“Why don’t you?”
“You mean like Wyeth?” She smiled at him. “It’s not me. We each do what we do, very differently.” He nodded, waiting for her to say more. “Ben, do you paint?”
He shook his head with a rueful grin. “Not really. I used to try. But I’m afraid it’s my lot in life to sell art and not to make it. I did create one piece of art though.” He looked dreamy again as he stared out at the bay. The summer wind played with his hair.
“What was it?”
“I built a house. A small one, but it was damn pretty. I built it myself with a friend.”
“How amazing!” She was impressed. “Where?”
“In New England. I was living in New York then. It was a surprise for my wife.”
“Did she love it?”
He shook his head and turned to look at the bay again. “No. She never saw it. She left three days before I was going to take her up to see it for the first time.” Deanna sat in silence for a moment, stunned. They had both had their disappointments in life.
“What did you do with it?”
“Sold it. I hung on to it for a while, but it was never much fun. It always hurt a little too much. And then I moved out here. And bought the house in Carmel.” He looked over at Deanna, his eyes soft and sad. “But it was nice to know I could do it. I don’t think I ever felt as good as the day I finished that house. What a feeling! It really was an accomplishment.”
She smiled softly, listening. “I know,” she said, after a moment. “I felt that way when I had Pilar. Even though she wasn’t a son.”
“Does that really matter so much?” He seemed annoyed.
“It did then. It meant a great deal to Marc, to have a boy. But I don’t think he really cares anymore. He adores her.”
“I think I’d rather have a daughter than a son,” Ben said.
Deanna looked surprised. “Why?”
“They’re easier to love. You don’t have to get hung up with images and macho and all that crap that doesn’t mean anything. You can just love them.” He looked as though he regretted not having a child, and she found herself wondering if he’d ever remarry.
“No, I won’t.” He wasn’t looking at her when he said it.
“Won’t what?” She was confused. He had a way of answering questions she hadn’t asked. Except in her own head.
“Get married again.”
“You’re incredible. Why not?” She was still amazed that he had known what she was thinking.
“There’s no point. I have what I need. And now I’m too busy with the galleries. It wouldn’t be fair, unless it were someone as involved in them as I. I was less entranced by my business ten years ago. Now I’m in it up to my neck.”
“But you want children. Don’t you?” She had understood that much.
“I also want an estate outside Vienna. I can live without that too. And what about you?”
“I already have a child. Do you mean do I want more?” She didn’t understand.
“No, or maybe that too, but do you think you’ll ever remarry?” He looked at her openly, with his deep, green eyes.
“But I am. Married, I mean.”
“Happily, Deanna?”
The question was painful and direct. She started to say yes, then stopped. “Sometimes. I accept what I’ve got.”
“Why?”
“Because he and I have a history behind us.” She found herself not wanting to say Marc’s name to Ben. “You can’t replace that, or deny it, or run out on it. We have a past.”
“A good one?”
“At times. Once I understood the rules of the game.” She was being brutally honest, even with herself.
“Which were?” His voice was so unbearably soft, it made her want to reach out to him and not talk about Marc. But Ben was her friend now. And she had a right to no more than that. Only his friendship. It was just as well that they were speaking of Marc. “What were the rules?”
She sighed and then shrugged. “A lot of ‘Thou shalt nots.’ Thou shalt not defy the wishes of thy husband, thou shalt not ask too many questions, thou shalt not want a life of your own, least of all as a painter… But he was very good to me once. My father left me stranded and penniless and scared when he died. Marc bailed me out. I don’t think I wanted quite as much bailing as he gave me, but he did. He gave me comforts and a home, a family and stability, and eventually he gave me Pilar.” She had not mentioned love.
“Was it all worth it? Is it now?”
She tried to smile. “I guess so. I’ve stuck around; I like what I’ve got.”
“Do you love him?”
The smile faded slowly. She nodded.
“I’m sorry, Deanna. I shouldn’t have asked.”
“Why not? We’re friends.”
“Yes.” He smiled at her again. “We are. Want to go for a walk on the beach?” He was on his feet, his arm extended to help her up. Their hands touched briefly before he turned and made rapid strides toward the shore, beckoning to her to catch up. She walked slowly, thinking of what they had said. At least everything was clear, and she did love Marc. At least now she wouldn’t get into trouble with Ben. For a moment or two she had feared it; there was something about him that she liked very much.
He handed her seashells and walked in the water up to his knees, having discarded his sandals hours before. He looked like a tall, happy boy playing in the surf, and she smiled as she watched him.
“Want to race?” He looked at her mischievously as he came back to her side, and she accepted the challenge with amusement. If Pilar could see her mother now, racing with a man on the beach, as though they were children. But she felt like a girl, pounding along the damp sand, breathless and wind-tousled. She stopped at last, laughing and out of breath, shaking her head as he thundered past.
“Give up?” He shouted the words back to her. When she nodded, he loped back across the beach and came to a halt next to where she had sunk down on the sand. The sun had set off glints of red in her dark hair. He let himself down next to her, and they sat together, looking out to sea and catching their breath. After a moment she looked up at him, knowing what she would see: those sea-colored eyes, waiting for hers.
“Deanna…” He waited an interminable time, looking at her, and then leaned slowly toward her, whispering the words into the windswept darkness of her hair. “Oh, Deanna, I love you…”
As though he couldn’t stop himself, he felt his arms go around her and his mouth close gently on hers, but her arms were as quickly around him and her mouth as hungry as his own. They sat there for a long time, holding each other and touching each other’s faces, gazing into each other’s eyes, with no more words between them than those he had spoken first. They didn’t need words; they had each other in a world where time had stopped. It was Ben who pulled away at last, saying nothing, only standing up, quietly, slowly, reaching a hand out for hers. Together, hand in hand, they walked back down the beach.
They didn’t speak again until they were back in the car. Ben sat there for a time, looking troubled.
“I should tell you I’m sorry, Deanna, but I’m not.”
“Neither am I.” She sounded as though she were in shock. “But I don’t understand it.”
“Maybe we don’t have to. We can still be friends.” He looked at her then with an attempt at a smile, but there was none in her eyes, only the glimmer of something haunted.
“I don’t feel betrayed. At least not by you.” She wanted him to know that much.
“By yourself?”
“Perhaps. I think I just don’t understand.”
“You don’t have to. You were very clear about your life when we talked about it before. There’s nothing for you to understand, or explain.” His voice was so unbearably gentle. “We can forget. I’m sure we will.”
But she didn’t want to, and that was what astonished her most. She didn’t want to forget at all.
