Prodigal Son

by Danielle Steel

  “Will you stop, you little jerk? You’re upsetting Dad!”

  “Knock it off, Ryan,” Peter said sternly. “I’m fine. You don’t need to kill your brother for my sake. I’d rather you didn’t. And if that’s what’s happening, Ben has a right to talk about it. Is he nice to you guys?” Peter asked with a sad look, and both boys nodded, Ben with more enthusiasm than Ryan.

  “He’s coming to the Hamptons with us this summer,” Ben announced, looking delighted, while Ryan looked grim. He didn’t like that plan at all. Bruce was nice, but he didn’t want him moving in on them and their mother. And their mother was crazy about him. Ryan had heard her tell a friend that she was in love. He hated Bruce for it.

  “Let’s talk about your coming to the lake,” Peter said, to change the subject. “When do you want to come? July and August are the most fun. There are sailboat regattas, and swimming races. And the weather is great then.”

  “Can we come in July, Dad?” Ryan asked hopefully. “Mom wants to send us to camp in Switzerland then, and I don’t want to go.”

  “Me too,” Ben echoed.

  “We’re going to the Hamptons in August,” Ryan said quietly.

  “Why don’t you spend the Fourth of July with me, and stay for a few weeks?” Both boys beamed at the suggestion, and Peter promised to work it out with their mother. He didn’t want them going to camp in Switzerland instead of visiting him. When did she think they were going to see him? Peter felt like the forgotten man. And he went to bed that night with the knowledge that Alana had a boyfriend, a Hollywood agent, it was perfect for her, and he was sure her father approved. Peter had never really fit into their plans. All he had had was money, and now he no longer did. This had nothing to do with their “drifting apart,” as she had said. He had no illusions left about that.

  The rest of the weekend went too quickly. They went to the piers and the museum, and walked in Golden Gate Park. They had dinner in Chinatown, and explored the Fairmont, and on Sunday afternoon, they went back to L.A. Peter stayed in L.A. for two days after that to see them, and Alana agreed to let the boys come to him for three weeks in July. He agreed to deliver them to her in the Hamptons, after he spent a week in New York with them, so they could see their friends, if they were in town during the summer. It sounded like a good plan to all of them.

  He never mentioned to Alana that he knew she had a new man in her life, or an old one. He had too much pride to say anything, but he caught a glimpse of him when he dropped the boys off, just as Bruce drove Alana up to the house in his Ferrari and she got out. He looked at Peter, and the two men nodded. Bruce was the winner and Peter the loser, and it hurt more than he expected it to, or would have admitted. Peter hadn’t even thought of dating other women yet. He was still trying to figure out what to do with his life now, and he was living like a hermit at the lake. It was hardly conducive to dating, and he wasn’t in the mood anyway. He still felt like a loser for the job and fortune he had lost. It was going to take time to get over that. And what did he have to offer any woman right now? He could barely support himself and his boys. He was in no position to impress anyone at the moment, and he didn’t want to anyway. The wound Alana had left was still wide open and not yet healed. Along with everything else that had happened in the last seven months, he had been dumped. It was hard to dazzle anyone after that.

  He and the boys were sad when he left, but they had July to look forward to now. It was only two months away, until they came to visit him. He could hardly wait. And as the plane circled over Los Angeles and headed east, Peter tried not to think about Alana and Bruce. He had a twin brother again, and two great sons. For now, that was enough.

  Chapter 11

  When Peter got back to the lake after his trip to L.A. and San Francisco, he had a lot to do. He was still sending out e-mails regularly to look for work and new projects. And now that he knew the boys were coming to visit, he wanted to repaint his old boyhood room for them. He needed to get some new furniture, and ordered it from IKEA. He wanted to do what he could to spruce up the house a little before they came. It was very basic compared to what they were used to, but he thought it would be fun for them to spend time at the lake with him. He could hardly wait.

  He was planning to drop by and see Michael the day after he got back, but he got busy with e-mails to several Wall Street firms, and picked up his mother’s journals again late that night. This time he was shocked by what he read. The cancer that ultimately killed her had gotten into her bones by then and it sounded like she was in incredible pain, as he read what she had written. She sounded truly desperate in some entries, and her handwriting had gotten shaky. It made him feel ill to read it, but he wanted to read everything she had to say. It was the least he could do after not being there for her. At least he could hear her now, even if it was fifteen years too late. She mentioned several times that Michael had given her pain-killers, but they weren’t working, and she said that all she wanted now was for him to put her to sleep, as he had his father.

  Peter stopped as he read it, squinted, and read it again, to be sure he had understood what she’d said. His mother had written in her now-shaky hand that Michael had “put his father to sleep,” to put him out of his misery at the end. In other words, Michael had euthanized him, and their mother had wanted him to do the same for her. She said that Michael was refusing, and insisted that she could still live many months. Peter was shaken by what he had read. He read on for another hour, but mostly his mother complained about the pain she was in and the fact that he had not come to visit, but she said that he was busy in New York. She had made excuses for him, but the shocking entry in the journal he read that night was that Michael had killed their father, surely with noble motives, if so. But Peter wanted to know now if he really had.

  He was still troubled by it when he drove into town the next morning, and went to Michael’s office, but he was out. He stopped in at the diner for a cup of coffee and spent a few minutes chatting with Vi. The chief of police was there that morning too. Afterward he went to the paint store to kill time, and a small furniture store, looking for things for the boys, and then he went to the house to see Maggie. She was upstairs, but she shouted to him to come up when he opened the unlocked door. He found her in her bedroom, sitting up in bed with her computer, intently writing an e-mail to Bill. They had been iChatting earlier that morning, and it was wonderful seeing her look so much better and stronger. She looked immaculate and pretty, in a pink bed jacket, and her hair was freshly brushed, and the circles under her eyes didn’t seem quite as dark.

  “How was L.A.?” she asked him, obviously delighted to see him. Lisa was in school, and Michael was making his rounds.

  “Great. I had a terrific time with the boys. We went to San Francisco, and they’ll be here on July Fourth.”

  “I can’t wait to meet them,” Maggie said with a warm smile, but she could see something in his eyes. He didn’t want to tell her what he had read in his mother’s diaries the night before. That was between him and Michael. And he just wanted to know for his own peace of mind. If Michael had done it, he had clearly felt it was justified and there was no other choice. His father had died a martyr’s death from pancreatic cancer, so Peter would have understood it, but it was a private matter between the two brothers, so he said nothing to Maggie about it.

  “How are you feeling?” he asked. She looked better than he had seen her before.

  “Pretty good. Michael is sitting on me. I’ve been in bed most of the time. But I guess he’s right, I feel better, although my legs get weak and stiff, but they are anyway,” she said practically. “The weather has been so pretty. I’m dying to get out.” She looked wistful as she glanced out the window. She was only forty-four years old, and had been a shut-in for years. She had deteriorated progressively during twenty-three years of marriage, and only Michael’s care had kept it from moving at a more rapid rate. They were playing beat the clock for her health, and with Parkinson’s now, things were only goin
g to get worse. They both knew it. Maggie was not going to live to be an old woman, but she had made her peace with it years before. It was Michael who fought desperately not to lose her.

  “I wish you could come up to the lake sometime,” Peter said gently. “Maybe Michael could bring you.”

  “I’d love it,” she said, smiling at him. It sounded like heaven to her. And every time she went out, her spirits soared, but her physical condition always worsened right after. Michael was concentrating on caring for her body, but Peter wished he could do something for her soul. “I heard from Bill, by the way,” she said, looking cheerful. She was always happy when she talked about him. Peter could only guess how much she missed him. “He loves his school, and he wants to find a job there when he finishes. He’s never going to come home.” She had made her peace with that too, but Peter could see that it was hard for her.

  “He’s not interested in Boston or New York?” At least then he could visit.

  Peter had just learned that lesson himself, when he read his mother’s journals. He had been in New York, but had visited too infrequently before she died. He knew that one day his nephew would regret it. Maggie was not going to live forever, that much was clear. She was valiant about it, but Bill was missing precious years. It was hard to see that when you were young, although Bill’s mother had been sick all his life. Maybe that was why he didn’t see that time was running out. Even Peter understood that when he looked at her. She was barely more than a wisp of a woman, and she seemed as though she were about to blow away. And one of these days she would just disappear.

  Maggie looked thoughtful before she answered Peter’s question. And then she decided to be candid with him. She trusted him, and always had. “It’s not about what city he’s in. He and Michael don’t get along. They haven’t in years. At first I just thought it was adolescence, but it isn’t. They’re at each other’s throats every time they’re in the same room. Bill disagrees with everything his father stands for. Some of it has to do with me,” she said, looking guilty. “They’re both fiercely protective of me, and they fight about everything. Bill just couldn’t take it anymore, so he left. And Michael loves him, but he gets aggressive with him. He’s very hurt by the things Bill says. Bill left here at twenty, and he’s never coming back, except maybe to see me. And maybe it’s for the best. They’ll kill each other one day. It’s better for Bill not to be here, and for Michael too. It was miserable for everyone when he was here. Even Lisa got pulled into it, and she loves them both. So do I, but I want what’s best for Bill. This isn’t it.” She was willing to deprive herself of her child for his benefit, and Peter felt sorry for all of them.

  “It sounds like what Michael and I went through when we were young,” Peter said quietly.

  “No, it’s worse. Much worse,” she said sadly.

  “Sometimes there just isn’t room for two adult males on the same turf. There were three at our house, and I was one too many. I was the one who was always out of step with the other two, so I left. I had to find a place of my own, and I did. Bill will too. Maybe then it will be easier for him to come back, once he establishes himself somewhere else.” He wanted to give her hope that she’d see her son again, but neither of them looked convinced. “Mike can be pretty tough when he gets pissed,” Peter said ruefully, and Maggie smiled.

  “And Bill is even more so. He’s much too hard on his father, and the fights are always about me. They both love me, but I don’t want them killing each other over me. It was terrible, but it was a relief when Bill left.” Peter couldn’t help wondering if his mother had felt the same way about him. His had been the one dissenting voice, trying to fight for justice in his own family. And whatever he had done and said, he couldn’t get it, and his mother had forgiven him in the end, just as Maggie would. He knew that now from his mother’s journals.

  He left Maggie a little while later, and went back to Michael’s office. He was just returning from his house calls. He looked tired and depressed, and said to Peter that he had just lost a patient. She was eighty-three years old and had been sick for several months. But he hated it when that happened.

  “I should have been a pediatrician,” he said with a sad look at his twin. “All they get are skinned knees.” When a child died, it was infinitely worse, but they rarely did. “I get so attached to my geriatric patients. And sooner or later, they go. But it always depresses me.” It was the perfect lead-in to the subject Peter wanted to discuss with him. He mentioned their mother’s journals again, and Michael nodded, as he walked into his office and Peter took the seat across from his desk. It was lunchtime, and he didn’t have any patients to see yet. He had already dropped off lunch for Maggie on the way back, as a treat for her. Pru had been at the house too, vacuuming the stairs. And Maggie had been happy to see him. She always was.

  “This will sound awful,” Peter began cautiously, “and I don’t mean it that way,” he said, feeling nervous. He didn’t want to insult his brother or start a fight with him again. But he wanted to know. “In Mom’s journals, she was obviously suffering when she wrote them, especially toward the end, but she mentions several times that you euthanized Dad, and she wanted you to do the same to her. She was pissed that you wouldn’t.” Peter looked serious as he said it, and his twin brother smiled. It was the tired, gentle smile of a man who had seen too much sickness and sadness, at home and in the office.

  “Of course I wouldn’t do it for her,” Michael said with a wistful look. “Because I didn’t do it for Dad either. He begged me to, and I wouldn’t. I can’t. I took an oath to do no harm, and I believe in it profoundly. Even Mom thought I should put him out of his misery, and he finally died on his own. I told Mom I had given him a shot that night, so she could feel that we had eased his pain and released him. It consoled her somehow, but I would never do it, which is why I wouldn’t do it for her. I told her it was too soon.”

  “She wrote that in the journals too.” Peter was relieved by his brother’s answer. He would have understood it and forgiven it, but he didn’t like the idea that Michael had euthanized their father. And Peter was happy to know that he hadn’t. It would have been a heavy burden for Michael to bear, and even for Peter, knowing that he had.

  “People say crazy things in the end. A lot of my patients want me to put them out of their misery. But I can’t do that. God takes them at the right time.” And they both knew that He would do that with Maggie one day too. Peter just hoped it wouldn’t be anytime soon. Michael was doing all he could to make sure that didn’t happen. He was playing roulette with God, but one of these days, he knew he would lose.

  “I’m sorry I even asked you,” Peter said apologetically.

  “I’m glad you did,” Michael said, looking at him warmly. “I don’t want anything to ever come between us again, and that would have, if you hadn’t asked me. I’m glad you gave me a chance to clear it up. Poor Mom, she wanted out so badly at the end. It was no life for her once Dad died.”

  “I can see that from what she wrote.” They both fell silent for a moment, thinking about their parents, and then Michael looked at his brother across the desk.

  “How was California?”

  “The kids were great. And my soon-to-be ex-wife has a boyfriend,” he said honestly. “That stung a little. It’s hard to feel like a total loser. Money, career, and wife. Three strikes, I’m out.”

  “You’ve still got your kids,” Michael reminded him, and Peter nodded.

  “They’re coming this summer, for three weeks.”

  “I can’t wait to meet them. We have a lot of time to make up for,” Michael said warmly.

  “Yes, we do.” Peter smiled and stood up. He knew his brother was busy. “I dropped by to see Maggie, by the way. She looks pretty good.”

  “She told me. Just be sure you don’t put the make on her,” Michael teased him, but he knew he wouldn’t. Peter had always been honorable about things like that, more so than Michael, who had slept with several of Peter’s girlfriends
when they were young. “You’ve always been the handsome brother.”

  “Yeah, well, it didn’t help me keep my wife,” he said as Michael walked him out. But Peter knew that was about money, not his looks, or even love. He still looked younger than he was, although Michael looked his age. “Fishing this weekend?” he asked on the way out, and Michael laughed.

  “We’re like Huck Finn and Tom Sawyer. Yeah, let me see if I can get away, if Lisa will stay with her mother. I don’t want to leave Maggie alone all day. She has enough of that during the week when Lisa’s in school.” The two men hugged, and Peter left, feeling relieved by what Michael had told him. He had not euthanized either of their parents. It would make reading the rest of his mother’s journals easier, despite his guilt over not coming home to see her more often. At least they had both died of natural causes. He would have been upset if Michael had done that without his consent, but even that wouldn’t have been surprising, since the brothers weren’t speaking to each other then. But all was well, and Peter was at peace.

  He went back to the lake and started painting the boys’ room that afternoon. He wanted it clean and fresh for their visit, and not some musty old room where everything was dark and dingy. He wanted them to love it here.

  As he painted, he thought about what Maggie had told him about Michael and his son. He hadn’t mentioned it to his brother. He knew it had to be a sore subject for him.

  Peter didn’t read his mother’s journals again that night. They were too depressing, and he’d read enough for a while. Instead he answered some e-mails and went to bed early, and the next morning he was surprised to find an e-mail from an investment bank in London. He thought he had sent them a résumé a while back, but could no longer remember, he had sent so many. They were asking him if he would be willing to come to London for an interview, and he thought about it over breakfast. The real question for him was whether he was willing to live there. If he wasn’t, there was no point going for an interview. His conclusion was that it didn’t make much difference if his boys visited him in London or on the East Coast. They were no longer living in the same city. And he could still visit them in L.A. He answered the e-mail and said he would be willing to come. They answered him an hour later, and suggested the following week. He had nothing else to do, so he agreed. He didn’t think it was a sure thing by any means, but it was worth exploring, everything was, and it was a reputable firm.