Palomino

by Danielle Steel

  She huffed and she puffed and she attacked the boxes and she sweated, and once she even fell out of her chair trying to hang a small painting on the wall. But she got up, she hung it up, she unpacked the crates, she made her bed, she washed her hair, she did all the things they had taught her. She felt so victorious by Monday morning that when she showed up at the office in a black skirt and a black turtleneck sweater, with fashionable black suede boots and a red bow in her hair, she looked younger and healthier than she had all that terrible year. When her mother called at noon to lament her daughter's fate, Sam was busy in a meeting. After that she went to lunch at Lutéce with Charlie and Harvey to celebrate her return, and by the end of the week she had seen her first client, and she had handled it with grace as well as ease. It intrigued her to see that men still looked at her like she was attractive, and even her terror that it was pity that motivated the looks couldn't dim the pleasure of knowing that even if she wasn't a functioning woman her femininity still existed. The question of dating was one she had refused to discuss with the psychiatrist at the hospital. She considered that a closed door, and for the time being they had left it alone and worked on the rest. She had made such progress in every other area that they figured sooner or later she would come around. She was after all only thirty-one, and incredibly pretty. It was unlikely that a woman like Sam Taylor would spend the rest of her life alone, no matter what she said now.

  “Well.” Harvey, wearing one of his rare smiles, lifted a glass of champagne. “I propose a toast to Samantha. May you live another hundred years, without taking a single day off from CHL. Thank you.” He bowed and the three of them chuckled, and then Sam toasted them. By the end of the lunch they were half drunk and Sam was making bad jokes about not being able to drive her chair. She ran into two pedestrians on the way back to the office, and Charlie took over and pushed her, plowing her cheerfully into a policeman, who was almost brought to his knees.

  “Charlie, for chrissake! Watch where you're going!”

  “I was … I think he's drunk. Disgusting too, an officer on duty!”

  The three of them laughed like kids, and had trouble sobering up when they got back to the office. Eventually they all gave up and left early. It had been a very big day.

  That Saturday Sam took her little friend Alex to lunch, the two of them sunning in their chairs. They had hot dogs and French fries and she took him to a movie. They sat side by side in the aisle at Radio City, and his eyes were huge as he watched the show. When she took him home at the end of the day, she felt a little tug at her heart to give him back to his mother, and she took refuge at Mellie's apartment on the way home, where she played with the baby. Suddenly, as Sam rolled her wheelchair carefully and slowly across the room, little Sam stood up, and on tiptoe, with arms flailing, little Sam followed her, as “Big Sam,” as they called her in the baby's presence, sat in her wheelchair and gaped. And then, as the child fell cooing to the rug, Sam shouted for Mellie, who arrived just in time to see the baby do the same stunt again, and she was only ten months old.

  “She's walking!” Mellie shouted to no one in particular, “She's walking … Charlie! Sam's walking.…” He arrived in the doorway with an expression of shock, not having understood that it was the baby, and then Sam looked at him in astonishment with tears rolling down her face, and then she smiled and held out her arms to the laughing baby.

  “Oh, yes, she is!”

  Crane, Harper, and Laub won a Clio again that year for another of Sam's commercials, and by year's end, she had brought in two more major accounts. Her mother's premonitions of doom had not come to pass. Instead she was working harder than ever, managing her apartment with ease, seeing a few friends, and having occasional Saturday-afternoon movie dates with now seven-year-old Alex; On the whole Sam was happy with her life. She was glad she had lived—glad she had survived. Still, she wasn't entirely sure where it was all going. Harvey was still the creative director and still threatening to retire, but Sam never believed him until the first of November, when he called her into his office and pointed absentmindedly to a chair.

  “Sit down, Sam.”

  “Thank you, Harvey, I am.” She grinned at him with amusement and he looked momentarily flustered and then laughed.

  “Don't make me nervous, dammit, Sam, I have something to tell you … no, ask you.…”

  “You want to propose after all these years?” It was a standing joke between them. He had been happily married for the last thirty-two years.

  “No, dammit, I'm not kidding around today. Sam”—he stared at her almost fiercely—“I'm going to do it. I'm going to retire on the first of the year.”

  “When did that hit you, Harvey? This morning?” She was still smiling. She never took his retirement threats seriously anymore, and she was perfectly happy with her job the way it was. Her salary had escalated satisfactorily over the years, and CHL had given her so much in terms of kindness and understanding during her various problems and illness that she felt an unseverable loyalty to them anyway. She didn't need Harvey's job. “Why don't you just relax and take a nice vacation with Maggie this Christmas, someplace warm, like the Caribbean. And then come back like a big kid, roll up your sleeves, and get back to work.”

  “I don't want to.” He suddenly sounded like a belligerent child. “You know what, Sam? I'm fifty-nine years old, and all of a sudden I wonder what I'm doing. Who gives a damn about commercials? Who remembers anything we do by next year? And I'm missing the last of my best years with Maggie, sitting at this desk, working my ass off. I don't want to do that anymore. I want to go home, Sam, before it's too late. Before I miss my chance, before she gets sick, or I do, or one of us dies. I never thought that way before, but I'll be sixty years old next Tuesday and I just figured, screw it. I'm going to retire now, and you can't talk me out of it, because I won't let you. So what I called you in here to ask you was, do you want my job, Sam, because if you do, you can have it. In fact my asking you is only a formality, because whether you want it or not, it's yours.”

  She sat there, awed, for a moment, not sure what she should say. “Harvey, that was quite a speech.”

  “I meant every bit of it.”

  “Well, in a funny way I think you're right.” She had spent months thinking about Bill King and Aunt Caro, and she wondered if they had enjoyed every moment they could, right until the end. They had been so busy hiding what they were doing for so many years that they had missed a lot of times together that they might otherwise have shared. To Sam, it seemed like a hell of a waste of energy they could have better spent together, but it was all in the past now. What concerned her more was Caro, who had been in such awful shape in the eight months since he had died. She had been in what Sam considered a deep depression for several months, and she wanted to go out and see her, but the one thing she hadn't tackled yet was traveling. She was comfortable on home turf now and knew she could manage, but leaving home to go any great distance still scared her. She hadn't been to Atlanta either, and knew she probably never would. But a visit to Aunt Caro would have been different. She just hadn't taken matters in hand and gotten organized to go. She was thinking vaguely about Christmas, but that wasn't sure. She had funny feelings about going back there at Christmastime and facing all her memories of Tate.

  “Well, Sam, do you want to be C.D.?” It was a direct question that required a direct answer, and Sam looked at him with a small hesitant smile.

  “You know, the funny thing is that I don't know. I like working for you, Harvey, and I used to think that being creative director was the end of the rainbow. But the truth is, in the last year or two my life has changed so much, so have my values, and I'm not sure I want everything that goes with it: the sleepless nights, the headaches, the ulcers, especially now. The other thing I'm concerned with is that the C.D. should really travel, and I'm just not comfortable doing that yet. I don't feel safe about it, that's why I haven't flown out to see my friend in California. I don't know, Harvey, maybe I'm not t
he right person anymore for the job. What about Charlie?”

  “He's the art director, Sam. You know yourself how unusual it is for an art director to become C.D. It's a separate issue.”

  “Maybe. But he could do it and he'd be good.”

  “So would you. Will you think about it?”

  “Of course I will. You're really serious though this time, aren't you?” She was as surprised by his decision as by her own hesitation to accept. But she wasn't sure anymore if that was what she wanted, and however well she was managing life from her wheelchair, she just wasn't sure if she had enough mobility for the job. “How soon do you want to know?”

  “In a couple of weeks.” She nodded and they chatted for a few moments before she left his office, and when she did, she had every intention of giving Harvey an answer at the end of two weeks time. But ten days later, life threw her a curveball, and she felt as though the sky had fallen in on her. She had felt like that fairly often in the last two years.

  She sat in her office with the letter she had just gotten from Caroline's lawyer, and with tears running slowly down her face, she wheeled across the hall to Charlie's office and stopped in the doorway with a look of shock on her face.

  “Something wrong?” He stopped what he was doing and came instantly toward her. It was a stupid question. She was white-faced and she nodded and continued into the room, holding out the letter, which he took and read, and then he stared at her with the same look of amazement on his face. “Did you know?”

  She was crying softly now as she shook her head and then answered. “I never even thought of it… but I guess there's no one else.” And then suddenly she flung out her arms to him, and he held her. “Oh, Charlie, she's gone. What am I going to do?”

  “It's all right, Sam. It's all right.” But he was as stunned as Samantha. Caroline Lord had died the previous weekend. For an instant Sam was hurt that no one had called her—where was Josh, why hadn't he let her know? But the moment passed. They were drifters, it wouldn't have occurred to them to call her in New York.

  In accordance with Caroline's will, the ranch had been left to Sam. She had died in her sleep, without pain or problem. And Charlie suspected, as Sam did, that she just willed it to happen. She hadn't wanted to live without Bill King.

  Samantha wheeled slowly away from Charlie then and went to stare out the window. “Why would she leave me the ranch, Charlie? What the hell am I going to do with it? I can't do anything with it now.” Her voice trailed off as she thought of the happy times she had spent there, with her friend Barbara, with Caroline and Bill, and with Tate. She thought of the secret cabin, of Black Beauty, of Josh, and the tears only flowed more swiftly down her face.

  “What do you mean you can't do anything with it?” Charlie's voice questioned her, as did his eyes when she turned to face him again.

  “Because however much I may not like to admit it, however much I may try to pretend I'm normal with my job and my friends and my living alone and my taking cabs, the fact is, Charlie, as my dear mother says, I'm a cripple. What the hell would I do with a ranch? Watch them ride the horses? A ranch is for healthy people, Charlie.”

  “You're as healthy as you allow yourself to be. The horse has four legs, Sam. You don't need any. Let him do the walking. It has a lot more style than your chair.”

  “You're not funny.” She sounded angry as she said it, and she spun around and left the room.

  But five minutes later he had followed her to her office, and he wanted to discuss it, no matter how angry she got, how loud she screamed.

  “Leave me alone, dammit! A woman I loved a great deal just died and you want to bug me about how I should go out there and ride horses. Leave me alone!” She screamed the words at him but it didn't convince him.

  “No, as a matter of fact I won't. Because I think the truth is that although it's damn sad that she died, she just gave you the gift of a lifetime, not because of what the place must be worth, but because that is a dream you could live with for the rest of your life, Sam. I've watched you here since you came back, and you're as good at it as you always were, but the truth of it is, I don't think you care anymore. I don't think you want to be here. I think that ever since you fell in love with that cowboy and worked on the ranch, all you want is that, Sam. You don't want to be here. And now your friend has given it to you, all of it, lock, stock, and barrel, and suddenly you want to play cripple. Well, guess what, I think you're a coward, and I don't think you should be allowed to play that game.”

  “And how do you plan to stop me from ‘playing cripple,’ as you put it?”

  “Kick some sense into you, if I have to. Take you out there, rub your nose in it, remind you how much you love it all. Personally I think you're crazy and anything west of Poughkeepsie might as well be East Africa to me, but you, you're nuts about all that stuff. Christ, on that shoot last year, your eyes sparkled like light bulbs every time you saw a horse or a cow or talked to a foreman. It drove me nuts and you loved it, and now you're going to give all that away? What about doing something with it? What about bringing to life one of your dreams? You've talked so often to little Alex about that special riding class you'd read about once. The last time he came up here to pick you up for lunch, he told me you had said he could go riding one day, and maybe you'd take him—what about turning her ranch into a place for people like you and Alex, what about doing something like that?” Sam stared at her friend in amazement as the tears stopped rolling down her cheeks.

  “But I couldn't do that, Charlie … how would I start it, how could I? I don't know anything about all that.”

  “You could learn. You know about horses. You know something about being in a wheelchair. You'll have plenty of people to help you run the ranch, all you have to do is coordinate it, like a giant commercial, and hell, you're good at that.”

  “Charlie, you're crazy.”

  “Maybe.” He looked at her with a grin. “But tell the truth, Sam, wouldn't you enjoy being a little crazy too?”

  “Maybe,” she answered honestly. She was still staring at him with a look of amazement. “What do I do now?”

  “Why don't you go out there and look around again, Sam. Hell, you own it.”

  “Now?”

  “Whenever you have time.”

  “By myself?”

  “If you want.”

  “I don't know.” She turned away again and sat staring into space, thinking of the ranch and Aunt Caro. It would be so painful to see it again without her this time. It would be filled with memories of people she had cared about who were no longer there. “I don't want to go out there alone, Charlie. I don't think I could handle it.”

  “Then take someone with you.” He sounded matter-of-fact.

  “Who do you suggest?” She looked at him skeptically. “My mother?”

  “God forbid. Hell, I don't know, Sam, take Mellie.”

  “What about the kids?”

  “Take all of us, then. Or never mind ‘taking us,’ we'll take ourselves. The kids would love it, so would we, and I'll tell you what I think once we get there.”

  “Are you serious, Charlie?”

  “Totally. I think this will be the most important decision you've ever made, and I'd hate to see you screw it up.”

  “So would I.” She looked at him somberly and suddenly thought about something. “What about Thanksgiving?”

  “What about it?”

  “It's in three weeks, what if we all go out then?”

  He thought for a minute and then grinned at her. “You've got a deal. I'll call Mellie.”

  “Think she'll want to go?”

  “Hell yes. And if she doesn't”—he grinned—“I'll go alone.” But Mellie offered no objection when he called her, and neither did the boys when they told them, and they didn't tell anyone else. They just quietly made reservations for a four-day trip over Thanksgiving. Samantha didn't even tell Harvey. She was afraid to upset him, and she still hadn't given him an answer about the job.
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  Samantha grew strangely quiet as they drove the last miles through the rolling hills on the familiar strip of highway. But the others didn't notice. The boys were so excited, that they were jumping up and down in the rented car. Mellie had left the baby with her mother, and the trip had gone smoothly so far. It was obviously an unorthodox Thanksgiving, the grown-ups at least thought it would be worth it. They had eaten a dry little slice of turkey and some dressing on the airline, and Mellie had promised to put together a real turkey dinner the next day on the ranch.

  Samantha had spoken to Josh again only that morning. The boys were going to sleep in sleeping bags in one of the two guestrooms, and Charlie and Melinda were going to sleep in Aunt Caro's room. Sam would sleep in the room she had last had. The house was large enough to accommodate all of them, and Josh had assured her that there were groceries and that if she liked he would pick them all up at the plane in L.A. But Sam had insisted that she didn't want to spoil his Thanksgiving, she would see him when they got to the ranch. He had told her then, in his pained, halting way, how glad he was that she owned the ranch now and that he would do whatever he could to help her. He just hoped she wouldn't do something foolish like sell it, because he thought she could turn out to be one of the best damn ranchers around. She had smiled wistfully as he said it, wished him a happy Thanksgiving, and hurried to meet Mellie and Charlie and the boys in the lobby. They had had to take two cabs to the airport, and now they were crowded into a huge station wagon and the boys were singing songs.

  But all Samantha could think of as they approached the ranch was how it had been the last time she had seen it, with Caroline and Bill King strong and healthy. Then she thought back once again to her days there with Tate. It all seemed like a dream now, it was so distant, the moments of joy she had shared with him, the hours at the cabin, the rides that they took on his pinto and Caro's handsome Thoroughbred stallion. She had been able to walk then. She felt a black cloud descend on her slowly as they turned the last bend in the road and she realized once again how much everything had changed.