The Kiss

“I'll call you ten times a day if I can,” he said, pulling her closer to him. “You can call me too, you know.”

“I will. I'll get up very early so I can call you before you go to sleep at night.” But she also knew that if she called too often, Gordon or his secretary would see the number on their bills. She wasn't as free to call him as he was to call her. She was also aware of how duplicitous it was to continue their relationship by phone, but she couldn't bear the thought of being out of touch with him. They had been living together for two months.

They had gotten spoiled during their time in the hospital, and the thought of their being apart now frightened her. She had no idea when she'd see him again. The doctors had told him to expect to be in the rehabilitation center in New York for six months to a year. It sounded like a life sentence to both of them.

“You have to hurry up and get well,” she told him as she kissed his chest, leaning over onto his bed. “I want you to come to Paris as soon as you can.” There was no way she could come to New York. Sophie had had the burden of Teddy's responsibility for long enough, and she was about to go back to school. Isabelle knew it would be a long time before she could leave Paris again. She was desperate to see Teddy for herself. He had been sounding weaker and weaker on the phone.

But Bill said nothing when she mentioned his coming to France, and she didn't notice it. He had promised himself that he would phase himself slowly out of her life if he couldn't walk, or worse, be a man with her. It was a deal he had made with himself, and he had said nothing about it to her. He had never told her how grim his own prognosis was, and how much he feared that he would never walk again. He wanted to see what they said when he got back to the States. He still didn't quite believe that he would be confined to a wheelchair. But if he was, she had one invalid in her life, and he wasn't going to allow her to have two.

Bill couldn't tolerate the idea of her pitying him, or taking care of him as she had her son. She had spent fourteen years with a mortally ill child. And he didn't want her to have to take care of him, or even think about him that way. But even if he never saw her again, he couldn't imagine not talking to her on the phone. He could no longer imagine waking up in the morning, or the night, without having Isabelle next to him. It pained him just thinking about her being so far away, not being able to watch over her, or take care of her, or see her smile at him when she walked into the room. The time they had spent together had been the happiest in his life. He only wished it could have turned out differently, that Teddy were healthier, and Gordon had less of a grip on her. He had a myriad of wishes about her, and feared that none of them would come true.

The last few days in the hospital seemed to fly by them with the speed of sound. All of her tests were clear, and she had regained some of her strength again. She was ready to leave the hospital, and all the arrangements had been made. Gordon was supposed to come from Paris to take her back, but at the last minute, he told them to hire a nurse to make the trip with her instead. He said he had too much to do. But Isabelle preferred it that way, she didn't want anyone or anything keeping her from Bill on her last night with him.

The nurses left them alone on their last night. They just wanted some quiet time alone, to be peaceful and close. She was leaving in the morning, and Bill the following week. He still had a few last tests to do.

“I can't imagine leaving you tomorrow,” Isabelle said unhappily. She had climbed into his bed, and they held each other close. She would have loved to find a way to make love to him, but she didn't want to upset him if it didn't work, particularly on their last night. She couldn't imagine going back to Gordon now, and she was relieved that she and Gordon kept so much distance between them. She could hardly remember what it was like living with Gordon, she felt far more married to Bill.

“I want you to take care of yourself, my love,” he said, holding her close. They had switched his enormous neck brace to a smaller one, and he could move his head just a little bit. It allowed him to turn his head and look at her more easily, and all he could see now was the look in her eyes. Neither of them needed words for what they were feeling. They had come much farther than that. And now they had to go farther still. They had to learn to live without seeing each other every day, without touching each other, without her gentle hands on his shoulders when he was exhausted, or his arm around her when she fell asleep.

She couldn't imagine it, but she knew it would be all too real the next day as she stepped into the house on the rue de Grenelle. It broke her heart to think of leaving him.

“I can't do this,” she whispered softly as tears ran down her cheeks and she lay next to him. “I can't do it without you.”

“Yes, you can. I won't be any farther away than the phone.” But they both knew it would be different now. And she had an odd feeling about returning to Gordon. He had been so icy with her on the phone that she knew he was going to punish her for her transgressions, and being in the accident with Bill. As though what had happened that night hadn't been punishment enough. But she sensed correctly that he was furious about her being in the car with Bill, and all he assumed it had meant, and now did.

They lay there in silence for a long time, watching a full moon in the night sky. And morning came far too soon. They lay together for their last few minutes, and a nurse came in to remind Isabelle that she had to get up. She showered and dressed, and had breakfast with Bill. But neither of them could eat. They just sat looking at each other, as Isabelle choked on a sob, and then she held him in her arms, as he comforted her.

“It'll be all right, Isabelle. I'll call you tonight,” he said, steeling himself. “Don't cry, my love…” She sounded like a heartbroken child, and in many ways was. Leaving him was worse than leaving home. He was the only source of comfort and love she had.

Gordon had sent her some clothes from Paris: a plain black Chanel suit that hung on her now, and a pair of flat black leather shoes that felt too big. She had lost a lot of weight, and her body seemed to have changed. She was rail thin, but she looked more beautiful than ever to Bill. She was wearing her long dark hair pulled back in a neat ponytail, and no makeup, just lipstick. And seeing her that way reminded him of when they'd arrived in June, their first day when they'd gone out for lunch, and Harry's Bar that night. So much had happened, so many bridges had been crossed. It was incredible to think that they'd nearly died, and then found each other again. And now their dreams were about to end. They both had to go back into the real world, a world in which they could not be together, and in fact would be lifetimes apart.

“Take good care of yourself,” she said as she hugged him close. “Come back to me soon,” she whispered as he smiled through damp eyes. “And don't forget how much I love you.”

“Be strong, Isabelle…. I love you too,” he said, and feeling as though she were tearing herself away from him, she walked resolutely to the door, stopped, took a last look at him, and smiling through her tears, she left.

She thanked the nurses, said good-bye to both doctors who had come to say good-bye to her, and the nurse they had hired for the trip stood close to her in case she fell, and accompanied her to the elevator. And all the while, all she wanted was to run back into his room, to turn back the clock, all the way to the coma if necessary, anything to stay with him. She got into the elevator with her head bowed, and they could all see she was crying as they waved and the doors closed.

No one walked into Bill's room after she left, out of respect for him. No one saw him cry, or turn his eyes toward the ceiling with a look of anguish as he thought of her. If anyone had listened outside his door, they would have heard him sob for a time. It was a sound of dying hope, and lost dreams. It was the sound of a man who knew he would never see the woman he loved again. And when the nurses finally went in to check on him hours later, he had cried himself to sleep.

Chapter 12

The flight that Gordon's secretary had booked Isabelle on touched down at Charles de Gaulle shortly after two o'clock. She had no luggage with her, and only one small carrying bag, with her toiletries and a few books, and some pictures of her children and Bill. She had never gathered any real belongings at the hospital, and with a glance at her passport, the immigration officer waved her through. There was no one to meet her. Gordon hadn't come, and he hadn't told Sophie what flight her mother would be on.

By the time she got in the car Gordon had sent, she was amazed by how exhausted she was. She could hardly put one foot in front of the other. She knew that some of it was emotional, but it was also an enormous change for her to be out in the world again. The nurse escorted her through the airport in a wheelchair, as Isabelle sat quietly thinking of Bill. She'd tried to call him before they got in the car, but the nurses in London said he was asleep. She didn't want to wake him up, and she had nothing to tell him anyway, except that she loved him and she hated being away from him. She was already lonely for him, and she wasn't even home yet. But she knew that once she arrived, she would be happy to see her children again.

The nurse said very little to her on the ride into Paris. They had hired her at the hospital, and she worked privately. She was booked on a flight to go back to London at six o'clock that night. She was just a baby-sitter for the ride, as Bill had said, and he thought it was a good idea since Gordon wasn't accompanying her. If Isabelle got dizzy, if she fell, if she got frightened or confused, it was better for her not to be alone. She had been very ill for a very long time and had sustained an enormous shock. The woman had asked her a few pertinent questions about the accident, she had read the chart anyway, and after a while she lapsed into silence, and on the plane she'd read a book.

Isabelle felt oddly depressed as they drove into town. It did not give her a thrill to see Paris again, and when she saw the Tour Eiffel, it meant nothing to her. She wanted to be on the other side of the English Channel, in the hospital with Bill. She forced herself to think of Teddy and Sophie as they reached Paris, and crossed onto the Left Bank. And it gave her a strange feeling of excitement suddenly when they turned onto the rue de Grenelle. All she could think of now were her children, she could hardly wait to see them again, and at the same time, she was aware of an overwhelming feeling of longing and sadness as she thought of Bill.

The huge bronze doors to the courtyard were standing open, waiting for her. The guardian was watching for the car, and as it drove into the courtyard, Isabelle looked up at the house. She couldn't see anyone. But the children's rooms faced the garden, just as hers did, and she didn't expect Gordon to be home at that hour. He had told her he'd be home at six o'clock, as he always was, he had a busy day scheduled at the office, and she had said she understood. There was more power for him in not being there than in picking her up or meeting her. It was his way of showing her that she did not control him and never would. And there was no one to welcome her as she stepped out of the car.

The guardian bowed and touched his cap without saying a word, she nodded at him, and the driver turned the car around, as the nurse followed her up the short flight of stairs into the house.

Isabelle rang the bell, and for a moment no one came, and then Josephine, the housekeeper, appeared. She took one look at Isabelle, burst into tears, and threw her arms around her.

“Oh, madame …” She had thought Isabelle would die, and she was genuinely happy to see her. She'd been with her all the years of Isabelle's married life. And she dabbed at her eyes as Isabelle hugged her and smiled.

“It's so good to see you,” Isabelle said, and walked into the familiar hall, and looked around. It looked different than she remembered it. Bigger, darker, sadder somehow. It was strange how the mind played tricks, but the house no longer felt comfortable, it felt strange, like being in the wrong house. She wondered if her accident and head injury made her feel that way, or if it was real. She had been gone for a long time. It had been more than two months since she left to spend two days in London in June. So much had happened, and it felt so odd now that she was back. She felt as though she no longer belonged, nor wanted to be, in the house on the rue de Grenelle. And the only thing that kept her there was her kids.

She thanked the nurse for bringing her home, left her with Josephine, and walked slowly up the stairs to see her children. She stood at the top of the stairs for a moment to catch her breath, and she could hear voices in the distance. For an instant, everything around her faded, except the voice of her son. She could hear him talking to someone. And on silent feet, she walked to his room, and opened the door.

Teddy didn't see her at first, he was lying on his bed, and talking to his favorite nurse, Marthe. Isabelle could hear without seeing him that he sounded tired and plaintive. She said not a word to warn him, and walked into the room with a smile.

He glanced at her at first, seeming not to register what had happened, and then with a great whoop of glee, he leaped off the bed and ran to her. And he hugged her so hard, he almost knocked her down.

“Mom!! You're back!!” He was hugging and holding her and pulling at her and kissing her so hard, she thought they would both fall, and she tried to steady him and herself, as the nurse warned him to be gentle. Just holding him like that, and feeling him and touching him and smelling the fresh scent of his hair brought tears to her eyes.

“Oh my God, I've missed you so much…. I can't believe it…. Teddy, I love you….” She was like a mother with a young pup, as he pulled and tugged, and kissed and loved. It suddenly brought home to her as nothing else could how much she had missed him, and when she pulled away from him a little bit, and sat down on his bed, still holding his hands, she could see how pale he was. He was thinner and looked more frail than when she had left, and he started to cough as he sat down next to her, and she saw that it was difficult for him to stop or breathe.

Isabelle glanced at the nurse, and there were tears on her cheeks as she watched them. But the boy's mother could see from the vast array of pills and syrups next to his bed that he hadn't been well. He'd been in such fine form for once when she left him. But the last two months had taken a heavy toll.

“What are you doing in bed at this hour?” she asked him, her eyes worried, and he smiled at her happily as he crawled back up the bed and lay against his pillows, just looking at her.

“The doctor won't let me get up,” he said, as though the entire matter were unimportant. Now that she was home, he didn't care how sick he was. “I told him it was stupid. I wanted to go out to the garden yesterday, and Sophie said I couldn't. She's even sillier than you, she worries all the time. And she doesn't let me do anything at all.”

“That sounds sensible,” his mother said, beaming at him. “It sounds like she took very good care of you for me while I was gone.”

“Are you all right?” he asked her, looking worried. The coughing had stopped, but when she looked more closely, she saw that there was a tremor in his hands.

She suspected it was caused by one of his medications, but she didn't like it anyway. Some of the breathing medicines he took had made him shake before. What Isabelle didn't like about them was that they were too hard on his heart. But Sophie couldn't have known that, and Isabelle was sure she had done a good job. “Papa said you were in a coma, and then you woke up, and now you're fine.”

“That's about right. It wasn't quite as quick as all that, I'm afraid. But I'm fine now.”

“What was it like in the coma? Was it beautiful?” he asked, with a strange wistful look in his eyes. “Do you remember it?”

“No, I don't. I only remember one dream I had, and you were in it. There was a very bright light and I was going away, and you made me come back, so I did.” It was the same dream Bill had had that they had talked about many times. But she couldn't tell him about Bill. And she felt a pang of missing him now as she thought about it. She wished that he could see Teddy, they had talked about him so much, it seemed so unfair that they couldn't meet, although she hoped they might someday.

“Did you hurt very much?” He was very worried about her. He looked like the Little Prince in Saint-Exupery's book, as he sat cross-legged on his bed, with his silky hair in soft curls around his face. He looked and seemed a great deal younger than he was. At fourteen, he had never been to school, rarely left the house, and had no friends. All he had were Sophie and his parents. And it was Isabelle he had always relied on most of all.

“It only hurt in the beginning. After that, I just had to rest a lot, and have tests, and take medicine, and get well so I could come home to you.”

“I missed you,” he said simply. His words didn't even begin to describe to her how he had longed for her, and how frightened he had been that she'd never come home again.

“I missed you too.” Isabelle looked around then, as she lay across his bed. She felt comfortable in this room, far more so than she had felt in the front hall, or would in her own room. This was where she always spent her time when she was home. “Where's Sophie?”

“She had to do some errands. She's going back to school next week. It's a good thing you came home. Papa has been out all the time, and Sophie was mad about it.”

“Then you and I will do lots of reading, and some wonderful puzzles. If everyone else is so busy, we'll have more time just for us, won't we?” she said, looking unconcerned, but she couldn't help wondering where Gordon had been. She also knew that that was Teddy's perception, and he probably hadn't been out as much as Teddy said.

They were talking and laughing and hugging when Sophie walked into the room with a stack of magazines for Teddy, and she gave a little scream when she saw her mother lying on the bed beside him.

“Mommy!” She ran to her and almost threw herself on her, and then suddenly worried that she might hurt her. Not unlike her brother, her mother looked very frail to her. “You look so thin!”

“The food at the hospital was awful.” Isabelle smiled at her. She didn't tell her that on several occasions Bill had had some excellent meals sent in. But she hadn't been hungry, and she had a pitifully small appetite these days. The clothes she had worn home were hanging off her.

“Do you feel all right?” Sophie asked, looking worried. She had become the family caretaker while her mother was in the hospital in London.

“I feel wonderful now that I can see you two again.” Isabelle was beaming, as they were. It was another hour before she went back to her own room to lie down for a little while. She was absolutely exhausted, and Teddy's nurse Marthe said she would look in on her.

Isabelle lay down on her bed, and kicked off her shoes, and as she lay there, she glanced around. The room was all done in flowered silks that were very delicate and pale. There were pinks and whites and pale lavenders on an ivory background. And the furniture around the room was all Louis XV. In some ways, it felt good to be there, and she realized that she felt complete again, now that she had seen her children, but at the same time there was a piece of her missing. She felt overwhelmed by how much she missed Bill. It almost gave her a feeling of panic. They had been so brave when she left, but she had no idea when she would see him again. At best, it was going to be a very long time. She longed to hear his voice, to see him smiling at her, or just touch his hand. And she felt strangely lonely in this house she lived in with her children and the husband who had long since become a stranger to her.

She only meant to rest for a few minutes, but in spite of herself, she fell asleep, and she awoke only when Sophie came in and gently touched her shoulder.

“Are you all right, Mom?” She had grown up too much over the summer, she seemed to have jumped from childhood into all the burdens of adulthood. And listening to her, she seemed more the parent now than the child. Isabelle rolled over on her back and smiled up at her. Without even saying it, she felt a new closeness between them.

“I'm fine, darling. I must have dozed off. I'm just a little tired.”

“Don't let Teddy wear you out. He's so happy to see you, he's like a big puppy. He's had a fever again for the past few days,” Sophie said, looking worried.

“He looks very thin,” Isabelle commented, patting the bed next to her so Sophie would sit down beside her.

“So do you,” Sophie said, looking at her mother more closely. She looked different than she had before, as though something enormously important had happened to her, and it had. She had nearly died, and been reborn. And she had fallen deeply in love with a wonderful man. The changes in her were visible even to her eighteen-year-old daughter.

“You've done a wonderful job with Teddy,” Isabelle praised her, and it was much deserved. She knew better than anyone that caring for a child as sick as Teddy was no easy job. He was loving and always appreciative of the things people did for him, but he had enormous needs, and had to be constantly tended to and monitored and watched. It was a life of eternal vigilance and literally no rest for those who cared for him. “I'm sorry it took me so long to come home,” Isabelle said softly.

“I'm just glad you're alive,” Sophie said with a tired smile.

“I want you to relax now,” Isabelle said, looking concerned about her. “I'll keep Teddy company again tomorrow. I want you to have some fun before you go back to school.” And this time, when Sophie smiled, she looked like a girl again. She didn't want to complain or tell her mother how hard it had been, or how lonely. She'd had no one to talk to or share her worries with, except her friends when they called. They came to visit her now and then, but after a few weeks they got tired of how tied down she was. And for most of the summer, her friends had been away. It had been a long, lonely, hard two months for her. And her father had been no help at all. It was as though he didn't want to know anything about Teddy. He had a sick wife, a sick child, and a life of his own. He had scarcely talked to Sophie while her mother was gone, and she had felt more like an overworked employee than his daughter.

Isabelle got up, washed her face, and combed her hair, and she thought about calling Bill, but she didn't think she had time before Gordon came home. As it turned out, he only came home at seven. Isabelle was in Teddy's room, reading a book to him, when she saw a tall, dark figure walk by. He must have recognized her voice, but he simply walked on without stopping to look into the room or greet her.

Isabelle finished the page, and put the book down. Teddy had eaten dinner on a tray an hour before, and after the emotion of seeing his mother again, he was tired. Sophie had gone out with friends for the evening, for the first time in two months. And after kissing Teddy gently on the cheek, and promising to come back, Isabelle walked quietly down the hall to see her husband. When she found him, Gordon was in his dressing room, making a phone call. He looked surprised to see her standing there, as though he had forgotten she was coming home. She knew that wasn't possible, but it was his style not to make a fuss about arrivals and departures. He rarely said good-bye when he went on a trip, never did when he left for the office in the morning, and when he returned, he usually went to his own rooms to relax for a while before seeing Isabelle or his children. And tonight was no different. He had assumed correctly that she was with Teddy, and knew that he would see her, in good time. He was clearly in no hurry.

“How was your trip?” he asked, smiling at her, from a distance. He made no move to come toward her as she stood cautiously in the doorway.

“Fine.” It was as though the past two months hadn't happened. She felt suddenly as though she had only been gone for two days, and he took no notice of the fact that she'd been gone for two months and had nearly died during her absence. Since she had still been comatose when he left her in the hospital in London, she had not seen him since she left Paris. “The nurse was very helpful. It would have been hard to travel without her. The children seem fine,” Isabelle said quietly, if you discounted the fact that Teddy had lost weight and was running a fever, and Sophie had aged five years in two months. Other than that, everything was “fine.” But she knew he wouldn't want to hear about it. As far as Gordon was concerned, matters that concerned the children and the house were not his province or concern.

“How do you feel?” He looked worried as he asked her, which surprised her. She had expected him to want her to pretend that she hadn't been ill at all. He hated illness and sick people so much, he thought it was a sign of weakness when people were ill. And as they both knew, illness of any kind reminded him of his mother, and was painful for him. In his mind, his entire childhood had been hampered and tainted by her illness.

“I feel all right. Just tired. I think it will take me a while to feel like myself again.” She had to see a specialist the following week for her heart and her liver, and the doctor had warned her that if she had headaches, even mild ones, she would have to be seen immediately by a doctor. The doctor in London expected her full recovery to take close to a year, if not longer.

“You look very well,” Gordon said pleasantly, wanting it to be so. For a variety of reasons, he wanted the past two months to have never happened. He still hadn't gotten up to hug her or kiss her. And he made no move toward her as they spoke. He was an entirely different animal from Bill. And once again, she wondered if Gordon was angry at her. He knew of her friendship with him, and Bill had told her that Gordon had banished him from her room. But he asked her no questions, and made no mention of him. She knew that Bill Robinson was now a subject that was entirely taboo between them. Gordon did not have to warn her, she understood it. “Have you had dinner?” he asked coolly.

She shook her head, and as it always did now, it gave her a slightly dizzy feeling. She had to remind herself not to make any sudden moves with her head, at least for a while. “Not yet. I was waiting for you. Teddy's eaten, and Sophie is out with friends.” Gordon frowned as she said it.

“I assumed you'd want to go to bed when you arrived, Isabelle. This has been a long day for you, for your first day out. I have a business dinner tonight, with an important client from Bangkok.”

“That's all right.” She smiled at him. She was still standing near the doorway. He had never actually invited her to come in, and it was a formality she respected. He had always made it clear to everyone that one needed an invitation from him to enter these rooms, and that applied even to her. “I'll have Josephine bring me up a tray. I'm not hungry anyway.” All she wanted was some soup, or maybe toast and eggs.

“I think that's an excellent idea. We'll have dinner tomorrow.” In the past, it wouldn't have surprised her that he had made no particular fuss about her return after her long absence. But now that she knew Bill so intimately and how he treated her, it startled her that Gordon was so distant and so cool. The two men couldn't possibly have been more different. There was no acknowledgment of her illness, no celebration, no flowers. He didn't even come to hug her before she quietly left his room. And she knew she would not see him again that night. She was actually surprised when he stopped in to see her for a minute on his way out. He was wearing a dark blue suit, a white shirt, a navy Hermes tie, and smelled of cologne. He looked like he was going to a dinner party, but she didn't ask him.

“Have you eaten?” For Gordon, the question was a sign of unusual solicitousness, and she was touched by the attention. These were the crumbs of affection she had been satisfied with in the past.

“I had eggs and some soup,” she said politely, and he nodded.

“Get some rest. Don't stay up with Teddy tonight. He has a nurse for that.” She would have liked to be with Teddy, but knew she didn't feel up to it yet.

“He's already asleep,” she told Gordon. She had just checked on him, and gone back to her own bed, before Gordon walked in to talk to her.

“You'd be wise to do the same,” he said, once again not approaching her bed. He rarely touched her, never hugged her, hadn't kissed her in years, and kept a noticeable distance from her when they were in the same room. The only time he was ever affectionate with her was when they were out in public. Years before, she had been fooled by it, thinking he was warming up to her, and then when they got home, he would be cold to her as soon as they closed their bedroom door. Being close to anyone was the hardest thing in the world for Gordon, which was in sharp contrast to Isabelle, who was warm, affectionate, and loving. It was also light-years from what she had just experienced with Bill, who constantly wanted to hold and touch her. “See you tomorrow,” Gordon said, hesitating slightly. For an instant, she thought he might walk fully into the room, and approach her, but without saying anything more, he turned on his heel and left. It was not the marriage she had ever dreamed of having, but there was no point thinking about it now, it was the only one she had. All she had to do now was readjust to it, after her months with Bill. It was no small feat.

A few minutes after Gordon left, she picked up the phone and dialed London. And when the switchboard answered, she asked to speak to Bill. He sounded depressed when he answered, and as soon as he heard her voice at the other end, he beamed.

“I was lying here thinking about you,” he said easily, and his tone was in sharp contrast to the greeting she'd had from Gordon. “How are the children?”

“Wonderful,” she smiled just hearing him. He sounded like a husband on a trip checking how her day was. “They were so happy to see me. Poor Sophie looks exhausted.”

“How's Teddy?”

“Very thin. He's getting fevers again. But he seemed a bit better tonight. I'm going to spend the day with him tomorrow.”

“Don't overdo it. You're not up to full speed yourself yet.”

“I know, sweetheart. How was your day?” It had been awful, as far as he was concerned, but he didn't say that to her. He'd been lonely all day after she left, but he knew he had to get used to it. All they had now were phone calls. Just like the old days. But after nearly two months of living together, the phone calls seemed like so little to both of them. They both longed for the warmth and closeness they had shared.

“It was all right,” he lied. “I missed you. They're trying to get me ready to leave next week. I feel like I'm going to boot camp.” He was going to the rehab center with the most rigorous program, because he thought they might get the best results. His future depended on it, and theirs. And in spite of what they had told him in London about his legs, he was hopeful. He still felt sure that in the States they might tell him something different. He had more faith in them.

They talked for a while about her homecoming, and the kids, and he had had a call from Jane that afternoon, which had cheered him up a little. And it was only at the end of the call that he asked her about Gordon.

“How was he?”

“He was Gordon. He came home late from the office, and he's out tonight. It doesn't matter.” She had left her heart with Bill in London, except for the part of her that belonged to her children. But there was nothing left for her husband. It was too late, and too much had happened over the years. Even if she never saw Bill again, she knew that it was too late for her and Gordon. All they had now was the shell of an empty marriage, the appearance of it, and not the substance.

“Does he seem angry at you?” Bill had been worried about it. He had seemed so angry to Bill during those first days in London.

“No, he doesn't. But he'd never show it. If he is, it'll come out sometime when I don't expect it. That's how he works. He saves things. The payback always comes later.” But she didn't have any sense of it. He seemed detached from her, but he had been for years. There was nothing different about it. It was all very much the same.

“I just don't want him taking it out on you because you were with me during the accident. I know he was very upset about it. With good reason.” And even better reason now, but he didn't know that.

“Did you talk to Cynthia?” she asked, trying to sound casual. She had noticed in London that his wife never called him. He had had several conversations with his lawyer in the hospital in London and had filed the divorce papers without telling Isabelle. “Jane said she's in Southampton. I'll see her when I'm in the hospital in New York.”

“I should hope so.” Isabelle was shocked at her lack of attention.

He promised to call Isabelle the next day then. She said she'd be home all day. It was easy for them now with only an hour's time difference between Paris and London. It would be harder when he was in New York, but Isabelle knew they'd manage just as they had for years. Bill told her he loved her when he hung up, and as she lay in her bed that night, in the house that was supposed to be her home, she felt as though she were in a strange place. She felt as though her home was with Bill in London.

She didn't hear Gordon come in that night, but she was sleeping soundly in her own room. And she ran into him in the hall the next day, when she was on her way to see Teddy. She had slept later than usual, and it was nearly nine o'clock when she got up. She was wearing a dressing gown, her face was washed and her hair combed when she saw Gordon, rushing toward the stairs with his briefcase. He didn't talk to her, but he waved as he ran down the stairs. He was talking on his cell phone, and a moment later she heard him drive out of the courtyard.

She and Teddy had a good day. She read to him a lot, lay on the bed next to him, and it reminded her a little of her time with Bill in the hospital in London. They read and talked and played games, and after lunch, he had a long nap, and after that the doctor came to see him. He found the boy vastly improved now that his mother was home, but as Isabelle walked the doctor out, he turned to her with an odd expression.

“You know he's deteriorating, don't you, Isabelle?” She had been afraid of that, but she thought it was only temporary. Now that she was home, she was going to put her full efforts into getting him back to the place where he'd been two months before, when she left for London. And she was sure she could do it. Sophie had taken good care of him while she was gone, but she didn't know all the tricks Isabelle did.

“He looks pale, and he's lost weight, but he seemed better this morning,” she said, looking hopeful.

“He's happier. But he's getting weaker. You have to face that. His heart function is getting worse, and his lungs were bad all summer.”

“What are you saying to me, Doctor?” She looked worried.

“That his body is struggling to keep up with him. As he gets bigger, his heart and lungs face an ever-greater challenge.”

“And a transplant?” she asked again.

“He would never survive it.” And without it, she knew his days were numbered. It was a lot to face so soon after she got home, and she was still frail herself. The doctor reminded her not to overdo it. “I'd like to see him gain some weight,” the doctor said, “and you too, Isabelle.” He was concerned about her. Her body had sustained a terrible shock, and she looked it.

“I'll work on it. We'll go on a fattening regime together.” She smiled, pensive about what he had just told her. It had been a hard summer for Teddy, for both of them, but now that she was home, she was determined to turn things around again, she felt sure she could.

“I'll come back to see him in a day or two, and if you have any problems, call me.”

But the problems she had were not related to Teddy. They were with Gordon. He came home looking sullen that night, and offered no explanation for it. He had dinner on a tray in his room, and did not come downstairs to dine with her. He never spoke to her, and never came into her room. And later that night, as she lay in her bed thinking about it, she heard him go out. She had no idea where he went when he went out at night, and she didn't see him again until the next morning. She ran into him when she went downstairs for breakfast. He was sitting in the dining room, reading the paper and drinking a cup of coffee. And for a long time, he didn't acknowledge her, until he put down the paper and finished his coffee. She had the impression he was angry at her, and she had no idea what she'd done to annoy him.

“Have you heard from your friend in London?” he asked her bluntly, and she was startled by the question. She didn't want to lie to him, but she didn't want to tell him Bill had called her twice the day before either.

“Yes, I spoke to him” was all she said. She was surprised to hear him mention Bill. He hadn't said a word about him on the day she came home, but now Gordon looked furious about him.

“Don't you think it's inappropriate for him to call you here, Isabelle? I would think he'd be embarrassed to. He damn near killed you.”

“The bus nearly killed both of us. It wasn't his fault.”

“If you hadn't been out with him, it wouldn't have happened. I don't imagine you'd like your children to know that you were out with another man when the accident occurred.” There was an implied threat that he would tell them, and she understood him. It was a warning.

“No, I wouldn't. But it wasn't the way you make it sound. We were friends,” she said calmly, although her heart was pounding.

“Are you telling me the friendship is over?”

“I didn't say that. We went through a lot together.” She looked at her husband carefully. She knew how vindictive he could be, and she didn't want to start a war with him. She knew that if she did, he would win it. He always did. Gordon was all about power and control, and she knew he wasn't going to tolerate her crossing him. She didn't want to have a showdown with him, if she could possibly avoid it. “You have nothing to fear from him, Gordon. I'm home now.”

“That's not the issue. I'm telling you to leave that alone, Isabelle. You're taking a great risk if you make me angry. I wouldn't suggest it.”

“I have no desire to make you angry. I'm sorry that it created a very awkward situation.” She lowered her eyes as she said it.

“That's an interesting choice of words.” His eyes bored into her, and they were giving her a warning. “I'd say having you in a near-fatal accident while you were cheating on me is definitely ‘awkward.’”

“I wasn't cheating on you. I was having dinner,” she said softly.

“And dancing. You were out at two o'clock in the morning.” She didn't ask him where he'd been the night before, or where he went when he left the house late at night. She had never asked him. She wouldn't have dared. He had established early on in their marriage that he made the rules, and he was free to do what he wanted. He expected her to toe the line, and it was silently agreed between them that she was not to ask questions, or challenge his authority or his independence. The punishment for it would have been extreme if she'd dared. That much had always been understood between them. There had never been any pretense of equality in their marriage. He had never offered it or promised it, and he didn't intend to start now. She understood that too. The only thing that surprised her now was that she had always been willing to accept his authoritarian rule. She saw now that it was a dictatorship, not a marriage. “You're a married woman,” he reminded her, “and I expect you to behave that way. I hope you learned a lesson.” And what was that, she wondered. That she'd be hit by a bus if she dined with another man? She wondered what he'd do to her if he knew she was sharing a room with Bill in the hospital in London, or if someone had told him. He was making himself very clear to her. He was not going to tolerate anything other than exemplary behavior from her. Anything less than that would be punished, by silence, by threats, by rejection, by insults if necessary, or perhaps by banishment, maybe even without her children. And if he divorced her, she had no way of taking care of Teddy, which was the only thing that mattered to her.

“You're lucky I'm willing to forgive you. But if I discover that you're misbehaving, or that he's visiting you here, things are going to go very badly between us. And I suggest you tell him to stop calling.” But she knew she would never do that. Their calls were all she had now. There was certainly going to be no warmth or support from Gordon. He got up from the table then, picked up his briefcase, and walked out of the room. He had delivered his message, and she heard him leave for the office a moment later.

She sat in the dining room for a while, collecting her thoughts, and feeling shaken. She had wondered if he was going to punish her, and now she knew. She was a prisoner, a convict on parole, and if she broke the rules again, and he found out, God only knew what he would do to her. He might even divorce her and keep custody of Teddy. That would be her worst nightmare.

And she knew he was capable of making it happen. She wanted to call Bill, but she didn't dare. She waited for him to call her. He did, at noon, after his morning of physical therapy. He sounded tired, but in decent spirits, and he was happy to talk to her.

“Hi, baby, what are you up to?” he asked cheerfully, and as soon as she spoke to him, he could tell that something had happened. “What's wrong? You sound worried.”

“No, I'm fine,” she lied, and then broke down and told him when he pressed her. She told him about the exchange with Gordon that morning.

“He's just trying to scare you. Reign by terror.” Bill hated everything about him, and he realized now that Gordon had never come back to see her at the hospital to punish her and frighten her, and make her feel insecure and uncertain. What Gordon didn't know was that it had been a gift to her, and to them, and had turned out to be a blessing. “He can't do anything. He can't take Teddy.” He tried in vain to reassure her, but as they talked, he realized that Isabelle was genuinely afraid.

“The courts here favor the father. Maybe he could convince them I'm an unsuitable mother.” It broke Bill's heart to hear her sounding so worried. She had been upset about it all morning.

“How can he convince anyone you're ‘unsuitable’? By telling them you've spent fourteen years taking care of him night and day? Sweetheart, don't be silly. He's just trying to terrorize you, and he's succeeding.” It was an unfounded fear, but Gordon always frightened her. He seemed so all-powerful and all-knowing.

“He's very impressive.” And in her eyes, always had been.

“He doesn't impress me,” Bill said, sounding angry. He would have loved to confront him about how badly he treated his wife. Gordon Forrester was a bully. “Just try to ignore him, and go about your business.”

“That's what I'm doing.”

“Are you having dinner with him tonight?”

“I don't know. He never tells me.”

It drove Bill crazy to hear what she was going through, but he was helpless to do anything about it. He wished she would divorce him, but he knew she never would. She had too much at stake there, and she was too afraid of what he would do to her, and that was exactly what Gordon wanted. Bill tried to explain it to her, but she pointed out to him that she was entirely at his mercy. She had no money of her own, and she had a child who was an invalid, and needed extremely costly medical attention. Hearing her say it upset Bill terribly. He would have liked to marry her, and take care of the boy. But it was too late now, for the moment at least: He couldn't ask her to marry him if he was going to be an invalid. His hands were tied. And men like Gordon always found the right weapon to wield at their victims. In this case, it was fear. He wondered how long it had been like that, and how much abuse she had taken over the years. It seemed to be unlimited, the man had been allowed to run roughshod over her for years, and with her meeting Bill in London and getting exposed by the accident, she had loaded the gun for him. It was unfortunate that he had found out about it.

“Try to stay out of his way. And I'll call you.” He knew it was best if his phone number didn't appear on her bills. That would have been all Gordon needed. “Only call me if you absolutely have to,” Bill told her. “I'll call you.” She felt lonely and isolated as she realized the situation she was in. She was in disgrace, even more than he knew, and Gordon was prepared to exact the ultimate price for it. To the uttermost farthing.

They talked for a while, and he had to go back to therapy again. He promised to call her later in the afternoon, before Gordon came home from the office.

But this time he surprised her. Instead of late, he came home early. He came home at four o'clock, looking as though he expected to surprise her in some wrongdoing. But Bill had already called her. And she was stretched across Teddy's bed playing cards with him. Teddy had a passion for gin rummy. He liked to play solitaire too, but he much preferred to play games with his mother.

Gordon waved as he walked by the room, but he didn't stop to speak to the boy, or Isabelle. It was exactly the same behavior Sophie had seen all summer. It had given Sophie a new view of her father, and she didn't like it. She hated the way he would talk to her, and completely ignore Teddy, as though he were invisible or had never existed. The boy was inadequate in Gordon's eyes, and severely flawed, and he dismissed him. He wasn't worthy of his attention, and Teddy knew it. For years now, he had had absolutely no respect for his father, and little affection. Gordon showed him none at all, nor did he show Isabelle any, and hadn't for years. Sophie had only just begun to understand that. And Sophie commented on it later that afternoon, when she was visiting her mother before she went out for the evening again with friends.

“Why do you let him treat you that way?” Sophie accused her. She wanted her mother to stand up for herself, and was upset that she didn't. Although she had battled with her for years, Sophie was now potentially her strongest ally.

“He doesn't mean any harm by it, sweetheart. That's just the way he is.” Isabelle was always quick to defend him to the children, no matter how right they were when they complained about him. “He's not a demonstrative person,” she explained, and Sophie looked angry. She had learned a lot about him that summer, more than she wanted. It had destroyed all her illusions about her father. Her sympathies were now entirely with her mother. Isabelle had become a hero to her.

“He demonstrates indifference and rejection and meanness constantly. He's awful to you, and he doesn't care about Teddy,” Sophie said angrily.

“Of course he does, Sophie.” Isabelle looked nervous as she listened to what Sophie was saying, although she knew there was a great deal of truth to it.

“He only cares about himself. He doesn't care about me either.”

“He's very proud of you.” Sophie didn't challenge her about that, but she also didn't believe her.

“Even if he is, he has no right to treat you that way, or Teddy.” He was slightly better to Sophie than the others, but he had been less nice to her lately, and it hadn't gone unnoticed. He had never thanked her for the efforts she made, the opportunities she gave up, or the love she showered on her brother in their mother's absence. Sophie had come to see her father as a cold, hard, unfeeling, ruthless man, which was precisely what he was. It had gotten him a long way in business, but it definitely wasn't winning him any medals at home with his wife and children.

“Please don't worry about it,” Isabelle urged her. “Your father is a good man.” But even as she said it, she knew it was a lie, and so did Sophie. He was anything but good, or even kind. “Your father and I are used to each other. We know what to expect, and how we feel about each other. It's not as bad as it looks from the outside.” But Sophie knew it was worse. She now understood why they had separate bedrooms, and she realized that her father was out all the time. He had hardly spent an evening at home while Isabelle was in the hospital in London, and more than once she had discovered that he was out for the night, but she didn't tell her mother that. She knew she would have been terribly hurt by it. Sophie didn't think he had a girlfriend. He didn't seem the type. But she had no idea where he went. He never left any numbers with her. “Everything's fine,” Isabelle reiterated, but she didn't convince her daughter. There seemed no point in Isabelle's mind to tell her just how unpleasant the situation was.

“Was he always like that?” Now that she thought about it, and had for the past two months, she couldn't remember her father ever treating her mother any other way. She couldn't remember a time when there had been warmth and affection between them. She couldn't recall her father ever giving her mother a kiss or a hug. And they had had separate rooms ever since Teddy was born. Her mother had said it was so she could take care of Teddy and not disturb their father, but now Sophie realized it was due to far more than that. And she couldn't understand why she herself hadn't been shocked by it sooner. She had always favored her father since her earliest childhood, and now she felt guilty about it. She had learned a lot, and grown up, while her mother was gone. And nearly losing her in the accident made Sophie cherish her more than she ever had. “Was he different when you got married?” Sophie asked, looking sad for her. She felt so tender toward her mother now.

“He was very protective when we got married. Very strong, very determined, I thought it meant he loved me. I was very young. And he was wonderful when you were born. He was so happy.” She didn't tell Sophie that Gordon had wanted a boy. She'd had a miscarriage after that, and then finally four years after Sophie, Teddy was born. And everything had gone sour after that. He reproached her for Teddy's early birth, insisting that she must have done something to provoke it, and it was all her fault.

Gordon had disengaged himself from the ailing baby right from the first. And within months, he had detached himself from Isabelle as well. She had wanted his support and his love, it had been a hard time for her. They had almost lost Teddy several times during the first two years of his life, and it terrified her. He was so tiny and so frail and so much at risk, but Gordon had let her know again and again that he thought it was all her fault. He told her constantly how inadequate she was, how incapable, how wrong. He had completely undermined her self-confidence, and any belief she'd had in herself, as a mother, as a woman, as his wife. And within two years of Teddy's birth, he had completely shut her out. She had never really understood why, but she had somehow come to believe that it was her fault. And she still felt that way now at times. She always had the feeling that if she'd done things better, he would still love her, and all would have been well with them. Just as he had this morning about her behavior and the accident in London, he invariably blamed her, and she was willing to accept both the blame and the guilt. Except finally, thanks to Bill, less so this time. She knew she had been wrong to meet him in London, in a clandestine way, but at that point at least, she had done nothing wrong. She intended it to be an innocent encounter, and she had told him that she honored her marriage. It was only in the hospital, after the accident, that everything had changed. And she loved Bill so much now, she was willing to bear the guilt, just to have him in her life. There was no way she could give him up now.

“I don't know why you married him, Mom,” Sophie said as she got ready to leave and meet her friends. What she had discovered that summer about her father, among other things, was that he was mean to the point of being cruel at times. And she hated that about him.

“I married him because I loved him.” Isabelle smiled sadly. “I was twenty-one years old, and I thought we were going to have a wonderful life. He was handsome and smart and successful. My father thought the sun rose and fell on him. He told me he would be the perfect husband for me, and I believed him. He was very impressed by your father. He was a very accomplished man.” At thirty-eight, he was already the head of the bank then, and Gordon had been very impressed by her royal and social connections. She had been able to enhance his life at first. Through her parents, she had friends who were useful to him. But once he knew them himself, he pushed her away. It became impossible for him to show affection or love for her. He had been so charming at first, and so cruel so quickly after, and totally self-involved, as though she didn't exist, except to serve him.

Five years later, he was no longer interested in wasting his charm on her. And he certainly wasn't now. By the time her father died, the marriage had become a nightmare, but she would never have admitted it to anyone. She was too ashamed, and Gordon had convinced her by then that it was her fault. Ever since then, she had poured all her love into Sophie and Teddy. At least, she thought, she had done that right. And in sharp contrast to her experience with Gordon, Bill seemed to think she did everything right. It was still hard to believe that two men could view her so entirely differently. But it was Bill she trusted now, and whose opinions she respected. But she had made a decision to stay with Gordon in spite of it, for her children's sake, and she had to make the best of it.

Sophie left the house a little while later, and Gordon and Isabelle had dinner in the dining room. But after the tone of their exchange that morning, very little was said by either of them. Isabelle didn't want to anger him further, and his entire aura warned her not to talk to him. It was never said, but understood, as though even conversation with him were an imposition, and wouldn't be of any interest to him. All she ever talked about were the children anyway, which bored him. Isabelle said not a word all through dinner, and after coffee, she went back upstairs to Teddy's room. Gordon barricaded himself behind his doors as usual. As he left her, he said only that he had work to do. And as she lay in her bed later, she was thinking about everything Sophie had said. She was a bright, healthy, perceptive girl, and her father's behavior and attitudes appalled her, but her mother's bothered her more. She wanted her to stand up to him, and instead Isabelle defended him, no matter what he did to her. It made Sophie sad for her.

Isabelle never heard Gordon leave that night. But she discovered that his bed hadn't been slept in when she went to find him for an important phone call from New York in the morning. She couldn't imagine where he'd been, and there was no one to ask. She was startled by what she saw, and then suddenly wondered if he did that often. She had never been aware of it before. But she was far more willing now to open her eyes. She said nothing to anyone, and told the people on the phone to call him at the office. She would have liked to call him and ask him herself where he'd been, but she wouldn't stoop to that. Instead, she went about her business through the day, as Bill had suggested, took care of Teddy, and waited for Gordon to come home again in the evening. And when he did, she asked him nothing, said nothing. Confrontation wasn't her style, and Gordon's rejections no longer mattered to her. She had Bill, and the love they shared. She went to bed after dinner, and long after she was asleep, Gordon went out and closed the door quietly behind him, careful so no one would hear.

Chapter 13

Bill left the hospital in London five days after Isabelle had gone back to Paris. The days there without her had depressed him immeasurably. He was so lonely without her, but he knew he had to get used to it. And in his own life, he had Mount Everest to climb now. The therapists had mapped out what he would have to do in the coming year, but even as they described it to him, they warned him not to set his sights too high. The likelihood of his regaining the use of his legs would have to be a miracle, they felt, and although they admired his determination, they didn't want him to be crushed if all he did was manage to stand on braces and on crutches, or have to resign himself to permanently being in a wheelchair. They were almost certain he would remain confined to the wheelchair. They thought it extraordinary that he had any sensation at all, given the extent of the damage to his spine. But there was a big difference, they explained, between having some feeling in his legs and being able to walk on them.

The nurses all hugged him and cried when he left. They had all fallen in love with him, and had been touched by his deep attachment to Isabelle. They thought that the fact that they had lived through their accident was one of life's great gifts. And it had given them all new faith and hope. Everyone in the intensive care ward had been amazed that they had both survived.

He promised to send them all postcards from New York, and ordered gifts from Harrods for each of them. He bought them all beautiful gold bracelets, and his doctor a Patek Philippe watch. He was generous and kind and thoughtful and appreciative, and he would be sorely missed. A nurse and an orderly took him to the airport and settled him on his plane, representatives of the rehab center were picking him up at Kennedy in New York.

Bill had called his daughters to tell them he was coming in, and both of them had promised to visit him the next day at the rehab center. He didn't call Cynthia, intentionally, he was trying to keep some distance between them. He thought it was better that way, given the divorce. He had settled a considerable amount of money on her, given her their estate and several cars, and an impressive investment portfolio. He had filed the divorce the month before. She had been stunned by the speed with which he'd moved, and his generosity, and she still believed it was because he was hoping to marry Isabelle, but Bill had told her clearly and honestly that he was not. And if Cynthia hadn't seen how in love Bill was with Isabelle, she would have believed him.

He was able to sit in his seat on the plane comfortably for the first few hours, but after a while his neck and back began to hurt. He was wearing braces on both, and he stretched out, grateful to be traveling on his own plane. It made an enormous difference for him. His doctor had suggested that he refrain from eating or drinking on the flight, which he did. They had also suggested he take a nurse on the flight, but he had resisted the idea, and regretted it once they took off. But he had wanted to prove to himself how independent he was. He was absolutely exhausted and in considerable pain by the time they landed in New York.

There were two male nurses and a driver waiting for him at the airport. He was whisked through customs without having anything checked, and there was a van outside fitted with a gurney The nurses had taken him to the bathroom first, and he thought about stopping to call Isabelle, but he decided to wait until they reached the rehab center. He was in too much pain, and he was anxious to lie down in the van.

“How's that? Better?” one of the nurses asked as they settled him in the van, and Bill smiled.

“That was a hell of a long flight.” Even lying down for part of the trip, it had been hard for him. He had reclined his seat into a bed, but even doing that, it had been at a slight angle, which had caused him excruciating pain. It reminded him again, very unpleasantly, that he still had a long way to go in his recovery, but he was still certain he would get there eventually. But it was upsetting to him to realize how far he had to go.

They had brought him a Thermos of coffee, some cold drinks, and a sandwich. And he felt a lot better by the time they pulled out. It was a beautiful fall day, and the air was still warm.

It took them half an hour to get to the rehab hospital, it was a large sprawling place with manicured grounds on the outskirts of New York. It looked more like a country club than a hospital, but Bill was too tired to look around when they arrived. All he wanted was to get to bed. He signed in and noticed men and women in wheelchairs and on crutches all around. There were two teams playing basketball from wheelchairs, and people on gurneys watching as they cheered the teams on. The atmosphere seemed friendly and active, and people seemed to be full of energy for the most part. But it depressed Bill anyway. This was going to be his home for the next year, or at best nine months. He felt like a kid who had been sent away to school, and he was homesick for Isabelle and St. Thomas', and all the friendly familiar faces he had come to know there. He didn't even let himself think about his home in Connecticut. That was part of the distant past now. And when he was wheeled into his room, there were tears in his eyes. He had never in his entire life ever felt as vulnerable or as lonely.

“Is everything all right, Mr. Robinson?” All he could do was nod.

It looked like a standard room in a clean, respectable hotel. Despite the price, which was exorbitant, it wasn't luxurious, there were no frills, and few comforts. There was decent modern furniture, clean carpeting, a single hospital bed, like the one he'd slept in next to Isabelle, and a single poster of the South of France on the wall. It was a reproduction of a water-color that looked familiar to him, and he thought he recognized Saint-Tropez. He had his own bathroom, and the light in the room was good. There was a fax in the room, a hook-up for a computer, and his own phone. They told him he couldn't have a microwave in the room, not that he cared. They didn't say it, but they didn't want clients isolating and eating by themselves. They wanted him to eat in the cafeteria with everyone else, join the sports teams, use the social rooms, and make friends. It was all part of the process of rehabilitation that they had established for him. And socializing in his new circumstances was part of it. No matter who he was, or had been, or perhaps would be again, they wanted him to be an active part of their community while he was there.

Seeing the hook-ups in his room reminded him that he needed to call his secretary. His political pursuits had dwindled to almost nothing in the past two and a half months. He couldn't do what he needed to from his bed, and she'd had to cancel everything for him. There was no way he could introduce people to each other, plan campaigns, or shepherd his protégés through the process of running a successful campaign. For that, he needed to be hands on and very much on deck. And he realized again, as he looked around his room, that if he were even able to go back to it, that part of his life would have to lie dormant for another year.

There was a small refrigerator in his room filled with the same things as a minibar in a good hotel, sodas and snacks and chocolate bars, and he was pleased and surprised to find two half-bottles of wine. And as he popped open a Coke, after the nurses left, he took a sip and looked at his watch. He wanted to call Isabelle, but he was also afraid that Gordon might be home. But he was too lonely this time not to call. He was planning to hang up if Gordon answered the phone.

The phone answered on the second ring, and he heard her voice. It was eleven o'clock at night for her, but she sounded wide awake. Her familiar soft voice went instantly like a knife to his heart, as he longed for her.

“Is this a good time?” he asked immediately, and she laughed.

“For what, my love? Actually, it's a very good time, I just wish you were here. Gordon is in Munich for the night. How was the trip?”

“Painful,” he said honestly, without whining about it. “I'm in jail.” He looked around the room again, and although he knew it wasn't bad, as those things went it was top of the line, but it depressed him profoundly anyway. “I hate it here,” he said, sounding like a homesick kid calling from boarding school.

“Now come on, be a good sport. It'll do wonderful things for you,” she encouraged him, just as she would have Sophie when she went away to school. “You'll get used to it, and before you know it, you'll be all through. Maybe you'll only have to stay a few months.” She was trying to encourage him, but he sounded very down, and her heart went out to him. She wished there were something she could do for him, but at this distance, it was very hard. They both had to fight their battles on their own. And in many ways, his was much tougher than hers.

“What if I'm here for two years?” he asked, sounding like a kid again.

“That won't happen. I'll bet you're finished in no time. What kinds of people are at the center?” They had both been afraid it would be full of elderly people recovering from strokes, and he'd have little in common with them. But from the little he'd seen, most of the patients he'd observed on the way in looked young, even younger than he. Many of them were there as a result of skiing accidents, or disastrous dives into pools, car accidents, gymnastic tragedies. The people who were motivated to be there were, for the most part, young, with long, potentially productive lives ahead of them.

“They look okay, I guess.” He sighed, and looked out the window at the Olympic-size outdoor pool, and he could see a number of people swimming and wheelchairs parked all around. “I just don't want to be here. I want to go back to Washington and work, or be in Paris with you. I feel as though life is passing me by.” But neither of the places he wanted to be were possibilities for him. And what he feared most was that they never would be again. He would have to be able to sit for extended periods, to hold up for long hours, travel freely on his own, take care of himself, and have endurance, mobility, and clarity of mind, if he was to return to his career. And he was also afraid that there would be some psychological resistance to him now.

People's perceptions could be very strange, and maybe they would feel that if he was in a wheelchair and impaired in any way, he might not be able to run a successful campaign. It was hard to predict what strange turns people's prejudices would take. It was of quintessential importance to him, for an abundance of reasons, to get back on his feet and walk again.

In Isabelle's mind, as far as she was concerned, she didn't care if he never did, but she wanted that very much for him. But her love for him was going to be in no way affected by whether or not he walked again. She had told him as much, but it was an obsession with him. He refused to be dependent on anyone. Not Cynthia, not his children, not his co-workers or friends, and certainly not Isabelle. If he couldn't protect her, take care of her, stand up like a man next to her, and make love to her, then he had no intention of being in her life. There was a lot riding on his recovery, in his own mind, and although he hadn't spelled it out fully to her, Isabelle sensed that the stakes were high. All she could do now was be there on the phone and pray for him.

“How is Teddy?” he asked solicitously. “And how are you?”

“I'm fine. Sophie went back to school yesterday. Teddy is still very tired, and I'm worried about his heart. Sometimes I think he's getting worse, and then he has a good day and feels better. It's hard to say. But his spirits are good.” They had been ever since she'd gotten back, but her instincts told her that the doctor was right and Teddy was weaker than he'd been in a long time. He had lost considerable ground.

“Olivia and Jane went back to college last week, but they said they'd come to see me this weekend.”

“Will Cynthia come too?” She was somewhat jealous of her, though she hated admitting it to him. He knew it anyway, and it flattered him. And actually, Cynthia had offered to come with the girls, but he thought it better not. He didn't explain it to Isabelle, because he hadn't told her about the divorce. He still believed that it put less pressure on her if she thought they were both married. She wouldn't think he was waiting for her that way, or looking for someone else. If she ever got free of Gordon, he'd be waiting for her. But he thought it would only complicate things if he told her that. So he continued the fantasy with her that he and Cynthia were staying married and all was well.

“I think Cynthia's out of town for a few days,” he said casually. Isabelle always thought it singularly callous of Cynthia to make such a point of leading her own life, but she made no comment about it to him.

“Gordon's in Munich for the night, he's at some conference for the bank. He's coming home for the weekend. I think he has plans,” she filled him in, but she was never included in Gordon's plans anymore, and she had no real desire to be. Ever since London, and Bill, she felt entirely separate from him, and it no longer irked her that Gordon didn't invite her to anything. He just assumed that she'd want to stay home with her son, and he was right. And she was still very tired. She went to bed early at night, and sat with Teddy all day. She'd gone out to lunch with Sophie before she left, and just that effort had left Isabelle feeling drained. It was going to be several more months, the doctor said, before Isabelle felt like her old self. And even longer for Bill. He knew that now. The plane trip had been torturous for him, he hadn't been in that much pain in months, and he still felt it as he talked to her.

“What are you going to do tonight?” Isabelle asked in a gentle voice. She could hear how tired and sad he was, and she was worried about him.

“Go to bed, I think. There's no room service, but I'm not hungry.” He was in too much pain to eat, and he didn't want to take painkillers. He had weaned himself off them weeks before, and had worried all along about getting addicted to them. He hadn't, fortunately, but he didn't want to start taking them again.

“Maybe you should take a look around.” She didn't like the idea of him staying alone in his room, it sounded too lonely, and she was afraid he would get too depressed.

“I'll do it tomorrow. They don't give you much choice. I start therapy tomorrow at seven A.M., and I won't get back to my room until five o'clock.” It was a strict regimen, but he had chosen the hospital for just that reason. He thought if he worked harder, he'd get quicker results. And all he wanted now, even before he started, was to leave. “I'll call you in the morning when I get up.” It would be noon for her, and he knew that was a good time. If he called her when he got back to his room at the end of the day, it would be eleven o'clock at night, and if Gordon answered, it could cause problems for her.

“I can call you sometimes,” she offered, but he said it was probably better for her if he called, which was true.

“I'll call you tomorrow, sweetheart,” he said finally, too exhausted to talk anymore, even to her. His back was killing him, his neck was stiff, his spirits were down, and he felt like he was on another planet from her and the life he had once known. He was back in the States finally, but it didn't do him any good. He was out in the middle of nowhere on a desert island, as he saw it, and he was condemned to be there for a year. It was not a cheering thought.

“I love you, my darling,” she whispered into the phone. And after they hung up, she lay on her bed and thought about him for a long time. She wished that she could put her arms around him and hold him and comfort him, but at this distance all she could do was love him and send him good thoughts.

Bill got up the next morning at six o'clock. He had never gotten up out of bed after he talked to her. He had just rolled over and gone to sleep in his clothes, and he woke up when the alarm went off. He was jet-lagged and tired and he could hardly move. He rang for an orderly to help him get into his chair again, and make his way into the shower. Half an hour later he felt better, and he called Isabelle before he left the room.

“How do you feel, sweetheart?” she asked, sounding concerned. He sounded brighter and in better spirits than he had the night before.

“A lot better than last night. I was wiped out.”

“I know you were.” She was smiling. Teddy had woken up in good spirits, and it was a beautiful September day. It was noon for her.

“I'm sorry if I whined at you last night. I felt like a kid in boarding school.” She smiled as he said it, he had sounded that way to her too.

“I know. I wanted to fly over and bring you home,” she said sympathetically.

“That's what mothers do. Fathers just tell the kid to shape up. It's a basic difference between the two sexes. The girls always got homesick when they went to camp. Cindy always wanted to pick them up early, and I thought they should stick it out.”

“Who won?” Isabelle sounded amused. It was a softer side of Cynthia she had never heard him talk about, and she liked her better for it. She would have said the same thing. She had never sent either of her children away until Sophie went to university, and Isabelle thought that was too soon. She had wanted her to stay in Paris and go to the Sorbonne, instead of going to Grenoble.

“She did, of course. I was always away and couldn't enforce my rules. By the time I'd get back, they'd be home.”

“Good for her.”

“Well, I'd better get going, and see what tortures they have in store for me. I'm sure they've honed it to an art form here.” But he was in no way prepared for the intense regimen they had planned for him.

After the moderate therapy they had started in London, this was like joining the Marines. He did calisthenics as best he could, from his chair. They had him lifting weights to strengthen his upper body, and working with exercise machines. There was special therapy for his neck, a long workout in the pool, and special exercises for his legs. He had half an hour for lunch, and barely had time to get to the cafeteria, or speak to anyone, and by five o'clock when he got back to his room, he was so tired, he could hardly move. He couldn't even get out of his chair to get on the bed, and he had to ring for an orderly, who smiled when he heard Bill groan.

“Had a good workout today, Mr. Robinson?” He was a young African American who had trained with the Jets, and been injured himself five years before. He was studying to become a physical therapist. Bill was encouraged to see that there was no sign of his previous injuries and he was in fantastic shape, he was only twenty-six years old.

“Are you kidding?” Bill looked at him miserably. “I think they tried to kill me today.”

“You won't even feel it a couple of weeks from now. It'll be a piece of cake for you.” It was hard to imagine, and he offered to give Bill a massage. And after he left, Bill decided to skip dinner and stay in bed. He was dozing off, when there was a knock on his door that roused him again, and he asked sleepily who it was. When he opened his eyes, a young man in a wheelchair was already in his room.

“Hi. I'm Joe Andrews. I'm in the room next to you. Can I talk you into a basketball game at eight o'clock?” Bill groaned as he looked at him, and then laughed. Andrews was sitting at ease in his wheelchair, and appeared to have the use of only one arm. He was a handsome boy and looked to be in his early twenties. He'd been in a car accident that had killed four other people six months before.

“A basketball game? Are you kidding? You could use me as the ball. I don't think I'll ever be able to sit up again, let alone move.”

“It's tough at first,” Joe Andrews said as he smiled at him. “It gets easier after a while. It's a great place. Six months ago I was strapped to a body board, and all I could move were my eyes. I thought I'd be happy if I could just scratch my nose.” It was sobering to think of him that way, and with another moan, Bill sat up.

“You've got age on your side,” Bill pointed out to him, but he had always been in great shape until he got hit by the bus. “I'm an old man.”

“There's no such thing here. The captain of the basketball team is eighty-two, he had a stroke. He played for the Yankees sixty years ago.”

“I'm out of my league. I should have just enlisted in the Marines.”

“It would have been easier, but it's not as much fun. There are some really nice-looking women here.” It was like going to college in a funny way, and Bill decided instantly that he liked the boy. He had laughing eyes, and a nice smile and bright red hair.

“Sounds like you've been busy here.” Joe hadn't been, but he was looking again at least. The girl he'd been engaged to had been killed in the car accident, but he didn't mention it to Bill.

“I go to New York on weekends. Maybe you'd like to come with me sometime. It takes twenty minutes on the train.”

“That's a thought. Right now, I don't think I can move.”

“Why don't you come watch? I'll introduce you to some of the guys.” He was determined to bring Bill into the center of things. Joe was the senior floor rep, and he had volunteered to do just what he was doing with Bill. It was important for morale to get clients involved in more than just their own therapy. It was what had saved Joe's life. When he'd gotten to the rehab center, he'd been contemplating suicide after the accident. And now he'd come through the worst of it, and was on his way, and back into life.

“What about the girls?” Bill teased.

“Are you married?” Joe asked, drawing him out. He was great with people, and Bill could see he was a really nice kid. It saddened him to see him sitting in a wheelchair.

“Nope. I'm getting divorced.”

“That's too bad. There are a couple of girls on the team. One of them is eighteen.”

“I think I'd like to stay out of jail, if I can manage it. How old is the other one?”

“Sixty-three.” Joe grinned.

“I'll take her. She's more my age.”

“How old are you?”

“Fifty-two. Going on ninety today.”

“Have you had dinner yet?”

“I thought I'd skip it tonight.” He had skipped it the night before too. It was just too much trouble to go out again once he was in his room.

“That's a bad idea. I'll pick you up at six-thirty, you can decide about the game after that.” He didn't ask, and before Bill could object, Joe had left his room.

He had done his job well, and in spite of himself, Bill was back in his wheelchair at six-fifteen, and he felt better than he had an hour before. He'd showered and shaved and combed his hair. He was wearing a T-shirt and jeans, and he and Joe looked like two kids as they headed to the dining hall together. Joe seemed to know everyone on the way, and introduced Bill to everyone he could. Bill knew by then that Joe was twenty-two, from Minneapolis. He had graduated from college, and wanted to go to law school the following year. He had two sisters and an identical twin who had been in the accident with him. His twin and his fiancée had been killed, and both people in the other car. Joe's twin had been driving, when the other car hit them head-on, on a snowy night. A lot of the people at the hospital had tough stories, kids who had just been fooling around and doing nothing more serious than most kids did, a woman who'd been shot in the spine during a convenience store robbery when she stopped in the middle of the day to buy Cokes for her kids, people who'd had accidents and traumas of all kinds. Many of them were not only in physical therapy, but getting psychiatric help as well, like Joe and the woman who'd been shot in the spine. When they left the hospital, the idea was that they would be able to lead full, productive, astonishingly normal lives.

There were two hundred residents, and another three hundred or more came to the facility on an outpatient basis every day. But the ones who lived there formed a core of people for the most part who cared about each other and became like family during their extended stays. The noise in the cafeteria reminded Bill not so much of college, but of a cocktail party in full swing. Everyone was laughing, talking, making plans, and either bragging about their victories of the day, or complaining that they were being worked too hard. But Bill realized he hadn't seen that many smiling faces in a long time. It wasn't at all what he'd expected when he arrived.

“There's a tennis tournament next week, if you play.” Joe filled him in as he talked to about six people at once, at least four of them girls. But he wasn't unusual there, there were a lot of good-looking young guys in wheelchairs, Bill guessed that about half of the people he saw were in their twenties and male. The other half covered a wide range of ages, and less than half of them were women or girls. Three-quarters of the population were male. They seemed to get into more trouble, or had worse luck, drove their cars too fast, took greater risks, or played dangerous sports. But there were also a number of men and women Bill's age. And at their table there was a beautiful girl whose face was exquisite and whose speech was slurred. She was a model and had fallen down a flight of marble stairs at a shoot and gotten a tremendous head injury. She'd been in a coma for eight months, and as Bill talked to her, he realized how fortunate he and Isabelle had been. The girl's name was Helena, and her best friend in the rehab center was a young ballerina who'd been in a car accident, and was determined to dance again. They were people who had faced remarkable challenges, and were making an astonishing effort to overcome the hands they'd been dealt. Bill was overcome with admiration for them.

By the time dinner was over, he was feeling better again, and Joe and Helena had talked him into coming to the game, but he didn't want to play. He just wanted to watch.

“They're pretty good,” Helena smiled at him and commented in her slurred speech. She was in a wheelchair too, but only because she had vertigo from her head injury and sometimes fell with no warning. She felt safer in the chair. Bill was struck by how beautiful she was, and thought she looked like Isabelle. He knew from Joe that she'd worked in New York, Paris, and Milan, and been on the cover of Vogue and Harper's Bazaar before her accident. According to Joe, she was doing really well. “Next time you should play,” she encouraged Bill.

“Why don't you?” he teased, she was taller than several of the men, he could tell by her endless legs. She was wearing shorts and sandals as she sat in the chair next to his, and her toes were impeccably pedicured, and she had bright red polish on her nails. A lot of the young men were keeping their eyes on her, but her boyfriend was the photographer she'd been working for the day of the shoot, and he was incredibly devoted to her. They were getting married when she got out of the hospital, and she was wearing an engagement ring Cynthia would have described as the size of an egg.

They sat watching the game side by side, and there was lots of screaming and shouting and encouragement for both teams. Everyone seemed happy and excited no matter who scored. The fact that they were playing at all was a victory for all of them. And Bill was impressed by the spectacular gym.

“Are you married?” Helena asked casually. Everyone knew she was engaged, and crazy about her fiance. She was just curious about Bill. He was a handsome man, and in another life she would have been attracted to him, but she was happy now with her fiance.

“Divorced. Almost. In a few months.”

“That's too bad,” she sympathized. “You'll be very popular here,” she grinned. But Bill thought he'd never seen so many good-looking men in one place, and most of them half his age. He wasn't worried about it, he didn't consider himself available. He was in love with Isabelle. “Do you have a girlfriend?” He was about to say no, and then decided to be honest with her.

“Yes.”

“Are you going to marry her?” She cut right to the chase.

“No.” And then he threw caution to the winds. He had no need for secrets here. “She's married to someone else, and she's going to stay that way. It's just as well now.”

“What does that mean?” She looked intently at him, and missed seeing one of the major scores in the game. The din around them in the gym was deafening, but she was more interested in what Bill had just said.

“It means that she doesn't need my problems added to her own. She has a sick kid. She doesn't need a husband in a wheelchair.” It seemed obvious to him.

“Why not? What difference does that make? You'd better get over that. Is that how she feels?”

“Probably not. But it's how I feel. I'm not going to be a burden to her.”

“That's nice of you. What about them?” She pointed to the guys in the game, crashing into each other, rolling around the court at full speed, with wide smiles and sweat running down their faces. They were having a great time. “Do they look like a burden to you?”

“I'm not married to them. But maybe I'd think so if I were. Look, Helena, I can't dance, I can't stand, I can't walk down the street, I don't even know if I can still work anymore. I can't inflict that on someone else.” And he didn't even mention to her that the last time he had made love, he had failed.

“What were you? An ice skater?” she asked, raising an eyebrow at him. She was a bright girl, and he already liked her style.

“I'm in politics.”

“Is that something you can't do sitting down? That's news to me.”

“You know what I'm talking about.”

“Yeah, I do. I used to feel that way too, and then I figured out how stupid it was. I talk funny now. I forget things sometimes, I fall down in the middle of talking to someone. Pretty embarrassing. And I don't know if I can work anymore either. But I'll be goddamned if I'm going to give up my life over it. I'm better than that. I can do other things. I still look halfway decent,” she said modestly, and he rolled his eyes, they were friends now. Friendships here formed quickly, it was like shipboard, and the bond they had in common held them fast. “I'm still smart, even if I sound stupid. And if that's not good enough for someone, then to hell with them. My fiancé doesn't give a damn about all this, and if he did, I wouldn't want him anyway. Maybe you should give the lady a chance to make up her own mind.”

“It's a little more complicated than that.”

“What isn't?” Helena said, unimpressed, watching the game again for a minute, and then she turned her eyes back to Bill. “Just make sure you don't decide that for the wrong reasons. I'd bet my ass that if she's worth your loving her, and she probably is, she wouldn't give a damn if you can walk or not.” He knew that what she was saying was true. But for Isabelle there was still the problem of Teddy. And for Bill, whether he continued seeing her or not depended on whether or not he could walk again. It was a condition he had imposed on himself, unbeknownst to Isabelle.

“You know, Helena, that's a bet I'd like to take,” he was teasing her right back. But he had heard everything she'd said, and was profoundly touched, not only by her own courage, but for her candor with him.

“What bet?”

“Your ass,” he said, and she laughed out loud.

“Calm down, big boy. You're in love, and I'm engaged.”

“It's a damn shame,” he said with good humor. They sat together like old friends for the rest of the game.

Joe's team had won when he finally joined them again. He was happy and sweaty, and a gorgeous kid, Bill noticed again as the three of them went back to the cafeteria for something to drink afterward, and most of the members of both teams and their supporters were there. It had been a fun evening, and when Helena left them finally to go back to her room, Joe grinned at Bill.

“So, is she breaking her engagement?” Joe asked with a grin. “We've all tried.”

“I'm working on it, but not yet.” They both knew he was only kidding. She was madly in love with her fiance, and Joe said he was a great guy. They were planning to be married in the spring, and Helena was determined to walk down the aisle under her own steam. And from what he'd seen that night, the indomitable spirit that shone from her like a beacon, Bill figured she could do it. She was a terrific girl.

“She has a sister who comes to visit her,” Joe commented to Bill as they rolled back to their dorm. “She looks like a frog.” Bill laughed out loud. “They must have had a different mother or something. Helena fixed me up with her, and I was really surprised. But she's very nice.” The two men exchanged a very male glance, and Bill laughed again.

“It works that way sometimes.”

“So will you play with us next time?” Joe asked as they rolled down the hall to their rooms.

“I think I'd rather watch.” He had enjoyed the conversation with Helena, and was thinking about what she'd said, but he still didn't agree with her. He was not going to be a burden or an invalid in anyone's life, and surely not Isabelle's, even if they only met a couple of times a year. That was a headache she just didn't need. She had enough in her life without that.

“Do you want to come into New York tomorrow? Some of the other guys are coming with me. We're going to dinner and a show.”

“I'd love to,” Bill said kindly, “but my daughters are coming to see me. They're coming up from school.” Olivia was coming up from Georgetown, and Jane from NYU.

“How old are they?” Joe asked with interest. He was definitely interested in girls, although he hadn't actually dated anyone since the death of his fiancée.

“Nineteen and twenty-one. I'd like you to meet them if you're around when they get here.”

“We're not going to the city till six o'clock,” Joe said as they got to Bill's room. “I've got a swim meet tomorrow, but I'll be here.” He had been the captain of his college swimming team.

“I'll look for you,” Bill promised, and then they both went to their rooms. Bill felt bad because he hadn't had time to call Isabelle that night, but it was too late to call her now. It was five in the morning for her. And then he decided to wait an hour and call her when she got up.

He lay in bed and read for an hour, trying not to fall asleep, and then at midnight, he called. She was very quick to answer the phone, and she sounded relieved to hear his voice.

“Are you okay? I was worried about you.”

“I'm fine. I went to watch a basketball game. They're running my ass ragged here. But it's a very impressive place.” He told her about the people he'd met and the stories he'd heard, and the therapy he'd done all day.

“My God, I don't think I could do any of that,” she said, impressed.

“I'm not sure I can either. You only get one day off. The girls are coming tomorrow, it'll be good to see them.” He hadn't seen them in two months, and he missed them both. He was surprised to find he missed Cynthia too. But he didn't tell Isabelle that. After thirty years, Cynthia's presence had become a habit in his life that was hard to break, even if it was a habit he felt no longer belonged in his life. “How are you, sweetheart?”

“I'm fine. I just got up. Teddy's still asleep.” They chatted for a little while, and then finally hung up when she heard the boy stir, and she was still thinking of Bill when she went to check on Teddy. She gave him his morning medications, and he went right back to sleep. She went to her own room and dressed, and stood looking at the garden for a long time, thinking of Bill. It saddened her to realize that it would be a long time before they saw each other again, but it was for a good cause. But she knew it might be as long as a year.

And in his own bed that night, Bill smiled to himself as he thought of her and drifted off to sleep. Helena's words came back to him just as he was dozing off, and they made sense to him, but he still thought she was wrong for him. He didn't belong in Isabelle's life, or anyone's, if he couldn't learn to walk again. He believed it to his very core, although his belief was counter to everything he was seeing here. But Helena was beautiful and young, and a woman… she just didn't understand how he felt… it was different for him… he was a man. He knew that if he couldn't walk back into Isabelle's life, he couldn't be there at all.

Chapter 14

When Olivia and fane came to visit Bill the next day, they were thrilled to see him, and they both thought he was looking well. He showed them around the hospital and the grounds, introduced them to the people he'd met, and then found a quiet corner to sit with them outside in the warm September air. It was a sunny afternoon, and both girls were looking happy and well. They had a lot to say, they talked about their mother a lot, and said they'd missed him, and wished he'd come home. They were still both very upset about the divorce, but they were both distracted by school.

They went to the cafeteria for a hamburger in the late afternoon, before they left, and when they got there, they ran into Joe. Bill introduced the three young people to each other, and they seemed to hit it off immediately. Olivia knew someone he'd gone to school with in Minneapolis. The world of college kids was small. And he asked Jane how she liked NYU, he was thinking of going to law school there. She told him she loved it, and the conversation continued at a lively pace without further input from Bill. Joe joined them for a hamburger, and they talked about all the subjects that interested them. And the fact that Joe was in a wheelchair seemed entirely irrelevant to all of them. No one noticed, no one cared, and Bill observed as they left the cafeteria and walked back to his dorm, Olivia walked alongside her father, and Jane was walking along next to Joe. He seemed to be very taken with her, and asked if she'd like to go to a movie with him and some of his friends that night in New York. But she said she had other plans, and seemed sorry she couldn't go. She told him to call her another time, or she'd call him. They seemed to have a lot in common, and he hung around almost till they left, and then discreetly left them to their family gathering. He was sensitive and polite and intelligent, and Bill commented on how much he liked him once Joe left.

“He's nice” was all Jane contributed, and Olivia laughed at her.

“Never mind ‘nice,’ he's hot!” He was a great-looking kid, and Bill was amused by how they all related to each other at that age. They reminded him of puppies at play.

The girls were on their way to stay with their mother that night. And Bill went back to his room when they left. And when he got there, Joe was waiting for him, looking concerned.

“I'd like to ask you something,” he asked nervously.

“Sure, Joe, what's up?” He assumed it was another basketball game.

“I wanted to know if… actually … what I was thinking was …” This was serious, the bright personable boy was suddenly severely tongue-tied, and blushing to the roots of his red hair.

“This must be good,” Bill teased. “It sounds like you want to borrow my car. I don't have one, and neither of us can drive.”

Joe Andrews laughed. “I was wondering if you'd mind if…” He took a breath and plunged in,“… you'd mind if I call Jane sometime? I won't do it if you'd rather not, and she may not want to see me anyway … I mean … you know … it… well…”

“I think that's a great idea.” She'd had a boyfriend they'd all hated for two years, and much to Bill's delight, they'd broken up the year before, and she hadn't been interested in anyone else since. “As far as I know, she's free and not spoken for, though I'm not always privy to those details. You'll have to check it out with her.”

“She said I could call, and she gave me her mom's number and her number at school. But I wanted to ask you first.” It was a nice thing to do, and Bill was touched.

“I'd say that's a hopeful sign,” he smiled at the boy. “Better than Helena's sister then?”

“Are you kidding? You can't even compare the two of them. Jane is great! I mean … Helena's sister was a nice girl, but…”

“I know. She looked like a frog.”

“Don't tell Helena I said that, she was a really sweet girl, and very smart.” He looked panicked at the thought that Bill would tell Helena what he'd said.

“I promise I won't. I'm flattered you liked Jane. I'm very proud of both of them.” Joe could see why. He had liked Olivia too, but she seemed older and more mature, and more reserved. He was more comfortable with Jane, and bowled over by her looks.

“Maybe I'll call her tonight.”

“That's up to you,” Bill said, looking fatherly. “From here on, I'm out of the loop. She's a big girl.” But it touched him that this boy whom he liked so much had felt some kinship with Jane. It would be good for both of them, he thought. She needed someone bright and decent and kind in her life, and he deserved some happiness after what had happened to him. It never occurred to him for a moment that the match was unsuitable because he was in a wheelchair. He felt that way about himself, in terms of Isabelle, but for Joe and Jane, he thought it was fine. The dichotomy between those two ideas never even dawned on him.

The girls were pleased with their visit with Bill. And they both called him before they went back to school the next day. Jane didn't mention Joe again, so Bill had no idea if he'd called, and he didn't want to pry. And Cynthia got on the phone before they hung up, and asked if she could visit him that week. He hesitated and then agreed. There was no harm in it. After all, he'd told her himself that he was divorcing her so they could stay friends. Like the girls, he hadn't seen her in two months.

Two days later, on Tuesday, Cynthia came to have dinner with him. And when he rolled into the cafeteria next to her, she was amazed. People were smiling and laughing and looking happy, and it didn't seem to matter if they were walking, or in wheelchairs, or on gurneys strapped to body boards, everyone seemed to know each other and have something to talk about. It was one of the liveliest places she'd ever seen.

Helena stopped by to say hello to him, and he introduced her to Cynthia, who he explained was his wife.

“Who was that?” Cynthia asked afterward. “She's incredible looking.”

“She's a model.”

“Are you going out with her?” she asked, with a flash of jealousy in her eyes as he laughed.

“She's engaged.”

“Lucky guy.” Cynthia sounded relieved.

“That's what I said.” Bill laughed. They went back to his room then, and talked for a while. She looked all right, but she sounded unhappy when they talked about the divorce.

“Are you sure that's what you want?” she asked him again. “It seems such a stupid thing to do now, at our age, after all these years.”

“There was nothing left, Cyn. You know that.” He was gentle but firm.

“Yes, there was. There still is. Look at us now. We've been talking for hours. I still love you, Bill. Can't we give it another chance?”

“I don't have anything left to give,” he said honestly. “I love you too, but I ran out of gas. I'll always love you, but if we tried again, I think it would turn out the same way. If I go back to work, I'll be gone, you'll be pissed, you'll be doing your own thing again,” he didn't spell it out, but they both knew what he meant. She'd be having affairs. “And if I can't go back to work, I'd be sitting around the house moping while you lead your life, and this time I'd be pissed. I'm better off on my own. And so are you, until you find the right guy.”

“You were the right guy,” she said, looking sad. She couldn't tell him he was wrong. But she felt bad leaving him on his own.

“Maybe I was, and maybe I wasn't. If I had been, it would have worked better than it did.”

“I was stupid then. I've grown up.”

“We both have. So let's be grown-up about this.” She didn't say anything for a minute, and then sighed. She could tell he'd made up his mind. And once he did, Bill never changed course. That was just the way he was.

“What about Isabelle?” Cynthia asked then.

“What about her?” Bill didn't want to talk about her with Cynthia. “There's nothing to say.”

“Why not?” Cynthia was surprised. He had been so obviously in love with her, it was hard to believe he was willing to let that go too. She wondered if he was depressed.

“She's married. I'm here. That's where it ends.”

“It's not like you to give up that easily. Why are you doing that? She can't be happy with that iceberg I saw in London. He looks like a real son of a bitch.”

“He is. But she has a very sick kid. I told you that. She can't leave Forrester, she thinks it would be too traumatic for the boy, and she can't provide for him. Believe me, Cyn, it's complicated. And besides, it's a moot point. I'm not going to inflict my problems on her on top of it. She deserves better than that. And so do you.”

Cynthia looked at him carefully. “Is that why you wanted a divorce?” She was horrified at the thought.

“In part,” he answered honestly, “but we have other reasons too. I did it for myself. And I'm going to stay away from her, for her sake. Unless they can work a miracle here.”

“You know what they told you in London,” she chided him, “that's not going to happen. You're not going to walk out of here on Rollerblades, Bill. Don't do that to yourself. Don't expect too much.”

“I'm not. I figure whatever I get will be an improvement. I'm just saying that as long as I am like this, I'm out of her life.”

“Does she know that?” Cynthia looked upset for him. It was a terrible reason to leave someone you loved, worse by far than the reasons why he wanted a divorce. And in some ways, she thought he was right to want a divorce, although she wouldn't have admitted it to him. If he'd have been willing to come back to her, she'd have taken him in a flash. But she knew only too well how indifferent she'd been to him for years. She only realized now fully what a great deal she'd had. And it was too late for them. “Does she know why you're ending it?” She felt sorry for them.

Bill shook his head. “She doesn't even know I am ending it. But you can only keep something alive at this distance, without seeing each other, for so long. We'll drift apart eventually. I'm going to be here for a long time. She has her own life. She'll get over it.”

“I'm not so sure. It sounds like she doesn't have much else in her life. And more importantly, will you get over it? And why should you? If she's half the human being I suspect she is if you're so crazy about her, she's not going to give a damn what state you're in. You're better than most guys standing on two feet.” It was exactly what Helena had said to him. “That's not what love is all about.”

“Maybe not. But it's who I am. I will never do that to her. She's not leaving Forrester anyway. She can't.” It didn't sound like a happy situation to Cynthia, and Bill was quiet for a long time after she left. Why was it that everyone was so insistent that it didn't matter if he was in a wheelchair permanently? It mattered to him. And he knew that, in the long run, it would matter to Isabelle. He refused to go down that path, with her or anyone else, no matter what Cynthia said. She had no idea what it was like. And he knew damn well that she could never have put up with it. She would have wound up hating him in the end for all that he wasn't and could no longer be or do. And he would never do that to Isabelle, not even if it meant lying to her and telling her he no longer cared. He was determined not to go back to see her in Paris if he couldn't walk off the plane. And as Cynthia had reminded him, there was almost no hope of that. If he had wanted that, he should have gone to Lourdes.

As time went on, the weeks at the rehab center went incredibly quickly for Bill. He was so busy, so tired, working so hard at all his therapies, that he hardly had time to come up for air.

Bill liked most of the therapists he worked with, they were bright and energetic and young, for the most part, and cared deeply about their patients. He was impressed with them right from the first. There was only one that he was unsure about, and he was unhappy when he was assigned to her. She was a sex therapist named Linda Harcourt, and he told her the first time they met that he had no interest in discussing therapy with her.

“Why not?” she asked, looking at him calmly from across her desk. She was a striking-looking woman, with good looks and an intelligent face, about his age. “Are you planning to give up sex?” she asked with a smile. “Or is everything okay?” He thought about lying to her, but something about the honesty in her eyes stopped him. He didn't want to talk to her about his nonexistent sex life, but something about the way she watched him told him she would think less of him if he ran away. And he couldn't think of a single reason why he should care what she thought of him, but for some unknown reason, he did. She was a person who commanded attention and respect. She seemed like a no-nonsense kind of woman, and at the same time, like the other therapists at the hospital, she seemed caring and warm. “I see on your chart that you're married,” she said easily, “do you think your wife would like to speak to me?” She was almost certain that his sexual function had been affected by his injuries, and if he didn't want to discuss it with her, maybe his wife would. It was not unusual for men to feel cautious about speaking to her about their sexual issues at first. Sometimes talking to their wives, when they had them, was a gentler way in. But Bill was quick to shake his head.

“I'm getting a divorce,” he said simply, closing that door firmly in her face.

“That's interesting. Was the accident part of that decision?” Bill looked away, didn't answer for a minute, and then shook his head again.

“Not really. We should have done it years ago. The accident just kind of brought things to a head.”

And then the doctor became a little more direct. “Have you had intercourse since the accident, or tried to?” she asked so noncommittally that he was surprised himself when he answered her.

“Yes.” There was no hint of how it had gone in the single word.

Her voice was gentle but not overly sympathetic. She was practical and down to earth, and there was nothing to suggest pity in her face. “How was it?”

“How was it for me?” He laughed at the old saw, and she smiled. It was what men usually said, particularly when it hadn't worked. She knew then what he would say next. “It wasn't, actually.”

“No erection, or no ejaculation, or both?” she asked matter-of-factly, as though asking if he wanted cream or sugar in his coffee or both. It made it easier to answer her than he would have thought.

“Both. We never got that far.”

“Was there sensation?” He nodded again. “Muted or distinct?”

“Distinct, actually. But I never got an erection, I could feel everything … well, almost everything. But it still didn't work.”

“Often that takes time. Even with what you're telling me, it's still possible for things to improve to the point that you could have a relatively normal sex life later on. A lot of it is in how you feel about it. Success in this area can be a very creative thing.” Just listening to her made him feel depressed. He didn't want to be “creative” or redefine his definition of “success.” In fact, he didn't even want to try again. And who would he have tried with? Isabelle? She was in Paris, he wouldn't have been willing to inflict another fiasco on her, and he had no desire to ever sleep with Cindy again. It would have been even more humiliating to try it with her. He was no longer in love with her. “Do you have a partner?” Dr. Harcourt asked simply.

“No, I don't.”

“That's all right. We can talk about it, and you can do some experimenting on your own. A lot of this is how you feel about it, and how you deal with it, not just what you feel physically, or how you perform.”

“I don't want to deal with it at all,” he said bluntly, making a mental note to tell his doctor he didn't want to see the sex therapist again. “I don't think it's relevant for me at this point.”

“Or ever?” Her eyes met his squarely, and he nodded.

“That's right, Doctor. I'm not going to make a fool of myself, knowing it won't work.”

“What if it did? That's an important part of life to give up at your age.”

“Sometimes things work out that way. I'm very involved in my work.”

“So am I,” she smiled at him, and handed him a book across her desk. It looked sensible and very medically oriented, he hesitated and then took it from her. “Required reading. There will be a quiz next week.” He looked panicked at what she said, and she laughed. “Not really. But you might find it interesting.”

She brought the meeting to a close then, they had gone far enough for the first day. She knew what his outlook was, what his experience had been the one time he tried it after the accident, and he had something worthwhile to read. She had time in the coming months to work with him, and she was far more optimistic than he was when he went back to his room. He tossed the book onto his bed with an angry expression, and sat staring out the window for a long time. He didn't want sex therapy, or to learn how to be “creative.” He wanted to be a man, and if he wasn't going to be one, he had every intention of turning his back on everything he held dear, or Isabelle at least. And he certainly wasn't going to start dating, and experimenting to see if he could achieve and maintain an erection. He was determined to preserve his dignity, if nothing else.

He didn't tell Isabelle about meeting with Linda Harcourt the next time he spoke to her, it was the only facet of the rehab hospital that he did not share or describe to her. But he was still upset about his meeting with the sex therapist, and it was days later when he finally picked up the book, and was surprised at how informative it was. According to what he read, his first experience had not been atypical, and might still lead to considerable improvement as his injuries continued to heal. But he was still skeptical when he finished the book. He still believed he could turn out to be one of the vast category of men who had sensation but inadequate control, and erections that easily disappeared. And he had no desire to check for improvement, either with a partner or alone. It was easier for him, he insisted when he saw Linda Harcourt again a week later, to simply close the door on that part of his life. He also told her he didn't want to meet with her again, and after giving him two more books, she suggested they meet just once more. She said she wanted his feedback on the books, they were new to her. She was a very clever woman, and had an easy, open way. He actually liked her, he just didn't want to discuss his potential sex life with her. As far as Bill was concerned, he had become a eunuch, and he intended to stay that way. Humiliation, failure, and disappointment were of no interest to him. He preferred to stay celibate, and alone.

Some of his political pals had discovered he was there by then. A couple of them flew up from Washington to see him, and several others drove up from New York. They seemed to disregard his physical situation entirely once they were there, and spent all their time asking for his advice. And by Christmas, he was getting constant calls. It was hard enough to concentrate on his varied forms of therapy, and he tried to keep the political issues down to a dull roar. But his old cohorts were determined to pull him back into politics again. If nothing else, it was flattering, and he loved hearing about what everyone was doing, their hopes, and strategies, and plans. What they wanted from him, as they always had, was his help to assure the results.

He had agreed to have Christmas at the mansion in Greenwich with Cynthia and the girls. He had arranged for a limousine to take him there on Christmas Eve, and he had promised the girls he'd spend the night. He felt a little odd about it, but Cynthia had said he could stay in one of the two guest rooms on the main floor. He had heard from the girls that she had a new man in her life.

Bill was happy for her, everything seemed to be going fine.

The car came for him at four o'clock, and an hour later, he was in Greenwich, pulling up the familiar drive to his old house. It was large and imposing, and he had always loved it, but it gave him a strange feeling being there, a nostalgia for times past. But as soon as Bill saw the girls, he felt better again.

They were decorating the tree when he rolled into the living room. There were Christmas carols on the stereo, and Cynthia looked better than he'd seen her in years. And when he turned to say hello to Olivia and Jane, his eyes grew wide as he saw Joe Andrews in the living room, in his chair.

“How did you get here?” Bill asked, looking amazed. He had seen him that afternoon in the dining hall, and Joe laughed and looked sheepish as Bill grinned. Joe was relieved that he didn't seem upset, and Jane came to stand next to Joe and held his hand.

“Jane picked me up on the way home from school,” Joe explained. “We wanted to surprise you.” The two of them were beaming, and Bill was intrigued. Joe hadn't said a word to him about Jane since the first time they'd met. He had no idea they'd been seeing each other, and things seemed to have advanced nicely in the last three months.

“Well, I am surprised.” Bill smiled at both of them, he was pleased too. He thought Joe was a great kid.

They all had dinner together that night, and went to church afterward, and the next morning he and Joe wheeled into the living room as the girls came downstairs. Cynthia had already made breakfast for them, and her new friend joined them for lunch. He seemed like a very pleasant, intelligent man. He was a widower with four grown kids, and he seemed very fond of Cynthia, which pleased Bill. He was surprised himself to find that he felt neither jealous nor possessive about her, which confirmed to him once again that the divorce had been the right thing.

He and Joe rode back to the hospital together on Christmas night, and talked about what a wonderful holiday it had been. The only thing missing for Bill had been Isabelle. He had called her several times, and she said that everything was fine there, but he could hear in her voice that she was unhappy and stressed. Gordon had been very difficult with her for the past two months. He was still punishing her for the affair he was sure she'd had, as though the accident hadn't been punishment enough. And Teddy seemed to be slowly losing strength. Sophie had come home for the holidays, and the day after Christmas she was going skiing with friends in Courchevelle.

“You're not upset at me for seeing Jane?” Joe asked Bill cautiously on the ride home, and Bill smiled at him and shook his head.

“She deserves a nice guy like you, and you deserve a lot better than a girl who looks like a frog.” They both laughed at the memory of his blind date with Helena's sister. Helena had gone to New York for Christmas with her fiance. They had all exchanged small gifts before they left.

Bill was sure that neither Jane nor Joe was serious about their relationship, so he wasn't concerned. They were too young to even think about it, but they were nice young people, and it was good to see them together. And Olivia had confessed that she had a new beau too. He was an assistant to a senator Bill knew. And it struck him on the way home that everyone had someone in their life, except him. He was still in love with Isabelle, but sitting in Paris with Gordon and her kids, she seemed light-years away. And for the first time in a long time, he felt lonely and sad when he got back to his room. Joe had gone off with friends as soon as he got back, and Jane was coming to see him the next day. Bill got into bed, and tried reading a book, but he couldn't keep his mind on it. And it was a relief when Jane called late that night.

“Are you mad at me, Daddy?” she asked cautiously. She had the same voice she'd used when she'd crashed his car in her junior year of high school, and he laughed easily.

“Of course not. Why would I be mad at you?” He smiled, thinking about her, and the good time they'd just had.

“I didn't know how you'd feel about me and Joe.”

“How do you feel about him?” He was beginning to wish they'd had this conversation earlier at the house, so he could see her face while they talked. Her voice had a serious tone.

“I love him a lot. I've never known anyone like him before.”

“I like him too. And he's been through some very tough things.” Losing the use of his legs, the trauma of the accident, losing his fiancee and his twin. A whole life forever changed.

“I know. He told me all about it. Daddy, the girl he was engaged to died in his arms. He says he'll never forgive himself.”

“From what I know of it, the accident wasn't his fault. What he has is survivor guilt because he's alive and other people died. He'll get over it in time.”

“I want to be there for him, Dad.” There was a long pause as Bill absorbed the full weight of what she'd just said.

“What are you saying to me, Janie?” All of a sudden he wondered if she was telling him they were getting married, and he didn't think it was a good idea. They were both too young, and Joe had a hard road ahead of him. There was no hope of his ever walking again. And Bill felt that was too much responsibility for her. As a romance, it was fine, a couple of years even, if it worked out for them, but he thought that anything more serious than that would be wrong for both of them.

“I think I'm telling you this is serious, Dad.”

“I'm beginning to get that message. Does he feel that way too?”

“I think he does. We haven't really talked about it, but he's that kind of guy.” Bill liked that quality about him, Joe was a man of substance unquestionably. But he still didn't think it was right for them.

“I don't think you can consider anything too serious right now. You're still in school, and well… we'll talk about it sometime.” He changed the subject then, and they talked about what a nice holiday they'd had, just like old times, only better actually. There had been no tension between him and Cynthia, and Bill liked her new friend. And then Jane said she'd stop in to say hi, when she came to see Joe the next day.

The conversation gave him a lot to think about when they hung up, and he told Isabelle about them late that night when they talked.

“I don't even want her to think about marrying that boy,” he said honestly. “It's a shame too, because he's a great guy.”

“Then why couldn't they get married one day? Lots of people get married at their age. They're young, but she sounds very mature for her age, and he's been through so much, poor boy.”

“It would be a disaster for her, Isabelle. She needs someone who can keep up with her. She loves to ski and run and ride a bike. She'll want to have kids one day. He'll be stuck in that chair for the rest of his life. She deserves more than that.” So did he, but he had no choice. Jane did.

“That's a terrible thing to say,” Isabelle said, sounding upset. “What difference does it make, if she skis with friends, or dances with someone else? Are you telling me that if they love each other, you wouldn't want them to marry because he can't ride a bike? That's incredibly limited of you. I can't believe you mean something as stupid as that.”

“I know what I'm talking about,” he said stubbornly, frowning at his end.

“No, you don't!” she said firmly. It was the first argument they'd ever had. “I hope Jane's mother is smarter than you are. I've never heard anything so stupid. I hope you don't say that to Jane. She'd never forgive you for it, and she would be right.”

They passed on to other subjects then, and they both calmed down. He told her about sharing Christmas with Cynthia and the girls, and of course didn't mention Cynthia's new man, since Isabelle didn't know Bill was out of her life. She told Bill that Gordon was leaving for Saint-Moritz the next day, to go skiing with friends. She was staying in Paris with Teddy, and they were going to see the New Year in alone. Sophie was already away.

Bill never ceased to be amazed by how inattentive Gordon was to Isabelle. But he was also relieved that Gordon wouldn't be there to torture her. His absence was a blessing in disguise. They talked for a long time that night, Bill was feeling open and vulnerable and a little sad. He hadn't seen her in four months, and missed her terribly, as she did him. They couldn't even talk about meeting again, he still had months of rehab ahead of him.

After the call, he lay there for a long time thinking about what Isabelle had said about Jane and Joe. He still disagreed with her, she didn't know what she was talking about, or how great the challenges could be for them. He wanted something far simpler for Jane, no matter how much he liked Joe. And for once he disagreed with Isabelle vehemently. She was too kind and idealistic to understand the implications of what she had said. And Bill was determined to say something to Jane about it, if need be. At least they didn't seem to be in a rush to make any decisions so far. And Bill hoped they'd come to their senses before they did.

He fell asleep dreaming of their Christmas tree, and for the first time in a long time, he dreamed of the white light again. He was walking toward it, holding Isabelle's hand, and when she turned toward him, he kissed her, and even in his dream he was disturbed to see Jane and Joe coming toward them on the same path. He was in his wheelchair, and she was walking along slowly beside him, looking pained, and when she stopped in the dream, she turned to her father and asked why he hadn't warned her how hard it would be.

Chapter 15

When Gordon left for Saint-Moritz, and Sophie for Courchevelle, the house was deadly quiet, as Isabelle sat in Teddy's room all afternoon, reading to him. It was a dark day outside, and the weather was unusually cold. It was drafty in the house and she had bundled Teddy up in a sweater over his pajamas, and tucked him in under a quilt.

He'd had a good Christmas, and got a ton of books and new games. She'd bought him a big teddy bear to keep him company. And all Isabelle wished she could have given him was good health. He was a constant source of worry to her.

Bill called Isabelle more frequently since he knew that Gordon was gone, and she called him once or twice. Bill was calling her twice a day. She longed for the days when they were in the hospital together, and could talk to each other anytime. She had no desire to go out, or see friends. And when she opened the mail right after Gordon left, she was surprised to see an invitation addressed to both of them. It was from a couple Isabelle knew were very fashionable. The wife was the head of a couture house, her husband was very old, had a title, and had been the head of an important bank. Isabelle couldn't recall ever meeting them but she assumed that Gordon had met them through some of his social activities that didn't include her, or perhaps he knew the husband from the bank. The invitation was very beautiful, and it was for their daughter's wedding in January. Isabelle made a mental note to send the bride a gift, and then forgot about it. She never went to events like that anymore, and Gordon no longer invited her to join him when he did.

She spent the next few days with Teddy, and talking to Bill. He was staying at the rehab center for New Year's Eve, and they were planning all kinds of festivities. He promised to call her at midnight in Paris on the thirty-first, so they could see the New Year in together, and she was going to call him at midnight in New York. She was waiting for his call when the telephone rang, and a woman at the other end sounded startled to hear her voice.

“Oh, how stupid of me!” she said, “I'm terribly sorry, I dialed the wrong number. I was calling to say I missed my flight.” And with that, sounding even more confused, and a little drunk, she hung up. Who she was, and where she was flying to was a mystery to Isabelle. And she assumed the woman had dialed a wrong number entirely, and Isabelle hung up.

Bill called promptly, as he had said he would, they toasted the New Year in Paris, and Teddy was asleep by then. And Isabelle called him back at six in the morning, her time, when it was midnight for him. It had been a funny thing to do, but it amused them both. And after she spoke to him, she went downstairs to make a cup of tea, read the newspaper, and then came back upstairs. She had given Teddy's nurse the day off for New Year's Day, and she was happy to take care of him herself.

He slept late that day, and she started reading the paper again, and was surprised to see Gordon's name in a gossip column, mentioning his stay in Saint-Moritz. It said that he was there with friends, it mentioned the Aga Khan, Prince Charles, and a number of notables. And then she noticed another name. The column said that the Comtesse de Ligne was expected to join them for New Year's Eve as well. She was the woman who had invited them the day before to her daughter's wedding, and Isabelle could only assume that she and Gordon were friends. And then, as she thought of it, she remembered the call the night before, from the woman who said she had missed her flight. And for the oddest moment, the hair stood up on the back of Isabelle's neck. Why would the woman have called Gordon's house? And why on earth would Isabelle assume it had been the Comtesse de Ligne? Her first name was Louise. Isabelle couldn't imagine that she was involved with Gordon in any way, she was probably a friend of the other people going to Saint-Moritz. But the coincidence of it haunted her all day. And at six o'clock, Isabelle decided to do something totally insane. She had nothing else to do, and she wanted to hear Louise de Ligne's voice. She called information and got the number easily, sat thinking about it for a long moment, and then dialed. The phone answered at once at the other end.

“Allo? Yes?”

“Is this Madame de Ligne?” Isabelle asked, eliminating her title.

“Yes.”

“I'm calling to confirm your flight to Saint-Moritz,” Isabelle said, with no idea what she'd say after that.

“I told you an hour ago, I can't go now until tomorrow. My husband is very ill,” she said, sounding irritated, but Isabelle had heard what she wanted to know. It was the same voice as the night before when the slightly confused, seemingly inebriated voice had called to say she'd missed her flight.

“Oh, I'm terribly sorry. That must have been my co-worker. Of course. I apologize, Madame de Ligne.”

“Do I need to confirm it again?” the countess asked, sounding somewhat imperious. It was odd, she had the same dismissive quality of arrogance in her voice that Gordon had, Isabelle noticed. They sounded like twins.

“No, you don't. Have a good trip,” Isabelle said pleasantly, and then hung up. And she didn't know why, but she was shaking at the other end, trying to figure out what she had learned. She had no idea why she'd been suspicious of her, but she knew she was. And suddenly she couldn't help wondering why the countess had called Gordon the night before. She didn't want to jump to conclusions, but it seemed obvious to her. She had a sixth sense that Gordon was having an affair with her. She had meant to call him in Saint-Moritz to tell him she'd missed her flight, and she'd obviously been drinking and called the Paris house instead.

“Who was that?” Teddy asked as he wandered into his mother's room, which he seldom did. But he was startled when he saw the look on her face. “Is something wrong?”

“No, I… I was just calling Papa in Saint-Moritz. He was out.”

“He's probably skiing, or gone to a dinner party,” Teddy said sensibly, and she nodded her head.

And when Bill called later on, she mentioned it to him.

“It sounds pretty far-fetched to me,” he said cautiously. “But women have amazing intuition about those things. I trust your gut more than my head. I've always known when Cynthia was sleeping with someone. She always looked different to me, she was friendlier and more jovial. I guess she was having more fun than she did with me.” It had happened to him a lot, and he was almost always right when he guessed about her affairs.

“I don't even know why I called. It could have been a wrong number, but she was too polite about it. If it had been, she would have just hung up. And why would she invite us to her daughter's wedding?”

“If your theory is right, he probably told her you wouldn't come, and she wants him there. She screwed herself with good manners,” Bill commented dryly, “she should have just invited him.”

“I should frighten them both and accept,” Isabelle said.

“Do you care?” Bill asked, curious at her reaction. He knew she hadn't slept with Gordon in years, but she was still married to him. And Gordon had been so nasty with her since the accident, that in some ways it would have been a relief to have something on him. It wasn't a nice way to look at it, but that was how she felt. He'd been acting like outraged virtue ever since she'd come back from the hospital, and Isabelle was sick of being treated like a criminal in her own home.

“I don't know what I feel,” she told Bill honestly. “Angry, hurt, relieved, avenged, humiliated, I'm not sure. Maybe they're just friends and I'm wrong.”

“It would be interesting to know,” Bill said quietly.

“How would I ever find out? If I'm right, he's not going to admit it to me. He'd be crazy to. I have no idea what he does, where he goes, or who he sees.” He hadn't shared any of that information with her in years.

“Hire an investigator,” Bill suggested practically.

“That would be too rude. And he'd be furious if he found out. He'd torment me even more to cover his guilt.” Bill agreed that that was probably true.

“Well, keep your ear to the ground. Maybe something will come out in the press after she's been to Saint-Moritz.”

“Gordon's too smart to expose himself that much,” Isabelle said, thinking about it. And after they hung up, she had another idea. There was a woman she had known years ago, in the haute couture world. They'd gone to school together and been good friends, but Isabelle hadn't seen her in years, ever since Teddy was born prematurely and was so sick. Her name was Nathalie Vivier, and as young girls they had been very close.

Isabelle called information again, and got Nathalie's number. She had never married, and was a considerable force in the haute couture. She was basically of equal importance to Louise in a rival house. Isabelle felt as though she were unraveling a great mystery, and she was compelled to find out whatever she could about Louise de Ligne. In the past twelve hours, it had become an obsession with her.

Isabelle waited till a respectable hour and called Nathalie. It was a Saturday, and she answered the phone herself. She was stunned when she realized who it was.

“My God, I haven't talked to you in years … how is your little boy?” Isabelle explained that he had been ill for fourteen years and had become her whole life.

“I had a feeling something like that had happened. Everyone says you've become a recluse. Are you still painting?”

“I don't have time.” They checked up on each other's news for a while. Nathalie's mother had died, her father had remarried, she had lived with a senator for ten years, and he had gone back to his dying wife. She'd never married or had children, and she said she still loved her work. It was as though no time had elapsed since they last saw each other. They had been best friends in school, and then drifted apart when she and Gordon married. Nathalie had detested him, she thought him pompous and arrogant, and was convinced he had married Isabelle for her social connections. She had never trusted him, but she didn't remind Isabelle of it now. It was Isabelle who first mentioned his name.

“I have a terrible thing to ask of you. You don't owe me anything, Nat, I just want to know something, and I don't know how else to find out.” There was a long silence on the other end, as Nathalie wondered how honest she could be. She had wondered if she would ever get this call, and was not entirely surprised to hear from Isabelle. Although it seemed odd that she would ask now, after all this time.

“What do you want me to do?” Nathalie asked quietly.

“I want to ask you about someone, I won't ever say I asked you. And I'd like you to tell me the truth. What do you know about Louise de Ligne?”

There was a brief sigh at the other end, and Nathalie decided to play it straight initially. “She's very talented, very difficult, very bright, nice looking, though a little older than we are, sometimes very rude. Rather cold. And very ambitious, I think. They say she's the money behind the house where she works. I think her husband bought her a big piece of it, he's about a hundred years old, completely gaga, I assume, and very sick. She'll inherit the money when he dies. He was married before, and his kids hate her guts, from everything I hear. But she's clever enough to cut them out, to the extent she can. She's already bragged that she has. She married him for the money when he was about eighty years old and had a kid to assure her future with him. He's well into his nineties now. He can't last much longer. He's one of the biggest fortunes in France.” It was all interesting information, but not entirely what Isabelle wanted to hear.

“What else do you know?”

“Isabelle, don't look for things that will hurt you. Life is painful enough. Why are you asking me this?”

“Because I want to know. You know something, don't you?”

There was a long silence and another sigh. “It's not exactly a secret. Half of Paris knows.” Isabelle could feel her heart race at the words.

“Is she involved with Gordon?” Isabelle finally asked what she wanted to know, and Nathalie laughed. Isabelle was still so naive after all these years. It was what Nathalie had loved about her in school. There was an innocence to Isabelle that touched one's heart. But she was about to grow up. Maybe it was time.

“She's been his mistress for roughly the last ten or twelve years. They go everywhere together. I'm surprised no one's ever told you before. They go out socially quite openly, and have for years. Everyone knows.”

“I don't know anyone anymore,” Isabelle said, sounding stunned. “Are you serious?”

“Yes, I am. He buys her jewelry, he bought her a car. I think they have an apartment together somewhere, on the Left Bank. Rue du Bac, I think. They go to the Hotel du Cap in the summer. I ran into them in Saint-Tropez last year.” He had a whole life, a whole world with her, that Isabelle knew nothing about. It was far worse than she had feared. “Is he leaving you?” Nathalie asked practically. “If he is, you should get a hell of a settlement out of him. From what I've heard, he's spent a fortune on her.”

“I can't believe this, Nathalie. How is this possible? Are you sure?”

“Positive. If you don't believe me, call ten people you used to know, they'll all tell you the same thing. They've been a couple for years.”

“He's not leaving me,” Isabelle said thoughtfully. “I just figured it out yesterday, or I guessed at it, but I didn't think it was anything like this.” At worst, she had imagined a recent indiscretion, or a casual affair, not a whole other life that had gone on for a dozen years while she was home nursing her son.

“He has no reason to leave you yet. She can't go anywhere till her husband dies. When he does, though, my guess is that Gordon will want to nail her down. She's powerful and rich. Who knows though, maybe she's tired of Gordon by now. You never know. Watch out for her, though, she's a real bitch. If she thinks you're a threat to her, she'll go after you. I've seen her do it in the haute couture. She's a real piece of work. She was a little seamstress in some backwater somewhere when she met the old man, and he made her a countess and bought her that fancy job. She's good at it though, I'll give her that. But she's nothing to mess with if she decides you're a threat. She'll wipe you out in the blink of an eye, whatever she has to do. If she wants him, she'll take him right from under your nose.” And in fact, they both knew now, she already had.

“I'm no threat to her,” Isabelle said, sounding pained. She felt like a total fool. And on top of it, he had been cruel to her for years. It had been a rotten thing to do.

“She may not see it that way. I'm sorry, Isabelle.” Nathalie hated being the one to give her the bad news. She had always been fond of her.

It was amazing to think of Gordon allied to another woman to that extent. Isabelle couldn't help wondering if it was her fault because she was so involved with her son. Nathalie had said it had been going on for ten or twelve years. And Gordon had shut her out of his room, and his heart, and his life at precisely the same time. It all made perfect sense.

“You'll be better off without him one day, Isabelle,” Nathalie said honestly. “And for that matter so would she. He's entirely self-serving, and I've always thought he hated women.” Isabelle told her about the accident, but not about Bill, and they promised to call each other again soon. Isabelle was grateful to have heard the truth, however painful it was. After she hung up, Isabelle sat staring into space for a long time, and then she called Bill. She woke him out of a sound sleep, but she couldn't wait to tell him all she'd heard.

She rattled it all off to him while he tried to wake up, and by the time she was finished, he was sitting up in bed, wide-eyed and stunned. It sounded very French. Long-term mistresses for a decade or more were unusual in the States. Most people got divorced. But the countess was waiting for her husband to die to collect the inheritance.

“That's a hell of a story. Are you sure she's right?” It confirmed what he'd suspected, what a bastard Gordon was.

“Nathalie always knows everything. Why didn't anyone ever tell me before?” It was humiliating to realize that everyone in Paris had known. It made her feel like such a fool.

“They probably thought you knew and had decided not to rock the boat. A lot of people do that, especially in Europe, but they do it here too.” No one had ever told him about Cynthia's affairs either, he just knew.

“They don't do it as much anymore, now that people can get divorced. What do you think I should do?” She had no idea how to use the information she had gleaned.

“What do you want to do?” Bill asked sensibly.

“I don't know. I'd love to just hit him with it the minute he gets home, or call him in Saint-Moritz, but I know that's not smart.” She knew he would come after her like a tiger, if she did.

“I think you should wait and let him have it the next time he goes after you. Do you want to leave him?” She did, but she didn't think she should. The change would still be too hard on Teddy, and there was no guarantee Gordon would give her enough to support the boy. And his girlfriend couldn't get married anyway, so he wouldn't be anxious to divorce Isabelle, or be generous with her if he did. He wouldn't want a scandal, particularly given his prominence and impeccable reputation at the bank. It seemed smarter to just keep quiet and wait, as Bill said. She had a lot to think about, and a lot to decide. “Well, you've got some ammunition now, in any case. Maybe the smartest thing you can do is keep it under your hat until the right time, and then let him have it right between the eyes.”

“If everyone knows anyway, it wouldn't be much of a scandal if we got divorced, would it?”

“Yes, it would. It's one thing to have a mistress on the side, even if it's public knowledge behind closed doors. It's another thing entirely to have an irate wife blow the roof sky high, talk to the press, make public accusations, hit him up for a lot of money, turning public opinion against him. You look like the Virgin Mary with a sick kid, for chrissake. I've been there in politics before. If one of my candidates had a mess like this, I'd be telling him to run for cover and hide, stay married to you, look respectable as hell, start feeding orphans or adopting blind nuns. But I sure wouldn't tell him to blow his cover, tell all, and get divorced. He'll want this whole mess to disappear as quietly as it can, and that depends on you, my love. The ball, or his balls, if you'll pardon me for saying so, are in your hands. The one thing he won't want is a public scandal, or a divorce. Especially if she's not free yet. He'll want to get out as quietly as possible when she is, and not a moment before. And knowing the personality, I don't think he's going to be apologetic and get nice to you in any case. In the end, he'll always try to blame you. The more he has to hide, the more vicious he'll be. If you confront him, he's going to threaten the hell out of you, and convince you how mean he's going to be, and try to scare you off from blowing the lid off this. Be very careful, sweetheart. If you corner him, he'll rip out your throat. I know his type, and he's not going to back down, or go quietly into the night, he'll kill you first. For whatever reason, this marriage has served a purpose for him, and whatever it is, he doesn't want you messing with that. Maybe she wants you married, for the sake of her respectability. She's not going to want to piss off the old man before he dies. I think there's a lot going on here you don't even know, be very careful, and don't push him too hard.”

It was sound advice, and Isabelle knew he was right, she just didn't know what to do with the information now. But she realized, as she thought about it, there were probably many nights when he didn't sleep at home and was living with the countess in the apartment Nathalie had alluded to. She had only begun to suspect recently how often he slept out, and so had Sophie. She thought back now over trips he took with friends, and vacations he went on “alone,” parties he went to, places he went, and Nathalie was right, it all went back about a dozen years.

“It's certainly interesting, isn't it?” Isabelle said, still sounding shocked. Gordon suddenly seemed like a stranger to her. And Louise de Ligne was so much racier and more sophisticated than she had ever been. Isabelle felt utterly stupid for what had gone on under her nose for all those years.

“I want to give it some more thought. Don't do anything yet,” Bill said pensively. Most of all, he didn't want her to get hurt in any way, and she easily could.

“I won't.”

“Remember, if you corner him, he'll strike. That much I know for sure.” She agreed with him a hundred percent. Gordon could be incredibly vicious if you attacked him about anything. She had discovered that about him years ago.

For the next few days, she and Bill talked about it, but they came to no new conclusions, and when Gordon came home, he looked happy and tan, and was surprisingly friendly to her. He even asked how Teddy was, and she assured him he was fine. She didn't say a word about the Comtesse de Ligne.

The only bit of mischief she caused with him was when she handed over his mail to him. She had removed one piece, since it was addressed to both of them, and ever so casually she mentioned that they had been invited to a wedding by the Comte and Comtesse de Ligne. She said she'd accepted it for them both, and it sounded like fun. She looked entirely innocent, and nothing showed in his eyes as he listened to her. He seemed to have no reaction at all.

“Teddy's doctor says I should get out a bit more, and he's right. I assumed you know them, and since it came to both of us, I thought you wouldn't mind if I go,” she said sweetly with wide eyes.

“Not at all,” he said, looking totally unconcerned, and for a moment she wondered if Nathalie was wrong, and then he turned to her with an odd expression. “They're a bit tedious though, they're both very old. I think you might be bored. If you're going to start going out again, I think you ought to choose something a bit more fun.” He seemed solicitous rather than scared.

“How old can they be with a daughter getting married?” Isabelle asked innocently, and Gordon shrugged.

“I don't think she's a very young girl, she's probably an old maid, and very unattractive. It doesn't sound very amusing to me.”

He was very determined that Isabelle not go, and for the first time in years, when dealing with him, she was amused.

“You're right, that doesn't sound like much fun. Should I write and tell them we can't go after all, or would that be too rude?”

“I'll take care of it. Where is the invitation, by the

“It's on my desk.”

“I'll pick it up on my way out. I'll have my secretary take care of it.”

“Thank you, Gordon. I'll send them a nice gift to apologize.”

“I'll have Elisabeth take care of that too. You have enough to do.”

She thanked him sweetly, and he left for the office with the invitation still in his hand, and Bill laughed when she told him about it when he called.

“You're a monster, you are. But remember what I said. Be careful with him, he's no fool. He may be watching now, to see what you do. He may think someone told you something, if your friend is right, and everyone in Paris knows.”

“I won't do anything.” For the next few days, all she did was check to see if he was in his room late at night, and in the early hours when she got up. It was exactly what she'd thought, he didn't come home all night, and didn't expect her to know, since she was tacitly forbidden to come to his rooms. He was presumably at the apartment on the rue du Bac with Louise.

Isabelle and Gordon played cat and mouse with each other for the next month and nothing changed, but then again, it hadn't in years. He had a life with the woman, an apartment, a relationship, in some ways he was more married to her than he was to Isabelle. Just as in some ways, she felt more married to Bill.

He had been at the rehab center for five months by then, and he was stronger, and felt healthier than he had in years. His neck hardly caused him any problem anymore, his shoulders had grown, his hips were slim, and in a bathing suit, when he swam, he looked like a very young man. More of the sensation in his legs had returned, and he could move more easily in his wheelchair, but not only could he not walk, he couldn't stand. His legs just didn't have the strength, and they collapsed under him when he put any weight on them at all. Even the braces they'd fit him for didn't work. He fell even faster when he wore those. And the deal he'd made with himself about Isabelle wasn't looking good.

He was still meeting with Dr. Harcourt, the sex therapist, despite his initial resistance. He still insisted that sex was over for him. It had been too traumatic for him when it hadn't worked with Isabelle, and he was convinced nothing would change. But he enjoyed talking to Linda Harcourt anyway. She gave him a constant flow of interesting books. But he remained unconvinced.

To complicate matters further, Jane and Joe came to him in March, and told him they wanted to get engaged. Although he liked Joe very much, Bill was upset about it, and had several long talks with Cynthia on the phone. She was much more understanding about it than he, and they argued about it for several weeks. And in the end, Bill had a long talk with Jane when she came up to see him from NYU.

“Daddy, we know what we're doing. We're not kids. I've been around here for seven months. I know what I'm getting into.” Because of the nature of his injuries, Joe wore diapers, took medications, and only had the use of one arm. His limitations were more extensive than Bill's. He had been accepted for law school in the fall, and he had a fine mind. And the doctors thought, but were not certain, that he could have children eventually. Linda had explained to Bill that some men, although unable to perform sexually on their own, were still able to impregnate their wives, with medical help. It was not clear if Joe was one of those. He was one of her patients too. But as far as Bill was concerned, Joe had youth on his side. At Bill's age, he was no longer willing to be “experimental” or make a fool of himself. He was prepared to abstain entirely from sex for the rest of his life. He accepted that as an inevitability, unlike Joe.

“You don't know what you're getting into,” Bill argued with her. “He's going to be completely dependent on you, physically and emotionally.”

“That's not true. Joe takes care of me, he's the only man who ever has, except you. He's going to be a lawyer, he invested the settlement money from the accident, he has a million dollars in blue chip stocks, and some very good investments. Mom's stockbroker looked at it, and he said Joe's done all the right things. And if he can't go rock climbing, or do the waltz, I don't care.”

“Maybe you will one day.”

“You and Mom didn't make it, and you could walk then. What's so different about this? Why are we so much worse off than you were, when you got married?”

“Because he's handicapped,” Bill insisted, “that's going to be a tremendous burden on you. Your mom and I didn't make it when I could walk, as you put it, I wouldn't even consider marrying her the way I am today.”

“That's pathetic. I can't believe you think that way.” He was suddenly sorry that she'd ever come to the hospital, and he'd introduced her to Joe. He had thought it was harmless, but he'd been wrong. He argued with Isabelle and Cynthia, and both his daughters for the next two weeks, and finally he sat down and talked to Joe. He expected a lot of sincere, earnest pressure from him, and it was obvious that Bill was upset before the conversation even began. But he wasn't prepared for what Joe had to say.

“I know how you feel, Bill,” Joe said quietly. He had heard it all from Jane. She was furious with her father over it, and wanted to elope with Joe. But Joe respected her and Bill too much for that. “I can't tell you you're wrong. I can't tell you it will be an easy road, we both know it's not. I know. I understand that better than Jane. And we're both young. Marriage isn't easy at the best of times. My parents are divorced, you and Cynthia are too. There are no guarantees in life. Nothing is a sure thing. But I also think that Jane and I share a special bond, I honestly think we can make it work. I'm going to do everything I can to protect her and love her and take care of her,” there were tears in his eyes and Bill turned away, he didn't want to be swayed. “But I also respect you too much to do something you don't want. I trust your judgment, even though I think you're wrong about this. I think you and I have as much right to a good life, and a good marriage, as anyone else. Just because I can't walk or use my left arm doesn't mean I have no right to love. I hope you believe that too, for your sake. But if you don't want me to marry her, if you say no, I'll tell her I thought about it and changed my mind. If that's what you want, I'd rather she hate me than you, you're her father, she needs you, maybe even more than she needs me. And I don't want to be part of your family if you don't want me to be. It's up to you.” Bill felt sick as he listened to him. He wanted it all to be true, but he just thought it was too hard for both of them, and he wanted to protect his little girl. He wanted her to have a man who could walk into the sunset with her, under his own steam.

“What if you find out you can't have kids after you try?” That was a big issue to him, and he knew it would be to Jane one day.

“Then we'll adopt. Jane and I have talked about it. There are no guarantees for anyone. A lot of couples who don't have our challenges find out they can't have kids. We'll do whatever seems right to both of us.”

Bill knew he couldn't ask for more from any man. Joe was decent, loving, crazy about Jane, intelligent, polite, considerate, educated, financially sound, but he was confined to a wheelchair for the rest of his life. It was the hardest decision Bill had ever made. He listened to Joe for a long time, and then with tears in his eyes he held out his arms and the two men embraced.

“All right, you little shit,” there were tears in their eyes, and Bill's lip was quivering as he struggled to talk. “Go for it. But if you ever make her unhappy, I'm going to kill you.”

“I swear, I'll do everything I can for her for the rest of my life.” It was all anyone could ask of the man marrying his daughter. Both men wiped their eyes and smiled, as Bill took out one of the half bottles of wine from the fridge in his room.

“When do you two want to get married?” Bill asked, pouring them each a glass of wine. He felt as though he'd climbed the Alps in the last half hour, and Joe felt that way too.

“We thought June or July. I'll be going to law school at NYU, and we can get married housing, that way it won't interfere with her going to school.” She'd be twenty and a junior in the fall. He was twenty-three. They were young, certainly, but others had done it before, and succeeded. Bill hoped they'd be among the lucky ones, that was all he wanted for them.

“When are you getting out of here?” Bill asked.

“In a month or two. I've been here for a year, and they think I'm about cooked. I thought I'd go home to Minneapolis for a while.” Bill nodded. It all sounded sensible, if you could call it that. If Joe weren't in a wheelchair, Bill would have been jumping for joy. But at least he'd agreed.

They both got a little drunk, and Joe called Jane when he went back to his room. He was feeling absolutely drained. He'd been terrified of what Bill would say, but it had gone astonishingly well. And as soon as she heard, Jane burst into tears of relief. Her father's blessing meant the world to her. She didn't want to get married unless he approved, nor did Joe.

Five minutes after Joe left the room, Jane called Bill, she was crying and laughing and thanking him, and then she got off the phone and Cynthia got on.

“You did good. I was a little worried about you for a while, but you did the right thing.” She sounded remarkably calm and mature. They had all grown up in the last year, not just the kids.

“What makes you so sure?” Bill asked, still sounding concerned.

“I just know. So do you, you're just scared. He'll be good to her.” That was all they could ask. The rest was up to the Fates.

“He'd better be. He has me to answer to.”

“I'm proud of you,” Cynthia said.

“Don't be, he's just such a nice kid, I couldn't say no.”

“I'm glad,” and Isabelle said the same thing when she called to find out how it had gone.

“I would never have forgiven you if you'd said no,” she said fervently. She'd been worried about it all night, and got up at four A.M. SO she could call. Everyone had been rooting for them. There was nothing more irresistible than love, and one thing was for sure, Joe and Jane loved each other. Bill just hoped that life treated them well. Joe at least had paid his dues.

Spring had come to Paris by then, and nothing had changed for Isabelle in the past two months. She had never confronted Gordon about her discovery. She was biding her time. But everything had changed for her since she'd found out about Louise. She no longer felt guilty about what she felt for Bill, and she stayed away from Gordon most of the time. She made no apologies, expected nothing from him. He was simply a man she no longer knew who lived at the same address. Bill was only worried that Gordon would sense something too different in her. But so far, he seemed to have no clue.

Bill was still calling her every day, but he knew he had to make some decisions soon. He had been at the rehab facility for seven months, and although he was stronger and healthier, nothing significant had changed. His body had healed, and he had originally planned to stay for a year, but his therapists were telling him that he'd be ready to leave soon. He was tentatively thinking of leaving in May. They had told him finally that there was nothing more they could do. He was bound to his wheelchair for life. There was no miracle, no surgery they could offer him. He had to make his peace with his life as it now was, and would remain. It was the cruelest blow imaginable for him. The only one worse would have been if Isabelle had died when they were hit by the bus. His not being able to walk, to him, meant never seeing her again. He would rather have died than burden her with his infirmities. And he felt as though he had died when they told him there was nothing more they could do. He hadn't told her it was over yet, but knew he had to soon, so he wouldn't change his mind. He had vowed to bow out quietly sometime soon.

His friends were still calling from Washington, and an important senatorial candidate was asking him to take his campaign on in June. He had his eye on the presidency in four years, and he knew Bill was the man to make it happen for him. Bill had all but promised him he would.

He had talked about it with Isabelle, and she had come to believe it would do him good to go back to work. She could tell that he was discouraged at times that he hadn't made more progress in the rehab center, but they had taken him as far as they could. And she sensed correctly that he was stalling about moving on. Leaving the rehab center was a little bit like leaving the womb.

Her own wounds had healed by then. Her tests were normal, she seldom had headaches anymore. She had made a remarkable recovery, and there was no remaining sign of the accident, except for a long thin scar along her left arm where the severed artery had been sutured. There was no other remnant of it, except for the relationship that had been born in the hospital between them. She still missed him terribly, and she had asked him to come to see her when he got out of the rehab facility. But whenever she asked him about it, he was vague. She knew it was too soon for him to make travel plans, but she hoped he would soon. She hadn't seen him in seven months, which seemed an eternity to her. And it did to Bill too.

He tormented himself over it constantly as time went on, and had been for a while. He wanted to see her, but it didn't seem right to him. Once he truly understood and accepted the fact that he would never walk again, it changed everything for him. And their calls didn't seem as innocent to him anymore. He felt as though he were misleading her, given the decision he'd made. In his eyes, he had nothing to offer her now, except his emotional support, and whatever stolen moments they could eventually share, a few times a year. He had too little to give her, he could offer no future as long as she was married, no safety from Gordon, or for her sick child. He had nothing to give her except words. The one thing he didn't want was her pity. He couldn't have borne it. And he knew that, if he chose to leave her, for her sake, she had to believe he was whole. If she didn't, and thought he needed her, she would never let him go. He knew that much about her. But every time he thought of leaving her, or not calling her anymore, he felt as though his heart would break. He didn't want her to feel abandoned, but, he told himself, in the long run it was best for her. If he could have given her a future, the kind he wanted to, he would have waited forever for her, but now that he knew he couldn't and would be in a wheelchair forever, he told himself he had to let her go, for her sake. Even more so, if he could not make love to her. Even if Joe and Jane were crazy enough to try and build a life together, as far as he was concerned, he would never do that to Isabelle. It was becoming a wrestling match between Bill and his conscience every day.

The one blessing, other than Bill, in her life, was the fact that Teddy had improved radically in the past two months. She didn't know if it was the weather, or just blind luck, but he seemed stronger and better than he had all year. He had even come downstairs to have dinner with her in the dining room several times. And in April, she drove him through the Bois de Boulogne for the first time in years. They stopped for an ice cream in the Jardin d'Acclimatation, and she was ecstatic when she called Bill. She hadn't done anything like it since he was a very little boy. And she thanked God for the blessing he was in her life, when he turned fifteen on the first of May.

It was the following afternoon that Bill called, and began laying the groundwork for what he had convinced himself he had to do. He told her the first lie he ever had. He had thought about it long and hard. And however terrible it seemed, he knew he was doing it for her. He loved her enough to sacrifice himself for her. Teddy was better, Gordon had left her in peace for several months. He was almost never there. And Bill knew that there would never be a good time to do what he believed he had to do, but this seemed better than most. With a pounding heart, he called to tell her that he had fantastic news, and tried to make himself sound convincing. She knew him so well, he was afraid she'd know it wasn't true. But by some miracle she believed him when he told her he had walked that day, and that he had finally made the connection between his brain and his legs. She sounded astounded to hear what he said, and burst into tears, she was so happy for him, which made him feel even worse. But in his mind, there was nothing else he could do. He knew now that he had to let her go, for her sake, and to convince her that he was whole. She had Teddy to take care of, she didn't need the burden of Bill too. As he was, he felt he had nothing to offer her, no matter what eventually happened with Gordon. Bill would not do this to her. He refused to destroy her life and turn her into his nursemaid one day. Unlike Joe and Jane, Bill knew better. He could not let her pity him, rescue him, take care of him. If he wasn't able to walk, he refused to stay in Isabelle's life. And what he had just told her, about having walked that day, was the first step toward setting her free. In his mind, it was all he had left to give. It was like freeing a beautiful bird.

They talked for a long time, and she asked him how he had felt when he took his first steps, if it had been terrifying or wonderful, and he elaborated endlessly on the theme. And every day after that, he solidified his story. He felt sick when he called her now, hated lying to her. He felt he had no choice, but it tainted all their phone calls, because he was lying to her. She was warm and wonderful and vulnerable and trusting, and he loved her so much. Enough not to stay in her life as he was. He saw himself now as a half person, or less, who had nothing to offer a woman anymore. Even if parts of him worked, there were others that did not, and never would. In effect, in his eyes, the prognosis the therapists had given him had destroyed what was left of his life, and what he shared with Isabelle.

And when Bill wasn't talking to her, he was setting up his future life in Washington. He was finally starting to make plans for when he left the rehab center. He had promised to take on the senatorial candidate at the end of June.

He had to get an apartment before that, and he wanted to spend time with the candidate and learn everything he could about him. And before he went back to work, there was Joe and Jane's wedding in June. She was having half a dozen bridesmaids, Olivia was the maid of honor, and they were planning to hold the reception at the house in Greenwich. They were having three hundred guests in a tent on the front lawn. There was a lot going on, and Cynthia was going crazy making arrangements with caterers and florists, and going to fittings for the dresses with the girls.

Joe and Jane were beside themselves. They had signed up for married housing at NYU. She had gone to Minneapolis to meet his parents. And they were going to Italy for their honeymoon. As he listened to Joe when he went to therapy with him every day, Bill felt sicker and sicker about what he was about to do to Isabelle. But he had made his decision. He felt certain it was his only choice, and the right thing to do. For him, the decision had been made. All that was left to do was to tell her.

“Are you okay?” Joe asked him one afternoon as they headed back to their rooms. “You've been so quiet lately.” Joe was worried about him. He seemed strange. He knew Bill had hit a wall in his recovery, and was concerned about the effect it had had on him. They had all been there at some point, when they had to face reality and the truth.

“I'm getting ready to go back to the real world. I have a lot of work to do right after the wedding,” Bill explained, but Joe had noticed that his future father-in-law had lost his interest in therapy almost completely in the last month. And he had finally stopped seeing Linda Harcourt in therapy sessions. He had nothing left to say, and no interest in her books. He had given up all hope of a life with Isabelle. Bill had agreed to stay at the rehab center for another month, but his heart no longer appeared to be in it in any way. He had already moved on, in his head. He seemed distracted and quiet, and when he wasn't paying attention to the people around him, which was frequently now, he looked depressed, and was.

At the end of May, Bill ran into Helena on her way back from the dining hall, and she was crying. She was heading his way, and she almost ran him down as she sped past him in her chair.

“Hey, hit-and-run is a felony!” Bill shouted at her, and she slowed to a stop without turning to look at him and then put her face in her hands and started sobbing. He moved his wheelchair next to hers, and touched her shoulder. “Can I help?” She shook her head for a minute, and didn't answer. And then she looked at him with ravaged eyes. And as she took her hand away from her face, he could see that her ring was gone, the enormous diamond she'd been wearing since he met her nine months before. It was easy to guess what had happened. “Do you want to come talk for a while?” he offered, and she nodded. They went back to his room then, and he handed her a wad of tissues. And after she'd blown her nose, she thanked him with a teary smile.

“I'm sorry. I'm a mess,” she apologized. She was as beautiful as ever, even when she was crying. She was a spectacular-looking girl, regardless of the fact that she was in a wheelchair.

“Should I guess, or do you want to tell me?”

“It's Sergio. He called … things have been weird lately. He's been working in Milan, and he's been away a lot. We put the wedding off a few months ago, because he thought we needed more time…. Shit, Bill, we've been going out for six years … but we never got engaged until after the accident. I think he just did it because he felt guilty that I fell when I was working for him. That day, he kept making me step back further and further, and then I fell backward down the stairs … and … he just told me he can't do it, that it's too hard, and I need too much attention. He says he needs someone in his life who's more independent. It's because of this,” she slapped the sides of her wheelchair, and started crying again, as Bill put an arm around her shoulders. The slurring of her speech had improved immeasurably in the past nine months, but the rest of her situation had not and never would. It was exactly what he was afraid of for Joe and Jane, and why he wanted to free Isabelle now before she came to hate him for all that he no longer was, or couldn't do.

“It probably scared him,” Bill said sensibly. Sergio was one of the most successful young photographers in the business, and he was only twenty-nine. But he could also have any model he wanted, even one not in a wheelchair. It would have been nice if he could have lived up to his promise to Helena, but if it was too much for him, Bill told her, it was better that he speak up now. “You know, if he can't do it, Helena, then he's done the right thing. You don't want him to walk out after you're married. If he's not the right guy, better you know now.” It was his theory with Isabelle too, although he knew she would never have walked out on him, but Bill thought she should. And if she didn't have the sense to do it, he did, for her sake. He had worked himself into a frenzy over it in the last weeks, and convinced himself he was right. What Sergio had just done to her confirmed everything he thought, that “whole” people did not belong with people who were anything less than that. “Helena, believe me, one day you'll be glad this happened,” he said, and she started to cry harder. It didn't make any sense to her. She loved him, and thought he loved her too. She already had her wedding dress, the caterer, the photographer, the band. But marriage was a lot more than that, particularly in circumstances like theirs.

“Why would I be glad this happened?” What Bill was saying just didn't make sense to her.

“Because you don't want to be a burden to him. He'd only come to hate you that way.”

“I'm not a burden,” she said, looking incensed. “I'm no different than I was before the accident. I'm still the same person.” Joe and Jane would have applauded what she was saying, but Bill did not. He had exactly the opposite point of view.

“None of us are the same. We can't be. We have limitations. There are things we'll never do again,” Bill said quietly, thinking of Isabelle.

“Like what? Dance? Ski? Roller-skate? Who cares?” She blew her nose again.

“He does apparently, that's my point. At least he was honest, you have to admire him for that.”

“I don't admire him. He's a shit. I didn't do anything wrong for him to walk out on me.”

“No. You just had rotten luck. We all did. That's why we're here.”

“Are you telling me no one will ever love us because we're like this? Because if you are, I think you're wrong, and that's a rotten thing to say. What about Joe and Jane? Look at them.”

“You're old enough to be smarter than they are.” She was twenty-eight, and she wanted a life and a husband and kids. “I still think they're making a mistake, and one day they'll pay for it. Maybe one day Jane will do what Sergio just did. And then what? By then they'll have a couple of kids, and they'll screw up everyone's lives.”

“Is that what you think? That no one will ever stay with us or want us? That's bullshit, and you know it. Or at least I hope you do. We have a right to the same things everyone else does.”

“Maybe not,” he said, looking grim. “Or at least I don't. I can only speak for myself. But I don't feel like I have a right to inflict this,” he waved at their wheelchairs, “on someone else. It wouldn't be fair.” They both knew he was speaking of Isabelle, and Helena looked even more upset.

“Have you talked to the shrink here lately, Bill?” she asked, suddenly more concerned about him than about herself. “I think you need to, because I think your attitude stinks. I think Sergio is an asshole, and maybe you're right, maybe I'm better off than if he walks out on me later, but I don't think it should have anything to do with this,” she waved at his wheelchair the way he had, “I think it should have to do with whether or not he loves me, and what kind of wife he thinks I'm going to be. Maybe he thinks I'm not good enough for him.”

“That's my point,” Bill said smugly, and Helena looked angry at Bill.

“No, it isn't, Bill. You're confused. You think we lost our right to be loved the day we wound up in a wheelchair. I don't believe that, and I never will. There are too many good people out there who won't give a damn if we're standing up or sitting down. I don't like being like this either. I'd much rather be running around under my own steam, and wearing high heels. But I'm not. So fucking what? Are you telling me you wouldn't love a woman in a wheelchair? Are you that small? I don't think you are.” She looked pointedly at him.

“Maybe not,” he said, dodging her question, but knowing in spite of himself that there was some truth to what she was saying. Because if it were Isabelle who'd wound up in the wheelchair, he would have loved her just the same, maybe more. But that wasn't his point. “I guess I'm just saying that some people aren't big enough to do this. And even if they are, you have to take a good look and figure out if that's what you want to do to them. Do you really want to subject them to that, or do you love them enough to give them up?” He was talking about himself, and Helena was looking confused.

“Why don't they just put us all out on an iceberg somewhere? That might solve the problem. Then we wouldn't be a problem for anyone, they wouldn't have to be decent human beings, or have any compassion, or even grow up. You know what? I admire the hell out of Jane and Joe for what they're doing. They believe in each other, and they're right. They love each other, and that's worth everything. The rest of it, the chair, or the crutches, or no chair or no crutches, it doesn't mean a damn thing. At least not to me. I don't care if the guy I marry is deaf, dumb, and blind, if he's a good person, and we love each other, and he's a decent human being, then that's good enough for me. This wheelchair wouldn't mean shit to me if someone else were in it instead of me.”

“Good. Then marry me,” Bill teased her, and she sat back in her chair and smiled through her tears.

“You'd be a huge pain in the ass,” she laughed at him. “And your outlook stinks. I still think you should talk to the shrink before you leave, or you're going to do some really stupid stuff.” She was one of Linda Harcourt's patients too, and had done well with her, because she wanted to.

“Like what?” He looked defensive. He liked her, she was a very bright girl, and they had become good friends.

“Like walk out on people who love you, because you think you're a burden to them. Why don't you let them figure that out, instead of deciding for them? You have no right to control what they think, or make decisions for them.”

“Maybe I know better. If you love someone, you want to protect them from themselves.”

“You can't protect people,” Helena said clearly. She had done a lot of work on herself and faced a lot of things, more so than Bill. He had spent all his time lifting weights, and had eventually avoided the shrink. Helena could see that. “People have a right to make their own choices. You can't take that away from them, just like they can't take that away from us. It's a question of respect.”

“Maybe you're right,” Bill said, looking pensive. “I don't have the answers. I just have the questions. And I'm a lot older than you are. Maybe at your age, I'd be braver too. Maybe you're right, maybe Sergio is a shit. But if he is, you're better off without him, and you're better off knowing it now.”

“That, I agree with,” she said sadly, “but it hurts anyway.”

“Yeah,” he said, “it does. But so does life. There's a lot of stuff that happens that hurts like hell. Some people never fail to disappoint you. It's nice to weed them out early on,” he said, and she nodded. He was thinking of Cynthia, and that had had nothing to do with his chair.

“I guess Sergio is one of those,” she said philosophically.

“Maybe next time you'll get a smaller ring, and a bigger guy.” She nodded, and they chatted for a while, and then she went back to her own room, but she reminded Bill again that she thought he should see the shrink before he left. And when Isabelle called him later that night, he sounded troubled. Some of the things Helena had said had confused him again. She was so emphatic about their limitations not making a difference to the people who loved them, that he almost wondered if she was right, but not quite. She was a young woman, and if a man wanted to take care of her, it was one thing. He was a man, and he felt he had to be able to offer more than that.

“You sound tired,” Isabelle said, sensing instantly that he was feeling down. “Did you walk around too much and wear yourself out today?” She had believed him totally, about his being able to walk again. And he looked at his wheelchair feeling guilty as he listened. It was the lie that made it impossible for him to see her again. Like poisoning his food, he couldn't go near it again. But that had been his plan. And he had no intention of backing out now, no matter what Helena said. It had already gone too far, and he still believed that leaving her was the right thing to do. The only question in his mind was when.

“Yeah, I guess so. I have a lot to do before I leave,” he said, sounding vague.

“They did a great job,” Isabelle said, sounding gentler than ever, and as trusting, and just hearing her ripped out his heart. However misguided, what he wanted was to give her the gift of freedom, from a burden he felt certain would ruin her life. And he knew Helena would have told him Isabelle had the right to make her own choice, and he was taking away that right. But he was convinced he knew best, and Isabelle was too kind to ever walk out on him. But for days, she had heard something odd in his voice, and she couldn't tell what. He sounded different and distant and unhappy. All she could guess was that he was nervous about leaving the protected environment of the rehab facility and starting a new life. But now that he could walk again, as far as she knew, it was all going to be so much easier for him, and she was so relieved.

“How's the wedding coming?” she asked a few minutes later, hoping to distract him from whatever was bothering him.

“Cynthia's going crazy. I'm trying to stay out of it. All I have to do is pay the bills. That's the easy part.” The hard part was what he was planning to do to Isabelle. But she didn't know that yet. “How's Teddy?” He rapidly changed the subject. She noticed that he was doing that a lot these days, hopping from one topic to another, as though he was uncomfortable suddenly talking about anything in depth. It was so unlike him, and the conversations they'd shared for nearly five years. She knew him better than he thought, better than he wanted her to.

“He's terrific,” Isabelle said, which reassured him. He could never have ended it with her if Teddy had been failing. She was sealing her own fate by telling Bill he was doing well. “He's never been better.”

“Good.” And then he told her he was going to Washington to look for an apartment the following week. It made her ask him about Paris again.

“Maybe you can come over after the wedding, if you're not too tired. Just for a few days before you start work.” It was a lot to ask of him, but she was afraid he wouldn't have time to do it after that. She knew just how busy things got for him, and would now.

“I'll have to see. I may be starting on the campaign that week.” It was another lie. He wasn't starting on the campaign until the end of June, and he would have had time to come over, but he wasn't walking, and he couldn't tell her that. He had made it impossible for himself to visit her. “We'll figure it out” was all he offered, and when they hung up this time, she was worried. She had the distinct feeling he was avoiding her, and she didn't know why. It had started happening from one day to the next, literally overnight. What she didn't know was that his vagueness had started the day his therapists had confirmed that he would never walk again. That had been the turning point for him. He had always promised himself that when that happened, he would stop calling her, and never see her again. But he couldn't bring himself to stop calling her yet. At her end, Isabelle was worried that she had said something that offended him. But he didn't seem angry at her, just distant. It had been nine months since she'd seen him, and she had no idea when he was going to come to Paris to visit her. And there was no way she could go to Washington or New York to see him. She couldn't leave Teddy for that long or venture that far away.

By the time the wedding came, Isabelle was panicked. He had missed calling her a few times, and when she asked him about it, he said he'd been too busy. He had found an apartment in Washington, and met with the young senator about his campaign. He sounded excited when he talked about that. And for two days after the wedding, Bill didn't call her at all. And for some odd, instinctive reason, she suddenly didn't dare call him. He had suddenly put up walls to keep her out.

It had been a beautiful wedding, and everyone had cried when Joe and Jane exchanged their vows. With Joe in his wheelchair, and Jane standing next to him, holding his hand, it had been incredibly touching. And no one cried more than Bill, sitting in his wheelchair, next to Cynthia, at the end of the first pew.

“Are you okay?” she asked him at the reception. He was sitting next to her, and she found him unusually quiet. “You look stressed.”

“Just thinking about work. I'm leaving the rehab and going to Washington in a few days. You know how I am.” Physically, he looked terrific, but she could see that something was bothering him.

“You seem upset.” In the end, she assumed that it had gotten to him watching his baby get married.

Olivia came and sat with him some of the time, and when Jane was supposed to dance with him, she danced with her grandfather instead while he and Joe watched, smiling at her. It didn't seem to bother Joe, but it bothered Bill. A lot. It was a beautiful wedding, a great party, and everyone had a great time. And as he rode back to the rehab facility that night, all Bill could think about was Isabelle.

He stayed in his room and didn't even go to physical therapy for two days, and then he finally got up the guts to make the call. She was worried about him by then, and he hadn't answered his phone when she finally called him. It had rung several times in the past two days. He knew it was Isabelle. And he just lay on his bed, thinking about her, and wishing he were dead.

“Where have you been?” she asked, with a note of panic in her voice when he finally called. “I thought you went on the honeymoon with them,” she teased. But he could hear that she was worried and hurt and hated himself for it. He knew that the concern she had felt was nothing compared to the pain she was going to feel. After five years of talking to her, it was inconceivable to no longer have her in his life. But he was certain now that it was the final gift that he owed her. “How was the wedding?” she asked innocently, and he sighed.

“It was beautiful. Everyone cried at the ceremony, and after that they had a great time.”

“Tell me about it.” Teddy was still asleep, he was sleeping later these days, and she had lots of time.

He did, and then he took a breath. It was like jumping off the high dive. “Isabelle, there's something I have to tell you.” She could feel her heart stop. She knew before he said another word that something was terribly wrong.

“Why do I not like the sound of that?” She held her breath, waiting for the other shoe to fall.

“Cynthia and I renewed our vows.” There was an endless silence at her end while she absorbed what he had just said to her.

“What exactly does that mean?” She was trying to be polite, but she wanted to scream. As always, she was gracious and waited for him to explain.

“We made a recommitment to our marriage.” It was the second-worst lie he had ever told her. The first one was when he told her that he could walk again. “Things have changed since I've been at the rehab facility. We thought it was important for the girls.” One was married and the other was twenty-two years old. How important could it be to two grown women for their parents to renew their vows? But Isabelle didn't ask the obvious, the fact that they'd done it was all that mattered and that she heard.

“When did you decide this?” Her whole body was shaking, but she sounded deceptively calm.

“In the last few weeks.” He sounded almost cavalier and forced himself not to think of what it was doing to her.

“I knew something was wrong.” She was right about that. She knew him well, which was hardly surprising after five years. “Is that why you wouldn't make plans to come to Paris?” It explained it to her now. She knew he was worried about something, she just hadn't known what. “What does that mean for us?”

“I don't think we should talk to each other anymore.” His words hit her harder than the impact of the bus. She couldn't even speak for a moment, and she thought she was going to pass out. She couldn't get air in her lungs, and she could feel her heart for the first time since the accident. It was as though he had dropped a wrecking ball on her, and she was too crushed to answer. But she knew she had to say something. She hadn't expected this. But she could hardly blame him. She had refused to leave Gordon, for Teddy's sake. She had so little to offer Bill, except their calls. It made sense to her for him to recommit himself to Cynthia, no matter how much it hurt her. It seemed right for him, and she loved him enough to want the best for him.

“I don't know what to say. I'm happy for you, Bill.” He had recovered not only his legs, but his marriage, and she wished him well. He could hear that she was crying and he wanted to die. But he knew it was the right thing for her, whether she knew it or not. Only his love for her had led him to do such an awful thing. He knew that with what he'd said, he had destroyed part of his own heart. It was the ultimate sacrifice he could make for her, and she for him.

“I want you to take care of yourself. Don't let Gordon get the upper hand. Save your ammunition, and if he tortures you, use it on him. He won't bother you after that. As long as Louise's husband is alive, he'll want to stay married to you.” He had thought a lot about it, and it was the only thing he was worried about now. He didn't want Gordon tormenting her, and he would no longer know about it. He couldn't protect her from him anyway, except with his love, which seemed too little to him now anyway.

“It's nice of you to worry about that,” she said, sounding shocked and confused. “I don't understand … you didn't tell me things were better between you and Cynthia. How did that happen? And when?”

“I don't know. Maybe when the kids decided to get married, we figured we needed to clean up our act.” In fact, their divorce had come through in March right after Jane and Joe told them they were getting married. Cynthia appeared to be very serious now with the man she'd been seeing for nine months, and Bill was happy for her.

“I want you to be happy, Bill,” she said generously, “whatever that means to you. And for what it's worth, I love you with all my heart.”

“I know you do,” there were tears rolling down his cheeks, but he couldn't let her hear it in his voice. Her freedom depended on his convincing her, and he was determined to do it right. “I love you too, Isabelle.” He wanted to tell her he always would, but there was no way he could say that. “Take good care of yourself. If you ever need anything, call me. I'll always be there for you.”

“I don't think Cynthia would like that.”

“Thirty years is a long time. It's hard to walk away from that.” But he had walked away from that too. For similar reasons. But it was Isabelle who owned his heart, and he knew she always would. But only he knew that.

“I'm going to miss you terribly,” she said, beginning to sob. “But I want you to be happy … be happy … be good to yourself, Bill. You deserve so much.” He knew he deserved to burn in hell for what he was doing to her, but he was still convinced that the gift he was giving her was greater than the pain she had now. She'd see that one day, he was sure.

“Good-bye,” he said simply, and then gently hung up, and as Isabelle put down the phone, she began to cry long wracking sobs. It sounded as though someone had died, and she had.

“What's wrong, Mommy?” Teddy came running into her room with terrified eyes. He had heard her from the hall, and he'd never seen her like that. He was breathless when he got to where she sat, after she'd hung up the phone.

For a moment she couldn't speak, but she knew she had to pull herself together for him. “An old friend of mine just died.” She didn't know what else to say to him, and in a way, he had. Bill was dead to her now. Gone. Lost to her. She couldn't imagine living without him, couldn't imagine what her life would be like without his calls. It was like a death sentence in a life where she already had so little. All she had were her children now. And as Teddy watched, she got up and got her coat and then came to give him a hug. “I'm fine. I'm just sad. I'm going to go for a little walk.” She took him back to his room, and settled him in his bed. And then she went out, and walked for hours. It was nearly lunchtime when she got back, and she looked deathly pale, almost gray. And even Teddy's nurse was frightened for her.

“Are you all right, Mrs. Forrester?” she asked respectfully. In all the years she had known her, she had never seen her look so ill. Isabelle quietly nodded, with a wintry smile. Her eyes were two deep pools of pain.

“I'm fine,” she said mechanically. There was nothing else she could say. But that afternoon, as she read to her son, there were little rivers of tears that kept sliding down her cheeks, and Teddy quietly patted her hand. He didn't know what to say to her. And when she hugged him when he went to bed that night, she choked on a sob.

“I'm sorry, Mommy,” he said gently, hugging her tight, and she nodded with a sad smile.

“So am I, sweetheart.”

All she could think of that night was Bill. She was devastated, more than she'd ever been in her entire life. He had taken away hope and laughter and love and comfort on dark days. She had no one to turn to now, and knew she never would again. She would die Gordon's prisoner, and she no longer cared. About anything. She would live to serve Teddy and Sophie, and somehow get through the rest of her days.

And in his room at the rehab facility, Bill lay in the dark. He hadn't moved since he'd called her. He hadn't slept all night. He just lay there and cried. But it was the right thing to do. Knowing and believing that was the only consolation he had.

Chapter 16

For Isabelle, the days were endless after Bill left her life. There was no beginning, no end, no part of the day that offered any relief. She took care of Teddy as she always had, and now it was she who looked ill. She didn't eat, she didn't sleep, she said very little, although she tried to make an effort for Teddy. But she felt as though she'd been dropped down an abyss where there was no sunshine, no light. She longed to hear Bill's voice, but she didn't even know where he was anymore. She knew he had gone to Washington, and she wondered if Cynthia had gone with him. But wherever he was, he no longer belonged to her, and she knew now he never had. He had been a temporary gift in her life, and she was grateful for him. But the pain of losing him was so acute that she wondered daily if she'd survive. Losing Bill was much harder than surviving the bus. The impact this time was to her soul.