Lightning

“You don't want to look like that for the rest of your life, Mrs. Parker. We can give you a beautiful breast.” He had suggested nipple sharing and a tattoo to complete the picture. And in spite of everything he said to encourage her, Alex still thought it sounded awful.

But after they made love that night, she asked Brock if it mattered to him if she didn't do it.

“Of course not,” he said honestly. “I just thought you should. For you. But it's up to you. I'd love you with no boobs. God forbid.” Once was enough for a lifetime.

But without saying anything to him, she thought about it for two weeks, and at the end of July, she surprised him one morning in East Hampton.

“I'm doing it,” she said, sitting down at the table with him after finishing the dishes. He was deep in the Sunday paper.

“Doing what?” he asked, looking up at her, confused, but always interested in what she had to tell him. “Are we doing something today?”

“Not today. I'm going to call on Monday.”

“Call who?” He felt as though he had already missed an important part of the conversation.

“Greenspan.”

“Who's that?” His mind was blank. He was half asleep. Maybe a new client.

“The doctor you took me to. The plastic surgeon.” She looked very determined, and kind of nervous.

“You are?” He beamed, he was happy for her. He thought she'd be pleased afterwards. “Good for you!” He kissed her, and on Monday, true to her word, she called him and told him she had decided on the implant. She was terrified, about the surgery, and more pain, but once she decided to go ahead with it, she was determined to do it. He had had a cancellation at the end of the week, and he told her to expect to spend four days in the hospital, but after that she could go back to work. It would be painful for a while, more painful than her previous surgery, he confessed, but nothing like the discomfort she had experienced with chemo.

She took Thursday off that week, and Carmen agreed to stay in East Hampton with Annabelle. Alex told Annabelle that she had to go away on business. She didn't want to worry her with telling her about the hospital. The only one she told was Carmen, who was concerned at first, but then relieved when Alex told her why she was going. She thought it was a good idea too, and so did Liz. Everyone was excited about it, except Alex, who was terrified, and had second thoughts at the last minute.

On Wednesday night, she lay awake all night, next to Brock, wishing she hadn't said she would do it.

Brock took her to Lenox Hill at seven a.m. the next day, and a nurse and an anesthesiologist explained all the procedures to them. They gave Alex a hospital gown, and the nurse started an IV, and as soon as she did, Alex started to cry uncontrollably. All she could think of was having chemo, and her last surgery, and she felt utterly stupid.

Dr. Greenspan arrived and ordered a shot of Valium for her. “We believe in keeping everyone happy around here,” he smiled, and then looked at Brock with amusement, “would you like one too?”

“I'd love it.”

She was already half asleep when they wheeled her toward surgery, and Brock waited nervously in her room, and paced the halls, until five hours later when Dr. Greenspan came and told him she had done well. He was very pleased. It was a complicated procedure but everything had gone smoothly.

“I think she'll be very happy with the results.” He had put an implant in, and as her original breast had been small, it did not require extensive tissue expansion although of course there had been some to obtain the desired form. There had been other options as well, but Alex preferred the immediacy of the implant, although she understood that it had to be carefully monitored in case of leakage, and she would have to be part of a control group, to provide data on silicone implants. “She'll have to come back in a month or two for some final adjustments.” They had told her that the final nipple reconstruction and tattoos could be done with a local. “But I think she'll do fine,” Greenspan reassured him.

It was another two hours before she came down from the recovery room, and when she did, she was still very woozy.

“Hi,” she whispered to him, “how did it go?”

“It looks great,” he reassured her, although of course he hadn't seen it.

The next four days in the hospital were uncomfortable for her, more than she'd expected, and she was still in a fair amount of pain when she went back to the office on Monday. But it had none of the implications of her earlier surgery, and none of the dangers.

The bandage was cumbersome, but she still managed to do a fair amount of work, and a lot of the partners were away on vacation, so no one seemed to be aware of her situation. She stayed in her office, and she was wearing one of Brock's shirts over the bandages. He brought her lunch, and at the end of the day they went back to his apartment. And on Thursday, a week after the surgery, the dressing had come off, and the stitches were removed, before they went back to East Hampton. Annabelle was ecstatic to see them, and Alex moved a little gingerly while she held her.

“Did you hurt yourself, Mommy?” she asked worriedly, suddenly afraid again. Annabelle had bad memories too, and Alex didn't want to scare her.

“No, I'm fine,” she reassured her.

“Are you sick again?” Annabelle's eyes were huge as she looked at her mother, and Alex pulled her even closer, as she felt her little girl shaking.

“I'm fine,” she said gently, holding her in her arms, but then Alex realized she had to explain it. She told her very simply that when she had hurt her breast, ten months before, they had had to take some of it away, and now they'd put it back. It seemed the simplest explanation, but when her father called that night she told him that Mommy had found her breast and put it back on again, which she considered good news, and startled her father. He assumed that Annabelle had seen Alex's prosthesis. It never occurred to him that she'd had surgery again, and he didn't ask to speak to her since Daphne was standing right near him.

They were on the yacht by then, and some of Daphne's fancy English friends had joined them. It was a very worldly group with very sophisticated pastimes, and they were spending a lot of time visiting people on other yachts, and in villas along the Riviera. And in a few days they were going to Sardinia.

And every day, Brock reminded Alex that she had to talk to Sam as soon as he got home from Europe. He was very anxious to get married.

“I know, I know,” she smiled at him, kissing him gently to reassure him. “Relax. As soon as he gets home, I'll call him.” If they filed by the fall, she and Brock could be married in the spring. It was all he wanted. Sometimes his youthful zeal made her feel ancient, but in other ways, she loved it. Most of the time she didn't feel the difference in their ages, but there were undeniably times when a little bit of maturity was lacking, but she tried to ignore it. Their experiences, and their viewpoints, were occasionally a little different.

The summer flew by all too quickly for all of them. Daphne hated to come back from Europe, and only her passion for Sam brought her back to New York at all. She admitted to him that she was getting very homesick for London. Life in the States just wasn't the same for her, but he was hoping that she would be distracted by the new apartment. And he promised her that they would travel more, and start spending more time abroad. It wasn't easy for him with his business obligations in New York, but he had a lot of clients abroad too, and he would have done anything to keep her happy. He was spending so much time with her that for months he had seriously neglected his business. She was proving to be a very demanding girl, and she was obviously used to having what she wanted.

And by the time Sam came home, Alex and Brock were thinking with regret of the end of the summer. They had the house in East Hampton till Labor Day, and the first weekend he was back, Sam took Annabelle to Bridgehampton with him. He was staying there with friends, and after six and a half weeks away, Daphne agreed to let him bring Annabelle with them.

“Do you suppose they'll do better this time?” Alex asked Brock seriously. Annabelle had been so unhappy the last time she'd seen Daphne. But when Sam brought her back to East Hampton early on Sunday afternoon, it was obvious that something had happened. He was very terse when he dropped her off, and he was alone, and although she knew Brock was anxious for her to talk to him, there was no opportunity before he got in his car and sped off. He had scarcely said two words to Alex.

She looked down at Annabelle as soon as he had left and questioned her. “What happened?”

“I don't know. Daddy got a lot of phone calls. He was on the phone all the time, and he shouted a lot at the people who called him. And today he said he had to go. He packed my suitcase and brought me home. Daphne shouted a lot too. She said if he wasn't nice to her, she was going back to England. That would be good. I think she's really mean, and stupid.”

It was obvious that something had gone wrong, but it was impossible to decipher it from Annabelle's description.

It was only the next morning, as she and Brock rode into town on the train, that Alex gave a start and stared at the front page of the papers. There were photographs of Sam and Larry and Tom. They were being indicted by the grand jury for fraudulent investments, and a variety of very impressive charges, including embezzlement.

“Holy shit,” she said, handing the paper to Brock. It was incredible. Sam had always been meticulously honest.

“Wow!” He whistled as he read it. The charges were very serious, and Simon was being implicated too, although he had not yet been indicted. It was the three original partners who were being accused of at least a dozen counts of fraud, and embezzlement. “He's in big trouble, no wonder he was upset yesterday.” Brock looked over at her, and Alex was stunned. What had he done with his life in the past months? What stupidity had he gotten himself into? He could wind up in jail for twenty or thirty years on the charges they were bringing against him. What in hell had happened?

“I'll call him when we get to the office,” she said pensively. She still couldn't believe what she'd been reading.

But when she got to the office, there were already two calls from him. She walked into her office and closed the door, and dialed his office. He came on the line in an instant.

“Thanks for returning my call.” He sounded extremely nervous.

“What's happening?” she asked him, still stunned. She had thought she had known him.

“I'm not sure yet. I know some of it. But not all. I'm not sure I'll ever know everything. But I know enough. I'm up the creek, Alex. I need help. I need a lawyer.” He had a very good lawyer, but he wasn't a criminal attorney.

“I don't do criminal, Sam,” she said softly, sorry for him, sorry that he had let his life get away from him so completely, or had gone so far astray he couldn't see what he was doing. She wondered if the girl had anything to do with it, she felt sure Simon did, although he hadn't yet been indicted.

“You're a litigator. You can at least advise me about what I should do now. Can I talk to you? Can I come and see you, Alex? Please?” He was begging her, and after seventeen years, she felt she owed it to him at least to listen. Besides, despite everything that had happened to them, in a way, she still loved him.

“I'll see what I can do. But I'm going to refer you to a criminal attorney eventually, Sam. I'm not dumb enough to try to help you, and hurt you as a result of my ignorance. But I'll do the best I can if you want to tell me what happened. When do you want to come in?”

“Now?” He couldn't stand the tension a moment longer.

It was ten o'clock and she had an appointment at one-thirty, but she was free until then. “Okay. Come on in.” Her paperwork could wait, and she went to tell Brock what she was doing.

“Shouldn't you turn him over to one of the criminal guys right now?”

“I want to talk to him first. Will you sit in with me?” It was an odd request, but this was a professional meeting, and she respected Brock's opinion.

“If you want me to. Can I punch him in the nose when he's finished?” he said with a grin. He couldn't think of a more fitting end to a bastard like Sam Parker than twenty years in jail. The only reason he was willing to listen was for Alex, but he was not particularly inclined to help him.

“You can't hit him till he pays his bill,” she smiled back at him. Her life was with Brock now, not with Sam, whatever his problems.

“Well, don't forget to ask him the million-dollar question.” He was reminding her about the divorce, but this was hardly the moment.

“Relax. This is business.”

Sam was there twenty minutes later, looking pale under his suntan. There were dark circles under his eyes, and when he sat across the conference table from Alex and Brock, his hands were visibly shaking. The man was in shock. His reputation was down the drain, and his entire life had fallen apart, seemingly all in six weeks, while he was in Europe with Daphne.

Alex had asked him if he minded having Brock in on the meeting with them, and though he wasn't enthusiastic about it, he agreed, if she thought it would be useful. He wanted all the help he could get, and he was very grateful to Alex. He told her she was the best attorney he knew, and he valued her opinion. He did not say more than that but the look that passed between them was old and familiar. They had known and loved each other for a long time, it was hard to forget that.

The story he told was not a pretty one, and as he had told her, he didn't yet have all the answers. What appeared to have happened, as far as he could discern, was that Simon had been slowly and steadily introducing unscrupulous clients into their business, and falsifying their histories and reports from various banks in Europe. And then, in ways Sam had not yet completely figured out, Simon had begun juggling money. He had embezzled from them, and stolen money from the legitimate clients, and he had begun laundering huge amounts from disreputable sources in Europe. It had apparently gone on for months, and Sam admitted, without accusing her, that during the time of her illness and the stress between them, he had stopped paying as close attention as he should to his business. He didn't want to tell her, unless he had to, that he had also been distracted by his affair with Daphne.

He did explain though that he was not yet sure if she had been introduced into the business by Simon, as a decoy. But her arrival had been very timely, along with the distraction she provided.

Sam admitted to her then, that by the spring he had begun to suspect something was wrong in Simon's dealings with one of their clients, and certain funds seemed to have been mishandled. But when he had confronted his partners about it, they had reassured him and insisted that it was not as it appeared, and he had decided that he was worried about nothing. He realized now that he had wanted to believe their story. And oddly enough, he confessed, it was at precisely that time that Alex had reminded him of her own suspicions about Simon again, and he had vehemently denied them.

“I was a damn fool all the way around,” he admitted now. “Simon is as rotten as they come. You were right. And now I find out that Larry and Tom were in on it with him. Not at first, but in February they apparently caught on to something he'd done, and he bought them off. He paid them to keep quiet, and convinced them no one would ever know. He bought them off for a million bucks each, in a numbered account in Switzerland. So for the past six months, they've been in partnership with him, embezzling, stealing, making fraudulent deals. I can't believe how stupid and blind I was, or wanted to be. Simon even arranged to keep me out of the way in Europe for the last two months, when they made some of their worst deals. He found the yacht for me, and I walked right into it like a total fool,” with the help of Daphne. “And while I was gone, someone at the bank got suspicious and reported us to the SEC and the FBI, and they brought in the Department of Justice, and the whole damn house of cards came down around us. And idiot that I was, they took me right down with them. When I got to London, something struck me wrong, when I talked to one of Simon's previous partners. I think he assumed I knew more than I did, which I didn't. But when I called Larry and Tom to ask what was going on, they covered for him, they were too scared not to. And while I was away they made twenty million dollars' worth of bad deals in my name. I'm up to my neck in the swamp with them.” He looked devastated, and terrified. Everything he had built had been destroyed, and his reputation with it. His life was on the line now.

“But you weren't even here while they made those deals,” Alex said sensibly, “will that help at all?”

“Those deals are only the tip of the iceberg. It's much worse than that, and I called in almost every day. They couriered things to me, I signed deal memos for them. They made them look quite respectable. And now I'm as responsible as they are. I wanted it all to be okay. I wanted my suspicions not to be true. I just didn't want to face what they were doing. But when I got home last week, and started asking questions, I got scared, and then I started to scratch the surface. You have no idea how much has gone on in the last year. I can't believe what a fool I was, or how much damage has been done, not just to my reputation, but to my business. It's all over, Alex.” He looked up at her with tears in his eyes. He hadn't cried for her, but he was crying for himself now. “Everything I built is gone. Those two fools sold me out for a million dollars each, and now we're all going to wind up in jail thanks to Simon.” He closed his eyes, and tried to regain his composure again. She felt sorry for him, but not as sorry as she should be. In some ways, he had deserved this. He had trusted Simon when he shouldn't have, when his own instincts had warned him right from the beginning. And he had kept his eyes closed while Simon destroyed not only his business, but his life and his future. He opened his eyes wide and looked at her then, scared to death, and unafraid to show it. “How bad is it?” He looked directly at her, and she hesitated, but only for a moment.

“Pretty bad, Sam. I made notes, and I want to call in one of our partners. But I don't think you're going to be able to just talk your way out of it. You've got too much implied responsibility here. It's going to be very hard to convince the grand jury, or anyone for that matter, that you didn't know what was going on, even if you didn't.”

“Do you believe me?”

“To a point,” she said honestly. “I think you didn't want to know what was going on, and you let it happen without you.” Brock silently agreed with her completely.

“What do I do now?” He looked terrified, with good reason.

“Tell the truth. A lot of it. Particularly to your attorneys. Tell them everything you know, Sam. It'll be your only salvation. What about Simon?”

“They're indicting him this afternoon.”

“And the girl? His cousin? What part did she play in all this?” Other than destroying their marriage. He had really been set up by pros, and he'd been a complete fool, and he knew it.

“I don't know about her yet.” He looked away from Alex. “She says she's not responsible, that she didn't know. I still think she knew when she came in, and then chose to stay out of it once she got here. Or maybe she didn't. Maybe she knew it all,” he said, running his hands through his hair as she watched him. He had paid a high price for his affair. He had paid with his business, his reputation, his money, possibly his life, if he wound up in prison. But she still wanted to help him. He was still her husband.

She went to the phone then, and called Phillip Smith, one of their senior partners. He specialized in tax fraud and SEC violations. It was similar enough. This was right up his alley, and he promised to be down in five minutes.

“What about you? Will you stay on it too?” Sam asked pathetically, and Brock wanted to hit him. She wasn't his any longer. He had done enough to her for one lifetime, but in spite of everything Alex still felt loyalties to him, if only because of their daughter.

“I wouldn't be any good to you,” Alex told Sam honestly, “this isn't my area of expertise.” And in spite of feeling sorry for him, she didn't want to get too directly involved with him.

“Will you consult on it? Be an associate? Alex …please …” Brock turned away. He didn't want to see this. Sam was doing a number on her, and she felt obligated to help him.

“I'll see what I can do. But you don't need me, Sam. I'll see what Phillip Smith says after you talk to him.” She spoke to him very gently. And Brock was annoyed to see that, no matter what she said, and what Sam had done to her, there was still a bond between them.

“I do need you,” Sam said urgently in an undertone, as the senior partner arrived and Brock got called away for a few minutes.

She made the introductions and shared her notes with Phillip Smith. He nodded and frowned, and then sat down next to Alex, across the table from Sam.

“I should leave you alone,” she said, and stood up, looking down at Sam. He looked suddenly like a pathetic figure. He seemed broken by what had happened.

“Don't go.” He looked up at her like a frightened child and she was suddenly reminded of how she had felt when they told her she had cancer, how alone and afraid she had felt, and how he had refused to be there. He'd been out chasing Daphne, and letting criminals destroy his business, while he left Alex to puke her guts out.

“I'll be back,” she said quietly. She didn't want to encourage him to become dependent on her. This was going to be a complicated case, and she was sure it would go to trial. It would take months, if not years, and she wanted to be careful not to make too much of a commitment.

And when she got to her office, Brock was pacing the room with a look of fury.

“That whining sonofabitch,” he complained, glaring at her, as though it were all her fault. “He hasn't done shit for you for a year, if he ever did before that, which I doubt, and now he shows up crying because he's about to go to jail. You know, you really ought to let him. It would do him good. It's really perfect. His fancy piece of ass and her cousin set him up for embezzlement and fraud and then he comes crying to you to save him.” He was so furious, he couldn't stop pacing. It was almost as though he had been betrayed, and not Alex.

“Relax, Brock,” she tried to calm him down, “he's still my husband.”

“Not for long, I hope. What a slime bag. He sits there in his expensive suit and his ten-thousand-dollar watch, having just walked off a yacht in the South of France, and he's all surprised that his partners are crooks and he's been indicted by the grand jury. Well, I'm not surprised at all. I think he was probably in on it from the beginning.”

“I don't,” she said calmly, sitting at her desk while he paced, hating her husband. “I think it probably happened pretty much the way he said. He was playing around and not paying attention, and they screwed him. That doesn't excuse him, he should have been watching what was going on. He had a responsibility, but he was playing, and hiding. And they were very busy while he was snoozing.”

“I still think he deserves it.”

“Maybe.” She wasn't sure what she thought yet. But after her one-thirty appointment left at two-fifteen, Sam was still talking to Phillip Smith, and a little while later they asked her to join them again. She went without Brock this time, which seemed simpler. She realized she'd been wrong to ask him in the first place. It was unfair to ask Brock to be objective.

“Well?” she said, as she sat down with them, and Sam noticed in spite of himself that her figure looked more natural again, and then he forced himself to think of his problems. “Where are we?” she asked, focusing entirely on business. She was like a doctor with a patient, dispassionate and professional.

“Not in a very good place, I'm afraid.” Phillip Smith explained. He didn't pull any punches. He felt that Sam had a large degree of exposure, and that the grand jury indictment would most likely stick. In fact, there was a risk of additional charges. He felt sure that the matter would go to trial and what would happen in front of a jury was unpredictable. Sam had a good chance of losing. Particularly if the jury didn't believe him. The strongest thing he had going for him was the fact that he really hadn't known what had happened, until very late in the day. Phillip Smith felt that the partners would go down with Simon, but there was a faint chance of saving Sam if they could separate his case from theirs philosophically, and build up the sympathies of the jury. His wife had cancer, he was half out of his mind with worry over her, taking care of her, not paying attention to his business. He had trusted his partners, and in fact, he had not knowingly committed any crimes, he had been the pawn of Simon and his partners.

All of which sounded fair to her legally, but it seemed suddenly unfair to her that he should use her as his defense, when he had done so little for her. She understood it, it was a legal ploy, but it still irked her.

“In your opinion, will that fly?” Phillip asked her bluntly. He knew they were separated, and he wanted her reaction.

“It might,” she said cautiously, “if no one looks too hard. I think most people knew that our marriage was falling apart, and that Sam was less than supportive.” Sam winced at her honesty, but he couldn't deny it. He said nothing to the two attorneys.

“Did people know he wasn't being ‘supportive' of you?”

“A few. I didn't advertise it. But I think Sam's life was fairly ‘involved' at the time.” She looked directly at him and he didn't expect what was coming. “He has been rather conspicuously involved with someone else since last fall, or at least since well before Christmas.” Sam looked stunned as she said it, but was surprisingly calm. He had never realized how early she knew about Daphne.

Phillip Smith looked at him very coolly. “Is that true?” Sam hated to admit it to him, and it shocked him to realize that Alex had known then. But he knew he had to be honest, as awkward as it was in front of Alex.

“Yes, it is true. It's the woman I told you about. Simon's cousin, Daphne Belrose.”

“Is she implicated too?”

“Not yet, but she's afraid she will be. She's talking about going back to England the minute anything happens.”

“That would be very foolish,” Smith said in stern tones, “it will make her an immediate fugitive, and they could very well extradite her from England. What is your situation with her now?”

“I'm living with her,” he said, feeling like a complete jerk, “at least I was until this morning.”

“I see.” He nodded, taking it all in. “Well, Mr. Parker, I'd like some time to digest this, and let's see what the grand jury does. When do you testify before them?”

“In two days.”

“That gives us some time to decide on a course of action.” He didn't look pleased with the case and he didn't look as though he liked Sam, but he was willing to take the case for Alex. There was no question in his mind, it was going to be an interesting one, and a big one. Phillip Smith left them alone in the conference room then, and told Sam he'd call him in the morning. He told Alex he'd call her. And the two were left alone, to face each other. It was the first time they'd been alone since before the summer.

“I'm sorry. I didn't know how much you knew,” he said, looking genuinely pained, and unusually humble.

“I knew enough,” she said sadly, not wanting to talk about it with him. There was no point any longer. No matter what the remaining bond, or the child they shared, their marriage was over.

“I think you're in deep water, Sam. Very deep water. I'm sorry all of this happened. I hope Phillip can help you.”

“So do I.” And then, with an expression of real unhappiness he looked across the table at her. “I'm sorry about dragging you into any of this, embarrassing you in any way. You don't deserve this.”

“Neither do you. You deserved a good kick in the ass,” she smiled sadly. “But not this hard.”

“Maybe I did,” he said miserably, consumed with guilt for everything he'd done to her. “When did you find out about Daphne?” He wanted to know now.

“I saw you come out of Ralph Lauren with her just before Christmas. The way you looked together said everything. It wasn't very difficult to figure the rest out. I guess, like you with Simon, I didn't want to see it. It was too painful, and I had too many other things to worry about.” It had been devastating, but she didn't say it. He knew just by looking at her, and he wished he could have turned the clock back, and changed things. But it was way too late now.

“I think I lost my mind for a while. All I could think of was when my mother died and what it had been like. I somehow got it into my head that you were her and you were going to die and take me with you, like my father. I panicked. Kind of like an insane déjà vu. I stopped thinking clearly and all my childhood rage at my mother came back on you. I was truly crazy. I suppose the affair with Daphne was crazy too. It was my way of hiding from reality. But I hurt everyone in the process. I don't even know what to think now. I don't know if she set me up, or if it was real. It's a terrible feeling. I'm not even sure I know her.” But he knew Alex, and how badly he had hurt her. And he hated himself for it. He knew now that he would pay for it for a lifetime.

“Maybe things happen the way they're meant to, Sam,” she said philosophically. It was too late for them, but at least he had come to his senses finally, and he also understood why he had hurt her. It had all been wrapped up in his terror of losing her, as he had his mother.

“I imagine you want out now,” he said, reading her perfectly, but as she looked at him, so vulnerable, so hurt, so scared, his future so uncertain, she couldn't bring herself to press him.

“We can talk about it after you sort out your problems.” It didn't seem fair to dump that on him now, too. Despite Brock's eagerness for the divorce, there was really no great hurry. A month or two wouldn't make that much difference.

“You deserve so much better than I gave you,” he said miserably. For a moment he was going to say more but wisely made no move to approach her. He appreciated her graciousness, and didn't want to abuse it.

And she couldn't disagree with what he was saying to her. But she understood it a little better now. And fortunately, she had had Brock to get her through it.

“Maybe you didn't have a choice,” she said fairly. “Maybe you couldn't help it.”

“I should have been kicked. I was such a damn fool.”

“You'll get out of this, Sam,” she said gently. “You're a good man, fundamentally, and Phillip's a damn fine attorney.”

“So are you, and a good friend,” he said, fighting back tears as they stood across the conference room table from each other.

“Thanks, Sam,” she said with a smile. “I'll keep track of what's happening. Call me if you need me.”

“Kiss Annabelle for me. I'll try to see her this weekend, if I'm not in jail,” he said ruefully, and she smiled at him from the doorway.

“You won't be. See ya.”

She went back to her office, and Brock was waiting for her. He was pacing again and very anxious. He knew she'd been in the conference room with Sam again. Liz had told him. And he'd seen Phillip leaving.

“Did you tell him?”

“More or less. He said he imagined I wanted a divorce, and I said we'd talk about it when he sorted this mess out.”

'What? Why didn't you tell him you want it now}” Brock was furious and she looked exasperated and exhausted. It was draining sitting there, discussing why their marriage had failed and also very upsetting, especially knowing how much trouble he was in. It was going to be very traumatic for Annabelle if he went to prison.

“I didn't tell him I wanted it now, because it doesn't make any difference if we file this month or next for heaven's sake. We're not going anywhere. Let's have a little respect for the guy, or at least compassion. He's under a grand jury indictment for embezzlement and fraud. He has just come home from Europe to find that out. And after seventeen years of marriage, and one child, I think I can give him a few weeks' grace to deal with his other problems.”

“How gracious was he with you last year? How ‘compassionate’? Do you remember?” he barked at her, which was unusual for him. She thought he was acting like a child, but she didn't say so.

“I remember it perfectly. But I still don't think I have to hit him over the head with it. It's over, Brock. It doesn't matter when we get the death certificate. My marriage to Sam is dead. We both know that.”

“With that sonofabitch, don't be so sure. And if his bimbo walks out on him, he'll be back knocking on your door in no time. I saw the way he looked at you today.”

“Oh for heaven's sake, stop it! That's utterly ridiculous.” She refused to discuss it with him any longer. He went back to his office in a fury, and she didn't see him again until they left the office together at seven o'clock that evening. But even then, Brock was in a bad mood, and he sulked at her all through dinner. She had never seen him behave that way, and it took endless cajoling to finally get him to stop it.

But at their penthouse on Fifth Avenue, Daphne was behaving no better with Sam. In fact, she was slamming doors, breaking glasses, and throwing things, and Sam was not finding her amusing.

“How dare you accuse me of that, you bastard!” she shouted at him. “How dare you accuse me of letting you up,' as you put it. I wouldn't stoop to a thing like that. What a cheap trick, to try and put your crimes on me. Well, don't think you'll get away with it. Simon's already said he's going to hire a lawyer for me if I need one. But I'm not going to sit still for that either. I'm going back to London if these ridiculous charges stick. I'm not going to sit around and watch you go to jail, and try and take me with you.”

“Actually, darling, I think you'd be pretty poor company, from the looks of all this.” He looked at the debris of broken objects around them, and he didn't have the energy to fight her anymore. “What would you think in my place? You dance me around your bed for the last year, very pleasantly, I might add, and all the while, Simon is destroying my business. It's hard to believe you knew nothing of what was happening, though I'd like to think you didn't. I found out that my wife knew about us all along, by the way. I must say, you have to give the poor woman credit. I gave her the worst deal any woman's ever had this side of hell, while she lies around half dead puking her brains out on chemo, and she's elegant enough not to admit she knows we're having an affair. Hats off to her. She's quite a lady.” Unlike Miss Daphne Belrose, he thought, but didn't say it.

“Why don't you go back to her then?” she asked, sitting on a black leather chair, and swinging one leg over the other, just enough for him to see what she had there. But he'd seen it before, and he was no longer bewitched. The spell had been broken.

“Alex is too smart to ever take me back,” he said quietly, in answer to Daphne's suggestion. “I don't blame her a bit. I think I at least owe it to her not to go near her.”

“Maybe you two deserve each other. Mr. and Mrs. Perfect. Mr. Honest. Mr. Pure, who had no idea how Simon was multiplying his business by millions. Just how naive are you, Sam? Or to be perfectly blunt, how stupid? Don't tell me you didn't know anything. I didn't help him set it up, but for God's sake, even I could figure out what was happening. Don't tell me you couldn't.”

“The incredible stupidity of it all is that I wasn't paying attention. I was so busy trying to get under your skirts that I never saw what was going on around me. You blinded me, my dear. I was a total fool, and I suppose I deserve what's happening.”

“Nothing's happening, Sam. It's all over. You're finished,” she said derisively, as though it amused her.

“I know I am. Thanks to Simon.”

“You won't get a job as a bank clerk when this is all over.”

“And you, Daphne? How do you feel about that? Will you be around to make my dinner when I get home from a pathetic little job somewhere, selling thumbtacks?” He was looking at her with total contempt, and spoke to her in a voice dripping with sarcasm. He knew just who she was now.

“I don't think so,” she said, uncrossing her legs again, showing him everything he had wanted. He had lost a lifetime for what she had between her legs, and it hardly seemed worth it. “The fun is over, Sam. It's time for me to move on. But it was fun, wasn't it?”

“Very much so,” he agreed, as she walked over to him slowly, and ran a hand inside his open shirt. She felt his nipples, and his chest, and his very firm stomach and he didn't move and then she tried to slide her hand slowly into his trousers, but he grabbed her hand before she got any further. It was the only thing they'd ever really had, raw sex, and a lot of it. But there was too high a price to pay for the pleasure.

“Will you miss me?” she asked, not pulling away from him, but on the contrary, moving closer. It was as though she wanted to prove something by casting a spell on him one more time, but he wouldn't let her.

“I'll miss you,” he said regretfully. “I'll miss the illusion.” He had traded real life for a fantasy, and he knew it. It was a bitter admission. And he had lost Alex in the process.

Daphne pressed her lips down hard on his, and held him with her hands until she could feel him throbbing and he kissed her with the last of his passion for her, and then pulled away and looked at her unhappily, realizing that he would never know if she had collaborated in his destruction or if it had all been done by her cousin. It was terrible not knowing.

“One last time,” she asked in a hoarse voice. She had grown to like him better than she meant to. She was not one to get involved, or stay that way forever. And with him it had been different. But even she knew, it was all over.

He shook his head in answer to her question. He left the apartment for a long, quiet walk then. He had a lot to think about. And he came back two and a half hours later. There was no sound when he came in. And when he looked around, she was gone. The apartment was as empty as his heart. She had taken everything he'd given her, and left him nothing, except memories and questions. That night on the eleven o'clock news, they announced that Simon Barrymore had been indicted by the grand jury on sixteen counts of embezzlement and fraud. There was no mention of his cousin and possible accomplice, Daphne Belrose, who was, at that very moment, on the red-eye to London.

Chapter 20

Sam's appearance before the grand jury was awesome and frightening. It took all day. And at the end of it, their indictments remained as they had been made. Samuel Livingston Parker was ordered to stand trial on nine different charges. Each of his partners had been charged with thirteen, and Simon Barry-more with sixteen.

Alex had not gone to the hearings with Sam. But she called him after she saw Phillip Smith back in the office.

“I'm sorry, Sam,” she said quietly. She had thought the indictments would stick. But now he would have to fight them, or plea-bargain in some way, in the hope of reducing the charges. The trial had been set for November 19, and they had three months to prepare their defense.

Phillip Smith had already drafted three of the firm's best lawyers to help him. Another firm was representing Larry and Tom, and someone Alex had never heard of was representing Simon.

“What about the girl?” Alex asked matter-of-factly. “They didn't get her at all. How'd she pull that off?”

“Luck, I guess.”

“She must be pleased,” Alex said coolly.

“I wouldn't know. She left for London. She figured the good times were over.” And she wasn't wrong. Sam knew what was in store for him. Success in the financial world was very fickle. Once the money and the hot deals were gone, and after a scandal like this, so was the respect and the recognition. He hadn't tried it yet, and had no immediate desire to, but he was sure that if he called La Grenouille or Le Cirque or the Four Seasons, all the reservations available to him would be at five-thirty and eleven-thirty, and the table would be in the kitchen. The champagne only flowed as long as the money.

And in a moment, even after two decades, the name Sam Parker would be forgotten.

The odd thing was that he had always told himself it didn't matter to him, but he realized now it did. Just knowing that his name was dirt, that his business had gone down the tubes, and the reputation he'd had along with it, made him feel finished. He suddenly realized what Alex had felt when she lost her breast, and with it her sense of femininity and sex appeal, and her ability to have children. She had felt diminished as a woman. And he of course hadn't helped by going out with another woman. Nice guy, he reminded himself. All he seemed to have were regrets now. But with the loss of his important position and his respectability based on it, he felt a loss of his manhood.

“Phillip is putting together a great team for you,” Alex said encouragingly on the phone. The worst of it for Sam was that she seemed to bear him no malice. It would almost have been easier if she'd hated him, but apparently she didn't. She seemed not to care about what he'd done to her at all. She had made her peace with everything that had happened to her. He had no idea how she'd done it. And clearly he hadn't figured out about her involvement with Brock yet. Alex gave away nothing, and even Annabelle's mentions of him didn't seem to imply anything but friendship.

“Are you going to be on that team?” Sam asked, embarrassed to even ask her. But he felt so insecure and so scared it was almost childish. He didn't even know what he was going to do with himself before the trial. They were closing the office, and liquidating their affairs. And all the company assets had already been frozen. He was trying to make up as much as he could to as many of their clients as possible, out of his own funds, but there were going to be staggering losses for many. Simon was responsible for most of them, but Tom and Larry had done their share of the damage too, and Sam had unwittingly helped them with some of the deals he had co-signed. He just hadn't been paying attention. He felt terribly guilty, but it was too late to change it. All he could do was pay the penalty, whatever it would be. Sometimes he thought he deserved to go to jail for sheer stupidity, and he said as much to Alex before she had a chance to answer his question.

“As far as I know, that's not a crime yet. And, no, I won't be on the team, but I'll watch from the sidelines.” He knew it was more than he deserved from her, and he didn't argue.

“Thank you. We're going to be closing the office in the next week or two. Almost everyone's gone now.” It had taken exactly three days to empty all the offices, and no one wanted to be associated with them for a moment longer than they had to. They were a pariah. “I guess after that, it'll be all preparation for the trial.” And then, out of nowhere, “I'm going to be selling the penthouse. I'm not going to need it now,” he had really bought it for Daphne, “and frankly, I need the money. Besides, if I go to jail, you don't need the headache of liquidating that for me. I'm going to stay at the Carlyle.”

“Annabelle will like that.” She had tried to sound encouraging, but like her illness the year before, the prognosis was not great. He had some tough stuff to go through. He would be stripped to the bone, and bared for all to see, all his sins, and stupidities, and failings, and then he would be at the mercy of twelve good men, or women, a jury of his peers, who would determine his future. It was pretty scary.

And then she remembered that it was almost the Labor Day weekend. “Are you still taking Annabelle?”

“I'd like to.” He was going to be alone with her, and it was going to be a relief not to have to fight with Daphne. He didn't think they'd go anywhere. He just wanted to be with Annabelle and enjoy her.

Carmen brought her in to the city and when he picked her up Alex was out. She didn't see him again in the office that week, although she knew he'd been in to see Phillip. She was trying to stay out of it officially, but still keep an eye on things, although from a distance. And she had promised Sam that she would sit through the trial with him, and go to as many meetings before that as she could. But she didn't want Phillip to feel that she was crowding him, or interfering.

And by the time she and Brock left for East Hampton for the weekend, on Friday afternoon, they were both exhausted. He was still annoyed that she hadn't taken the bull by the horns with Sam, and pressed him for an immediate divorce, and she thought Brock was being unreasonable and childish. They had a big fight about it again on Friday night, and for the first time in her five-month affair with him, they both went to bed angry.

But in the morning, as they woke up, he reached over and pulled her close to him and told her he was sorry.

“I'm sorry I'm such an idiot about all this, he just scares me,” he said, and Alex turned to look at him in amazement.

“Sam? Why, for heaven's sake? The poor guy's practically in jail. He's got plenty of problems of his own, what's to scare you?”

“History. Time. Annabelle. It doesn't matter what kind of sonofabitch the guy was to you last year, he's still your husband, and he had seventeen years with you before that. That carries a lot of weight. It's hard to fight that.” He looked at her knowingly, and she couldn't deny it, but she loved him too, and she wanted him to know it.

“You don't have to worry, Brock,” she said holding him close to her, and smoothing his hair with her hand, like a child. Sometimes she felt light-years older, but she was touched by what he was feeling, and he was right in some ways. The things he talked about had bound her to Sam for close to two decades. But Brock had a history with her too, a history of incredible kindness, and she couldn't ignore that either. Besides, she loved him. “Don't worry about him. I'll get it all worked out after the trial. It just didn't seem right to do it before that. Like his moving out before I finished chemo. I'm sure he wanted to, but even as lousy as he was at the time, he stayed till I was finished. Sometimes it's just a question of basic decency and good manners.” She smiled and Brock smiled at her in answer. He relaxed for the first time in days and held her close to him.

“Just make sure good manners don't keep you married to him, or my manners are going to fall apart in a hurry. I may kill him.” Brock was the gentlest person she knew, and she knew he didn't mean it. He just wanted her out of her marriage to Sam, and she didn't blame him. She wanted that too. But in the right way, at the right time, without causing even more damage.

They spent an easy weekend on the beach, and packed up their things with regret on Monday. He had rented a station wagon to take everything home with them, and they were unpacking her things at her apartment when Sam came home with Annabelle. And she looked a lot happier than she did after her weekends with Daphne, but this time Sam looked a little startled. Suddenly, seeing Brock help her unload the car made Sam realize that there was more to it than just work at the office.

“Can I give you a hand?” Sam asked politely, carrying a box into the front hall. He suddenly felt like a stranger in what had been his home, and he realized he didn't belong there. Brock was painfully polite to him, and Alex was very pleasant, but when he saw Annabelle with them, he realized that this was a unit he could no longer interfere with. They were part of it, and he wasn't.

He left shortly afterwards, feeling depressed, and Brock looked pleased. There was no question. The message had been clear. “She's mine now,” and Sam had got it.

Chapter 21

Annabelle went back to nursery school after Labor Day, and the rest of them went back to their usual routine. Alex had taken on her full workload again, and she appeared in court almost daily. Brock was still helping her, but he had his own cases too, and they didn't work as constantly together as they had while she was in chemo. And they both agreed that they missed it.

Several of her partners had commended her for her fortitude in hanging in while she was sick, and she had become something of a legend in the law firm. And in spite of the amount of time they still spent together almost every day, no one had yet figured out that she and Brock were seriously involved with each other. It had remained a well-kept secret.

Brock spent every night with them after work, but he still kept his own apartment, and most of the time, he slept there. Neither of them thought it would be good for Annabelle to have him living there full time, so he forced himself to get up in the middle of the night and go home, which they both hated. He only spent the night there, in the guest room, on weekends. And both Brock and Alex were anxious to tell Sam about the divorce, and get their life in order quickly, if only to get a good night's sleep, as Brock put it. But Annabelle was crazy about him, and probably wouldn't have minded if he'd moved in completely.

In September, Sam's trial was more than two months away. And by October, his meetings at the firm had stepped up radically with Phillip Smith and the team he'd created to mount Sam's defense. It was going to be a tough case to win, and they all knew it. Even Sam had few illusions. He'd closed his office by then, and all of the employees had been discharged. In the end, they had cheated people out of roughly twenty-nine million dollars. It could have been a lot worse, but Sam had done what he could to minimize clients' losses, and he was trying to activate whatever insurance policies he could to reimburse people for the difference. But no matter how you looked at it, it was ugly. His efforts to help people recoup what they could was not to improve his defense but simply part of who he always had been. If anything, he seemed more himself now. He seemed happier and more at peace, although when Alex saw him at meetings with Phillip, he was strained, and often nervous. The prospect of going to prison terrified him, but he also realized it was a strong possibility. Phillip had told him more than once that keeping him out of jail was going to be a long shot.

By late October, deals were being made, and the prosecutors were trying to get all of them to plead guilty, but so far no one would do it. They were offered shortened sentences as an exchange, but even that wasn't too appealing. Particularly to Sam, whose defense was still that he had been extremely stupid, but not intentionally dishonest.

“Think it'll fly?” Brock asked her honestly, one weekend when they were watching Annabelle in the playground. And she thought about it for a minute, before she answered.

“I'm not sure,” she said honestly. “I hope it does, for his sake. But if I were on a jury and he told me he was too dumb to know that his partners were ripping him off while he was busy getting laid, I think I'd laugh my ass off, and send him straight to prison.”

“That's how I figure it too,” he said, but he wasn't entirely sorry for him, and he still thought he deserved it. But Alex always disagreed with him.

¥bu can't send a guy to jail for being shitty to his wife when she's having chemo, Brock. That's bullshit. That doesn't make him a criminal, it makes him an asshole. The issue here isn't me, it's was he cheating people knowingly?” No matter what else they were, they were lawyers, and the conversation often turned to their cases.

“He knew, don't tell me he didn't. He didn't want to know. But he knew damn well Simon wasn't clean. You even said so.”

“I thought the guy was a crook,” she said thoughtfully, “but Sam always defended him. It was all so easy, the money just kept rolling in, from what he said, I guess he wanted to believe it was on the level. He was naive to believe it, but again, that's not a felony.”

“He should have checked a lot more closely.”

“Yes, he should. That's where I think his love life got in the way.”

“It's going to be a juicy trial,” Brock predicted, and it was. The papers were full of it from the moment they started taking depositions. And by November fifteenth, people were taking bets in the financial community as to who would go to prison, and who wouldn't. Everyone figured that Simon would somehow weasel out of it, he was just too slippery not to. He'd been continuing to do business in Europe while waiting for the trial, and was involved in half a dozen shady deals there, but nothing seemed to stop him. And it was predicted that Larry and Tom were going to go to jail. But Sam was the dark horse that no one could figure. Most people thought he would, but there were a few who thought he wouldn't. He had had an excellent reputation for a long time, and some of the old-timers bought his story, though the younger men on Wall Street didn't. They thought he should have known, or did know, and didn't want to hear it, which was what Brock thought too.

And when the trial began, Alex was there. She watched the jury selection and conferred with Sam in the halls, just to keep him distracted. He had four attorneys, and there were five others involved in the other three's defense. It was a huge event, and the courtroom was filled with reporters. Alex had asked Brock if he wanted to come too, but he said he didn't. They both knew it was going to be a circus.

Brock was still uptight about Sam, still anxious for her to divorce him. He said he wouldn't believe it was for real until she told Sam, and they filed. But she kept promising it was going to happen right after the trial, and she meant it. She and Brock had been physically involved for eight months, and close friends for a lot longer, and she really loved him. But she and Sam had known each other for eighteen years, and loved each other for as long. She owed him something too, and although he didn't like it, she knew Brock understood that. But in spite of himself, and all their reasoning, Brock was extremely jealous. Alex was startled to realize it, but she also found it very touching.

The actual trial began on the afternoon of the third day, and there was an air of real tension in the courtroom. The jury had been selected carefully, and they'd been told that the matters before them would be both complicated and financial. There were four defendants, who were accused in varying degrees, and each case was explained in excruciating detail. Sam's was explained last, and Alex thought the judge spelled it out very clearly. He was a good judge and she'd always had good experiences with him, but that didn't mean anything now. The facts were all against Sam, unless the jury believed his story. He was an honest man, or at least he always had been, but the truth in this case was hard to swallow.

There were three weeks of testimony, and Thanksgiving came and went without too much attention. She and Brock cooked turkey at his place, and Annabelle ate at the Carlyle with Sam, but he was in no mood for holidays. And Alex couldn't help remembering that her extreme reaction to her illness the year before had finally been the straw that broke the camel's back, and Sam had gone berserk because she was too sick to come to the table. Sam remembered that the day's trauma had finally driven him into Daphne's arms, and bed, for the first time, and all he wished, more than anything, was that he could turn the clock back.

He looked very distinguished and tall as he stood in the courtroom in a dark suit the day after Thanksgiving, and when Alex saw him, she asked how he was doing. She knew how difficult it was for him, how worried he was, and how much he had at stake, his entire future. Or at least a decade or two of it. The realization of that made him tremble as he looked at Alex.

“Thanks for coming,' he whispered, and she nodded. She could see the worry in his eyes, but he seemed prepared to take whatever came his way. He already knew that if he lost, he would be given thirty days until sentencing to settle his affairs, before he went to prison, which meant after Christmas. It was a daunting thought, as the judge rapped for order in the courtroom.

The final week of trial came in the second week in December, Sam took the stand, and his testimony was emotional and very moving. He had had to stop once or twice, when he became overwrought, as the reporters took rapid note of it, but she believed his story. She knew what a nightmarish time it had been for both of them, they had both been out of their minds in their own way, and his affair with Daphne must have clouded his judgment further. She was surprised at how dispassionate she felt, listening to him, it was a fascinating case, but she couldn't allow herself to think that Sam might go to prison. She couldn't even allow herself to think that she had once loved him. It would have been too painful.

Afterwards four of the attorneys addressed the jury, in some cases movingly, and Alex thought Phillip's speech was very clear, and stated the facts clearly. It emphasized what Sam himself had said on the witness stand, that between his wife's illness and his own foolishness, he had allowed himself to be lulled into thinking that what was going on was ethical when it wasn't. But the key was that he didn't know what the others were doing. He had never knowingly defrauded anyone, or been a party to what had happened. He had never knowingly been part of their collusion.

The jury took five days to deliberate, and called for evidence and testimony. They recalled everything they could, and then finally, it was over. Sam and the others sat looking very pale and were asked to stand when the jury entered the courtroom. Alex noticed that Simon tried to look contemptuous, but he was too pale for anyone to buy it. Just like the others, he was scared stiff, and the only one Alex felt sorry for was Sam. And poor little Annabelle. What if her Daddy went to prison? Someone at her school had told her about it, and Sam and Alex had tried to explain it to her simply, but it was much too confusing. And no, they didn't know if he was going away or not, but they hoped not. It had been a lousy resolution.

The foreman was a woman in this case, and she called out their verdicts loudly and clearly. They began with Tom, and named each of the thirteen charges against him, and to each of them she responded with a single word. Guilty. Guilty. Guilty. It droned on eternally, and again the same with Larry, and with Simon. There was a huge stir in the courtroom, and the press was going wild as the judge rapped his gavel furiously and called everyone to order.

And then it was Sam's turn, and this time, the verdict was “not guilty” to all the charges of embezzlement, but to all the charges relating to fraud, and conspiracy to commit fraud, he was found guilty. Alex sat rooted to the spot, as she looked at him. He stood very quietly, listening to the judge, who was saying that they were to return thirty days from that date for sentencing, and he would take their cases, and their probation reports, under advisement until then. They were each being released on five-hundred-thousand-dollars bail, which meant a fifty-thousand-dollar bond, which Sam had put up for himself as soon as he was arrested. And then the judge reminded each of them that they were not to leave the state or country. He then rapped his gavel, and dismissed the court, and there was an instant uproar. Photographers flashed photographs of all of them and Alex had to fight to get where Sam was standing with Phillip.

Sam looked like he was in shock when she got to him, and there were tears in his eyes, understandably. Larry's and Tom's wives were sobbing openly, but she said nothing to them. And Simon left the courtroom almost immediately with his lawyer.

“I'm so sorry, Sam,” she said, just loud enough for him to hear her, as someone took their picture.

“Let's get out of here,” he said miserably, and she leaned over to Phillip then to ask him if he needed to talk to his client, but he shook his head. He was very disappointed by the verdict. Now all their efforts would be to reduce sentencing, but there was little chance of that now. Sam was going to prison.

She followed him outside, as news cameras and microphones were shoved into their faces, and finally they darted through the crowd and into a cab before anyone could stop them.

“Are you all right?” she asked him. He looked terrible, and she was suddenly worried he'd have a heart attack or a stroke. At fifty that wasn't completely impossible, although it was unlikely.

“I don't know. I think I'm numb. I kept telling myself I expected it, but I guess I didn't …let's go to the Carlyle.”

But at the hotel, they found reporters waiting for him. They went around to the Madison Avenue side, and hurried in, and he asked her if she'd come upstairs with him for a few minutes. And once there, he called room service and ordered drinks for both of them. Scotch for him, and coffee for her. She wasn't a drinker.

“I don't know what to say,” Alex said honestly, she was bereft of words. All she had left were feelings. Grief for him, and Annabelle who was about to lose her father, for twenty years or more. It was impossible to think of.

It was going to be hard on everyone until sentencing, but now they just had to live through it. “Is there anything I can do?” she asked helplessly. She felt almost as helpless as he had when he found out she had cancer. There was nothing she could do to change it.

“Take good care of Annabelle,” he said, and then burst into tears. He sat with his face in his hands for a long time, sobbing, and she said nothing, and walked over to him and gently held his shoulders. When room service came, she signed for it, and brought the tray in herself, and handed him the Scotch. He took it gratefully, and apologized for his lack of composure.

“Don't be silly, Sam. It's all right,” she said gently, touching his shoulder. But there was nothing they could do. He had been found guilty, and he'd have to go to prison. They knew that.

He took a sip of his drink and looked at her. “It can't have felt any better when they told you you had cancer.”

“It didn't,” she confirmed, and then smiled sadly. “But I'd rather have chemotherapy than go to jail.”

He laughed cynically at what she'd said, and took another swig of Scotch. “Thanks. I don't think they're offering the option.”

“Believe me, you wouldn't like it.”

“I remember that,” he said sorrowfully, feeling grim at how he had failed her. “My God, you were sick. I kept blocking it out because I couldn't stand it. I even let Daphne help me do it. She kept feeling sorry for me instead of you, and I agreed with her completely. We were really nice people. Mr. and Miss Terrific.” He looked into Alex's eyes, grateful beyond words that she had survived it.

“Have you heard from her?” she asked out of curiosity, and he shook his head.

“Not a word, the little dear. I'm sure she's moved on to greener pastures. She'll fall on her feet, wherever she is. Daphne's a smart girl, when it comes to Daphne.” And then he looked at his wife with an expression of immeasurable sadness. “Why are you here? You shouldn't be by now.” It was true, but she was a faithful sort and they both knew that. Besides, Brock was right. Eighteen years had woven a powerful bond between them.

“I loved you for a long time. It's hard to forget that,” she said honestly, no longer afraid that he would hurt her. She knew he couldn't. She was too far removed now.

“You'd better forget it soon,” Sam said. “Thirty days. I'll file before that, by the way. I'm sure your young lawyer friend will be relieved. The poor guy looks daggers at me everytime he sees me. Tell him he can relax now, I'm going.” She smiled at the irony of his words. They knew each other well. He had finally figured out who Brock was. Though he'd been a lot slower than she had been in figuring out Sam's relationship to Daphne. But there were no secrets between them now. “Isn't he a little young for you?” There was a hint of jealousy in his voice when he asked, which reminded her of Brock and made her smile. They were both being silly.

“I say that to him every day, but he's very stubborn.” Alex smiled, thinking of Brock. “He was incredible to me when I was sick. He spent the first five months with me throwing up on the bathroom floor of my office before he ever invited me anywhere.”

“He's a good man,” Sam said fairly. “I wish I'd been decent enough to do that.” And then he thought of the result of the trial again, and shrugged unhappily. “Maybe it's just as well I didn't stick by you. I don't want to take you down with me on this. You need your freedom.”

“So do you,” she said gently.

“Tell it to the judge,” he said, and stood up. He knew he had no right to keep her any longer, and it only made him feel worse to be near her. It was so obviously over for her, it was hard being around her. “Tell Annabelle I'll come by tomorrow to pick her up. I want to do lots of things with her this month.” He only had one month of freedom left, probably, and he was going to spend it all with her. He would have liked to spend it with Alex too, but he would never have asked that. He knew he couldn't.

Alex was sad when she went home to Annabelle that night, and Brock called to say he had seen it on the news and was sorry. He was working late, and he'd come over in a while, but when he did, Alex was irritated by his attitude about Sam. He was supercilious and overtly pleased that Sam had been convicted. He said that Sam had messed up his life in every way possible, and basically deserved what had happened.

“I think twenty years in jail might be a pretty high price for his mess, wouldn't you say? Who the hell hasn't made mistakes? He was stupid and self-centered, and naively trusting of his partners, but he doesn't deserve to lose everything, nor does Annabelle because of his mistakes. She needs her father.”

“He should have thought of that before he went into business with Simon. Hell, Alex, the guy was obvious. You said so yourself,” and she couldn't disagree. She had never trusted Simon. But Sam had, much to his chagrin now.

The next day when Sam came by to pick up Annabelle, looking drained, Alex thought that Brock was unnecessarily unpleasant to him, and after Sam left with Annabelle, she said so. “The guy's got enough on his plate without your being rude to him on top of it.” It was rare for them to fight, but for Alex, it was an issue of loyalty and kindness.

“I was not rude, I was cool, there's a distinct difference.”

“You weren't cool, Brock,” she said, feeling like his mother, scolding him. “You were nasty, that's different. It could have happened to any of us. He was swept away by a glamorous crowd, who were out to use him. Are you so sure you're invulnerable to that?” she asked him pointedly, and he insisted it could never happen to him, but Alex knew better. But it was her attitude that worried Brock. He didn't like the things she said, or the way she said them.

“Why are you defending him?” he asked, looking suddenly worried. “Are you still in love with him?” His eyes bore into hers. He was the prosecutor and she was the defendant.

“I don't think so,” she said honestly, wanting to be fair to both of them. “I care about him. I'm sorry about what happened.”

“Don't you think he deserved it?” Brock pressed. They were alone in her apartment after Annabelle had left with Sam, and Brock wasn't going to let go of the issues. He wanted to know what she was feeling.

“No, I don't think he deserved it,” Alex said sadly. “It's right for him to lose his business, and his job … his standing in the community …even his reputation. He was foolish, he hurt a lot of people by being blind to what the others were doing. But he shouldn't go to prison for that, Brock, no more than he should for failing me …it's not right. I just don't think he deserves that.”

“You're too soft,” Brock said, watching her carefully, and then slowly he went to her, and put his arms around her. “I guess that's why I love you,” and then he closed his eyes and pulled her so tightly against him she could hardly breathe. “I don't want to lose you, that's all. That's what this is all about for me … I keep hearing what you're saying about him, and seeing something in your eyes that still hurts for him. It's not over yet, no matter what you say. He still lives in your heart somewhere …maybe that's normal after eighteen years, and a little girl … I don't know … I just don't want to lose you,” he said again, and kissed her. And when they came up for air, she smiled at him, and touched his lips with a gentle finger.

“You won't, Brock. I love you.” And she meant it.

“But you love him too,” he said wisely, and this time she didn't deny it.

“Maybe I do, and I don't know it. I don't love him in a romantic sense. But I love who he was, and what we had. We were together for a long time. I thought we had it all …and then everything fell apart. It was hard to understand that.” They shared a blood bond by now, like members of the same family, that was near impossible to sever. “I feel his pain. I think I understand what he did. I know what he's feeling. It's hard to explain that to someone else, or to stop feeling it just because things have changed between us.”

“Are you sure they have?” he asked softly.

“Positive,” she said firmly. “I'm not his wife now. I'm someone different than I was before. I don't know …I'm not sure you can ever go back, after all that happened to us. You can only go forward.” And she had, into Brock's arms, but she was not his wife either. She was no one's. She was her own, for the first time in years, and as lonely as it had been for a while, now at times she even liked it. She had the best of both worlds. A sense of herself she'd never had before, and Brock, whom she loved deeply.

“Just let me know if anything changes,” he said simply, watching her eyes, and only somewhat reassured by what he saw there. He knew she was torn by everything she was feeling. She felt sorry for Sam, and loyalty to Brock. And in her own way, she loved both of them, and Annabelle, and she wanted what was right for everyone. Sometimes that wasn't easy.

“Don't say things like that,” she chided him. “Nothing's going to change. It's just going to be a hard time for him, and I'd like to at least be supportive.”

“Why? He didn't support you last year. Why should this be any different?”

“Maybe for old times' sake.” But Brock wanted that with her. He wanted the same ancient bond that tied her to Sam even now, even from a distance.

“Don't feel too sorry for him,” he warned, kissing her again gently. “I need you,” he whispered.

“So do I,” she whispered back, and they made love that morning in the bed she had once shared with Sam, and knew she never would again. What she had said to Brock was true, and she believed it. The past was gone, and it was time to move forward. Besides, she loved him.

But Sam was in a pensive mood when she picked Annabelle up at the Carlyle late that afternoon, after their day together. It was as though in the past twenty-four hours, the verdict had really sunk in, and he was beginning to panic. He was about to lose everything, his freedom, his life, his little girl, even the last whispers of all he had once shared with Alex. And he was suddenly a lot less philosophical and less glib than he had been the night before over his Scotch after the verdict. Being with Annabelle had reminded him of all he would lose, and seeing Alex made it even more poignant.

He had told Annabelle that afternoon that things hadn't gone well for him. She still didn't understand what that meant, and he hadn't explained it fully with all the implications. He had said nothing about leaving her, or going to prison. He would have to deal with that later. He had another thirty days in which to do it.

“Did you two have fun?” Alex asked, smiling at them. She had come to pick Annabelle up, while Brock shopped for their dinner at Gristede's.

“We had a great time,” Sam said, looking better but still tense. “We went skating.” And then he sent Annabelle into the other room to get her doll and her sweater, and he turned to Alex with a look of anguish. “I'm sorry about your friend this morning. He seemed annoyed. I think I upset him,” he said. She nodded, hesitating about how much to say to him, but as always she was honest.

“He's afraid of our history, Sam. I can't really blame him. Eighteen years is a long time, it's hard to explain that to someone else. He's afraid that loyalty is more powerful than love, which is foolish.”

“Is it?” he asked softly, daring to raise his eyes to hers, and he ached instantly at what he saw there. He saw a woman he had hurt deeply, and every moment he spent with her, he remembered. “Is it only loyalty?” he asked thoughtfully. “I'm sorry to hear it. I suppose I'm lucky there's still that, after what I did to you.” He had spent the previous night, and even that afternoon, thinking about her, and the pain he had caused her.

“Sam, don't …” she said gently. It was too late for recriminations. There were too many regrets, and bad memories, along with the good ones.

“Why not? I guess I shouldn't say anything, but I have this crazy sense of time running out suddenly, which we both know isn't so crazy, after Friday's verdict. Maybe it's important to say things now, just in case there's no chance to say them later.” She understood what he felt, but she couldn't help him. She could be there for him, to a point, she could help him with Annabelle, and sympathize with what he was going through, but she couldn't give him more than that. That part of her life was Brock's now. “I still love you,” he said softly, and tore at her heart, as Annabelle skipped back into the room with her doll and her sweater. “I mean it,” he said pointedly, and she turned away, ignoring him, wishing he hadn't said anything. He had no right to.

Alex helped Annabelle put her sweater on, and then her hat and coat with trembling hands and she didn't say a word to Sam until Annabelle went to ring for the elevator, and they followed.

“Don't make things harder than they have to be. I know this is a hard time for you, and I feel terrible, but Sam …don't hurt all of us again now.” If he toyed with her, it would only hurt her, and Brock, and Annabelle, and even himself. “Don't do that.”

“I didn't mean to hurt you,” he said thoughtfully. There was suddenly so much he had to tell her. “I guess I ought to have the guts to leave you alone, no matter what I feel, especially if I'm going to prison. I promised myself that. But maybe it's a bigger mistake to just let you slip away without at least telling you I love you. I know I have no right to you. Hell, I don't even feel like a man anymore. Everything I ever hooked my identity to is gone, money, success, position … I guess that's how you felt when you lost your breast, but we're both stupid. Your womanhood wasn't in your breast …my manhood wasn't in my office …it's in our hearts, our souls, who we are, what we believe in. I don't know why I never understood that before. I understand so much more now, and the bitch of it is that I've figured it all out too late, too late for us anyway … all I want is to turn the clock back a year and start over.” She was shocked by what he was saying.

“I can't, Sam,” she whispered, as she closed her eyes for a moment so she wouldn't have to see the pain in his eyes, or the love she suddenly saw there. Why hadn't he said it all a year before? It was too late now. “Don't say these things to me … I can't go back again, and I can't do this to Brock.” She had promised him she wouldn't only that morning.

“What are you doing with him?” Sam said, sounding annoyed. “He's a kid. A nice kid, I can see that. And he's been good to you, but ten years from now where will you be? Can he really give you what you want?”

“It's not what he can give me,” she said firmly to Sam, “he's already given me so much. It's my turn to give now.”

“You can't give him your life to make up for what he did for you, any more than I can make up to you for what I didn't. But I still love you, Alex …you're still my wife. Maybe I have no right to you anymore, I'm sure I don't. But I want you to know I'll always love you. Even at my craziest, at my worst … I always loved you. I didn't want to leave, but I couldn't stay either. I was running away from everything, you, my mother's ghost, reality. And I had to get that girl out of my blood. I know how wrong it was, but she was driving me crazy. And so were you. I was driving myself mad more than anything. But I never meant to hurt you.” He wanted her to hear all of it from him, before he went to prison. But it wasn't fair. He pulled a string that hadn't been severed yet, and touched a part of her that was still his, which hurt too much. She didn't want to love him.

Her voice was deep and sad when she answered him, and glanced ahead at Annabelle, waiting for them in the distance, in the hallway. “It would be so much easier, Sam, if we left each other cleanly. Don't look back, don't cry over the past …what's the point now?”

“Maybe there is no point anymore. But there is no ‘clean' after eighteen years. I don't know where you stop and I begin,” he said, with tears in his eyes. “Can you really walk away from it like that? Can you say you don't feel anything, only loyalty? I don't believe you.”

Neither did she, but she was suddenly furious at what he was doing. Suddenly, he wanted to confess all his sins, and bare his soul. At the eleventh hour, in spite of everything that he had done, he didn't want to lose her. “What do you want from me, Sam?” she asked him angrily. “To make me admit I love you, so you can feel good about it when you leave? …Let me go …let us both be free, just as you said yesterday after the verdict. We both need that. Don't carry this with you to prison.”

“I can't let go of it,” he said, in visible agony. He had been awake all night, thinking about her, and the verdict. And suddenly, everything was different. He wasn't willing to just let her slip away from him in silence. “I don't know how to let go,” he said, touching her arm, and aching to kiss her. “I still love you.”

“So do I, Sam,” she said miserably, and Brock knew it too, he had said so. “But it's too late now.” They both knew it, but he wasn't ready to give up yet, and she looked at him, Annabelle waved and the elevator door opened. “Don't do this, Sam …please …for both our sakes.” It had been much easier than this when he'd left her for Daphne. He had seemed so sure then, and now he seemed so broken, and she was no longer clear what she owed him.

“I'm sorry, Alex,” he apologized, looking desperately unhappy. “Can I see you sometime?” He looked panicked. The elevator was waiting.

“No.” She shook her head and hurried toward Annabelle, sorry she had come at all. “I can't, Sam …” She couldn't do that to Brock, or herself. She just couldn't. “I'm sorry.”

She stepped into the elevator then, next to Annabelle, and his eyes blazed into hers as the doors closed. And all the way home to her apartment, she tried to force him from her mind, and everything he had said, and think of Brock, as she clung to her daughter.

“Was Daddy mad at you?” Annabelle glanced up at her, looking puzzled, in the chill wind, as Christmas shoppers hurried past them.

“No, sweetheart. He was fine,” she lied, wondering why children always saw all the things they shouldn't.

“He looked sad when we left.”

“He was probably just unhappy to see you go, but he wasn't mad. I promise.” Only sad. And very foolish.

It was a relief to get home to Brock, and the rich smells wafting from her kitchen. He was making spaghetti sauce and garlic bread, and Alex had promised to make soup and pasta and salad, and hot fudge sundaes.

“Everything go okay?” he asked, glancing at her as she took her coat off and warmed her hands. She seemed very cold and somewhat shaken.

“Fine,” she smiled, slipping her arms around him as he stood at the stove, and forcing herself to forget everything Sam had told her. But no matter what she did that night, or how tightly she clung to Brock as he lay beside her, Sam's words continued to drift around her like spirits.

Chapter 22

Annabelle spent a week with Sam, starting on Christmas Day, and Alex made a point of not seeing him when she dropped her off. She let her go up alone in the elevator at the Carlyle. Alex hadn't heard from him again since the last time she saw him, and she could only assume that he had come to his senses. And whether or not he was thinking clearly again, she knew she was.

Christmas Eve had been wonderful with Brock and Annabelle. And they had rented the same house in Vermont for the week between Christmas and New Year's. And this time she skied and had a great time. She had never felt better all year. Her hair had grown longer by then, and she was wearing it in a stylish bob that Brock said he loved, and thought was very sexy. And after a few days in Vermont with her, he relaxed about Sam. Brock knew how much Alex loved him, and he felt suddenly foolish to have been worried.

They also learned, while they were there, that Sam had filed for divorce just after Christmas. And Alex was particularly relieved to hear it. He had obviously come to his senses. Leaving the past behind was difficult for both of them, but there was no question in her mind that they had to do it.

She and Brock talked about getting married quietly in June, and she reminded him again that they still had to work things out at the law firm. They even talked about their honeymoon as they lay by the fire on New Year's Eve, and Alex said dreamily that she would love to go to Europe.

“I think that could be arranged,” he said, sounding warm and comfortable and sexy. They had just made love, and he was half asleep lying next to her, as she smiled up at him and smoothed his hair back. He looked like a boy to her sometimes, a huge overgrown child, so innocent and trusting, it made her love him even more as she held him.

And on New Year's Day they drove back to New York from Vermont. It was a long drive, and they went to the apartment first, and dropped off their skis and suitcases. And then she walked over to pick up Annabelle at the Carlyle still in ski clothes. She called Sam from the desk downstairs, and he asked her to come up just for a minute. She hesitated, and then decided there was no harm in it. He'd filed for the divorce while she was gone. He understood what she wanted.

But when she got upstairs and he opened the door to her, she was shocked when she saw him. He looked haunted.

Seeing him brought it all home to her again, and the agony of what he was facing. She suddenly ached for him, and hated the thought of his going to prison. And somehow, being faced with him again brought back all the emotions she'd been avoiding.

Annabelle still seemed unaware of the strain her father was going through, and she said she'd had a wonderful time with her Daddy.

“I'm glad, sweetheart.” Alex kissed her and held her tight as Sam looked longingly at her over their daughter. She wanted to tell him to stop the moment she saw him. She was still tormented at times by what he had said the last time they met. And this time was no different.

“I missed you,” he said softly, as Annabelle packed her things in the next room. He didn't want her to hear him.

“You shouldn't,” Alex said quietly, and then she thanked him for filing for the divorce. She knew he had done it for her sake and she was grateful.

“I owe you that at least,” he said unhappily, searching her eyes for something that appeared not to be there, and if it was, she refused to show him. “I owe you a lot of things, most of which I'll never be able to repay you.”

“You've done enough,” she said, and she didn't mean it unkindly. They had shared a lot of happy times, and especially now, she was deeply grateful for their daughter. “You don't owe me anything.”

“If I stayed with you for a lifetime, I couldn't repay you for what I did.” It was all he could think of now, playing again and again in his head the horror of how he had failed her. He had too much time to think now.

“Don't be silly, Sam,” she said, trying to lighten the moment. “Stop dwelling on all that. It's gone, it's over. You have to move on. We both do.”

“Do we?” he asked, moving slowly toward her, as Annabelle continued to pack her things in the bedroom, and Alex wished that she would hurry. She would have gone in to help, but she didn't want to walk into Sam's bedroom. And as she looked at him, she saw that he was standing breathlessly close to her, and she saw everything in his eyes that she had once loved there, all the tenderness and love and kindness that had drawn her to him in the first place. He was the same man, and he needed her so much, but she had changed. Now everything about her seemed different. Or was it? “Alex …” He said her name so longingly and she looked up at him, just as he pulled her into his arms, and kissed her gently on the lips before she could stop him. She started to pull away from him, but as she did, he only pulled her closer, and suddenly she couldn't remember why he should stop, and why she hadn't wanted him to do that. It was as though nothing had changed, as though they had moved back in time, and she was his again. And then, suddenly she remembered Brock, and knew she wasn't Sam's anymore, and couldn't let this happen. She wondered suddenly why she had come upstairs again, if she had wanted this to happen. And thinking that made her feel guilty.

“Don't!” was the single word she said when they stopped, and she was breathless. She felt dazed, and suddenly very frightened. She didn't want him pulling her back to him, she didn't want to do this. “Sam, I can't…” Her eyes filled with tears, and he felt like a total bastard. He was taking advantage of her, and he knew he had no right to. He would only be there for days, and then he would be gone for years. It was why he had agreed to divorce her. That and a thousand other reasons he forgot the moment he kissed her.

“I'm sorry, Alex … I can't seem to stay away from you.” He looked almost as guilty as she did. But he was also incredibly appealing as he stood there. He looked vulnerable and afraid, and in love with her, and painfully familiar.

“Just try to behave,” she said, sounding a little hoarse and very sexy. “I know it's hard for you to do that,” she smiled at him ruefully. She wanted to be furious, but he was so outrageous and so desperately in need, somehow she couldn't, “but just try, will you please?” He nodded, looking sheepish, and he grinned at her, as Annabelle came out with her tiny suitcase and the bag of presents Sam had given her for Christmas. They exchanged a look over her head, and Alex wanted to be angry at him, but she couldn't.

He took them both downstairs, and stood and waved as they walked away. Annabelle turned half a dozen times to wave at him and tell him she loved him, and Alex made a point of not looking back at him. She was too afraid of what she'd see if she did. And she didn't want to see it. Vulnerable or not, he had touched a part of her she had thought was no longer there, but she knew it was now. She had thought that part of her had died, and it terrified her now to realize it hadn't. She couldn't let herself give in to it. She couldn't love both of them. She couldn't afford the luxury of Sam now. She and Brock had a future. And the one thing she knew as she walked home was that she had to let go of Sam forever.

And when she got home, Brock was there to meet her. She threw her arms around his neck, and held him close while he kissed her.

“What's that all about?” he asked, looking pleased by the fervor of her kisses. Vermont had been good for them. It was just what they needed.

She and Brock cooked dinner together that night, and afterwards she helped Annabelle unpack her things, while he put some music on the stereo and cleaned up the kitchen. It seemed hours later when Annabelle was in bed, and Brock was in the shower, when Sam called.

She was sitting in their study, thinking about him, and hearing his voice made her jump. It was as though he had heard her thinking.

“I just want you to know I'm not sorry I kissed you,” he said, and she wanted to hang up on him. She didn't know whether to laugh or cry. But she had loved him too. That was the trouble. “But I want to know one thing.”

“What?” she said, feeling guilty for talking to him at all. It was hard to believe he'd been her husband. He seemed more like an illicit lover.

“I want to know if you're sorry, Alex. If you are, if you don't love me anymore, I'll leave you alone, no matter what I feel for you.” He suddenly sounded confident and stronger, as though an important part of him had been restored when he kissed her.

“I don't love you,” she said unconvincingly, and he laughed, sounding like the young man of years before, and she felt a familiar flutter.

“You're a liar.” Sam seemed to grin as he said it.

“I meant it,” she said, feeling guiltier than ever toward Brock, but Sam was undaunted.

“You're not sorry for a minute. You kissed me back.” Sam sounded like a kid again and he was laughing, and she couldn't help smiling when she answered.

“You're a shit,” and then her voice sobered again. “I don't need these complications in my life, Sam. I want to keep things simple.”

“Things are going to be very simple for you in a few weeks, when I'm in prison,” he said, pressing her. And then, “I want to see you.”

“You just did,” she said firmly. More firmly than she felt. There was something about hearing from him again that softened a place in her heart that still loved him, but she was too afraid to ever let it happen.

“You know what I mean,” he persisted. “Let's have dinner.”

“I don't want to.”

“Please …” He sounded so appealing, she wanted to scream.

“Stop it!”

“Alex, please.” He was pleading with her and driving her crazy, and she steadfastly refused to see him, and a few minutes later she hung up on him, and Brock got out of the shower. He had no idea that anyone had called her.

She still felt awkward about it the next day when Sam called her again at the office. She didn't want to speak to him, but after eighteen years, she felt she owed him something. “What do you want from me?” she said finally in exasperation.

“One evening, that's all, and after that, I won't bother you again,” he bargained, and she sighed.

“Why? What difference does it make now?”

“It would mean a lot to me,” he said quietly, and in the end, she agreed to meet him. Just once. She didn't tell Brock about it, and she felt terrible lying to him. But she did it on a night when she knew Brock was busy with clients, and she left Annabelle with Carmen.

“Did you have to sneak out?” Sam teased when they met.

“Don't flatter yourself,” she snapped at him with a look of disapproval. She felt wrong doing this, and he could see that.

“Sorry.”

They went to a little restaurant in the East Eighties, and ordered pasta and wine, and for a little while it was like turning the clock back. It reminded her of the old days when they had been dating, and had first fallen in love, but now everything was different for both of them. This was the end, not the beginning. And they knew it. He was calmer than he'd been the past few times she'd seen him, and painfully aware that he was going to prison.

They walked back downtown slowly afterwards, remembering things, talking about people, and places where they'd been. They dredged up memories neither of them had thought of for years. It was a lot like looking at old albums. And then, as they walked along, they stopped at a corner for a red light and he pulled her closer to him and kissed her. It was cold, and as he held her, she hated herself for responding.

She didn't say anything, and they walked some more, and then he pulled her gently into a doorway to keep warm, and kissed her again.

“I couldn't have paid you to do this a year ago,” she said sadly and bluntly, and she hit her mark. He felt terrible after she said it.

“I was so stupid, Alex,” he said, kissing her again and then just holding her, and she let him. She remembered how lonely she had been for him, and how badly she had needed him, and how much she loved him. And how badly he had hurt her. She hadn't thought then that she'd ever recover. And yet now things seemed so different. It all seemed so far away, and being with him seemed so much more real and so much more important. She wondered if forgiveness was really more just a question of forgetting.

“I learned a lot of lessons last year,” she said thoughtfully, nestled in his arms.

“Like what?”

“Like not depending on anyone, like not living or surviving for anyone but yourself. In the end, I just survived on pure grit, because I refused to die …it was an important lesson …maybe you're going to need to remember that in prison.”

“I can't even imagine it,” he said quietly, and then he looked down at her and smiled warmly. “Thank you for this, for letting me hold you …and kiss you …you could have hit me over the head with your shoe, or called the cops. I'm glad you didn't.”

“Me too,” she said sadly, and then she stopped resisting the idea of him. “I'm going to miss you.”

“You shouldn't. You'll have Annabelle, and the boy wonder,” he added sarcastically, and she laughed, as they started walking home again.

“He's great to Annabelle,” she said kindly about Brock.

“I'm glad. Is he good to you?”

“Very.”

“Then I'm happy for you.” But he wasn't, and they both knew it. More than anything, even though he had known it couldn't lead anywhere, he had wanted her to know how much he still loved her.

“Take care of yourself,” she said as they turned up Seventy-sixth Street toward the Carlyle. She lived only half a block away, and she was determined to walk home alone, but he wouldn't let her.

“I'll try. I have no idea where they'll send me. Probably Leavenworth,” since there were both state and federal charges. “I hope it's civilized at least.”

“Maybe Phillip will do something miraculous, like get you a deal at the last minute.” But he had held out no hope of that to Sam. He'd have to go to prison, though he hoped not for too long. And after the first few months, or years, maybe he'd get transferred to one of the “country club” prisons.

When they passed the Carlyle, he tried to talk her into coming upstairs with him, but she wouldn't. She knew better than to trust him, or herself. And when they got to her building, she kissed him on the cheek, and thanked him for a nice evening. And as she went upstairs, she felt quiet and pensive. There was a lot to think about, a lot of feelings to sift through.

Brock didn't question where she'd been the night before, but there was an odd atmosphere between them all the next morning in the office. It was as though he knew, but refused to ask her. And then finally, at lunch, he couldn't stand it any longer.

“You were out with him last night, weren't you?”

“With whom?” she asked stupidly, feeling her heart pound and hating herself for lying as she ate her sandwich.

“Your husband,” he said coolly. He knew. He had good instincts.

“Sam?” She paused, prepared to lie finally, and then decided not to. She owed Brock more than that and she knew it. But his jealousy scared her. But so did her feelings. The worst thing was that she loved both of them, and she knew it. She owed Sam for years past, and Brock for the past year. But what did she owe herself? That was the question she just couldn't answer. “He wanted to have dinner to talk about Annabelle … I didn't think you'd mind,” she said, lying to him again, but he knew it. She felt so uncomfortable and so confused. She wanted to hate Sam for it, but she didn't.

“Why didn't you tell me?” Brock asked her, looking worried and unhappy.

“Because I was scared,” she said honestly, “that you'd be angry, and I wanted to see him.” It was hard telling him the truth, but she knew she had to.

“Why did you want to see him?”

“Because he's going away for a long time, and I feel sorry for him, and as you put it, he's still my husband.” She looked sad and confused and unhappy. And her eyes told their own story.

“Did he kiss you?” He was no fool. And his jealousy jumped out on his skin like gooseflesh.

“Brock, stop it.” She tried to avoid him but he wouldn't let her.

“You didn't answer my question.” He was pushing at her, pressing her, daring her to answer, and then finally she snapped, mostly out of guilt, but also out of anger.

“What difference does it make?”

“It makes a difference to me.” She almost wondered if he'd followed them, but she didn't think he'd do that.

“All right, I kissed him. So what? That's all that happened.”

“That guy is a real sonofabitch,” he blazed, as he stormed around her office. “He's going to jail, and he wants to get you wound up again. What does he want? For you to wait for him for twenty years? How nice for you. What a great guy he is, or don't you see that? He's completely selfish.”

“Okay, you win, he's selfish. But he's also human, and scared, and in his own way, he loves me.”

“And do you love him?”

“I was married to him for eighteen years, that's worth something. Friendship, if nothing else. I think all he wants is to make peace before he goes, to heal old wounds, and settle his affairs. He knows he's going. He's not trying to take me with him. He filed for divorce, didn't he?”

“And if he doesn't go?” He turned suddenly on her, and she was startled.

“He's not going to get off, Brock. He doesn't have a chance of that. You know that.”

“And if he did, would you stay married to him? Would you go back?” It was a difficult question, and she didn't want to answer it. For herself as much as him. There was no chance of his not going to prison. She knew that and so did Sam. Phillip Smith had left him no illusions. But the issue was not whether or not Sam was going to prison. The issue was not that simple.

“It doesn't have anything to do with that. If I really loved him, I'd be with him, whether or not he went to prison. I'm with you, Brock. That must mean something.”

“It does, but when he's gone, he'll be writing to you, wanting you to visit. You're still in love with him, Alex. Why don't you just face it?” He was hard on her, and she was angry at him for it. He wanted everything all at once, and life didn't work that way. She knew that better than he did.

“It takes old wounds time to heal, Brock. It doesn't happen in an instant. Be patient.”

“Why don't you admit what you're feeling? I think you're going to go back to him.”

“Why don't you grow up, Brock, and stop pushing?” she snapped at him in answer.

“Because I love you.” There were tears in his eyes suddenly when he said it. He loved her, and he wanted her, but there was no use denying that she still loved Sam. She did, and he knew it. He just didn't know what she'd want to do about it, in spite of all her denials.

She clung to him then, and they both cried. Nothing was ever simple. But she wanted to explain to Brock that she needed time to mourn Sam, and to change the subject, she started talking about his sister. And as soon as she did, he looked stricken. She asked him why, but at first, he wouldn't tell her, and then finally he knew he had to. He had meant to for a long time, but it had been better not to, for her sake. It had been particularly difficult when he and Alex talked about getting married, and she said she wanted to invite his sister.

“My sister's dead, Alex,” he said miserably. “She's been dead for ten years. She had just what you had. She had a mastectomy, and chemo, and she couldn't take it. It was too hard for her, and she decided to stop the chemo, and die instead. Actually, her cancer had already spread before they took her breast off. But she gave up.” He started to cry as he remembered, and Alex stared at him in silent amazement. He had never told her. He had encouraged her to believe that his sister had made it, so she would stick with her treatment. “She just quit. She wouldn't take the chemo. It took her a year to die … I was twenty-one, and I took care of her for a year. I wanted to make her live, but she was just too sick. And her husband was a real bastard, like Sam.” He looked at her pointedly. “He never lifted a finger for her till she died, and he remarried six months later. She was thirty-two, and so beautiful …” He sat silent for a long time, as Alex held him and cried for both of them.

“Oh God, I'm so sorry, why didn't you tell me?” She felt terrible. He had given her so much hope, and now she realized all he must have gone through with his sister.

“I didn't want you to give up,” Brock explained, as he wiped away tears, remembering his sister, and loving Alex more than ever. In a way, loving Alex had been like a second chance to save her. And in some ways, Alex was a great deal like her.

“That's why I kept wanting you to do your chemo … I didn't want it to happen to you, and I didn't want you to know she'd died, or I thought you'd give up, like she did.”

“You should have told me.” He said nothing, he only sat quietly remembering, as Alex watched him. “I should have known,” Alex reproached herself, as he blew his nose in a paper napkin she handed him. She wondered what else he hadn't told her, but not telling her about his sister had been a kindness.

“I'm just so scared,” he admitted to her as they sat in her office. “I'm so scared you'll go back to him … he still loves you. I saw it all over his face … I can't stand seeing you with him.” She knew what he said was true, about Sam loving her. And she couldn't change it. She knew she loved Sam too. But it was too late. It was over. And he'd be gone soon, and then she wouldn't have to see him anymore, or ask herself what she felt. It would only be memories, and regrets, and disappointments. And the happier memories from before she got sick. But those were the memories Brock was afraid of.

They went back to work after that, and the next day she had to get ready for Annabelle's birthday. But she knew Sam would come too, and she hoped Brock wouldn't go crazy. In the end, he decided it would be easier for everyone if he wasn't there. And Alex didn't disagree with him, although Annabelle was disappointed.

“I wonder how old I'll be when I get out,” Sam said matter-of-factly, as he ate birthday cake, and Alex groaned at the lack of subtlety. Sometimes he couldn't resist a little dark humor, but ever since their dinner together, he seemed in better spirits.

“A hundred, I hope, and too old to remember you ever knew me,” she answered.

“Don't count on it.” And then, as he set the cake down, “I'd like to have dinner with you again next week, before sentencing, if that's convenient. There are a lot of details about Annabelle I want to go over with you. I still have some money set aside for her support and education.” He had sold the apartment the month before, some of it was going to pay for his attorneys, and the rest he wanted to give to Alex for their daughter.

“Can I trust you?” she asked, and he laughed. The problem was she couldn't trust herself. The trouble was that neither of them could be trusted, and she knew it. He was still so attractive to her, but she had promised herself she would never give in to him. She was Brock's now.

“You can bring a bodyguard if you like, just don't bring the boy wonder.”

“Stop calling him that. His name is Brock.” Sam could at least be respectful of him. He was wonderful to their daughter.

“Sorry. I didn't realize you were so sensitive about him.” And with a sad look, he touched her arm, serious finally, as she was. “Will he be Annabelle's stepfather?”

“I think so,” she said softly. They loved each other deeply, although things had been tense lately because of Sam, but she assumed that once Sam was gone, things would go back to normal. Gone. She hated the sound of that word now. Gone. Sam would be gone forever.

“Will you have dinner with me anyway?” he pressed, and she nodded.

“I'll try.”

“I don't have much time, Alex. Don't play games with me. Monday night at the Carlyle?”

“All right. I'll be there.”

“Thank you.”

But when she told Brock this time, he hit the ceiling.

“Oh for heaven's sake. I could have lied to you, and I didn't.”

“Why does he have to see you?”

“Because he wants to give me money for Annabelle. That's a perfectly reasonable explanation,” and she believed him.

“Tell him to send you a check.”

“No,” she said angrily, she was tired of his jealous tantrums. He had been a lot better behaved when she'd been throwing up on the floor of her office. “Stop behaving like a four-year-old, and work this one out for yourself. I'm having dinner with my ex-husband.” She slammed the door to her bedroom then, and when she came out again, he was gone. He had gone back to his own apartment, and for once, she wasn't even sorry. He was putting too much pressure on her.

She arrived on schedule on Monday night at Sam's suite at the Carlyle Hotel, and he looked very serious in a dark gray suit and a white shirt, and navy Hermes tie. He had spent the afternoon with his lawyers, but he hadn't seen Alex at the law firm.

“How'd it go today?” she asked casually, sitting down on the couch, and noticing that he looked very tired. He was looking older lately, understandably. He was incredibly strained over what was about to happen.

“It didn't go too well,” he answered simply, “Phillip Smith thinks the judge is going to put me away for quite a while, which brings me to why we're here.” He took out two checks and put them on the table. “I got a million eight for the apartment last month. And after paying a few debts Miss Daphne Belrose left me with, and the agents' fees, I am left with a million five. I am giving you five hundred thousand here for Annabelle, and anything you might need for her. I want you to put it in trust for her. And I'm keeping five hundred thousand for me if I ever get out of jail again. And the last five hundred thousand is for you, as a settlement, if you want to call it that. You deserve more than that, but that's all that's left, kiddo. The business had nothing left but debts, and responsibilities for the money they embezzled.”

“Good Lord,” she was stunned. “I don't want money from you, Sam.” She looked genuinely startled.

“You deserve it.”

“For what? Being married to you? Hell, I should get a lot more than that,” she heckled him, and he laughed. “Never mind. I can't take this from you. Keep it, or give it to Annabelle.” But he wouldn't agree to either plan. He wanted her to keep it. But she already knew she would put it back in an account for him, he was going to need it a lot more than she did. She had her job, and her needs had never been very expensive.

He ordered dinner for them after that. Steak for himself and fish for Alex. She was careful about her diet. And they chatted easily about a variety of things, like old friends, and they stayed away from the subjects of court or prisons. She was glad she had come. The evening was entirely civilized. He had calmed down considerably in the past couple of weeks, he didn't pressure her, and he didn't lay a hand on her until she put her coat on, and then very gently he bent down to her and kissed her.

“Good night …thank you for coming …” he said, and kissed her again, and she didn't move. She was always stunned by her own inability to resist him. There was something about the familiarity of him that was mesmerizing. It was as though, even after all this time, she had to be with him.

“We'd better stop this now,” she said softly, and then, stunned at herself, she put her arms around his neck and kissed him, just for old times' sake, she told herself. It didn't mean anything except to them. And Brock Stevens.

“Why stop now?” he whispered, and she laughed, as he kissed her again.

“I'm trying to remember,” she said, feeling guilty, but enjoying it anyway. And there was something very odd about feeling guilty with him. After all, he was still her husband. But Brock had made such a fuss about him. And it wasn't right for them to be kissing. She was involved with Brock, and she and Sam were divorcing.

“I love you,” he whispered, and she suddenly drew back from him, as though she realized it could go no further. She didn't want anyone to get hurt, or to let Sam hurt her again. But at the look in her eyes, he pulled her closer, and felt her heart pounding against his. And this time, when he kissed her, it wasn't gentle. It was urgent. In two days he would be leaving for decades, and he would never hold her again, and they both knew it. Gently he unbuttoned her coat and dropped it on a chair behind her, as she reminded herself to resist him. And then ever so carefully, he ran a hand up her right side, feeling the familiar breast that had nursed his daughter. He was careful not to touch the left, and then his hands touched her, he looked startled and she smiled at him, amused at his surprise over the implant.

“It grew back,” she said wickedly, and he looked embarrassed. It felt surprisingly realistic and he wondered when she'd done it.

“Why didn't you tell me?” he reproached gently and then kissed her again.

“It was none of your business,” she said softly, excited by him, and not wanting to be. And he wanted her desperately, not just for old times' sake, but for the present.

They were slowly, deliberately, unbuttoning each other's clothes, and she felt frightened as she did it. Their attraction to each other was irresistible and relentless, and there was no stopping what they were feeling.

“You're beautiful.” He pulled away and looked at her, and slowly unbuttoned her blouse and her skirt, and she let her clothes fall to the ground around her. In some ways, she knew she was crazy to do this. But he was going away for a long time, and she loved him. It was a way of saying good-bye, of letting go, of telling him how much she had once loved him, but she knew that they would never have a future. This was all they had now.

“I love you, Sam,” she said simply.

“I love you too … so very, very much….” He could barely speak, he was so excited. He wanted her one last time and then he had promised himself he would let go of her forever. He had no right to ruin her life. He had done enough. He wanted only this last gift from her, and it was obvious as they kissed that, in spite of all her warnings to herself, she wanted it as much as he did. She thought of nothing as she clung to him, except how much she had always loved him.

They made love quietly, and there was a certain peace and beauty to it. It was something they had both wanted for a long time, and hadn't dared to acknowledge. There was passion and comfort and forgiveness. They felt as though they belonged in each other's arms, and they lay there afterwards, knowing it would never happen again, but they would long remember.

“I loved you so much,” she said, as she looked at him.

“So did I,” he said with tears in his eyes, but he was smiling. “I still do. I always will. Not because I'm going to prison, but because I'm a fool and I learned my lessons too late. Be smarter than I was, Allie …don't fuck your life up.”

“You didn't,” she said gently.

“How can you say that now?” he asked softly. “Look at where I'm going day after tomorrow. What a fool I was.” He lay on his back, thinking about all of it, and wishing he could undo it. And then she bent down and kissed him. He looked into her eyes and saw all the tenderness in life there. Brock Stevens was a lucky man. And Sam knew he didn't deserve her. He hoped things worked out for her. The boy was too young. But maybe he'd learn. Maybe he'd be smarter than Sam was.

She wanted to spend the night with him, but she didn't dare. If Annabelle woke up, she'd be upset, and if Brock called, he'd go crazy. He knew she was out with Sam, and he was frantic about it.

“I should go home,” she said sadly, hating to leave him.

“It's stupid, isn't it?” he said. “We're married and we can't spend the night together.” It was all so ironic. And then he looked at her seriously. There was something else he had to tell her. “I want you to know that I wish I had done things differently. When you got sick, I mean. I was too scared. I couldn't even listen. It's too late now to change any of it, but if I had it to do again, Alex, I'd be there. I don't think I'd be good at it, not as good as your friend was. But I'll never forgive myself for not being there for you. I learned a terrible lesson.” He had lost his wife over it, and chased after a falling star named Daphne, all because he'd been afraid and was running away from his mother.

“I know how frightened you were,” she said, forgiving him for the pain he had caused her. He really did sound as though he'd learned something from it.

“You can't even begin to know how frightened I was. I was crazed. I couldn't even see you. All I saw was my mother. I was such a damn fool,” he said, holding her, as she tried not to remember.

“I know,” she said softly. “Things work out strangely sometimes,” she said philosophically, willing to accept what was, rather than what had been. She knew he was sorry. There was no point tormenting him over what had happened, though Brock would have been incensed that she forgave him. He would have been incensed over many things. But this wasn't his night, it was hers and Sam's, and it was very precious.

He walked her slowly home after that. They lingered, with his arm around her shoulders. And then he kissed her again. They stood that way for ages outside his old house, and she wanted to ask him up, but she knew she couldn't. They couldn't go on clinging to the past. They had to let go now. At least they were leaving each other something warm to remember.

“Thank you,” she whispered, as she kissed him for the last time. “I'll see you tomorrow.” He was coming to say good-bye to Annabelle, which was going to be ghastly. Alex had taken his check for their daughter with her, but she had left his check for her on the table at the Carlyle, but he hadn't seen it.

“I love you,” he said for a last time, overwhelmed with how beautiful she was, and how much he loved her. He watched her go inside, and as he walked back to the hotel, there were tears running down his cheeks as he wondered how he could have been so stupid. He had blown his entire life and now he had nothing. No future, and no Alex. It was hardly worth living.

And alone in her bed, Alex remembered what it had been like making love to him. It was just like old times, she thought with a smile, only better. They had both learned a lot in the last year, about loving, and forgiveness. She only prayed that, wherever he went, he would be safe, and find something worthwhile to keep him going. She couldn't be there for him now. She owed too much to Brock. And no matter how much she still loved Sam, she knew she had to leave him. But Lord, how she would miss him.

Chapter 23

When Sam came to say good-bye to Annabelle, it almost killed all of them. Sam was fobbing when he left, and Annabelle, and Alex and Carmen were crying. All he had been able to explain to her was that he had worked with some men who had done bad things, and he hadn't paid attention to what they were doing. They had taken people's money, which was wrong, and now he and the bad men had to go to jail to make up for taking the money.

He could have told her that he was going on a long trip. But he didn't. He said that one day she could come to see him, but it wasn't a nice place, and he'd like her to be a little older. He told her to be a good girl, take care of Mommy, and always, always remember how much he loved her. He held her tightly in his arms while they all cried, but no one more than Sam or Alex. Annabelle was confused by what was happening, and she was upset that he was going, and that bad men had taken money. But she had no concept of twenty or thirty years. None of them did. It was beyond them. It simply felt like forever.

Alex walked out to the elevator with him, and clung to him. She had asked Brock not to come until later that evening. And just after he left, she called Sam at the Carlyle.

“Are you all right?” She was worried about him. This was too much for anyone, especially given the minor degree of his involvement. His main sin had been letting it happen.

“I'm okay. I didn't think I could ever leave her. I didn't think I could leave you either.” But he had, and now he knew what it was like to die. He felt like he'd already done it. He had nothing else to lose now.

“I'll be there tomorrow,” she said, wishing she could be there that night. But it didn't seem wise to do that again. After one night together, they both already felt as though they were still married and belonged together. And that would only complicate things for both of them. She had Brock, and he had to go away. There was no point dragging it out now.

But she still felt as though she belonged to Sam, as she talked to him, or stood next to him. All the old bonds had been re-formed in a single moment, and it wasn't fair to either of them. It would just make it harder for both of them when he left tomorrow. And he knew it too. He didn't ask her to come over. Making love to her again had reminded him of how much he loved her, and wanted to protect her. And leaving her now was going to be even more painful.

“I'll see you in court,” he said lightly, elegant to the end, Alex thought as she hung up, thinking about him again. And by the time Brock came by that night, they were all still very upset, even Carmen. Annabelle had cried herself to sleep, despite all of Alex's efforts to console her. And Alex didn't feel like eating dinner or talking.

“Christ, I'll be glad when this is over with,” Brock said tartly, and his tone annoyed her. It was like waiting for an execution and it seemed ghoulish to Alex.

“So will I. I don't think any of us are enjoying it, not even Sam,” Alex said curtly. Why couldn't he be more understanding? He had nothing to fear from Sam now.

“He's the one who created this mess,” Brock pointed out tersely, “let's not forget that.”

“I don't think that's entirely true. Aren't you overlooking the facts here?”

“Oh give it up, Alex. The guy's a crook, whether or not he's your husband.” He made her want to scream as she listened to him. He was so worried he was going to lose Alex to Sam, all he wanted was for the guy to go to jail as soon as possible. For Brock, it was the best news of the year, and there were times when she hated him for it.

Eventually, they argued for so long, that he decided not to spend the night with her again, but before he left, they got into another argument over her going to court with Sam the next morning.

“I want to be there when they sentence him,” she explained as though he were retarded.

“Is that like going to the guillotine with someone?” he said nastily, and he set her off again. But the real heart of it came up a few minutes later. “What if he doesn't go, Alex? Then what? Is he back in the picture?”

“Why do you hound me about this all the time? You're obsessed with him. What do I know what would happen?”

“You're still in love with him,” he accused.

“I'm in love with you,” she tried to reason with him, but he didn't want to hear it.

“But you're in love with him too, aren't you?”

“Brock, stop it!” she screamed, no longer caring if she woke Annabelle or Carmen. “I love you. You've been there for me when no one else was. If you got me through the last year. I would have died without you. Isn't that enough for you? Do you have to wipe out my whole past just to prove I love you? He's the father of my child. He's the man I married. He hurt me terribly. It's over. And he's going away now. That's the best I can do. I can't tell you what would happen if he stayed. But it doesn't matter anyway, he's not staying.”

“I can tell you what would happen if he did,” he said darkly, and she shook her head in despair. This was gruesome.

“You're destroying us while you're trying to destroy him. Stop, before you kill us, Brock. Please …don't do this.” She was crying then, for him, for herself, for Sam, for Annabelle, for all of them, all those who had suffered, even his sister.

“If he stays, I'm going back to Illinois.” It was the first she had heard of it, but she suddenly realized how tormented he must have been to make plans like that without her.

“Why?”

“Because I don't belong here. If you belong with him. I know that. No matter how lousy he's been, or how badly he's hurt you, you still belong to him. I know that in my gut.” He was crying as he said it to her, but she couldn't deny the truth of what he was saying. “If he goes, then you'd be alone anyway. You'd be free. But if he doesn't, I'm going home, Alex. I think I'm ready to go back now. I left because of my sister, but you helped me heal those wounds. I always felt responsible because she quit taking her chemo. I always felt I should have made her do it. I know now that I couldn't have changed anything. She did what she wanted.” He Sounded peaceful and more mature than she had ever heard him. It was hard growing up. It was always so damn painful.

“You saved my life, Brock.” She said it without reservation.

“You'd have done it anyway, because you're that kind of woman. You're not a quitter. That's why you still love him. You just won't give up, will you?” There was more truth to it than she'd ever realized, but Brock had made a difference in her chemo, and her survival. He had kept her at it.

“I think you made the difference,” she said, giving him the credit he deserved.

“That's nice to hear, but you never know.” He looked at her with a sad smile then, “I'll always love you, you know.”

“You make it sound like you're leaving, and not Sam,” she said with tears in her eyes, and he shrugged.

“Maybe I should anyway,” he said sadly. The last three months had taken a terrible toll on them. Oddly enough, it had been better between them when he was helping her get through chemo.

“Don't go, Brock. He doesn't have a chance of getting off now.” She was trying to reassure him, but it only saddened her more.

“Even if he goes, you'll always love him.”

“That's true,” she admitted, “I will. But he's the past, and you're the future. You have to decide if you can face that. If you can live with knowing that I loved him.” He nodded, but he didn't answer, and when he left the apartment, she had a strange feeling that he wasn't coming back, that he would never be able to accept the relationship she'd had with Sam, and the fact that she'd really loved him. He wanted her to hate him, but she didn't. He wanted her not to have a history with anyone, no bond to a man she still cared about so deeply. But life was never that simple. It never dealt the easy hands. The quick wins. There were always the difficult combinations, the tough choices, to deal with. But there were no choices for her now. Sam was going. And Brock would either grow up or he wouldn't. He would either live with her past or he'd leave her. She had a feeling, though, that in the long run, the ten years between them was a chasm beyond bridging, and that Brock knew it too. He seemed ready to go now. In a way, they had healed each other, and perhaps their time together was over. It was sad even thinking of that, but she had learned a lot in the past year about acceptance. And she knew that if she had to be, she could be alone now. But it was odd feeling that she was about to lose both of the men in her life. Maybe it was time for her to be on her own.

And as she lay in bed that night, she thought of Brock and all he'd done for her, but it was Sam she thought of constantly until morning, Sam who needed her thoughts and her strength now. Sam who seemed to be woven into her very soul, who seemed to be a part of her forever. And as she realized that, she felt strangely peaceful. There was no fighting it, he had become an unalterable part of her long since, and she had never even noticed.

She was up at six o'clock, and dressed in a black suit at seven. She didn't tell Annabelle where she was going, but Carmen knew. And Alex looked serious at breakfast and she left for the courthouse early so she would be there when Sam arrived. She wanted to be there for him.

The courthouse was already full when she got there, and she didn't want to crowd the counsel's table, although she could have. There was a huge row going on, because Simon Barrymore had fled the country the night before, and jumped bail, and the judge was in a furor. But once that was taken care of, and a warrant issued for Simon's arrest for jumping bail, the judge was prepared to deal with the others.

Once again, Larry and Tom went first. And each was sentenced to ten years in prison, with a million-dollar fine each. There was a gasp in the courtroom, and as usual, the reporters went wild and had to be reprimanded.

The judge was frantically pounding his gavel, and then he asked Sam to stand up. He looked very serious and very calm, and there was a stir in the courtroom. There had always been recognition that Sam's case was different from the others. He had maintained till the end that he hadn't known what they were doing, and due to the extenuating circumstances of his wife's illness, and his own stupidity, not to mention his affair with Daphne, he had been temporarily lulled into paying far too little attention to the practices of his partners. The jury had recognized the merit of that too, which was why they had cleared him of the embezzlement charges, but the charges of fraud had stood and he had been found guilty.

The judge looked at him long and hard. And then with a slow, deliberate voice he spoke Sam's sentence. “Samuel Livingston Parker, I hereby sentence you to a fine, paid out of your personal funds, of five hundred thousand dollars, and ten years in prison.” The crowd roared, and every photographer in the place pressed toward him, as the judge shouted and continued to rap his gavel. Sam closed his eyes, but only for a split second, and Alex felt so nauseous suddenly it almost felt like chemo. “Ten years in prison,” he repeated, glaring at the crowd and then at Sam, for silence, “with your sentence to be reduced as of this date to ten years probation, and the court recommends that you find some other line of work, Mr. Parker. Dog-catching, if you like, but stay out of the venture capital business, and stay off Wall Street.” Sam stood staring at the judge, as did everyone in the courtroom. For an instant there was silence. Ten years probation. He was free, or as good as. Alex couldn't believe it.

And then pandemonium broke loose in the courtroom.

The lawyers were all shaking hands as Larry and Tom were led away, and Sam stood looking dazed while court was adjourned and photographers from every paper in the country took his picture. Alex couldn't even get to him for the next twenty minutes, and she just stood staring at him in amazement. Phillip Smith had done an incredible job, but so had the judge, and the probation office itself had recommended for probation. They had concluded that Sam was a fool, but not a criminal, and no real purpose would be served by sending him to prison. And as she thought of it, she remembered the five-hundred-thousand-dollar check she had refused to take from him two days before. He was going to find it very useful.

She waited until he was out in the hallway to talk to him. She congratulated Phillip Smith, and the rest of his team, and then suddenly she found herself looking up at Sam, and he was smiling at her, almost shyly.

“This comes as a surprise, doesn't it?” he said, still looking dazed.

“I almost fell over when he said it,” Alex admitted. “I figured you were gone for good.” She smiled and he laughed, feeling new again, just as she had when she'd finished chemo.

“Poor Annabelle …everything we put her through for nothing…let's pick her up at school,” Sam said, and then he looked down at Alex with an odd expression, and spoke to her softly in the lull of the crowd. “Let's go somewhere and talk.”

“What about your hotel?” she whispered in his ear, and he nodded agreement.

“I'll meet you there in half an hour,” he said, and followed Phillip Smith out of the courthouse.

She thought of calling Brock, but she didn't know what to say to him. He had predicted this, and all the complications that went with it. She couldn't face reassuring him again, but worse than that, she wasn't sure what she felt now. She had come to terms with a lot of things the night before, and she suspected Brock had too when he left her. He had never called her.

Sam was suddenly back in her life, with no warning. It made her think of the time they had spent in bed together only two days before, and all the memories it had evoked for both of them. She didn't know anything anymore. She knew she still loved Sam, but did she trust him? Would he be there for her if it happened again, or would he fail her? Were his promises real, or was the nightmare? And where was Brock in all this? What did she owe him, or want from him? But the issue was not Brock now. It was Sam, with all his strengths and failings. The issue was them, and what they would do now. They both knew life gave no guarantees, only promises, and wishes and dreams, and terrible heartache when the dreams were broken.

Her head was reeling as she took a cab uptown to the Carlyle. And when she got there, she found him waiting for her, pacing up and down outside the hotel, as though he couldn't wait another moment. The cab slowed as they got there, and the doorman opened the door for her. And as she stepped out, Sam looked into her eyes, and she knew that Brock was right. They loved each other. It was that simple.

Sam had forgotten the rules for a while but she never had. For better or worse … it was all still there, in spite of all the pain and the heartbreak he had caused her. She wanted to tell Brock he was wrong. She wanted to be bigger than that, to be different, or modern, or very strong. But she wasn't. She was human. She was loyal. And she still loved her husband.

“Hello, Sam,” she said softly as he took her hand, and tucked it into his arm to walk her into the hotel. He was still shaken and stunned by what had just happened in court. He felt very humble, and incredibly lucky.

“Is it all right if we go upstairs?” he asked her politely, and she smiled and nodded, as they went through the revolving door and down the stairs into the lobby.

“It's all right,” she said softly. They were starting over. They were still friends, even though he had hurt her so badly. But she wasn't sure if they were more than that now. There was no way to tell about the future.

She stood next to him in the elevator, wondering what would happen now, how they would put all the pieces back together and try to forget what had happened, what they would say to Annabelle, and what she would tell Brock. It would be hard to tell him, but he already knew. He was packing that morning. They had said good-bye the night before, although neither of them knew it when it happened.

And all her worries seemed to fade as they got out on the eighth floor and Sam turned to look at her. He took out his key and held it for a long moment, looking at her, as she smiled at him. There was sadness in her smile, and truth, and knowledge, and wisdom. They had taught each other so much. So many hard lessons. And Brock had been right, in spite of all of it, Sam was still her husband.

He took the key and turned it in the lock, and gently pushed open the door, and left it standing, as he swept her into his arms, and carried her across the threshold. He looked at her questioningly as he did it, wanting to be sure that it was what she wanted too. But she looked at him and nodded. They'd been given a second chance. A rare, rare gift in any life. They had each gotten a second chance. It was time to grab it, and start over. And as he set her down, she smiled at him, and pushed the door gently closed behind them.

a cognizant original v5 release october 26 2010

Published by

Dell Publishing

a division of

Random House, Inc.

1540 Broadway

New York, New York 10036

Copyright © 1995 by Danielle Steel

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the Publisher, except where permitted by law. For information address: Delacorte Press, New York, New York.

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eISBN: 978-0-307-56659-1

v3.0

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23