Lightning

by Danielle Steel

  “With whom?” she asked stupidly, feeling her heart pound and hating herself for lying as she ate her sandwich.

  “Your husband,” he said coolly. He knew. He had good instincts.

  “Sam?” She paused, prepared to lie finally, and then decided not to. She owed Brock more than that and she knew it. But his jealousy scared her. But so did her feelings. The worst thing was that she loved both of them, and she knew it. She owed Sam for years past, and Brock for the past year. But what did she owe herself? That was the question she just couldn't answer. “He wanted to have dinner to talk about Annabelle … I didn't think you'd mind,” she said, lying to him again, but he knew it. She felt so uncomfortable and so confused. She wanted to hate Sam for it, but she didn't.

  “Why didn't you tell me?” Brock asked her, looking worried and unhappy.

  “Because I was scared,” she said honestly, “that you'd be angry, and I wanted to see him.” It was hard telling him the truth, but she knew she had to.

  “Why did you want to see him?”

  “Because he's going away for a long time, and I feel sorry for him, and as you put it, he's still my husband.” She looked sad and confused and unhappy. And her eyes told their own story.

  “Did he kiss you?” He was no fool. And his jealousy jumped out on his skin like gooseflesh.

  “Brock, stop it.” She tried to avoid him but he wouldn't let her.

  “You didn't answer my question.” He was pushing at her, pressing her, daring her to answer, and then finally she snapped, mostly out of guilt, but also out of anger.

  “What difference does it make?”

  “It makes a difference to me.” She almost wondered if he'd followed them, but she didn't think he'd do that.

  “All right, I kissed him. So what? That's all that happened.”

  “That guy is a real sonofabitch,” he blazed, as he stormed around her office. “He's going to jail, and he wants to get you wound up again. What does he want? For you to wait for him for twenty years? How nice for you. What a great guy he is, or don't you see that? He's completely selfish.”

  “Okay, you win, he's selfish. But he's also human, and scared, and in his own way, he loves me.”

  “And do you love him?”

  “I was married to him for eighteen years, that's worth something. Friendship, if nothing else. I think all he wants is to make peace before he goes, to heal old wounds, and settle his affairs. He knows he's going. He's not trying to take me with him. He filed for divorce, didn't he?”

  “And if he doesn't go?” He turned suddenly on her, and she was startled.

  “He's not going to get off, Brock. He doesn't have a chance of that. You know that.”

  “And if he did, would you stay married to him? Would you go back?” It was a difficult question, and she didn't want to answer it. For herself as much as him. There was no chance of his not going to prison. She knew that and so did Sam. Phillip Smith had left him no illusions. But the issue was not whether or not Sam was going to prison. The issue was not that simple.

  “It doesn't have anything to do with that. If I really loved him, I'd be with him, whether or not he went to prison. I'm with you, Brock. That must mean something.”

  “It does, but when he's gone, he'll be writing to you, wanting you to visit. You're still in love with him, Alex. Why don't you just face it?” He was hard on her, and she was angry at him for it. He wanted everything all at once, and life didn't work that way. She knew that better than he did.

  “It takes old wounds time to heal, Brock. It doesn't happen in an instant. Be patient.”

  “Why don't you admit what you're feeling? I think you're going to go back to him.”

  “Why don't you grow up, Brock, and stop pushing?” she snapped at him in answer.

  “Because I love you.” There were tears in his eyes suddenly when he said it. He loved her, and he wanted her, but there was no use denying that she still loved Sam. She did, and he knew it. He just didn't know what she'd want to do about it, in spite of all her denials.

  She clung to him then, and they both cried. Nothing was ever simple. But she wanted to explain to Brock that she needed time to mourn Sam, and to change the subject, she started talking about his sister. And as soon as she did, he looked stricken. She asked him why, but at first, he wouldn't tell her, and then finally he knew he had to. He had meant to for a long time, but it had been better not to, for her sake. It had been particularly difficult when he and Alex talked about getting married, and she said she wanted to invite his sister.

  “My sister's dead, Alex,” he said miserably. “She's been dead for ten years. She had just what you had. She had a mastectomy, and chemo, and she couldn't take it. It was too hard for her, and she decided to stop the chemo, and die instead. Actually, her cancer had already spread before they took her breast off. But she gave up.” He started to cry as he remembered, and Alex stared at him in silent amazement. He had never told her. He had encouraged her to believe that his sister had made it, so she would stick with her treatment. “She just quit. She wouldn't take the chemo. It took her a year to die … I was twenty-one, and I took care of her for a year. I wanted to make her live, but she was just too sick. And her husband was a real bastard, like Sam.” He looked at her pointedly. “He never lifted a finger for her till she died, and he remarried six months later. She was thirty-two, and so beautiful …” He sat silent for a long time, as Alex held him and cried for both of them.

  “Oh God, I'm so sorry, why didn't you tell me?” She felt terrible. He had given her so much hope, and now she realized all he must have gone through with his sister.

  “I didn't want you to give up,” Brock explained, as he wiped away tears, remembering his sister, and loving Alex more than ever. In a way, loving Alex had been like a second chance to save her. And in some ways, Alex was a great deal like her.

  “That's why I kept wanting you to do your chemo … I didn't want it to happen to you, and I didn't want you to know she'd died, or I thought you'd give up, like she did.”

  “You should have told me.” He said nothing, he only sat quietly remembering, as Alex watched him. “I should have known,” Alex reproached herself, as he blew his nose in a paper napkin she handed him. She wondered what else he hadn't told her, but not telling her about his sister had been a kindness.

  “I'm just so scared,” he admitted to her as they sat in her office. “I'm so scared you'll go back to him … he still loves you. I saw it all over his face … I can't stand seeing you with him.” She knew what he said was true, about Sam loving her. And she couldn't change it. She knew she loved Sam too. But it was too late. It was over. And he'd be gone soon, and then she wouldn't have to see him anymore, or ask herself what she felt. It would only be memories, and regrets, and disappointments. And the happier memories from before she got sick. But those were the memories Brock was afraid of.

  They went back to work after that, and the next day she had to get ready for Annabelle's birthday. But she knew Sam would come too, and she hoped Brock wouldn't go crazy. In the end, he decided it would be easier for everyone if he wasn't there. And Alex didn't disagree with him, although Annabelle was disappointed.

  “I wonder how old I'll be when I get out,” Sam said matter-of-factly, as he ate birthday cake, and Alex groaned at the lack of subtlety. Sometimes he couldn't resist a little dark humor, but ever since their dinner together, he seemed in better spirits.

  “A hundred, I hope, and too old to remember you ever knew me,” she answered.

  “Don't count on it.” And then, as he set the cake down, “I'd like to have dinner with you again next week, before sentencing, if that's convenient. There are a lot of details about Annabelle I want to go over with you. I still have some money set aside for her support and education.” He had sold the apartment the month before, some of it was going to pay for his attorneys, and the rest he wanted to give to Alex for their daughter.

  “Can I trust you?” she asked, and he laughed. The p
roblem was she couldn't trust herself. The trouble was that neither of them could be trusted, and she knew it. He was still so attractive to her, but she had promised herself she would never give in to him. She was Brock's now.

  “You can bring a bodyguard if you like, just don't bring the boy wonder.”

  “Stop calling him that. His name is Brock.” Sam could at least be respectful of him. He was wonderful to their daughter.

  “Sorry. I didn't realize you were so sensitive about him.” And with a sad look, he touched her arm, serious finally, as she was. “Will he be Annabelle's stepfather?”

  “I think so,” she said softly. They loved each other deeply, although things had been tense lately because of Sam, but she assumed that once Sam was gone, things would go back to normal. Gone. She hated the sound of that word now. Gone. Sam would be gone forever.

  “Will you have dinner with me anyway?” he pressed, and she nodded.

  “I'll try.”

  “I don't have much time, Alex. Don't play games with me. Monday night at the Carlyle?”

  “All right. I'll be there.”

  “Thank you.”

  But when she told Brock this time, he hit the ceiling.

  “Oh for heaven's sake. I could have lied to you, and I didn't.”

  “Why does he have to see you?”

  “Because he wants to give me money for Annabelle. That's a perfectly reasonable explanation,” and she believed him.

  “Tell him to send you a check.”

  “No,” she said angrily, she was tired of his jealous tantrums. He had been a lot better behaved when she'd been throwing up on the floor of her office. “Stop behaving like a four-year-old, and work this one out for yourself. I'm having dinner with my ex-husband.” She slammed the door to her bedroom then, and when she came out again, he was gone. He had gone back to his own apartment, and for once, she wasn't even sorry. He was putting too much pressure on her.

  She arrived on schedule on Monday night at Sam's suite at the Carlyle Hotel, and he looked very serious in a dark gray suit and a white shirt, and navy Hermes tie. He had spent the afternoon with his lawyers, but he hadn't seen Alex at the law firm.

  “How'd it go today?” she asked casually, sitting down on the couch, and noticing that he looked very tired. He was looking older lately, understandably. He was incredibly strained over what was about to happen.

  “It didn't go too well,” he answered simply, “Phillip Smith thinks the judge is going to put me away for quite a while, which brings me to why we're here.” He took out two checks and put them on the table. “I got a million eight for the apartment last month. And after paying a few debts Miss Daphne Belrose left me with, and the agents' fees, I am left with a million five. I am giving you five hundred thousand here for Annabelle, and anything you might need for her. I want you to put it in trust for her. And I'm keeping five hundred thousand for me if I ever get out of jail again. And the last five hundred thousand is for you, as a settlement, if you want to call it that. You deserve more than that, but that's all that's left, kiddo. The business had nothing left but debts, and responsibilities for the money they embezzled.”

  “Good Lord,” she was stunned. “I don't want money from you, Sam.” She looked genuinely startled.

  “You deserve it.”

  “For what? Being married to you? Hell, I should get a lot more than that,” she heckled him, and he laughed. “Never mind. I can't take this from you. Keep it, or give it to Annabelle.” But he wouldn't agree to either plan. He wanted her to keep it. But she already knew she would put it back in an account for him, he was going to need it a lot more than she did. She had her job, and her needs had never been very expensive.

  He ordered dinner for them after that. Steak for himself and fish for Alex. She was careful about her diet. And they chatted easily about a variety of things, like old friends, and they stayed away from the subjects of court or prisons. She was glad she had come. The evening was entirely civilized. He had calmed down considerably in the past couple of weeks, he didn't pressure her, and he didn't lay a hand on her until she put her coat on, and then very gently he bent down to her and kissed her.

  “Good night …thank you for coming …” he said, and kissed her again, and she didn't move. She was always stunned by her own inability to resist him. There was something about the familiarity of him that was mesmerizing. It was as though, even after all this time, she had to be with him.

  “We'd better stop this now,” she said softly, and then, stunned at herself, she put her arms around his neck and kissed him, just for old times' sake, she told herself. It didn't mean anything except to them. And Brock Stevens.

  “Why stop now?” he whispered, and she laughed, as he kissed her again.

  “I'm trying to remember,” she said, feeling guilty, but enjoying it anyway. And there was something very odd about feeling guilty with him. After all, he was still her husband. But Brock had made such a fuss about him. And it wasn't right for them to be kissing. She was involved with Brock, and she and Sam were divorcing.

  “I love you,” he whispered, and she suddenly drew back from him, as though she realized it could go no further. She didn't want anyone to get hurt, or to let Sam hurt her again. But at the look in her eyes, he pulled her closer, and felt her heart pounding against his. And this time, when he kissed her, it wasn't gentle. It was urgent. In two days he would be leaving for decades, and he would never hold her again, and they both knew it. Gently he unbuttoned her coat and dropped it on a chair behind her, as she reminded herself to resist him. And then ever so carefully, he ran a hand up her right side, feeling the familiar breast that had nursed his daughter. He was careful not to touch the left, and then his hands touched her, he looked startled and she smiled at him, amused at his surprise over the implant.

  “It grew back,” she said wickedly, and he looked embarrassed. It felt surprisingly realistic and he wondered when she'd done it.

  “Why didn't you tell me?” he reproached gently and then kissed her again.

  “It was none of your business,” she said softly, excited by him, and not wanting to be. And he wanted her desperately, not just for old times' sake, but for the present.

  They were slowly, deliberately, unbuttoning each other's clothes, and she felt frightened as she did it. Their attraction to each other was irresistible and relentless, and there was no stopping what they were feeling.

  “You're beautiful.” He pulled away and looked at her, and slowly unbuttoned her blouse and her skirt, and she let her clothes fall to the ground around her. In some ways, she knew she was crazy to do this. But he was going away for a long time, and she loved him. It was a way of saying good-bye, of letting go, of telling him how much she had once loved him, but she knew that they would never have a future. This was all they had now.

  “I love you, Sam,” she said simply.

  “I love you too … so very, very much….” He could barely speak, he was so excited. He wanted her one last time and then he had promised himself he would let go of her forever. He had no right to ruin her life. He had done enough. He wanted only this last gift from her, and it was obvious as they kissed that, in spite of all her warnings to herself, she wanted it as much as he did. She thought of nothing as she clung to him, except how much she had always loved him.

  They made love quietly, and there was a certain peace and beauty to it. It was something they had both wanted for a long time, and hadn't dared to acknowledge. There was passion and comfort and forgiveness. They felt as though they belonged in each other's arms, and they lay there afterwards, knowing it would never happen again, but they would long remember.

  “I loved you so much,” she said, as she looked at him.

  “So did I,” he said with tears in his eyes, but he was smiling. “I still do. I always will. Not because I'm going to prison, but because I'm a fool and I learned my lessons too late. Be smarter than I was, Allie …don't fuck your life up.”

  “You didn't,” she said gentl
y.

  “How can you say that now?” he asked softly. “Look at where I'm going day after tomorrow. What a fool I was.” He lay on his back, thinking about all of it, and wishing he could undo it. And then she bent down and kissed him. He looked into her eyes and saw all the tenderness in life there. Brock Stevens was a lucky man. And Sam knew he didn't deserve her. He hoped things worked out for her. The boy was too young. But maybe he'd learn. Maybe he'd be smarter than Sam was.

  She wanted to spend the night with him, but she didn't dare. If Annabelle woke up, she'd be upset, and if Brock called, he'd go crazy. He knew she was out with Sam, and he was frantic about it.

  “I should go home,” she said sadly, hating to leave him.

  “It's stupid, isn't it?” he said. “We're married and we can't spend the night together.” It was all so ironic. And then he looked at her seriously. There was something else he had to tell her. “I want you to know that I wish I had done things differently. When you got sick, I mean. I was too scared. I couldn't even listen. It's too late now to change any of it, but if I had it to do again, Alex, I'd be there. I don't think I'd be good at it, not as good as your friend was. But I'll never forgive myself for not being there for you. I learned a terrible lesson.” He had lost his wife over it, and chased after a falling star named Daphne, all because he'd been afraid and was running away from his mother.

  “I know how frightened you were,” she said, forgiving him for the pain he had caused her. He really did sound as though he'd learned something from it.

  “You can't even begin to know how frightened I was. I was crazed. I couldn't even see you. All I saw was my mother. I was such a damn fool,” he said, holding her, as she tried not to remember.

  “I know,” she said softly. “Things work out strangely sometimes,” she said philosophically, willing to accept what was, rather than what had been. She knew he was sorry. There was no point tormenting him over what had happened, though Brock would have been incensed that she forgave him. He would have been incensed over many things. But this wasn't his night, it was hers and Sam's, and it was very precious.