years.”
“Are you afraid of him?”
“I never thought so, but perhaps I am. I just thought I respected him. But… oh, who knows…”
“What’s the worst thing he could do to you?”
“Leave me-or that’s what I used to think.”
“And you don’t feel that way anymore?”
She shook her head. “No.” In an odd way, she almost wished he would leave her. It would make everything so simple, but then of course there would be Pilar. Pilar would never forgive her. Deanna’s brows knit, and Ben touched her hand.
“Don’t worry so much. It’ll all work out.”
“I wish I knew how. Ben, I-I don’t know what to do.” She did. But she didn’t want to do it. Lose him, or leave Marc. “And… I also have an obligation to Pilar.”
“Yes, and an obligation to yourself. Your first obligation is to yourself, your second to your child. After that, it’s all up to you.”
Deanna nodded, saying nothing for a while. She looked less troubled than she had at first. “It’s strange. I forget he exists most of the time. For eighteen years he has been the hub of my life, and suddenly in a month and a half it’s as though he’s gone and I’ve never known him. I feel like someone new. But he does exist, Ben. He calls and he’s real and he expects me to talk to him, and somehow I can’t.”
“Then don’t talk to him for now.”
But Ben went on, “Why don’t you just relax and enjoy what is. Later you can worry about what will be.”
“And that’s what you do, is it?” She slid a hand onto his neck and kissed his cheek. She had seen the worry in his face, the fear in his eyes, the concern when he thought she wasn’t looking. “You don’t worry at all, do you?”
“Me?” He shook his head, with a look of such assurance that she laughed.
“You’re lying. You’re as worried as I am. So don’t make me any speeches. I used to think you were so cool that it never got to you. Well, I know better now.”
“Oh, yeah?” He looked at her, laughter and bravado mingled in his eyes. But he was terrified about what would happen in the fall. It was the one thing he could not bring himself to face.
“Well, at least he said he wouldn’t be home for a month.”
“A month?”
Deanna nodded silently, and they drove on.
14
“Come on, sleepyhead. Get up. It’s almost ten.” She opened one eye, groaned at him, and turned over. He patted her behind, then leaned over her with a kiss. “Come on. You have an appointment with a prospective buyer today. You have to be at the gallery by eleven.”
“And what about you?” She spoke to him from the depths of her pillow.
“I’m going now. Darling, will you get up?”
“No.”
He sat down again next to her. “Deanna, are you all right?” She had been frequently exhausted in the last two weeks since the show.
“I’m fine.” But she didn’t feel it. Her head was heavy, and her body felt dipped in cement. It was so much easier to stay in bed, to sleep the day away, and drowse.
“How come you’re so tired these days?” He was looking down at her with considerable concern.
“I think it must be old age.”
“Apparently. I just hope success won’t prove to be too much for you, because it looks like you might just turn out to be very successful.” He chatted with her over his shoulder as he went out to the kitchen. “Do you want toast?”
The idea did not appeal to her. She shook her head as she closed her eyes again and buried her head in the pillow. “No, thanks!” But he reappeared a moment later with coffee, and for the first time in years that did not appeal to her either.
“Deanna? Are you really all right?”
“I’m fine. I’m just tired.” And sick with apprehension about Marc’s return. It had to be that. It was draining her to the core, thinking about him, and Pilar. It was stupid letting them spoil these last weeks with Ben, but she couldn’t help it. “Really, darling, I’m all right. You don’t need to worry.” She smiled brightly at him and took a sip of the coffee, but as the warm fumes rose into her face she almost gagged. She turned visibly pale and set down the cup.
“You are sick!” It was an accusation filled with fear.
“I’m not, so stop it. I’m fine, I’m wonderful, I’m healthy, and I adore you.” She reached out her arms for him with a bright smile, and he held her close. He didn’t want anything to happen to her, he was suddenly terrified of losing her. He thought about it ten thousand times a day. She could get sick, have an accident, drown in the surf at Carmel; she could die in a fire…
“Who is this buyer we’re meeting with today?”
“His name is Junot. He’s either Swiss or French, I’m not sure which.”
French? Maybe he knew Marc. But before she could speak, Ben already had the answer.
“No. He just got to town this week, and he liked your work when he walked past the gallery. Nice and simple. O.K.?”
“Perfect, you mind reader.”
“Good. Then I’ll see you there at eleven.” He looked at her again, forcing a smile. He waved as he closed the door. They both had it now, and he knew it. The clutches. She had nightmares and held him desperately tight as they fell asleep, and now this exhaustion and malaise. They were both suffering the same terrors, wondering what the end of the summer would bring, and already fearing their loss. They had two more weeks. Maybe even three if Marc were delayed. He was bringing Pilar home with him. But what then? Neither of them had any of the answers. Not yet. And the miracle they both wanted had not yet occurred.
Deanna was at the gallery promptly at eleven, wearing a cream-colored silk suit with an ivory silk blouse. Her shoes and bag were in the same vanilla colors. She wore her mother’s pearls and the earrings Ben had given her just before her show. The prospective buyer, Monsieur Junot, looked awed. He made all the appropriate gestures, offers, and radiated charm. He bought not one of her paintings, but two of her best. She and Ben shook hands gleefully after he left. The sale had totaled almost eight thousand dollars, nearly half of which would, of course, go to Ben. He took the standard dealer’s forty percent. Some dealers even took fifty. But she had still done handsomely in the past weeks. Since the show she had made almost twelve thousand dollars.
“What’ll you do with it all?” Ben watched her in amusement. She was gazing happily at the check.
“Be independent,” she said suddenly, remembering what Marc had said before he left. That that was why she still painted, so she could be independent if she ever had to be again. Maybe he was right. It wasn’t the only reason, certainly, but the feeling that she now had something of her own made her feel brand new.
“Want to prove your independence and take me to lunch?” Ben was looking at her with an admiring gaze, but though she looked remarkably pretty, he could still see in her eyes that she was not quite herself. “How about it? Lunch?” He was dying to go out with her, to be with her, to take her home, to be alone with her, to enjoy every minute they still had. It was becoming an obsession. But she was shaking her head.
“I’d love to. But I can’t. I’m having lunch with Kim.”
“Damn. All right, I won’t ask you to break it. But when I leave here at five today, madam, you’re all mine.”
“Yes, sir.” She looked up at him with pleasure.
“Promise?”
“That’ll be an easy promise to keep.”
