Lightning

by Danielle Steel

  “I'll hold you to that, you know,” and then, feeling very vulnerable and battered, it had been a rough day since he'd last seen her, “I missed you.”

  “I missed you too,” she said very softly, sounding sexier than ever. “How was Thanksgiving?”

  “Pretty grim. I don't really want to talk about it. She was sick. It was hard on everyone, Annabelle most of all … I don't know … we had a long talk tonight. I'll tell you all about it.” But just listening to him, she knew that something was different. He seemed freer suddenly, and much more open. He sounded tired, and sad, but he didn't sound as anxious or conflicted.

  “Come on up, before you freeze.”

  “I'll be there.”

  He was less than a block away, and he ran all the way to her door. Suddenly, he knew that it was the only place he wanted to be. It was the only place he had wanted to be ever since he met her. She was so healthy and young, so beautiful, and so perfect.

  He pressed the buzzer downstairs, and she buzzed him in, and he bounded up the steps like a teenager, and then stopped as he saw her standing in the doorway. Her luxurious black hair hung past her shoulders, concealing one breast, and leaving the other bare. She wore a delicate white cotton nightgown, with tiny embroideries on it, which you could see through completely. Her entire body was revealed to him as she stood there, and then without a word, he went to her, and pulled her inside, and closed the door behind them.

  The apartment was cozy and warm, and he pulled the nightgown over her head, without waiting a moment, he brushed back her silky dark hair, and stood admiring her in all her splendor, the perfect breasts, the tiny waist, the long, graceful legs, and the exquisite place where they came together.

  “Oh my God …” was all he said. There was only one small light on in the bedroom, and he laid her on the feather bed she had brought with her from England. She was beautiful beyond his dreams, sensual beyond all his expectations, experienced beyond anything he could realize and she brought him to the edge of ecstasy and back again, and felt him explode inside her half a dozen times before morning. It was the most extraordinary night of his life. He had made a fire in the fireplace, and made love to her on the floor in front of it, and then on the bed again, and then finally in the bathtub. They had made love before the dawn, and again after it, and when they awoke at noon, he couldn't believe that he wanted her again, and was still capable of doing anything about it. But she let her silky lips drift across his stomach down his thighs, and then back up between his legs until they found what they were looking for and he craved, and this time he came in her mouth with a shuddering furor.

  “Oh God …Daphne …you're going to kill me …” he murmured happily, “…but what a way to die….” He took her in his arms and held her there, unable to believe his good fortune. They had waited months for this, and he hadn't wanted to come to her until he was free of Alex. But now he knew that he was, he had to be. There was no other woman he wanted in the world now, except Daphne.

  “I love you,” he whispered as she drifted off to sleep in his arms again, with her back to him, and her perfectly round bottom pressed against him, but this time, he was truly sated.

  “I love you too,” she whispered back, smiling. He had been well worth waiting for. She had always known he would be. He cupped her breasts with his hands then, and thought of how lucky he was, and he drifted off to sleep with her, trying not to let himself think of Alex.

  Chapter 14

  If nothing else, out of sheer politeness, Sam called Alex late Friday afternoon and told her he wouldn't be home for the rest of the weekend. He didn't say where he was and she didn't ask any questions. He said he'd call her and check in, and then he spoke to Annabelle and said he'd miss her. He wondered if Alex knew where he was, or why, but he didn't let himself think of it. After that, he and Daphne went to Bloomingdale's and he bought half a dozen shirts, some jeans, corduroy pants, a jacket, socks, some underwear, and a sweater. And then they went to the drugstore and bought a razor and all the toiletries he needed. He didn't want to go home just yet, he didn't want to see them. He wanted to be completely alone with Daphne.

  He cooked dinner for Daphne that night, and she pretended to help him, but she insisted on wandering in and out of the kitchen stark naked. And in the end, he almost burned their dinner. They left it in the microwave and went to bed. And at midnight, she made him an omelet. But most of their time was spent exploring each other's bodies, and preferences. They talked long into the night and he made popcorn and they watched old movies, but they kept missing the essential parts of the plot when he made love to her again, and they kept coming back just as the film was ending.

  They spent another extraordinary night in each other's arms, and by Saturday morning it was as though they had always been lovers. He knew he wanted to stay with her, and spend the rest of his life with her. All he had to do now was deal with Alex.

  “What do you want to do today?” he asked as they stretched lazily, and the prospect of making love all day crossed his mind again, but he thought they should at least make an effort to do something.

  “Can you ice skate?” Daphne asked, looking like a child as she sat up in bed next to him, but a very well-endowed one.

  “I was on the hockey team at Harvard,” he said proudly.

  “Shall we do that?”

  It was like starting life all over again. She was so young and so alive. She had no responsibilities and no burdens. They went to Wollman Memorial in Central Park, and he found that she was a very good skater. They danced, and spun around, and did loops around each other. She did very pretty camel spins, and he was impressed. And then he took her to lunch at Tavern-on-the-Green, but by two o'clock they were back in bed again, feeling as though they had been separated forever.

  “What are we going to do about work?” he asked as they lay side by side after making love for the second time at four-thirty. “I'm not sure I can stay away from you long enough to get up and go to the office.” Not to mention the fact that he had told Alex that he would live at home for the next two months and talk about their relationship again in January after Annabelle's birthday. That had been before he had made love to Daphne. Now everything had changed again. But he still thought he should live by his agreement.

  He had already explained it to Daphne the day before, and she thought it a very reasonable solution.

  “It would be awfully hard on your little girl if you suddenly disappeared, particularly right before Christmas,” Daphne said sympathetically. He was glad that she saw it that way. It made it a lot easier for him. But she had always been very patient with him, right from the beginning.

  “I can't wait for you to meet her.”

  “Slowly, my darling, slowly,” she said, describing the sexual tortures she designed for him a few moments later. All thoughts of their families disappeared in an instant. But later that night she told him that she was taking her son skiing in Switzerland for a week at Christmas. It would make die choice of who to be with over the holidays a little easier for him, and he suggested he meet her after her son went back to his father. They agreed on a week in Gstaad, followed by a few days in Paris.

  It was a weekend of making plans and becoming friends, and falling in love as he told himself he never had before, but that was only because he was trying to forget Alex.

  And she was trying to forget him too. She spent a quiet weekend with Annabelle, trying to marshal her forces. She was still sick, but she didn't throw up quite as often. Liz called to see how she was, and a couple of friends called her too, having heard the rumors. But she didn't feel like seeing anyone, and she couldn't help wondering where Sam had gone, if he was alone, or just hiding. Annabelle seemed willing to accept the story that he had gone away on a business trip, even on Thanksgiving weekend.

  Sam never came home on Sunday night, although she thought he would, but she wasn't worried about it. She was sad, but not really concerned. He had called Annabelle a couple of times over the weekend,
but Alex hadn't talked to him. She had just handed the phone to her daughter, and tried not to think about her husband.

  It was actually a relief when Monday rolled around, and she could go back to work and try to forget her problems.

  And after she dropped Annabelle off at school, she got to the office and felt better. Everyone looked rested and happier after the long weekend. Even Alex did, although it certainly hadn't been a good one.

  “How was the holiday?” Brock asked, as they worked that afternoon. He had had a great time in Connecticut with his friends, although he'd gotten a lot of bruises, he said, playing touch football.

  “Honestly?” She smiled cautiously in answer to his question about the weekend. “It stank. I think Sam and I have finally figured out that it's not going to work anymore. The party's over. I was sick as a dog on Thanksgiving, and he was mad as hell. I keep thinking it reminds him of when his mother was dying and she took them all down with her, but he won't admit it. He just gets crazy and behaves like an asshole.

  “Anyway, we've agreed to go our separate ways, while living under one roof, which should be a challenge. I don't have the energy to argue about it. We're going to review the situation in seven weeks, after Annabelle's birthday.”

  “That sounds very civilized.”

  “I guess it is,” she said sadly. “Actually, I think it sounds pathetic. It's amazing what two people can do to each other when they really try. I never thought this would happen to us, but I guess life is full of surprises.” She felt tired and old, and unable to fight him. She just didn't feel up to it. Although for the next two weeks she felt a lot better than she had before that. She had stopped taking the pills, according to her treatment plan, and she wasn't due for another intravenous treatment until two weeks before Christmas.

  But when she started them again, she was just as sick as she had been the first time. It overwhelmed her particularly, because with all the problems in her life, she hadn't done her Christmas shopping, and suddenly she realized she just couldn't. She had the F.A.O. Schwarz catalog on her desk, and she had circled several things, but she didn't have the energy to shop for clothes or little gifts for Annabelle and Sam, or anything for her friends or colleagues.

  “I feel like shit,” she admitted to Brock, as she lay on the couch in her office. He was used to seeing her that way now, and sometimes she worked with him while she lay down, and evaluated the information he gave her.

  “What can I do for you?” he asked sympathetically. “Do you want me to do some shopping?”

  “Since when do you have time for that?” They were both buried in an avalanche of new cases. She had passed a couple on to Matt, but she and Brock were trying to cover the others.

  “I could go at night. The stores are open late. Why don't you give me a shopping list?” But she didn't even have time to answer him. She fled to the bathroom, throwing up, and it was half an hour later before she left the bathroom and could talk again.

  And the following week, she had another intravenous treatment, which left her even weaker. It was only a week before Christmas, and she still hadn't bought a single present. But by then, Liz and Brock took the matter out of her hands for her. She was so sick that she had to stay home for a day, and Liz came and picked up her list at the apartment. She was sad to see her so ill. And when she got there, she found Alex in tears. She had been standing in front of her bathroom mirror and crying. Her hair was coming out in clumps, and she had fistfuls of long red hair in her hands when she came to the door to let Liz in.

  “Look what's happening to me,” she sobbed. She knew that it had been a strong possibility, but she hadn't even had time to buy the wig Dr. Webber had suggested. She had spent the morning throwing up, and then gone to the mirror to see that her hair was falling out in bunches. “I can't stand it,” she sobbed, as Liz held her in her arms, trying to console her. “Why did this happen to me? It's not fair.” She was crying like a child, and Liz was glad she had come instead of Brock. He idolized her and it would have broken his heart to see her.

  Liz led her into the living room, after Alex threw the hair away, and she sat sobbing in her bathrobe. She looked terrible, her face was pale, her eyes were red, there was a new puffiness to her face that one couldn't quite put a finger on, but something about her was different. She was still beautiful but she looked sick, very sick, and desperately unhappy.

  “You have to be strong,” Liz reminded her firmly, determined not to let her wallow in self-pity.

  “I have been strong,” Alex almost shouted at her, still sobbing. “And what's it done for me? Sam is as good as gone, I never even see him anymore. He comes in at midnight, or he doesn't come in at all, he lives in the guest room like a stranger, and the only time I ever see him is with my daughter. I'm sick all the time, she's scared of me now, and wait till she sees me without hair. The poor kid isn't even four years old yet, and she has a monster for a mother.”

  “Stop it!” Liz snapped at her, and surprised Alex. “You have a lot to be grateful for, and this isn't going to last forever. You have five more months of this to get through, and then, if you're lucky, it'll be all over. And if Sam is a casualty of real life, then to hell with him. You have to think of yourself now, and your daughter. No one else. Do you understand that?” Alex nodded and blew her nose, surprised by the older woman's sternness, but she knew exactly what she was talking about. She'd been through it. Her husband had been more supportive of her than Sam but it had been her fight, and no one else's, and she said as much to Alex.

  “Chemotherapy is miserable, and losing a breast is a terrible thing, but you can't give up. Your hair will grow back, you won't be throwing up forever. You have to look beyond this. Think of what you want to be doing in five months. Keep your mind on that, and not this, hold something out to yourself as a goal,” she suggested wisely.

  “Not throwing up anymore would be a great place to start.”

  “You'll get used to it eventually. That's a terrible thing to say, but it's true. Even that you can handle.”

  “I know. I find myself on the bathroom floor now, kind of expecting to be there. It doesn't surprise me anymore.” And then she looked stricken again. “But losing my hair does. I know I should have expected it, but I guess I didn't.”

  “Have you bought a wig yet?”

  “I didn't have time,” Alex said, feeling sad and stupid.

  “I'll get you one. A nice red one like your own hair.” Liz patted her shoulder. “Now where's this Christmas list of yours? I'm going to do what I can today, and then Brock and I are going to divide the rest of it tonight, and see if we can't get it all taken care of. I can finish it for you this weekend.” And Carmen had already promised to stay late to wrap the gifts. They were incredible. Who would have thought three months before that the three most important people in her life would turn out to be her housekeeper, her secretary, and her associate at the law firm? But they were all godsends. And she couldn't have made it without them.

  She also would never have expected Sam to fail her. He hardly ever came home, and he stayed away from her, as though he couldn't handle it at all anymore. But whenever she saw him, he looked like he was hurrying out, and he was well dressed and looked very handsome.

  Brock and Liz both came by late that night, with a treasure trove of goodies. She had called Brock at work and asked him to pick out a really nice handbag for Liz at Saks. He had bought a beautiful black lizard one, and they both agreed she was going to love it. They had bought beautiful things, and after Liz left, Brock stayed for a while, and had a cup of tea with her in her kitchen.

  “Thank you for doing all this. I feel like such a burden to everyone.” But she had no choice, and she knew it. She had to accept that.

  “It's not such a big deal,” he said quietly. “Going Christmas shopping for a friend is not exactly like climbing Mount Kilimanjaro, though I might do that for you too. But you'd have to give me a little warning.”

  She smiled gratefully at him, he
had been such a good friend, and it meant a lot to her. Staying home for a day had done her good too, and she didn't feel quite as rocky. But she was still feeling sensitive about her hair. She was wearing an Hermes scarf when they dropped by, and Liz had warned him about what had happened. She had wanted to get a wig for her, but she hadn't seen any decent ones, and Alex had said that she was going to get one the next morning.

  “Are you alone here now?” Brock asked, referring to Sam, but she understood and shrugged.

  “Most of the time.” In the past three weeks, he had traveled a lot and not come home much of the time. She hardly ever saw him. “I'm getting used to it. I think it's harder on Annabelle, though she sees more of him than I do.”

  Brock realized it was going to be a tough Christmas for her, with her marriage on the rocks, and her health so frail, and now losing her hair as well as a breast. He felt sorry for her, and wished he could have changed it for her. He had been planning to go skiing in Vermont between Christmas and New Year's, and wondered if he should have offered to stay in town and keep her company, but he didn't think she'd accept it. And then he had a better idea.

  “This might sound a little strange, but would you like to come to Vermont with me between Christmas and New Year's?” Knowing her treatment schedule as well as he did, it was easy to figure out that she would be in the better phase, when she was taking neither pills nor IV treatments. “You could bring Annabelle too. I'm staying in a house I borrow from friends every year, at Sugarbush. It's very rustic, but it's comfortable. You could sit by the fire all day, and I could put Annabelle in ski school.”

  “Actually I think Sam is taking her away with him before he goes to Europe. I think they're going to Disney World.” But she couldn't imagine going to Vermont with Brock, no matter how sympathetic he was or how well she knew him. And Brock could easily see her hesitation.

  “Why don't you think about it? It'll be lonely for you here.”