Once in a Lifetime
Page 17
"What are you going to do with the apartment?"
"Let it sit here. I'll use it when I fly in to see Andrew, and Comstock is paying for me to rent a house out there, so I won't have double expenses. Besides, I don't want some stranger sleeping in my bed." She made a face and Barbara laughed at her with a rueful smile.
"Listen, once in a while, I think that wouldn't be so bad .... " The two women exchanged a smile.
They went to Daphne's agent together that afternoon, after Daphne took Barbara to the Plaza for lunch and they drank a toast to the West Coast and to Comstock. It was all beginning to feel exciting, and by the time they left Iris's office at four thirty, Daphne could hardly wait to start. She turned to Barbara nervously in the cab going back to the apartment then, with a worried frown. "Do you really think I can do it, Barb? I mean hell, I have no idea how to write a movie."
"You'll figure it out. It can't be that much different from a book. Play it by ear, they'll tell you what they want."
"I hope so." There was a nervous flutter in the pit of her stomach as Barbara patted her hand.
"You can do it. It's going to be fabulous."
"I hope so." But whether it was or not, she knew she had to try.
She went back to see Andrew the following weekend, and he seemed by then perfectly adjusted to the idea of her going. He only complained about it once and that time only halfheartedly, the rest of the time he talked about Disneyland and her movie, and he seemed relaxed and happy and she marveled at how quickly he had accepted it all. Children really were amazing, she decided, and she mentioned it all to Matthew when she saw him again, at dinner in the main dining room of Howarth on Saturday night.
"Will you kick me if I say I told you so, Daphne?" He smiled at her over the remains of dinner and she grinned. This week she looked relaxed and happy, and younger, with her blond hair spilling over her shoulders, blue jeans, and a persimmon-colored cowboy shirt.
"I may, so watch out."
"You're scaring me to death." But there was a pleasant banter between him. He told her about what had happened at the New York School that week, and she told him about the preliminary plans for the movie. Dinner seemed to fly as they chatted, and Helen Curtis left them alone after dinner, she said that she had work to do, and for once Matthew did not. "I don't know how you manage to write those books the way you do, Daphne." He stretched his long legs toward the fire after the children were in bed and they sat in the cozy living room of the school. She didn't feel like going back to the inn and it was still early. Besides, he was good company and she liked him.
He was nice to talk to, and she felt they had a lot in common. They shared Andrew, and interest in her book. "I really don't know how you do it." He was thinking about Apache and she looked at him with amusement.
"How can you say that? You've written three books yourself."
"All of them nonfiction, about a subject I eat, sleep, and breathe. That's hardly very remarkable." He smiled at her from where he sat.
"It's a lot harder than what I do. You have to be accurate, and you help an awful lot of people with those books, Matthew. Mine are all make-believe stories born out of nowhere, and they don't do a damn thing for anyone, except amuse them." She was always modest about her work, and he liked that about her. One would never guess from talking to her that she was one of the nation's leading bestselling authors. She was bright and intelligent and amusing, and she did not show off.
"You're wrong about your books, Daphne, they do a lot more than just amuse. I told you, one of your books helped me a great deal, and they all taught me something"--he seemed pensive for a moment--"about people ... relationships ... women." He looked at her with interest. "How do you know so much about that stuff, leading such a solitary life?"
"What makes you think I do ... lead a solitary life, I mean?" She was amused at the question.
"You told me so yourself last week."
"Did I?" She shrugged and grinned. "I talk too much. I suppose I don't have time for anything more than that. I work like a dog all week long, and then there's Andrew...."
Matt looked disapproving for a moment and then his face softened in the firelight. "Don't use him as an excuse."
She gazed at him frankly. "Usually, I don't." And then she smiled, "Only when someone puts me on the spot, like you did."
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to do that."
"Yes, you did. What about you? Is your life so full?"
"Sometimes." He was noncommittal. "For a long time I was afraid to get involved again, after my wife."
"And now?" It was strange questioning him this way, it was as though they were old friends, but he had that kind of quality about him, he was so warm and so open and so easy to talk to. She felt as though they had known each other for years, it was as though they were on a desert island, the rest of the world was unimportant. They just sat there by the fire, alone and comfortable with each other, and each one curious to know what made the other tick.
"I don't know ... I don't have much time for serious involvement these days. There's a lot going on in my life professionally." And then he smiled at her again. "And I don't suppose I'll find the woman of my life in the next year, up here."
"You never know. Mrs. Obermeier might decide to leave her husband." They both laughed at the thought and Matthew looked at her more seriously for a moment. He had heard the story of John Fowler from Helen Curtis, but he wasn't sure if he could broach the subject with her, or if it was taboo.
"Don't you ever want to try again, Daphne?" He suspected that she was very lonely, and yet there was no sense of her reaching out toward a man, certainly not toward him. She had an easy, comfortable way about her that reminded him of his sister, and her warmth was in the same vein. But there was a sense about her that she had forgotten she was a woman, and didn't want to remember it ever again. She had obviously been very hurt.
But as she looked at him now in the glow from the embers, he saw sadness in her eyes beyond measure, and stories that he knew would never be told. "No, I don't want to try again, Matt. I've had all I ever wanted. Twice in fact." Daphne surprised herself with how easily her secret slipped out. "It would be wrong of me to ask for more ... and stupid ... and greedy ... and very foolish. I thought I'd never find what I had once, with my husband, and yet I did find someone else. It was very different, very special. I've had two extraordinary men in my life, Matt. I couldn't ask for anything more."
So she was ready to talk about Fowler.
"And so you've given up? What about the next fifty or sixty years?" The prospect of her solitude depressed him. She deserved more than that ... much more ... she deserved someone wonderful who would love her. She was too good and strong and young and wise to spend the rest of her life alone. But she smiled philosophically at him.
"I don't have any trouble keeping busy. And one of these days Andrew will come home...."
"You're using him as an excuse again." He sounded gentler this time, less disapproving. "He's going to be terrific and totally independent when he gets older. So don't count on basing your life on him."
"I don't really do that, but I must admit, I think a lot about his coming home."
Matthew smiled at her in the soft light. "That'll be a fine day for both of you, Daphne, and it won't be too long."
She sighed softly then. "I wish I knew that for sure. Sometimes all of this seems like forever."
His eyes filled with a distant memory as he thought of the years without his sister when he was young. "I used to feel that way about Martha. She was gone for fifteen years, and not in a place like Howarth. It was awful for her. Thank God they don't have places like that anymore." Daphne nodded silent agreement and a little while later she stood up and decided that it was time to go home. "I enjoy talking to you, Daphne." His eyes were gentle as he walked her to the front door, and then he said something unexpected, which startled them both. He hadn't really meant to say it to her, but he couldn't help it. "Andrew's not the only one who's go
ing to miss you in the next year."
Had the hall light been brighter he would have seen her blushing, but it wasn't, and she held out a small, fragile hand. He took it in his own and held it for a moment. "Thank you, Matthew. I'm just glad to know that you'll be here with Andrew. I'm going to call you a lot to see how he's doing."
He nodded, feeling only slightly disappointed. But he had no right to expect more. He was only the director of the school where her son lived. Nothing more. And he knew how solitary her life was, and something told him that she wasn't going to change that. She was a strong-willed woman, and she hid behind solid walls. "You do that. Call as often as you like. I'll be here." She smiled at him then and left with only a whispered good night.
As she drove slowly back to the inn she found herself thinking of him. He was a lovely man and they were lucky to have him at Howarth. But she had to admit, even if only to herself, that she felt something more for him. Some vague, gnawing, deeper interest, as though she wanted to know everything about him and talk to him for endless hours. She hadn't felt that way since she had met John Fowler, but she also knew that she wasn't going to let herself feel that way again. Not about any man. Two losses were enough. Matthew Dane would be an important person to her, in the life of Andrew, and for all that he could teach her in helping Andrew back into the world of the hearing. But that was his only role in her life, and she knew it, no matter how much she liked him. Those things just didn't matter anymore. She wouldn't let them. It was enough to have loved and lost, she had no desire to love that way again. Ever. And it was easy to imagine loving Matthew Dane. He was a lovable, likable, admirable man. But for that reason she'd have to keep her guard up all the higher. Just to be certain she stayed safe. It was on Andrew that she showered all her love now, every feeling, every moment, every thought. She lived her life exclusively for him. And maybe a little bit for herself. The trip to California was the first sign of that.
Daphne all but closed the apartment on her last Friday in New York. She had done all her packing. Her suitcases for California stood waiting in the hallway, everything was ready, and all that was left was to spend one last weekend with Andrew. She would return on Sunday night, put her car in storage in the garage, and fly to Los Angeles with Barbara on Monday morning. They would stay at the Beverly Hills Hotel, in a cottage, until she found a suitable house there, and within a week of her arrival in L.A., she would have to get to work on the screenplay. According to her contract she had only two months to write it, and it was beginning to give her sleepless nights.
She thought about it all the way up to New Hampshire, and made notes to herself late into the night once she got to the little inn. The next morning she spent with Andrew, and as usual joined him for lunch, and the afternoon and dinner, and it wasn't until then that she saw Matthew, and he looked almost as harassed as she felt by then.
"You look like you've had a tough week." She smiled at him over coffee and he ran a hand through his thick brown hair and groaned.
"Oh, God, I have. Four major crises at the New York School since Monday, and this is my last weekend here as an observer. I start officially next Friday. Mrs. Curtis leaves the following Monday morning for good, and if I don't have a nervous breakdown by then, I'll be doing fine."
"Welcome to the club, I have two months to write my screenplay, and I'm beginning to panic. I have no idea what I'm doing, and every time I sit down in front of a piece of paper, my mind goes blank." He smiled in sympathy at the image.
"That used to happen to me every time I had a deadline on a book. But eventually, out of sheer desperation, I used to force myself to tackle the problem. You will too. Probably once you get there, everything will fall into place."
"I have to go house hunting first."
"Where will you be in the meantime?"
"I left Mrs. Curtis all my numbers. I'll be at the Beverly Hills Hotel until I find a house."
He rolled his eyes and attempted unsuccessfully to look sympathetic. "Tough life you lead, lady."
"Yeah, ain't it?" She grinned.
She only chatted with him for a few moments in the hall before she went back to the inn. He had to talk to Helen Curtis on this final weekend before he moved in for good, and Daphne was exhausted from a long week's work.
The next morning, as usual, she went to church with Andrew, and came back to the school to spend the day with him. And now each moment shared with him was precious. He clung to her more than usual this weekend, but that was to be expected. And she felt a need to be as close to him as she could, to touch him, to hold him, to feel his hair slip through her fingers so that she would remember its silky touch'when she was so far away, to nuzzle his neck with her lips as she kissed him, to smell the last hint of soap on his childlike flesh as they hugged. Everything about him seemed more special to her now, and somehow dearer. It was the hardest weekend of all for her, and sensing that, Matthew stayed away. It wasn't until she was ready to leave that he approached her again, watching with silent understanding as she held Andrew, wanting to reach out to them both when he saw the first tears spring to her eyes. He knew that leaving wouldn't be easy for them. But Andrew would recover more quickly. It was Daphne who would suffer, worrying about the child, keeping him in her thoughts in every spare moment, wondering how he was, and longing for him from so far away.
"How are you two doing?" He said it to her over Andrew's head, pretending not to see her tears. "He's going to be fine, you know, Daphne, in a few hours, no matter how hard he cries when you go."
She nodded, a sob cluttering her throat, and then finally she took a deep breath. "I know. He'll be okay. But will I make it?"
"Yes, you will. I promise." He touched her arm gently then. "And you call any time you like. I'll give you all the latest information and reports."
"Thank you." She smiled through her tears and touched her son's head with a gentle hand, and she bent then to tell Andrew that it was time to go to bed. She sat with him for a long time that night, talking to him about California, about all the fun they'd have, and how much she would miss him. And then, sadly, with the strange little sound he had always made when he was sad, he began to cry, and he held out his arms and held her tight, signing at last.
"I'm going to miss you so much."
"Me too." The tears ran down her cheeks. Maybe it was just as well he saw them after all. So he would know how much she would miss him too. "But I'll see you soon." She smiled at him through her tears and at last he smiled too. She stayed until he fell asleep, and she walked slowly downstairs as though she had lost her best friend, and she found Matthew waiting for her in a chair at the bottom of the stairs.
"Asleep?"
"Yes." Her eyes were huge and sad, and she didn't even attempt a smile. And he said nothing at all but followed her to the front door. She had already said good-bye to Mrs. Curtis before she took Andrew up to bed, she had checked out of the inn and her suitcase was in the car, there was nothing left to do but go. As though sensing her silent mood, Matthew walked her to her car, and then watched as she unlocked the door. She turned to him then with those huge blue eyes, and he reached out and took both her shoulders in his hands.
"We love him too, and we'll take good care of him, I swear." They always had before, but it was different now that she would be so far away. It all hurt more than it had in years and she felt ten thousand years old as she looked up into Matthew's dark brown eyes.
"I know." She had seen so much loss in her life, so many people she had loved, and now all she had left was this one small boy. "I'm not very good at this. I should be by now. I've had a lifetime of good-byes." He nodded, it was all written in her eyes.
"This isn't the same, Daphne. Right now is the hardest part. And it won't be for long. A year seems like an eternity right now, but it's not."
She smiled. Life was so strange. "When I come back, you'll have done your year here, and you'll be ready to go."
"And we'll all have learned so much. Think of that."
"That was a long time ago, Daphne." She nodded. That had been the beginning of her year with John. Why did everything always have to end in good-bye? But Matthew bent then and kissed her cheek. "Godspeed. And call."
"I will." She looked up at him again and for a mad moment she wanted to fold herself into his arms, to feel the safety she had once felt, protected by a man. She longed silently for a time when she hadn't had to stand alone, when she hadn't had to be so brave all the time. "Take care of yourself ... and Andrew too." And then she slid into her car, and looked up at him through the open window. "Thanks for everything, Matt. And good luck."
"I'll need it." His face broke into a boyish grin. "And make me a great movie. I know you will." She smiled and started the car, and as she drove away she waved and he waved back. And as she drove off into the night he stood there for a long, long time.
The plane touched down in Los Angeles with a small bump and seemed to soar along the runway before it stopped and taxied to the gate. Barbara was looking excitedly out the window, and Daphne smiled at her. Traveling with her had been like traveling with a little girl. Everything delighted her, and she had been excited from New York all the way to L.A. Daphne had been quieter than usual and she had already written three postcards to Andrew. But now her mind was no longer on him. She was caught up in the realization that a whole new life was about to begin.
They were met at the gate by the chauffeur Corn-stock had hired for her, a tall, seedy-looking man of indeterminable age in a black suit and cap, with a long, sorrowful-looking mustache. He stood holding a large card with her name written on it in red ink: "Daphne Fields."