Summer’s End

“And then what?”

“I disappear.”

“Into that lonely life again? Into a life by yourself? In that mausoleum you lived in, and without even Pilar now? How can you do that to yourself?” He looked tormented.

“Maybe it’s just what I have to do, Ben.”

“I don’t understand.” He was about to walk back into his bedroom, but he stopped, turning to face her. “Deanna, I told you… I said it could just be for the summer and… I’d understand. That was what I said. I have no right to change that now. Do I?”

“You have every right to be furious, or very, very hurt.”

She saw tears well up in his eyes and felt them well up in her own, but he never wavered as he watched her.

“I’m both. But that’s because I love you very much.”

She nodded, but she could no longer speak. She only walked back into the circle of his arms. It seemed hours before either of them let go.

“Shall we go to Carmel today?” He was lying on his stomach, looking into her face. She had just awakened from a three-hour nap, and it was almost five. He had never gone to the gallery-he had explained that he’d be gone all week and Sally would have to hold her own. “What do you really want to do?”

“Be with you.” She said it solemnly but with a small happy smile in her eyes.

“Anywhere?”

“Anywhere.”

“Then let’s go to Tahiti.”

“I’d rather go to Carmel.”

“Seriously?” He ran a finger down her thigh. She smiled.

“Seriously.”

“O.K., then let’s go. We can have dinner down there.”

“Sure. It’s two o’clock in the morning, Paris time. By the time we have dinner, I’ll be ready for breakfast.”

“Jesus. I wasn’t thinking about that. Do you feel half dead?” She was looking very tired but she seemed to have more color now.

“No, I feel fine, and happy, and I love you.”

“Not half as much as I love you.” He took her face in his hands and pulled her closer. He wanted to kiss her, hold her, and touch her, and have all of her that he could for the few days they had left. Then he thought of something. “What about your work?”

“What about it?”

“Will we still work together at the gallery? Will we still represent you-will I?” He wanted her to be incensed, to answer “of course,” but for a long moment she said nothing. Then he knew.

“I don’t know. We’ll have to see.” But how could they? How could she go to see him at the gallery in a few months, when she would be swollen with Marc-Edouard’s child?

“It’s all right,” he said. “Never mind.”

But the look of pain in his eyes now was too much for her to bear. She burst into tears. She seemed to be doing that a lot.

“What’s wrong, love?”

“You’re going to think I’m like her-the fake, the girl you were married to.”

He knelt on the floor at her side. “You’re not a fake, Deanna. Nothing about you has ever been fake. We just undertook something difficult and now we have to live up to the deal. It’s not easy, but it’s honest. It’s always been honest. I love you more than I’ve ever loved anyone in my life. I want you to remember that always. If you ever want to come back, I will always be here for you. Always. Even when I’m ninety-three years old.” He tried to make her smile, but he failed. “Shall we make another deal now?”

“What?” She was pouting as she looked up at him. She hated Marc-Edouard, and hated herself more. She should have an abortion. Anything so she could be with Ben. Or maybe he would accept Marc’s child, if she told him the truth from the start. But she knew that she could never tell him. He would never understand.

“Come on, I want us to make another deal. I want us both to promise that we won’t talk about it being ‘just one more week.’ Let’s just live each day, love each day, enjoy every moment, and face that time when it comes. If we talk about only that, we’ll spoil the time that we have. Is it a deal?” He took her face in his hands and kissed her gently on the mouth as her hair fell softly down around her face from the loose knot she had wound it into on the top of her head. “Deal?”

“Deal.”

“O.K.” He nodded solemnly, kissed her again, and left the room.

An hour later they left for Carmel, but it was difficult not to feel the pall. Things weren’t the same as they had been before. It was almost over, and whether they said it or not, they both knew. It was much too near. The summer was coming to a bittersweet end.

24

“Ready, my darling?” It was midnight, on Monday night. Labor Day. It was over. Time to go home. She looked around the living room for the last time, then silently took his hand. The lights were already out, the woman on the beach in the Wyeth hid her face in the moonlight. For the last time Deanna glanced at her as she left the house. It was chilly, but there was a bright moon and a sky filled with stars.

“I love you.” They were whispered words as she slid quietly into the car. He touched her face, then he kissed her.

“I love you too.” They were both smiling, suddenly it was not a time to be sad. They had shared a bond of joy and peace and love like none other, and it was something no one could ever take away. It was theirs. For a lifetime. “Are you as happy as I am, Deanna?” he asked. She nodded, smiling. “I don’t know why I feel so goddamn good, except that you make me happy, and you always will. No matter what.”

“You do the same for me.” And you will. She would cling to the memories in the long winter’s night of her life with Marc. She would think of him when she held the baby, thinking that it could have been his. She wished that it had been; suddenly she wished that more than anything in her life.

“What are you thinking?”

They had started the drive back to San Francisco. They planned to be back by two in the morning. The next day they’d sleep late, and then after breakfast he’d take her home. Marc was due in that afternoon. Tuesday, at three. That was all his telegram had said. Margaret had read it to her on the phone when she called to make sure that all was well at the house. Tuesday, at three.

“I asked you what you were thinking.”

“A minute ago I was thinking that I would have liked to have your son.” She smiled into the night.

“And my daughter? Wouldn’t you want her too?” They both smiled.

“How many children do you have in mind?”

“A nice even number. Maybe twelve.” This time she laughed and leaned against his shoulder as he drove. She remembered the first time he had said that, the morning after her show. Would there ever be another morning like that one?

“I would have settled for two.”

He hated the tenses she used. It told him what he didn’t want to know. Or remember. Not tonight.

“Since when did you decide that you’re not too old?”

“I still think I am, but… it’s easy to dream.”

“You’d look cute pregnant.” This time she said nothing. “Tired?”

“Just a little.”

She had been tired too often all week long. It was the strain, but still he didn’t like the dark circles under her eyes, or the pallor of her face when she got up in the morning. But he was no longer to worry after today. This was his last chance. Miraculously, on the morrow, he was to stop.