Lightning

by Danielle Steel

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  “He looked sad when we left.”

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

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

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

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

  Chapter 22

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  “I don't want to.”

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

  “Stop it!”

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

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

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

  “Why? What difference does it make now?”

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

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

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

  “Sorry.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

  “Like what?”

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

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

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

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

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

  “I'm glad. Is he good to you?”

  “Very.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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