Once in a Lifetime (25 page)

"He's fine. He learned to ride a bike today, a two-wheeler, Mom. He can hardly wait to tell you. He was going to write you a letter tonight." It all sounded so healthy and so normal and suddenly the flood of guilt she had felt began to ebb. But her voice was sad as she answered. "I wish I'd been there."

There was a moment's silence as Matthew listened, empathizing with what he suspected that she felt.

"You will." There was a moment's comfortable silence between them. "Are you okay, Daff?"

"I think so ... yes." And then she sighed. "Just lonely as hell."

"Writing is lonely work."

"So is leaving your only son." She sighed deeply then, but there were no more tears. "How are things at Howarth?"

"Hectic for me, but I'm starting to catch up. I thought I had a good grip on things before I got here, but somehow there's always another ton of files you haven't read, or a child you have to talk to. We're making some minor changes, but nothing earth-shaking yet. I'll keep you informed."

"I'd like that, Matt." He could hear how tired she was, and she reminded him of a little girl who's been sent far from home, and is desperately homesick.

There was a moment's pause then and he tried to visualize her so far away in California. "What's your house like?"

She told him about it and he sounded impressed, particularly when he heard who it belonged to. Their conversation was distracting her a little from her pain. He was good at that too. He was sensitive and wise and strong. But, she still felt the familiar ache for Andrew. "I sure do miss you all." He was touched to be included.

"We miss you too, Daphne." His voice was warm in her ear, and she felt a stirring in her soul, and as she sat in the silent kitchen at eight o'clock at night, she reached out to this man she had known for such a brief time, yet who had become her friend before she left.

"I miss talking to you, Matt."

"I know ... somehow I expected to see you here last weekend."

"I wish I could have been. This seems like a million miles from home, no matter how pretty it is."

"You'll be home soon." But suddenly the year ahead stretched before her like a lifetime. She had to fight back her tears as he went on. "And think of what a great opportunity this is for you. We both have a lot of important new lessons ahead of us."

"Yes, I guess so ... how is it for you at Howarth?" Little by little they were regaining the ease they had discovered with each other during their talks at the school, and she felt a little less lonely. "Is it what you expected?"

"So far it is. But I have to admit ... I feel about as far from New York as you do in California." He smiled then and stretched back in his chair. "New Hampshire is awfully quiet."

She laughed softly from her seat at the counter in the kitchen. "Don't I know that well! When I first moved up there, when I put Andrew in the school, I used to get nervous just listening to the silence."

"What did you do to get used to it?" He was smiling, remembering the look in her eyes, and feeling the miles evaporate between them.

"I kept a journal. It became like a constant friend. I think in a funny way that that's how I started writing. The journal became essays, and then I started writing short stories, and then I wrote the first book, and now"--she looked around the streamlined white kitchen--"and now look what's happened, I'm out on the West Coast writing a movie I have no idea how to write. On second thought, maybe you'd better get used to the silence and let it go at that."

They both laughed. "Miss Fields, are you complaining?"

"No." She thought it over with a soft smile. "I think I'm actually whining. I was lonely as hell tonight when I called you."

"There's no shame in that. I called my sister the other night and I was practically in tears. I had one of my nieces relay all my complaints to her, in hope of getting a little sympathy from Martha."

"What did she say?"

"That I was an ungrateful bastard and that I was getting paid twice what I make at the New York School and I should bloody well shut up and enjoy it." He laughed at the memory of the words his niece had relayed over the phone. "That's my sister. She's right, of course, but I was mad as hell anyway. I wanted sympathy and I got a kick in the ass. I guess I had it coming. That's the kind of stuff I used to say to her before we ran away to Mexico."

"What was that like?" She didn't feel like working anymore. She just wanted to hear Matt's voice as she sat in the kitchen.

"Oh, God, Daphne, Mexico was the craziest thing I've ever done, and I loved it. We lived in Mexico City for a while. We spent three months in Puerto Vallarta, which was a sleepy little town then with cobblestone streets, where no one spoke English. Martha not only learned to lip-read, she learned to lip-read in Spanish." His voice filled with admiration and love again at the memory.

"She must be an amazing woman."

"Yeah"--his voice was soft--"she is. She's a lot like you, you know. She's got guts and heart at the same time, it's a rare combination. Most people who have survived tough moments in life become tough themselves. She never did, and you didn't either." It made her wonder again just how much he knew, how much more than she had told him. But he had already decided to confess to her. "Mrs. Obermeier told me about your friend up here. The one you referred to last time we talked." Matt was afraid to say his name, as though he had no right to. "He must have been a wonderful man."

"He was," she sighed softly and tried not to feel the pain of loss again, but it was hard not to. "I was wondering tonight how different my life would be now if he were still alive, or if Jeff were. I suppose I wouldn't be out here, beating my brains out over my typewriter."

"You wouldn't be half the person you are now, Daphne. That's all a part of you now. It's part of what makes you so special." She wondered if he was right. "I don't know if I'd say you were luck'y exactly, but maybe in a funny way you are. You've had some damn tough things happen to you in your life, but you've beaten them into tools you can use, and beautiful parts of yourself. That's quite a victory." She had never really thought of herself as victorious, just as surviving, but she also knew mat in other people's eyes that was how it looked. She had won: she was successful. But there was more to life than that, as she knew only too well. Much more. Even though now she no longer had that. But whatever she did or didn't have in her life anymore, Matthew Dane made her feel better about life and herself every time she talked to him.

"You're a hell of a good friend, Matthew Dane. You make me want to run out and conquer the world again."

"It's an awfully nice world out there to conquer."

"Who taught Andrew to ride the bike?" But she already knew without asking.

"I did. I had some spare time this afternoon, and he had nothing much to do. I'd seen him watching some of the older kids the other day and I saw the look in his eyes, so we went out and gave it a try, and he did great." She smiled at the vision he conjured up.

"Thank you, Matt."

"He's my friend too, you know."

"He's a lucky boy."

"No, Daff." His eyes were gentle and wise as he sat in his chair. "He's not the lucky one, I am. Kids like Andrew make my life worth living."

There didn't seem much else to say. "I guess I ought to let you go. We both have work to do." It was a comforting feeling for some reason, knowing that when she went to her desk, he would be sitting at his, both of them working into the night for the next few hours.

"Give my love to Andrew tomorrow, and a big kiss from me."

"I will. And Daphne"--he faltered for a moment, always unsure of just how much to say--"I'm glad you called."

"So am I." He had made her feel warm and happy and as though she had a friend somewhere. "I'll call again soon."

They each said good-bye and afterward she could still feel his presence beside her in the kitchen. She went to her desk, and looked down at her work, and then she walked into her bedroom, took off her clothes, slipped into a black bathing suit, and walked out to the pool. The warm water was delicious on her skin and she swam a few laps, thinking of Matthew. When she got out, she felt refreshed and went back to her desk after she changed her clothes. And half an hour later she was a thousand miles away again, lost in her screenplay. But in New Hampshire, Matthew Dane put aside his files and turned off the lights and sat staring into the fire, thinking of Daphne.

"What's she like, Barb?" Barbara and Tom lay stretched out beside his pool. It had been two weeks since they'd moved into the new house, and she had barely seen Daphne. She was deep in her work and hardly knew what happened around her. Barbara completed whatever tasks she had to, and every evening now she came over to see Tom. Both their lives had changed radically in two weeks, since they had become lovers. He held lightly to her hand now as they watched the sunset and lay beside his pool. He was always fascinated by stories of Daphne.

"She's hardworking, loving, compassionate, sad."

"She must be. She's had enough rotten stuff happen to her in one lifetime to kill ten people."

"But it hasn't killed her. That's the amazing thing about her. She's warmer and gentler and more open than anyone I know."

"I don't believe that." He shook his head and looked into Barbara's eyes.

"Why not? It's true."

"Because no one is more warm or gentle than you." As he said it she realized again how lucky she was. In truth, luckier than Daphne. She was silent for a moment as Tom watched her and then leaned over and kissed her tenderly. He had never been as happy in his life and he had watched Barbara open up before him in the past two weeks like a summer flower. She was laughing and happy and her eyes were more alive than they had been when he met her when she was in college. "Look at you, love. You were hurting too. Nobody can be that alone and be happy. I wasn't even alone and I was miserable."

"You didn't look all that miserable to me that day at Gucci." She loved to tease him about that. Eloise had disappeared two weeks before, and was already reported to be living with a young actor.

But Barbara also knew now that he had been desperately lonely while he was married. It was hearing him tell her about that that had opened her heart and allowed her to trust him. He had been so badly hurt, much more so than she had been by the lawyer who'd gotten her pregnant years before. She had told him about that too, and he had held her in his arms while she cried, spilling the guilt and the sorrow she had felt for thirteen years and kept bottled up inside. And then she had admitted that what she really grieved over was that she was now too old to have children.

"Don't be ridiculous, how old are you?"

"Forty." He was forty-two, and he looked at her with gentle determination.

"Women today are having babies at forty-five and forty-seven and fifty, for chrissake. Forty isn't even remarkable anymore. Is there any medical reason why you couldn't?"

"Not that I know of." Except that she had always secretly wondered if the abortion had damaged her in some way and would keep her from having children. For years she had no longer wondered. It was obvious that it was irrelevant. But Tom didn't agree. "It really is too late. It's ridiculous to have children at my age."

"If you want them, it's ridiculous not to. My children have been the greatest joy in my life. Don't ever deprive yourself of that, Barbara."

He had introduced her to Alexandra, and she could see why his children brought him such joy. She was a beautiful, happy, easygoing young girl, with Sandy's striking blond looks and her father's gentle disposition. She hadn't yet met his son, Bob, but from all that she heard, he was much like his father and she was sure that she would like him too.

For six weeks Barbara kept her life secret from Daphne. Then one morning Barbara came home and found Daphne sitting in the living room with an almost drunken grin.

"What's with you?"

"I did it!"

"Did what?"

"I finished the screenplay!" She was exploding with energy and pride, her eyes alight with excitement. She had a sense of accomplishment second to none, and the secret bonus of knowing that the sooner she finished her work, the sooner she would see her son.

"Hurray!" Barbara had given her a huge hug, and had opened a bottle of champagne. It was on their third glass that Daphne looked at her with her eyes full of mischief.

"Well, aren't you ever going to tell me?"

"Tell you what?" Barbara's mind went momentarily blank.

"About where you go every night while I work my ass off." Daphne grinned and Barbara blushed furiously. "And don't tell me that you've been going to the movies."

"I've been meaning to say something, but ..." She looked up, with a dreamy expression in her eyes, and Daphne groaned.

"Oh, God, I knew it. You're in love." She wagged a finger at her. "Just don't tell me you're getting married. At least not until we finish the movie." Barbara's heart sank, Tom had mentioned marriage for the first time that night, and her answer had been much like Daphne's admonition. He had been hurt by her loyalty to her employer, but he had agreed to wait until the propitious moment.

"I'm not getting married, Daff. But I must admit ... I'm crazy about him." She smiled broadly and looked about fourteen years old instead of forty.

"Am I ever going to meet him? Is he respectable? Will I approve?"

"Yes, to all three questions. He's wonderful and I love him madly, and ... he married my roommate in college, and I ran into him at Gucci, with this incredibly beautiful stupid redhead, and ..." It all came rushing out at last and Daphne laughed at her.

"My, I've been missing a lot, haven't I? What does he do? And please don't tell me he's an actor." She wanted the very best for Barbara, and didn't want her to get hurt again. She suddenly frowned, worried, thinking about what Barbara had said about his marrying her roommate. "Is he still married?"

"Of course not. He's divorced, and he's a lawyer. He's with Baxter, Shagley, Harrington, and Row." And at that Daphne suddenly grinned.