By the time the wedding came, Isabelle was panicked. He had missed calling her a few times, and when she asked him about it, he said he'd been too busy. He had found an apartment in Washington, and met with the young senator about his campaign. He sounded excited when he talked about that. And for two days after the wedding, Bill didn't call her at all. And for some odd, instinctive reason, she suddenly didn't dare call him. He had suddenly put up walls to keep her out.
It had been a beautiful wedding, and everyone had cried when Joe and Jane exchanged their vows. With Joe in his wheelchair, and Jane standing next to him, holding his hand, it had been incredibly touching. And no one cried more than Bill, sitting in his wheelchair, next to Cynthia, at the end of the first pew.
“Are you okay?” she asked him at the reception. He was sitting next to her, and she found him unusually quiet. “You look stressed.”
“Just thinking about work. I'm leaving the rehab and going to Washington in a few days. You know how I am.” Physically, he looked terrific, but she could see that something was bothering him.
“You seem upset.” In the end, she assumed that it had gotten to him watching his baby get married.
Olivia came and sat with him some of the time, and when Jane was supposed to dance with him, she danced with her grandfather instead while he and Joe watched, smiling at her. It didn't seem to bother Joe, but it bothered Bill. A lot. It was a beautiful wedding, a great party, and everyone had a great time. And as he rode back to the rehab facility that night, all Bill could think about was Isabelle.
He stayed in his room and didn't even go to physical therapy for two days, and then he finally got up the guts to make the call. She was worried about him by then, and he hadn't answered his phone when she finally called him. It had rung several times in the past two days. He knew it was Isabelle. And he just lay on his bed, thinking about her, and wishing he were dead.
“Where have you been?” she asked, with a note of panic in her voice when he finally called. “I thought you went on the honeymoon with them,” she teased. But he could hear that she was worried and hurt and hated himself for it. He knew that the concern she had felt was nothing compared to the pain she was going to feel. After five years of talking to her, it was inconceivable to no longer have her in his life. But he was certain now that it was the final gift that he owed her. “How was the wedding?” she asked innocently, and he sighed.
“It was beautiful. Everyone cried at the ceremony, and after that they had a great time.”
“Tell me about it.” Teddy was still asleep, he was sleeping later these days, and she had lots of time.
He did, and then he took a breath. It was like jumping off the high dive. “Isabelle, there's something I have to tell you.” She could feel her heart stop. She knew before he said another word that something was terribly wrong.
“Why do I not like the sound of that?” She held her breath, waiting for the other shoe to fall.
“Cynthia and I renewed our vows.” There was an endless silence at her end while she absorbed what he had just said to her.
“What exactly does that mean?” She was trying to be polite, but she wanted to scream. As always, she was gracious and waited for him to explain.
“We made a recommitment to our marriage.” It was the second-worst lie he had ever told her. The first one was when he told her that he could walk again. “Things have changed since I've been at the rehab facility. We thought it was important for the girls.” One was married and the other was twenty-two years old. How important could it be to two grown women for their parents to renew their vows? But Isabelle didn't ask the obvious, the fact that they'd done it was all that mattered and that she heard.
“When did you decide this?” Her whole body was shaking, but she sounded deceptively calm.
“In the last few weeks.” He sounded almost cavalier and forced himself not to think of what it was doing to her.
“I knew something was wrong.” She was right about that. She knew him well, which was hardly surprising after five years. “Is that why you wouldn't make plans to come to Paris?” It explained it to her now. She knew he was worried about something, she just hadn't known what. “What does that mean for us?”
“I don't think we should talk to each other anymore.” His words hit her harder than the impact of the bus. She couldn't even speak for a moment, and she thought she was going to pass out. She couldn't get air in her lungs, and she could feel her heart for the first time since the accident. It was as though he had dropped a wrecking ball on her, and she was too crushed to answer. But she knew she had to say something. She hadn't expected this. But she could hardly blame him. She had refused to leave Gordon, for Teddy's sake. She had so little to offer Bill, except their calls. It made sense to her for him to recommit himself to Cynthia, no matter how much it hurt her. It seemed right for him, and she loved him enough to want the best for him.
“I don't know what to say. I'm happy for you, Bill.” He had recovered not only his legs, but his marriage, and she wished him well. He could hear that she was crying and he wanted to die. But he knew it was the right thing for her, whether she knew it or not. Only his love for her had led him to do such an awful thing. He knew that with what he'd said, he had destroyed part of his own heart. It was the ultimate sacrifice he could make for her, and she for him.
“I want you to take care of yourself. Don't let Gordon get the upper hand. Save your ammunition, and if he tortures you, use it on him. He won't bother you after that. As long as Louise's husband is alive, he'll want to stay married to you.” He had thought a lot about it, and it was the only thing he was worried about now. He didn't want Gordon tormenting her, and he would no longer know about it. He couldn't protect her from him anyway, except with his love, which seemed too little to him now anyway.
“It's nice of you to worry about that,” she said, sounding shocked and confused. “I don't understand … you didn't tell me things were better between you and Cynthia. How did that happen? And when?”
“I don't know. Maybe when the kids decided to get married, we figured we needed to clean up our act.” In fact, their divorce had come through in March right after Jane and Joe told them they were getting married. Cynthia appeared to be very serious now with the man she'd been seeing for nine months, and Bill was happy for her.
“I want you to be happy, Bill,” she said generously, “whatever that means to you. And for what it's worth, I love you with all my heart.”
“I know you do,” there were tears rolling down his cheeks, but he couldn't let her hear it in his voice. Her freedom depended on his convincing her, and he was determined to do it right. “I love you too, Isabelle.” He wanted to tell her he always would, but there was no way he could say that. “Take good care of yourself. If you ever need anything, call me. I'll always be there for you.”
“I don't think Cynthia would like that.”
“Thirty years is a long time. It's hard to walk away from that.” But he had walked away from that too. For similar reasons. But it was Isabelle who owned his heart, and he knew she always would. But only he knew that.
“I'm going to miss you terribly,” she said, beginning to sob. “But I want you to be happy … be happy … be good to yourself, Bill. You deserve so much.” He knew he deserved to burn in hell for what he was doing to her, but he was still convinced that the gift he was giving her was greater than the pain she had now. She'd see that one day, he was sure.
“Good-bye,” he said simply, and then gently hung up, and as Isabelle put down the phone, she began to cry long wracking sobs. It sounded as though someone had died, and she had.
“What's wrong, Mommy?” Teddy came running into her room with terrified eyes. He had heard her from the hall, and he'd never seen her like that. He was breathless when he got to where she sat, after she'd hung up the phone.
For a moment she couldn't speak, but she knew she had to pull herself together for him. “An old friend of mine just died.” She didn't kn
ow what else to say to him, and in a way, he had. Bill was dead to her now. Gone. Lost to her. She couldn't imagine living without him, couldn't imagine what her life would be like without his calls. It was like a death sentence in a life where she already had so little. All she had were her children now. And as Teddy watched, she got up and got her coat and then came to give him a hug. “I'm fine. I'm just sad. I'm going to go for a little walk.” She took him back to his room, and settled him in his bed. And then she went out, and walked for hours. It was nearly lunchtime when she got back, and she looked deathly pale, almost gray. And even Teddy's nurse was frightened for her.
“Are you all right, Mrs. Forrester?” she asked respectfully. In all the years she had known her, she had never seen her look so ill. Isabelle quietly nodded, with a wintry smile. Her eyes were two deep pools of pain.
“I'm fine,” she said mechanically. There was nothing else she could say. But that afternoon, as she read to her son, there were little rivers of tears that kept sliding down her cheeks, and Teddy quietly patted her hand. He didn't know what to say to her. And when she hugged him when he went to bed that night, she choked on a sob.
“I'm sorry, Mommy,” he said gently, hugging her tight, and she nodded with a sad smile.
“So am I, sweetheart.”
All she could think of that night was Bill. She was devastated, more than she'd ever been in her entire life. He had taken away hope and laughter and love and comfort on dark days. She had no one to turn to now, and knew she never would again. She would die Gordon's prisoner, and she no longer cared. About anything. She would live to serve Teddy and Sophie, and somehow get through the rest of her days.
And in his room at the rehab facility, Bill lay in the dark. He hadn't moved since he'd called her. He hadn't slept all night. He just lay there and cried. But it was the right thing to do. Knowing and believing that was the only consolation he had.
Chapter 16
For Isabelle, the days were endless after Bill left her life. There was no beginning, no end, no part of the day that offered any relief. She took care of Teddy as she always had, and now it was she who looked ill. She didn't eat, she didn't sleep, she said very little, although she tried to make an effort for Teddy. But she felt as though she'd been dropped down an abyss where there was no sunshine, no light. She longed to hear Bill's voice, but she didn't even know where he was anymore. She knew he had gone to Washington, and she wondered if Cynthia had gone with him. But wherever he was, he no longer belonged to her, and she knew now he never had. He had been a temporary gift in her life, and she was grateful for him. But the pain of losing him was so acute that she wondered daily if she'd survive. Losing Bill was much harder than surviving the bus. The impact this time was to her soul.
Even Gordon noticed it during the little time he spent in the house. He wondered if her obviously failing health was related to her accident, and when Sophie saw her when she returned from school, she was terrified. Isabelle looked as though she were dying.
“Are you ill?” Gordon finally asked her one day over breakfast. He had actually spent the night in the house. He still didn't know that Isabelle was aware that he often slept out. But Isabelle had lost so much weight that her clothes hung on her more than they had after the accident.
“I haven't been feeling well. I'm having migraines,” she said to explain the gray color of her face. She could see it too, but she couldn't seem to eat or sleep anymore.
“It must be a recurrence of your injury,” he said, looking vaguely concerned. “I want you to call the doctor.” It was the first sign of interest he had shown for her in months. “I'm going away next week, and I think you should see about it before I leave.” She wondered if he was going away with Louise. She had long since realized that the previous summer when she was in the hospital with Bill, he had probably spent the entire time with Louise. Her absence had been a blessing for him, she was sure. And his failure to come back and visit her had had nothing to do with her, or Bill, or any anger about that, it had to do with his own involvement with Louise, and the time he wanted to spend with her, and could with Isabelle away. But she no longer cared about that. It was simply a fact of their life, and apparently had been for years.
“Where are you going?” she asked, trying to look interested, but she wasn't. In anything anymore. It was all she could do to take care of Teddy now, and she was relieved that Sophie had come home for a few days.
“To see clients in the South of France.” She was sure the “client” was Louise, but of course she didn't ask. “I want you to call the doctor today,” he reminded her when he left, but she didn't. She knew what was wrong with her. Her heart was broken, it had nothing to do with the accident the year before. It had been exactly one year. It was hard to believe Bill was out of her life. And lately, she found herself wishing she had died during the accident. It would have been so much easier than what she was going through now. She wondered if the pain would ever stop, and doubted it. Each day was worse than the one before. She had nothing to look forward to, nothing to wish for, nothing to hope, nothing she believed in anymore, no faith that life would be kind to her. Bill had taken it all with him and left her nothing but memories and grief. And the worst of it was that she wasn't even angry at him. She just loved him, and knew she always would. She was like an animal who had lost its mate and was looking for a quiet place to die.
“Mommy, what's wrong?” Sophie asked in a worried voice when they met outside Teddy's room that afternoon.
“Nothing, darling. I'm just tired.” She looked terrible, and everyone could see it. Sophie and Teddy's nurse Marthe had been talking about it that afternoon. Teddy said that she'd been looking ill ever since she got a call that a friend had died. But the others sensed that the cause of Isabelle's despair ran far deeper than that, and they were all seriously afraid not only for her health, but her life.
When Gordon inquired that night, she said the doctor had said she was fine. She hadn't even bothered to call, and she knew Gordon wouldn't check to see if she had.
It crossed his mind that some very intense emotional pain must have been the cause of it, a failed love affair, a broken heart. A warning bell in his head made him think of Bill, and he rejected the idea just as fast. She wouldn't dare start that again, Gordon knew, after the warnings he'd given her. But he understood nothing about the force of her love for Bill, or who she really was.
The next day, Gordon left for the South of France, looking unconcerned. The number he left was the Hotel du Cap. He was planning to be away for three weeks, and Isabelle didn't question it. It was a relief to have him gone. She no longer had to make excuses to him for how ill she felt, or how bad she looked. It was far easier to be alone.
And when he returned three weeks later, he was shocked to find her looking worse. He looked healthy and tanned, and she looked as though she were suffering from a terminal disease. She and Teddy looked equally sick. Sophie cried when she talked to him about it. But he said that her mother had seen the doctor several weeks before, and he had declared her fit. He didn't want to know more than that, or face the possibility that he might have another invalid in the house.
Gordon left again in August, on a lengthy business trip in Italy and Spain. Sophie had gone to Brittany for a few weeks, to visit friends. And Isabelle was content to be alone with Teddy. She was reading to him again and making an effort for him, in order not to worry him, but she couldn't imagine ever being herself again. It had been easier to get over the accident than to lose Bill. She woke every morning now thinking of him, and wishing she were dead.
And it was while Gordon and Sophie were gone that Teddy caught a nasty summer flu. It seemed like a head cold at first, and then went straight to his chest. He ran a high fever, and the doctor put him on antibiotics to make sure it wouldn't get worse. But the fever kept rising, and nothing Isabelle or the nurse did brought it down. By the third day, he could hardly breathe. Even the doctor was concerned by how unresponsive he was. And at the end of
two more days, he had pneumonia. He was rapidly going from bad to worse. Five days after it started, the doctor put him in the hospital, and Isabelle stayed there with him. She thought about calling Gordon, but it seemed wrong to bother him. He was never involved in Teddy's miseries anyway. They always fell to her.
“Am I going to die?” Teddy asked her with huge glassy eyes in the hospital, as she stroked his head, and put cool cloths on his forehead and wrists. The nurses were grateful for her help.
“Of course not. But you have to get well now. This is a silly bug, and you've been sick long enough.” But he had a 107-degree fever that night. And Isabelle called Gordon the next day.
“I don't know what it is. It's some kind of virus. But he's very sick.” She sounded even more exhausted than before, and looked worse.
“He's always sick,” Gordon said, sounding annoyed. He was in Tuscany, and it was hard for Isabelle to imagine what kind of business he had there. It was another vacation with Louise undoubtedly, but Isabelle no longer cared. “There's nothing I can do from here.”
“I just thought you'd want to know,” she said, wondering why she'd even bothered to call. It had been a courtesy, rather than a plea for help.
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