No More Lonely Nights

by Nicole McGehee

  Something had happened! A thousand possibilities sprang up in Dominique’s mind.

  Solange continued in a monotone that, more than anything else, revealed how upset she was. “Ronald is dead.”

  A chill went up Dominique’s spine. That wasn’t possible! Ronald was young. Not even fifty years old.

  “He was in a car accident.”

  “But… that can’t be. He takes the train to work!” Dominique was uncomprehending, as though by arguing, she could alter the facts.

  Solange shook her head. “Not today. He had a business trip.” She sighed deeply. “Danielle is…”

  Dominique kneeled down and stared into her mother’s shocked face. “Danielle is what? Is she all right?”

  Solange said, as if in a trance, “I have to go to New York.”

  “But of course. We all have to go!” Dominique cried. “Now. We have to go now.” She reacted automatically, her mind in high gear with the need for haste. “Oh no! Where’s Gabrielle?”

  Solange looked up at her daughter. “She’s upstairs packing. I wanted to take care of everything so we could leave right away. My suitcase is done. I put yours on your bed and started to pack, but you need to check that I remembered everything.”

  Dominique looked at her mother in wonder. “You shouldn’t be lifting those suitcases!” she chided her.

  Solange pushed against the arms of the chair and rose ponderously. “I wanted to be ready. We have to go to Danielle.”

  Dominique stared at her mother.

  “Go on! Finish!” Solange commanded her.

  Dominique did as she was told.

  By nine that evening, they were in Danielle’s ultramodern home, blinded by the whiteness of the living room—the carpet, the sofas, and the drapes. The only contrast was provided by the women in black who milled about the room speaking in hushed voices. A little apart sat Danielle, a small dark figure on the capacious white sofa. Her head was bowed and she was frowning, as though concentrating on a difficult problem. Her arms were folded across her stomach and she had one hand pressed to her lips.

  Solange was first through the door. She hurried to Danielle’s side more quickly than she had moved in a long time. As she approached her, she opened her arms.

  “Maman.” Danielle’s voice sounded hollow and bewildered, as though she did not understand the occasion for Solange’s visit. She rose and clutched her mother, then buried her face in her fleshy shoulder.

  “Gabrielle, take the bags in the other room, please,” Dominique whispered absently. She was focused on her mother and sister. She wanted to embrace Danielle, but felt oddly shy about intruding between her and Solange. A moment later, though, Danielle lifted her face and extended her hand to her younger sister.

  Dominique came forward and took the hand. She looked questioningly at her mother, expecting to be excluded. But Solange simply pulled the two sisters down on the couch, arranging it so that Danielle was in the middle.

  Solange studied Danielle minutely. After a moment she said, “You should cry, cherie, it will make you feel better.”

  Danielle shook her head impatiently. “I… feel so… strange. Like I’m lost or… or dreaming.” She covered her face with her hand. “This doesn’t seem real.”

  “Where are the girls?” Dominique asked, concerned for her nieces. Monique, in particular, had been close to her father.

  Danielle inhaled deeply, then let out her breath in a slow, tremulous stream. “They’re flying in from college. They should be here soon.”

  Solange and Dominique nodded slowly.

  “Ron and I were married almost thirty years,” Danielle said forlornly. She fixed her gaze on Dominique. “I complained a lot, didn’t I?”

  The expression in Danielle’s eyes alarmed Dominique. Danielle was usually so confident and flippant. She seemed always to know exactly how to please herself. Now, her look held uncertainty and loss, both of which were normal under the circumstances. But there was something more, too. Was it remorse? Dominique couldn’t tell. She only knew she wanted to reassure her sister.

  Dominique murmured, “People complain. You weren’t serious.”

  Danielle averted her eyes and stared straight in front of her. “I wanted to leave him. Do you remember?” Her upper lip quivered slightly. She tightened her mouth in an attempt to stop the movement.

  Dominique looked quickly at Solange. Had their mother known that? But Solange didn’t appear to see her glance. She was intensely focused on Danielle’s face. Now she spoke. “The loss of a husband is always worse than you anticipate, even though you may not have been in love with him anymore.”

  Danielle turned her head sharply to her mother. “You know, it’s so peculiar, but I don’t think I ever stopped loving him. There were times when I was furious, and then later”—she looked briefly at Dominique— “bored. But now…” Danielle shook her head and her eyes filled with tears. Solange fished a handkerchief from her purse, but Danielle gently pushed it away saying, “It’s not fair to cry.” Her voice was hard, but it was clear that under the brittle surface, Danielle was wrestling with her guilt.

  Dominique looked at her, horrified. “He wasn’t a saint, either! You gave him almost thirty years. You should cry if you feel like it.”

  Danielle closed her eyes. “You’re right,” she admitted wearily. “I’m being a martyr because I don’t really know what else to be. I feel… stranded. I”—she shrugged helplessly—“don’t know what to do. I never really wanted to be alone.” Her gaze was tortured as she said to Dominique, “I don’t know how you stood it after Clay left. I don’t know how I could have thought I wanted to be divorced and alone.”

  But the choice was no longer Danielle’s. Dominique shivered at the unexpected finality of it. She took her sister’s hand and squeezed it.

  Then it was Solange’s turn to take command. She gathered Danielle into her arms and gently pressed her head to her shoulders. “Cry, cherie” she crooned as she stroked Danielle’s hair. “Cry. And after, you will feel better.”

  And, finally, Danielle did. She cried for the loss of something she had long ago forgotten she possessed.

  CHAPTER 31

  ALEXA Martinelli rested her head against Mark’s chest. It was dark in his room. They’d just made love and she was in the mood to talk. “What if I were to get pregnant?” she asked.

  Mark raised his head and looked at her. “What do you mean?” he asked with alarm.

  Alexa gave him a sly smile. “What if I told you I wanted to have your baby?”

  Mark pushed himself up, forcing her to sit up, too. He was too taken aback to hide his shock. “Are you pregnant?”

  White teeth flashed in the dimness. “No, silly.” Alexa’s voice was loving. “But didn’t you ever want children?”

  Mark sighed and relaxed against the headboard. “Once. Nina said she didn’t want them right away.” He shrugged. “In retrospect, I guess she never wanted them at all. But I came from a big family—always thought I’d have a house full of kids.” The words conjured up a mental image of Gabrielle. Their relationship had been satisfying, affectionate. With her, he had felt a bit like a father. He missed her. He missed the dinners the four of them would have in Dominique’s warm little kitchen.

  Alexa grinned. “It’s not too late, you know. I’m only twenty-eight.” Her voice turned husky. “I could give you a house full of kids.”

  The conversation was getting uncomfortable. To hide his dismay, Mark laughed and put his arm around her. “I’m too old for that.”

  Alexa pulled away in protest, her shining hair swinging into her face. Impatiently, she tossed her head. “Only forty-five! Lots of men become fathers at your age.” Her voice turned flirtatious. “There’s nothing over-the-hill about you, darling.”

  Her insistence was disturbing. “Alexa, you wouldn’t do anything foolish?”

  She laughed mischievously. “You mean, to trap you? Why—would you marry me then?”

  Mark turned to look direct
ly at her, and the expression in his eyes left no room for misunderstanding.

  “Please don’t leave me.” Danielle looked up at her mother.

  Solange stood behind her daughter’s chair, her hand resting protectively on Danielle’s shoulder. Danielle reached up and covered Solange’s hand with her own.

  From her place on the sofa opposite, Dominique listened as her eyes traveled around the living room. In the days before the funeral, it had been overflowing with callers. They had brought with them the consoling warmth of friendship. But the funeral was over, and the room looked abandoned and forlorn. Wilting flowers filled it with the cloying scent of rot.

  Dominique turned her sympathetic gaze on Danielle. Her sister was more herself now. She was eating again and, that morning, for the first time, she had made her bed before Dominique could do it. But it was clear she was disturbed by the notion of being alone. Monique and Lana were upstairs packing to return to college. They had wanted to stay longer, but Danielle had bravely insisted that they go back to school.

  “They’ll just brood if they stay here with me,” she’d confided to Dominique.

  “Why don’t you come home with us?” Dominique asked Danielle. “Stay as long as you like.”

  Danielle looked as though she were considering the idea. Then she sighed, “I can’t take any more time off. I’ve already missed almost two weeks of work.”

  Dominique stared at her. “But surely they understand—”

  Danielle shook her head vehemently. “I can’t risk losing the job.”

  Her grim-faced intensity told Dominique that there was no point in arguing. Danielle wouldn’t come.

  Dominique understood. The job was now Danielle’s anchor, her link with the world of the living. She would recover her old confidence more quickly once she was working again.

  But Danielle wasn’t ready to be alone yet. She wanted Solange to stay with her.

  Dominique tried to gauge Solange’s reaction. “Mother?” she asked. “Would you like to stay?”

  Solange tightened her grip on Danielle’s hand. “A little while, just until Danielle feels better. She needs me now.”

  Dominique felt a momentary sadness. It occurred to her that Solange might prefer to stay permanently with the daughter who, after all, had always been her favorite. Solange hadn’t mentioned the Paris job even once all week. She was completely absorbed by Danielle. Dominique studied her sister. Even in her unhappiness, she looked superb. Dominique didn’t doubt that she would one day remarry. And then what would Solange choose to do?

  Dominique smiled understandingly at her mother. “When you’re ready to come back, let me know. Wherever I go, there’ll be a room waiting for you.”

  Solange’s eyes shined back at her. “I know. Thank you.” She paused. The corners of her mouth turned up and she said, “You’re a good daughter.”

  Dominique looked straight into her mother’s eyes. She stood up and took a step forward. “Oh, Maman! I’m going to miss you.” She closed the gap between them and wrapped the older woman in her embrace. Her mother’s arms gripped her with surprising force. They held each other for several seconds.

  Then there was a thump on the stairs. Solange and Dominique stepped apart and looked up to see Gabrielle descending, dragging the suitcases beside her. “That’s everything.” Gabrielle’s usually boisterous tone was hushed, in deference to her aunt.

  Dominique looked up at her daughter and was struck by a torrent of emotion so strong that she felt a sob catch in her throat. She swallowed and dabbed at her eyes with a tissue. She mustn’t weep. It was important for Danielle that she restrain herself, otherwise they would all start crying.

  Dominique bent to her sister and encircled her neck with her arms. She placed her cheek against Danielle’s sweetly scented one. She saw the tiny grains of powder on Danielle’s face, and suddenly felt like laughing. Danielle was wearing makeup for the first time since Ron’s death!

  Dominique kissed her sister good-bye, then rose and, once more, clutched her mother close.

  Dominique and Gabrielle arrived at La Guardia just as the ten o’clock shuttle was leaving. Dominique shrugged with resignation. “Well, we have an hour. Let’s go to the Sky Club. I can use your father’s name to get us in. At least we can stretch out.”

  The sunny, comfortably upholstered room was so much more cheerful than the waiting area in the general concourse. Dominique and Gabrielle ordered diet sodas from the bar, then went to sit near a window. Gabrielle quickly finished her drink, then got up to search the magazine rack.

  Dominique stood up, too. “I’m going to the ladies’ room. I’ll be right back.”

  As she washed her hands, she checked her makeup in the mirror. She pulled out her cosmetic case and powdered her face, then ran a brush through her hair. Finally, she applied coral lipstick and studied the effect. The color was flattering with the cream wool suit she wore.

  When she emerged from the rest room, the bright sunlight momentarily blinded Dominique. She stood still until her eyes adjusted, then looked around the room to find her place. There was Gabrielle, a stack of magazines on her lap. Dominique smiled and moved through an assortment of seating areas toward her daughter. She was almost there when she paused to allow a couple to pass in front of her on their way to the bar.

  The woman murmured, “Excuse me,” with a decidedly English accent.

  At the sound of once-familiar tones, Dominique looked up. A man followed, excusing himself also. He smiled at Dominique and she politely smiled back. He was one step beyond her when his step faltered. He did a sharp about-face, then stood immobile. Curious, Dominique turned toward him. Her eyes met his. And locked. In the background, she heard the woman’s voice. “Stephen!” she said. “Are you coming?”

  Dominique gripped the back of a chair for support and stared fixedly at Stephen Hampton.

  He took a step toward her.

  Again, the woman spoke. “Stephen? Whatever is the matter?”

  “Is that you, Dominique?” the man’s voice was strained with shock.

  Dominique could scarcely articulate a reply. Even to her own ears, it sounded faint. “Stephen…” It wasn’t a question. There was no question. Then Dominique saw the woman over his shoulder.

  Stephen followed her gaze and turned. “Oh… oh, forgive me, dear.” He took the woman by the elbow. His face flushed then turned pale. “Serena, this is someone I used to know in Egypt,” he said vaguely. “Dominique Avallon—” He suddenly stopped. “I beg your pardon, I’m sure you’ve a married name.”

  “Parker,” Dominique said woodenly.

  Hampton continued, his voice stronger now. “Mrs. Parker used to work for the RAF in Egypt.”

  The woman studied Dominique from head to toe. “Ah yes,” she said, “Ismailia, wasn’t it? For whom did you work?”

  The woman’s clipped tone helped Dominique recover her poise. She arranged her features in a polite mask. She smiled graciously at the woman. “No one in particular. I was in the typing pool.” Dominique tried to discern a resemblance between the long ago photo on Stephen’s desk and the woman before her now. Yes, the bones were the same. And the cool, measuring eyes.

  “Well…” Stephen shifted nervously. “It doesn’t seem quite right just to say hello and move on. We were going to have a cup of tea. Would you care to join us?”

  Dominique looked from one to the other. The woman said, “Yes, do. We have hours to wait for our connection. Such a bore. Unless, of course,” she paused in a manner weighted with meaning, “one runs into old friends.”

  Dominique studied the man before her. He was still handsome, but he looked worn and somewhat defeated, not at all the dashing hero she remembered. “I’d like to join you, but my daughter, Gabrielle—” She stopped, a little confused.

  “It’s okay, Mom, that would be cool.”

  Dominique turned, surprised to find Gabrielle directly behind her.

  They all sat down in a grouping of chairs and ordered drinks.


  Egypt was hardly mentioned. Stephen told of the places he had lived since the Suez crisis. Dominique described her business in Washington. Gabrielle and Serena barely said a word.

  All the while, Dominique wondered why Stephen had stayed married to the woman he had professed to no longer love—a woman who had been unfaithful to him. She watched the interplay between them. Dominating it was the tone of irritable affection that many long-married couples adopt.

  Dominique tried in vain to associate with the man before her the burning, all-encompassing love she had felt at twenty-one. She remembered desperate unhappiness, ferocious passion. But none of it seemed remotely connected to this Stephen Hampton. There was nothing left of that old fire.

  Stephen, in turn, searched Dominique’s face. She felt it. Wondered what he was thinking. But her curiosity had limits. She would never know the answer, and she found it did not matter.

  They had one cup of tea, then it was time to go. Dominique held out her hand to Serena and felt the cool, limp contact in return. She turned to Stephen and held out her hand as Gabrielle said good-bye to his wife.

  Stephen leaned toward Dominique and kissed her on the cheek. In her ear, he whispered, “I’ll never forget Ismailia.”

  Dominique gazed into his eyes. They seemed desperate with a message she couldn’t read. Regret? Melancholy? Nostalgia? She didn’t know: they were the eyes of a stranger.

  She shook his hand. “Good-bye,” she said.

  Dominique and Gabrielle hurried to the gate, but unnecessarily. There was a line of people waiting to board, and they were at the end of it.

  Dominique stood on tiptoe and looked impatiently at the ground attendant checking tickets.

  She felt Gabrielle’s gaze on her and turned to face her.

  Gabrielle smiled. “You know what, Mom?”

  “What?”

  Gabrielle’s voice was quiet with wonder. “You’ve still got it.”

  Dominique blushed. “Don’t be silly! What are you talking about?”

  “That man. He was in love with you, wasn’t he?”