She needed someone to blame it on, other than herself, and he was a convenient scapegoat. And it was equally normal that Benjamin would seek refuge with his friends, to escape the home that was now so different without her. It would all blow over in time, the experts said, they'd all adjust, but there were times when Ollie wondered if he would survive it.

He came home exhausted every night, drained by the day at work, to find the house disrupted, the children unhappy and fighting. His dinners were no longer edible, wrapped in tinfoil and kept in the oven too long. And when Sarah called, he wanted to throw the phone at the wall and scream. He didn't want to hear about her classes or why she wasn't coming home again this weekend. He wanted her to come back and sleep with him, love him, cook for him, and take charge of their children. Aggie was great, but what she could offer them fell far short of all the little special things provided by their mother.

He was sitting in his office one afternoon, staring out the window, at the rain and sleet that were typical of late January in New York, and wondering if she ever would come back. Right then, he'd have settled for a weekend. She'd been gone a month by then, and he was so lonely, he almost thought he couldn't stand it.

“There's a happy face … can I come in?” It was Daphne Hutchinson, an assistant vice-president of the firm, he'd known her for four years, and they were currently working together on a presentation for a new client. She was a good-looking woman with dark hair she wore pulled back tightly in a bun. She was well-dressed in a chic, European way, everything was very spare and neat about her. And she always wore a great scarf, an expensive pair of shoes, or a piece of discreet but handsome jewelry. He liked her, she was quick and smart, discreet, hardworking, and for whatever reason she had never been married. She was thirty-eight years old, and her interest in striking up a friendship with Oliver over the years had never been more than platonic. She had made it clear to everyone at the firm, from the first, that office romances weren't her style, and through thick and thin and some serious attempts, she had stuck by what she said at the beginning. Oliver respected her for that, and it made her easy to work with. “I've got some of the mock-ups for next week,” she was carrying a large portfolio, but she looked hesitant, “but you don't look much in the mood. Should I come back?” She had heard a rumor that Sarah had left, and she had seen the strain in his face for weeks, but they had never discussed it.

“That's okay, Daph, come on in. I guess now's as good a time as any.”

She was worried about him as she walked in. He seemed to have lost weight, his face was pale, and he looked desperately unhappy. She sat down and showed him the work, but he seemed unable to concentrate, and finally she suggested they forget it and offered him a cup of coffee. “Anything I can do? I may not look like much,” she said, grinning amiably, “but I've got tremendous shoulders.”

He smiled at her. She had great stature in many ways, and lots of style, and he almost forgot how tiny she was. She was a terrific woman, and once again he found himself wondering why she had never married. Too busy perhaps, or too wrapped up in her work. It happened to a lot of them, and then suddenly at forty they panicked. But she didn't look as though she was panicking. She seemed content and self-possessed, and her eyes were kind as he sat back in his chair with a sigh and shook his head. “I don't know, Daph … I guess you've heard …” His eyes bore into hers like two pools of green pain and she had to resist an urge to put her arms around him. “Sarah left last month to go back to school … in Boston …”

“That's not the end of the world, you know. I thought it was worse than that.” She had heard they were getting a divorce, but she didn't say that to Ollie.

“I think most likely it is worse than that, but she hasn't got the guts to admit it. We haven't seen her in almost five weeks, and the kids are going nuts on me. So am I. I go crazy every night trying to get out of here, and it's six or seven o'clock most nights. Eight before I get home, and by then everyone's out of control, my dinner's turned to sock, we yell at each other, they cry, and then it all starts again the next morning.”

“It doesn't sound like much fun. Why don't you take an apartment in New York for a while, at least you'd be closer to work, and the change might do the kids good.” He hadn't even thought about it, but he couldn't see the point of doing that now, putting them through the trauma of changing friends and schools. And he knew they all needed the comfort of familiar surroundings.

“I'm just barely managing to keep our heads above water, let alone think of moving.” He told her about Mel's fury at him, Benjamin's disappearing act, and Sam's wetting the bed on and off, and sleeping with him every night.

“You need a break, kid. Why don't you take them somewhere? Why don't you go to the Caribbean for a week, or Hawaii, someplace hot and sunny and happy?” Was there such a place? Would any of them ever be happy again? It seemed difficult to believe and he was faintly embarrassed to be dumping on her, but she didn't seem to mind it.

“I guess I keep hoping that if we stay right where we are, she'll come back, and we can turn the clock back.”

“It doesn't usually work like that.”

“Yeah.” He ran a tired hand through his hair. “I've noticed. I'm sorry to bore you with all this. It just gets to me sometimes. It makes it hard to concentrate on work. But at least it's nice to get out of the house. It's so depressing being there at night, and weekends are worse. It's as though we've all been smashed apart and don't know how to find each other anymore. It wasn't like that before. …” But now he could barely remember how it had been. It seemed as though they had been living through the agony of her absence for a lifetime.

“Can I do anything?” She'd never met his kids, but she would have been willing to. She had a lot of free time on her hands on the weekends. “I'll be happy to meet them sometime. Maybe it would do them good, or do you think they'd feel I was trying to grab you from their mother?”

“I'm not sure they'd even notice.” But they both knew that wasn't the case. He smiled at her, grateful for the sympathetic ear. “Maybe you could come out sometime for the day. It might be fun for all of us, when things settle down a little bit, if they ever do. My mother's been sick lately too. It's like when one thing goes wrong, everything falls apart all at once. Did you ever notice that?” He grinned the boyish smile that melted women's hearts and she laughed.

“Are you kidding? It's the story of my life. How's the dog?”

“The dog?” He looked surprised that she would ask. “Fine. Why?”

“Watch out for him. This'll be the time he'll develop distemper and bite fourteen of your neighbors.” They both laughed and he sighed again.

“I never thought anything like this would happen to us, Daph. She took me completely by surprise. I wasn't ready for this, and neither were the kids. I thought we had the perfect life.”

“It happens like that sometimes. People get sick, they die, things change, they suddenly fall in love with someone else, or do some other crazy thing like this. It's not fair, but that's the way it is. You just have to make the best of it, and one day you'll look back, and maybe you'll understand why it happened.”

“It was me, I guess.” He still believed that, it had to be. “Maybe she felt neglected, or ignored, or taken for granted.”

“Or stifled, or bored, or maybe she just wasn't such a great person after all.” She was closer to the truth than she knew, but Oliver wasn't ready to admit that. “Maybe she just wanted her own life for a change. It's hard to know the reasons why people do things. It must be even harder for your kids to understand.” She was a wise woman for her years, and Oliver remembered again how much he had always liked her, not in a flirtatious way, but she offered the sound, valuable stuff that solid friendships were made of. It had been years since he'd had a woman as a friend, not since he had married Sarah.

“If I don't understand it myself, it's not surprising that they don't. And she isn't helping matters by staying away. When she left, she promised to come home every weekend.”

“That's rough, too, but maybe this is better for all of you. By the time she comes back to visit, you'll all be more settled.” He laughed bitterly at the thought. It seemed an unlikely prospect.

“There is no such thing at our house. Everyone starts complaining at breakfast, and when I come home they're still at it, or they're not there at all, which is worse. I never realized the kids could be such a handful. They've always been so easy and so good, so well adjusted and happy. And now … I hardly recognize them when I go home at night, the complaints, the moodiness, the arguments, the whining. I can hardly wait to get back here.” And once in the office, he couldn't stand being there either. Maybe she was right. Maybe they should take another vacation.

“Don't let this become your life.” She said it with a knowing look in her eyes. “You pay a price for that too. Give her a chance, if she comes back, great. If she doesn't, get your life squared away. Your real life. Not this bullshit. It's no substitute for a real live person. I speak from experience. Believe me.”

“Is that why you never got married, Daphne?” Un- der the circumstances, it no longer seemed quite so rude to ask her.

“More or less. That and a few other complications. I swore to myself I'd build a career until I was thirty, and after that some other things happened to keep me occupied, and I took refuge in my work again. And then … well, it's a long story, but suffice it to say this is it for me. I love it, it works for me. But it's not much of a life for most folks. And you've got kids. You need more than just this in your life. Your kids will be gone one day, and that desk isn't much company after midnight.” Everyone knew that she stayed as late as ten o'clock some nights. But it was also why she made the best presentations. She worked like a dog on what she did, and she was brilliant at it.

“You're a wise woman.” He smiled at her and looked at his watch. “Think we should take another stab at that stuff you brought in?” It was almost five o'clock, and he was thinking about going home, but it was still a little bit too early.

“Why don't you go home early for a change? It might do your kids good, and you too. Take them out to dinner somewhere.”

He looked surprised by the idea, he had never even thought of it, he was so desperately clinging to their old routines. “That's a great idea. Thank you. You don't mind if we do that stuff again tomorrow?”

“Don't be silly. I'll have more to show you.” She got up and walked to the door, and looked over her shoulder at him. “Hang in there, kid. The storms may hit all at once, but the good news is they don't last forever.”

“You swear?”

She held up two fingers with a grin. “Scout's honor.”

She left and he dialed the house, and Agnes answered. “Hi, Aggie.” He felt happier than he had in days. “Don't bother to cook dinner tonight. I thought I'd come home and take the kids out.” He loved Daphne's idea, she really was one hell of a smart woman.

“Oh.” Agnes sounded as though he had taken her by surprise.

“Is something wrong?” Reality was beginning to hit him again. Nothing was easy now. Not even taking the kids out to dinner.

“Melissa is at rehearsal again, and Benjamin has basketball practice tonight. And Sam is in bed with a fever.”

“Christ … sorry … all right, never mind. We'll do it another time.” And then, frowning, “Is Sam all right?”

“It's nothing. Just a cold and a touch of the flu. I suspected he was coming down with something yesterday. The school called and had me pick him up right after I dropped him off this morning.” And she hadn't called him. His kid was sick, and he didn't even know. Poor Sam.

“Where is he?”

“In your bed, Mr. Watson. He refused to get into his own, and I didn't think you'd mind.”

“That's fine.” A sick child in bed with him. It was a far cry from the life that bed had once known, but all of that seemed to be over. He hung up, looking glum, and Daphne appeared again in his doorway.

“Oh-oh, looks like bad news again. The dog?”

Ollie laughed. She had a cheering effect on him, almost like a favorite sister. “Not yet. Sam. He has afever. The others are out. Scratch dinner tonight.” And then he had an idea. “Listen, would you like to come out on Sunday? We could take the kids out then.”

“Are you sure they wouldn't mind?”

“Positive. They'd love it. We'll go to a little Italian restaurant they love. They have great seafood and terrific pasta. How about it?”

“It sounds like fun. And let's make a deal, if their mother comes home for the weekend unexpectedly, it's off, no qualms, no hard feelings, no problems. Okay?”

“Miss Hutchinson, you're much too easy to get along with.”

“It's my stock in trade. How do you think I got this far? It ain't my looks.” She was modest as well as smart, and she had a great sense of humor.

“Baloney.”

She waved and hurried off again, and as he got ready to leave, he wondered why he wasn't physically attracted to her. She was a good-looking girl, and she had a great figure although she was small, and she carefully disguised her shape with businesslike suits and simple dresses. He wondered if he just wasn't ready yet, after all, as far as he knew, he was still married to Sarah. But it was more than that. Daphne put out a vibe that said “I'll be your friend anytime, but don't come too close, pal. Don't touch me.” He wondered what was behind it, if anything, if it was just her policy at work, or if it was more than that. Maybe one day he'd ask her.

He got home at seven-fifteen, and Sam was sound asleep in his bed, his little head hot and dry with fever.

The other two were out, and he went downstairs to make himself fried eggs again. There was no dinner left for him. Aggie had made Sam chicken soup and French toast and she figured Ollie could fend for himself. He did, and waited for the others to come home, but it was a long wait. Melissa came in at ten, looking happy and excited. She loved the play, and had a major role, but as soon as she saw Oliver, her face closed up, and she hurried to her room without speaking. It was a lonely feeling, as she closed her door, and it was after midnight when her older brother got home, and Oliver was sitting in the den, quietly waiting.

He heard the front door close and walked swiftly out to him, with a look on his face that said it all. Benjamin was in big trouble.

“WhereVe you been?”

“I have basketball practice on Tuesday nights.” His eyes told his father nothing, but he looked healthy and strong, and everything about him shrieked of independence.

“Until midnight?” Ollie wasn't about to buy the story.

“I stopped for a hamburger afterward. Big deal.”

“No, not 'big deal.' I don't know what's going on with you, but you seem to have the impression that now that your mother's gone, you can do anything you please. Well, that's not the case. The same rules stand. Nothing has changed here, except that she's gone. I still expect you to come home, and stay home on weekday nights, do your work, interact with the rest of the family, and be here when I get home. Is that clear?”

“Yeah, sure. But what difference does it make?” He looked furious.

“Because we're still a family. With or without her. And Sam and Mel need you too … and so do I …”

“That's crap, Dad. All Sam wants is Mom. And Mel spends half her life on the phone, and the other half locked in her room. You don't come home till nine o'clock and when you do, you're too tired to even talk to us. So why the hell should I sit around here wasting my time?”

Oliver was hurt by his words and it showed. “Because you live here. And I don't come home at nine o'clock. I make it home by eight at least. I break my back to catch that train every night, and I expect you to be here. I'm not going to tell you that again, Benjamin. This has been going on for a month now. You're out every night. I'm going to ground you for a month if you don't knock it off.”

“The hell you will.” Benjamin looked suddenly furious, and Oliver was shocked. His son had never answered him that way before, he would never have dared. And suddenly he openly defied him.

“That's it, mister. You win the prize. As of this minute, you're grounded.”

“Bullshit, Dad!” For an instant, Benjamin looked as though he was going to punch him.

“Don't argue with me.” Their voices were raised, and neither of them had seen Mel come quietly downstairs, and she stood watching them now from the kitchen doorway. “Your mom may not be here, but I still make the rules here.”

“Says who?” An angry voice came from beyond them, and they both turned in surprise to see Melissa watching. “What gives you the right to push us around? You're never here anyway. You don't give a damn about us. If you did, you'd never have chased Mom away in the first place. It's all your fault she left, and now you expect us to pick up the pieces.”

He wanted to cry, listening to both of them. They didn't understand any of it. How could they? “Listen, I want you both to know something.” Tears stood out in his eyes as he faced them. “I would have done anything to keep your mother here, and as much as I blame myself for what she did, I suspect that some part of her always wanted to do that, to go back to school, to get away from all of us and lead her own life. But whether it's my fault or not, I love you all very much.” His voice trembled painfully and he wondered if he could go on, but he did, “and I love her too. We can't let this family fall apart now, it means too much to all of us … I need you kids …” He began to cry, and Mel looked suddenly horrified, “I need you very much … and I love you. …” He turned away, and felt Benjamin's hand on his shoulder, and a moment later he felt Melissa close to him, and then her arms around him.

“We love you, Dad.” She whispered hoarsely, and Benjamin said nothing but stood close to them. “I'm sorry we've been so awful.” She glanced at her older brother and there were tears in his eyes, too, but no matter how sorry he felt for his father, he had his own life now, and his own problems.

“I'm sorry.” It was several minutes before he could speak again. “It's hard for all of us. And it's probably hard for her too.” He wanted to be fair to her, not to turn the children against her.

“Why hasn't she come home like she said she would? Why doesn't she ever call us?” Melissa asked plaintively as the three of them walked slowly into the kitchen. Sarah had hardly called them since moving to Boston.

“I don't know, sweetheart. I guess there's more work than she thought there would be. I kind of thought that might happen.” But he hadn't expected her to stay away from them for five weeks. That was cruel to Sam, to all of them, and he had told her that repeatedly on the phone, but she just kept saying that she wasn't ready to come home yet. Having made the break, painful as it was, she was flying free now, no matter how much it hurt them. “She'll come home one of these days.”

Melissa nodded pensively and sat down at the kitchen table. “But it won't be the same anymore, will it?”

“Maybe not. But maybe different won't be so bad. Maybe one day, when we get through this, it'll be better.”

“Everything was so good before though.” She looked up at him and he nodded. At least they had made contact again, at least something was going right. He turned to look at his son then. “What about you? What's happening with you, Benjamin?” Oliver could sense that there was a lot going on, but nothing his son was going to tell him. And that was new for him too. He had always been so easy and so open.

“Nothing much.” And then, looking awkward, “I'd better get to bed now.” He turned to leave the room, and Oliver wanted to reach out and stop him.

“Benjamin …” The boy stopped. Oliver had sensed something. “Is something wrong? Do you want to talk to me alone before you go to bed?” He hesitated, and then shook his head.

“No, thanks, Dad. I'm fine.” And then, anxiously, “Am I still grounded?”

Oliver didn't hesitate for a beat. It was important that they all understand he was in control now, or they'd all go wild. And for their own good, he couldn't let that happen. “Yes, you are, Son. I'm sorry. In by dinner every night, weekends included. For a month. I warned you before.” He was unbending, but his eyes told Benjamin that he was doing it because he loved him.

Benjamin nodded and left the room, and neither of them knew the sense of desperation Oliver had just created. He had to be with her at night … had to … she needed him. And he needed her too. He didn't know how they were going to survive it.

Oliver looked at Melissa after Benjamin left, and walked slowly over to where she sat and bent to kiss her. “I love you, sweetheart. I really do. I think we all need to be patient right now. Things are bound to get better.”

She nodded slowly, looking up at her father. She knew more about Benjamin than she was willing to tell. She had seen him a thousand times with Sandra, and she also knew he was cutting classes. Word got around quickly in their school, even between sophomores and seniors. And she suspected how serious he was about the girl, serious enough to defy their father.

Sam didn't stir that night, as Oliver slept beside him, and in the morning the fever was gone, and everyone seemed calmer as he left for work with a lighter heart.

He was sorry for having had to ground Benjamin, but it was for his own good, and he thought that Benjamin could understand that. The breakthrough with Mel had been worth the agonies of the night before, and suddenly as he got to work, and found a message on his desk, he remembered his invitation to Daphne the night before, to come out on Sunday, and for the first time in a month, he was excited at the prospect of the weekend.

Chapter 7

Daphne came out on the train on Sunday, and he picked her up and brought her back to the house, as they chatted on the way about the children. Mel had been friendlier to him all week, Sam still had a little cold, and Benjamin had barely spoken to him since Oliver had told him he was grounded. But he was respecting the rules finally. He was in every night by dinnertime, and in his room the moment after.

“I warn you, they're not an easy group these days, but they're good kids.” He smiled at her, glad she had come out. Sarah hadn't called in days, and they were all feeling the strain of her silence, particularly Ollie.

“I'll try to let them know I'm no threat.” Daphne smiled at him again, she was wearing beautifully cut black leather pants and a fur jacket.

“What makes you say that?” He wasn't sure why, but she seemed to want him to know that she had no romantic interest whatsoever.

“I say that because I like to keep things straight, and honest.”

“Is there some reason why you're not interested in men?” He tried to sound casual, and he certainly had no immediate interest in her, but it might be nice to go out with her one day. She had a lot to offer any man, brains, looks, charm, wit. He really liked her. “I know you make a point of never dating anyone at the office.”

“That's because I learned my lesson a long time ago. The hard way.” She decided to tell him. She wanted to, maybe because she also found him attractive. “Three years into my first job, after I graduated from Smith, I fell in love with the chairman of the board of the ad agency I worked for.” She smiled quietly and he whistled as he looked at her.

“You don't mess around, do you?”

“He was one of the most exciting men in advertising. He still is. He was forty-six years old then. Married, with two kids. He lived in Greenwich. And he was Catholic.”