Country

by Danielle Steel

  She called Charlotte in Rome first. It was two in the morning for her, and she didn’t want to call her any later, but Charlotte needed to know so she could come home the next day. There was shocked silence at the other end of the phone when Stephanie told her, a long pause, and then a long sharp scream. Jean could hear it from across the room. Stephanie sobbed as she talked to her and tried to comfort her, hating the fact that she had to tell her such terrible news over the phone without having her arms around her. She told her daughter to get the first plane home, and use her credit card for the ticket. Stephanie had given her a high enough limit on the card that she could always buy a ticket home if she needed to. She had just never expected it to be for something like this.

  “Let me know what flight you’re on,” she told Charlotte, who was her youngest, at twenty. She was much too young to lose her father. Stephanie had been in her forties when she lost her parents, which had seemed too young too. But at twenty, it was brutal. And Bill was only fifty-two. Who could have expected this to happen? And he had been in such good health, or so it seemed. As she had told Brad, his annual physical the week before had turned up nothing.

  Charlotte was still crying piteously when they hung up, and Stephanie tried to catch her breath as she continued crying too. Jean handed her a glass of water.

  “How is she?” Jean asked, looking worried.

  “Awful,” Stephanie answered simply, and pressed Michael’s number. He answered on the first ring. It was Saturday night, and he was home, cooking dinner for some friends, with his girlfriend. It was already eight-thirty at night in Atlanta, he said they were barbecuing, and his mother could hear music in the background. She told him the news as gently and directly as she could, and his voice was shaking when he asked her, “How are you, Mom? Are you okay?”

  She couldn’t speak for a minute, then said, “How soon can you come home?” She could hear that he was crying when she asked him, and then he said something muffled to someone standing next to him.

  “I’ll catch the red-eye tonight,” he said, trying to sound strong and manly for her. “Have you told the girls yet?”

  “I just called Charlotte. I wanted to tell her before it got any later, so she can catch a flight in the morning.”

  “Poor kid,” but poor him too. Poor all of them, Stephanie was thinking. Bill hadn’t been an ideal father, but he was the only one they had. And they were too young to lose him. And whatever his failings, he was someone they could rely on. Now all they had was her. The thought of it made her shudder. Everything rested on her now. It was awesome and terrifying being the only parent, no matter how competent she was. This was much worse than during their separation.

  “I’ll call Louise in a minute,” she said wanly. “You don’t have to come home tonight, Mike. You can come home tomorrow, I’ll be okay.”

  “No, I want to,” he said, still sounding tearful. He was twenty-five years old, and suddenly the only man in the family. “I’ll see you in the morning, Mom,” he said. He had to get off the phone if he was going to make the flight.

  And then she called her middle child, and older daughter, Louise, in New York. She sounded confused when her mother told her.

  “What?” She was sure that she had heard wrong. What her mother had just said sounded insane to her. Stephanie told her again, and this time she began crying and couldn’t stop. It was a long time before she could say anything to her mother. “How? That’s not possible. He’s so young, Mom.”

  “I know. I don’t understand it either.” But the doctor at the ski patrol confirmed that it had been a heart attack.

  They talked for a few minutes, and Louise said she would take the first flight out of New York in the morning. And then Stephanie turned to look at Jean. The first of the horrible tasks was done. Now all her children knew. Stephanie felt as if she’d been hit by a bus, as Jean handed her a cup of tea.

  “Why don’t you lie down for a little while? There’s nothing you need to do right now. The kids have been told. You can deal with the rest tomorrow. I’ll come over first thing and help you.” And then she asked, “Do you want me to stay here tonight?” Stephanie thought about it and then shook her head.

  “I’ll be okay,” she said sadly. She didn’t really want anyone staying there. She wanted time to think. So much had happened. She hadn’t been able to absorb it yet. Nothing made any sense. She was sure that Bill would walk in any minute, and tell her it was all a joke. But the look on her friend’s face told her it was all too true.

  They went up to her bedroom and talked for a while. And then Fred rang the bell. Jean let him in, and he brought Bill and Stephanie’s suitcases and skis inside and left them in the hall. He didn’t know what else to do.

  And finally, around eight o’clock, Fred and Jean left and went back to Hillsborough. Jean promised to come back in the morning. And Alyson called several times that night, and offered to come over. But Stephanie knew the au pair had gone home, and she had no one for her kids. She promised to come in the morning too.

  It was the longest night of Stephanie’s life. She couldn’t sleep. All she could think about was Bill, and what had gone wrong between them for all those years. Suddenly she felt guilty for not working harder to forgive him and repair the damage, but he hadn’t either. They had been two lost people, treading water for seven years, after the ship went down.

  Jean was back at eight-thirty the next morning, and Alyson showed up shortly after. Stephanie was working on the obituary, and she called the funeral home. She had to go in to pick the casket and make arrangements, plan the funeral, pick programs and meet with the minister at the church, and call the florist. There were so many things to do. Between the three of them, they got most of it organized by ten that morning. And as soon as they did, Michael arrived, he hadn’t been able to get on a red-eye the night before, and both women went downstairs, while Stephanie and her son cried in each other’s arms.

  Louise arrived an hour later, from New York. And Charlotte was due to land at one. Jean stayed to do whatever she could to help, and Alyson went home to her kids, but promised to come back later.

  And when Louise walked in, she sobbed in her mother’s arms about what an amazing father Bill had been. Jean said nothing but couldn’t help noticing that in death Bill had become a saint, to his children at least. She couldn’t imagine that Stephanie was thinking the same thing.

  Michael went to the airport to pick up his younger sister when she arrived from Rome, and by three o’clock all of Stephanie’s children were home, all looking shell-shocked and mourning their father. Jean went to the funeral home with her to pick the casket, and then they went to the church to meet with the minister. It was Sunday, and they set the funeral for Tuesday, at three p.m. The obituary Stephanie had written was to run the next day.

  “There’s so much to do,” Stephanie said to Jean as they drove back to the house, “my head is spinning.”

  “Let me call the florist for you,” Jean offered, and Stephanie nodded, looking dazed.

  “Do we need to call people and tell them?” Stephanie asked her, not sure what to do.

  “Just call his office tomorrow. Everyone will read it in the paper.” Stephanie nodded. Her children were waiting when they got home, and Jean went back to Hillsborough, promising to return the next day.

  The four of them had dinner in the kitchen that night, and sat for hours afterward talking about their father, as Stephanie listened to them tell stories of what a hero he had been, and what a great father to them. There was a disconnect somewhere, she knew, but she couldn’t locate it just yet and didn’t want to. They sat there late into the night, alternately crying and singing his praises, and then finally everyone went to bed. Stephanie had never been so exhausted in her life. Half the time she was in searing emotional pain and the other half she was numb.

  The next day was more of the same, with more details to take care of. Everyone at Bill’s office was shocked, and all of his partners called Stephanie. Jea
n went shopping and arrived with dresses for them to wear to the funeral, and miraculously everything fit. None of them had had properly serious black dresses to wear for a funeral, as the bereaved family of the deceased.

  The day of the funeral dawned gray and rainy. Jean had called a caterer to be there when people came to the house after the service. And three hundred people trouped through their house, as Stephanie stood pale and brave and her children cried all day.

  She was finally alone with Jean for a few minutes after everyone left, and she stared at her friend in shocked disbelief.

  “Everybody loved him so much. They all have stories about what a great guy he was. I never knew he had that many friends.” Stephanie looked confused as she lay on her bed, and Jean sat down in a chair across the room.

  “People always become saints after they’re gone. No one remembers the bad things they did. And to his friends, Bill was a good guy, even if he wasn’t great to you. No one’s going to remember that now, or say it to you. Least of all your kids.” She had heard them talking all afternoon about what a wonderful father he’d been, and Michael had given a eulogy in glowing praise of his father.

  “He never did anything for the kids,” Stephanie said softly, as though she were afraid someone would hear her. “I had to push him into everything he did.”

  “I know. You always made him look like a hero. That’s all they want to remember now.” Stephanie fell silent as she thought about it, wondering if she was confused too. Maybe he had been a better husband than she thought. What was true—what people were saying about him now, or the distance and disconnect they had lived with for years after he cheated on her? “Don’t try to figure it out. It doesn’t matter right now. Just get through this. How long are the kids staying?”

  “Louise has to be back at work by the end of the week, and Michael has a big meeting in Atlanta on Friday. Charlotte has exams this week, she’s leaving tomorrow night.” Jean realized from what she said that Stephanie would be alone by the weekend, in the deafening silence of her empty house. She hated to think of her alone.

  “It would be nice if they could stay at least till Sunday,” Jean said, looking pensive. But sooner or later, Stephanie would have to face the fact that she was alone now. Bill had died just at the point in life where kids are gone, and you want to count on your husband being there while you got old. Instead, Stephanie was a widow at forty-eight, with kids who were grown and gone and lived in other cities. And Jean knew that however lacking Bill had been, or inadequate their relationship in recent years, it was going to be very, very tough on her.

  She left a little while later, and Stephanie spent the evening with her children. They all agreed that the funeral had been beautiful, although to Stephanie it seemed like a blur. She couldn’t even remember who was there.

  After spending the day together, Charlotte left for Rome the following afternoon, Louise the next day, and Michael on the red-eye to Atlanta that night. It was over. Bill was dead, they had buried him, and their children had gone back to their own lives and worlds, and after she drove Michael to the airport on Thursday night, Stephanie came back to her empty house, sat down on a chair in the entrance hall, and sobbed. She had never felt so alone in her life.

  Chapter 3

  For the next several weeks, Stephanie wandered around her house like a ghost. She lay on her bed for hours, thinking about Bill, wondering what had gone wrong between them, and why. She called her children every day, and it was strange talking to them. They were mourning a father they had never really had. The perfect father, who had always been there for them. Louise even attributed things to him that Stephanie had always done, and Bill never had. It was confusing and upsetting listening to them, and she said as much to Jean when they had lunch three weeks after he died. She looked as though she had lost about ten pounds, and Jean wondered if she had been eating.

  “I don’t know who we’re talking about when I talk to them, or what to say. All those times I covered for him, all the things I did to make him look like a good guy to them, when he was too busy to care what any of us were doing, or even show up. And now suddenly, according to them, he was there at every game, went to every recital and play. Charlotte even told me he used to pick them up at school all the time, and I never did. What am I supposed to say? Do I tell the truth, or leave them their fantasies? I know this sounds crazy, but it even sounds like they’re mad at me for being alive, and sorry I’m not the one who died.”

  “They’re just angry, Steph. And it’s safe to take it out on you.”

  “Well, I’m not enjoying it a lot. The truth is that he loved them even if he didn’t show up. But the reality is he didn’t. He didn’t show up for me either.” But he had done other things that mattered. He had left her and their children well provided for, with sound investments, a house that had increased in value, a trust for each of the children, and large insurance policies that not only covered the estate taxes but left all three children and her a sizable amount. He had been a responsible person, although he had failed her abysmally as a husband, and had been an absentee father, which no one chose to remember. Jean wasn’t surprised.

  “That’s just the way it works. At least you’re all secure. At his age, he might not have done that.” But now Stephanie had to figure out what to do with the rest of her life. She didn’t have a clue. And unless she visited her children in their respective cities, she wouldn’t see them until Thanksgiving, which was more than eight months away. At least when he was alive, she knew Bill would eventually come home every night and fall into bed beside her, even if they didn’t talk to each other. Now she didn’t even have that. She had nothing and no one. No one to take care of, or do errands for, or have dinner with on the weekends. And what if she got sick? If something happened to her? Who would be there for her now, or go to the emergency room with her if she got hurt? She felt totally alone. And just trying to say it to Jean made her cry. She hadn’t stopped crying in three weeks. She wasn’t even sure if she was crying for him, or herself. And she was scared. She suddenly felt so vulnerable.

  “The truth is you’re the one who always held up the world around here. He didn’t. He was always working,” Jean reminded her, to give her back some perspective. Stephanie thought about it for a long moment and then nodded as she blew her nose.

  “I guess you’re right. That was always my job. But at least I knew he was around. Now he’s not.”

  “You’ll be okay,” Jean reassured her gently. “It’s just a big change to get used to. Why don’t we all have dinner next week?” she suggested, and Stephanie hesitated, wondering if it would make her feel worse. She didn’t feel ready to go out yet. “It would do you good. You can’t sit here forever in ratty jeans, waiting for him to come home. He’s not going to, Steph. You have to get on with your life.” But it felt too soon to do that. And she was lying awake at night now, thinking about the affair he had had, and how angry she had been at him. And suddenly for no reason, she was angry at him all over again, which made no sense. The affair had been seven years before, and now he was dead. And getting angry at him served no purpose. But she was angry anyway. It was eating at her night and day.

  In desperation, after not sleeping for weeks, she finally went back to Dr. Zeller, the therapist she’d seen seven years before, when they first split up after she discovered the affair. The therapist was glad to see her. She had heard about Bill, and read the obituary, and she told Stephanie how sorry she was.

  “Thank you,” Stephanie said, looking subdued, as she sat in the familiar chair across from the older woman’s desk. She was tired of hearing people tell her how sorry they were about her “loss.” It was such an easy buyout of any real emotion or compassion, and such an infuriatingly trite word. She had said that to Jean too.

  “How are you feeling now?” Dr. Zeller asked. It had only been a month since Bill had died at Squaw Valley. It was still hard to believe. Some days she felt as though he’d only been gone for minutes, and at other ti
mes as though he’d been gone for years. The kids were still a mess, and singing his praises every chance they got, whenever she called them. And Louise and Charlotte had an edge in their voices whenever they spoke to her. She tried to explain how bad it made her feel.

  “Suddenly, he has become perfect, and I’m some sort of bad guy because I’m still alive.”

  “It’s easier to be angry at you for surviving than at him for dying,” Dr. Zeller said simply. “They’ll get their perspective back eventually, but it will take a while. And it’s less painful to believe he was perfect than to admit the truth, particularly since that truth can’t be changed now. They can’t make him a better father, or more interested in them. Now that will never change. They lost the hope of a better relationship with him when he died. They don’t want to remember the truth right now.”

  “So they need to beat me up,” Stephanie said ruefully, smiling at her.

  “Yes, they do.” The therapist smiled back. “What about you? How do you feel about him now? How have things been since the affair?”

  “It was never the same again. I guess I never forgave him. I thought I had, but now I realize that maybe I didn’t. And all of a sudden I’m obsessed with it again. I think about it all the time, and I’m furious with him. It’s like it happened yesterday.”

  “Your chance to fix that is gone now too,” she reminded her. “Why did you stay with him, Stephanie, if you felt that way?”

  “For the kids,” she answered quickly. “Neither of us wanted to break up our family. The girlfriend decided to stay with her husband, so he came back to me, and we both thought it was better for the kids.” She looked mournful as she said it, and felt angry again. It showed in her eyes.

  “So you don’t think he came back because he wanted to stay married to you and loved you?”

  “Not really. If she had left her husband, he would have married her. He wanted to. She was the one who backed out.”