Once in a Lifetime (5 page)

"It's fun trying though, isn't it, kid?" He teased her on a Sunday morning that was Christmas Day. "Want to try again?"

"After last night? I'm not sure I've got the strength." After getting the tree and the presents ready for Aimee, they had made love until 3 A.M. She had grinned at him and he swatted her behind. Their sex life was even better than it had been five years before. She grew prettier as she grew older, and at twenty-four she had a more womanly air as she strode across the room and stroked a single finger across his naked belly, circling slowly around the places that pleased him the most.

"If you do that, you're gonna get raped!" But Aimee had burst into the room, her arms filled with new toys, and he had quickly wrapped himself in a towel while Daphne went to help her dress the new doll Santa Claus had brought.

"Sorry, sweetheart."

"Kids!" He rolled his eyes and went off to take a shower. It was a lazy, easy day, the three of them ate turkey and cranberry jelly and dressing till they could barely move, and when at last Aimee went to bed that night, they sat in front of the fireplace in their living room, reading the last of the Sunday Times, drinking mugs of hot chocolate, and looking at the tree. It had been a perfect Christmas on a relaxed Sunday afternoon and evening as Daphne stretched out on the couch and put her head in Jeffrey's lap.

"What's a mountain range in Peru?"

"I give up. What is it?" He had no knack whatsoever for the crossword puzzle she tackled every Sunday, even during the festivities of Christmas. "How the hell do you do that damn thing, Daff? Christ, I went to Harvard Law School, did okay, and I still can't get three words right." She finished the whole thing every week by Tuesday, and wouldn't give up until she did. He was no help at all and yet she always asked him. "And don't ask me who Beethoven's sister was or I'll throw my hot chocolate at you."

"That's it!" She grinned evilly and sat up. "Violence! That's the one I couldn't get on twenty-six across."

"You drive me nuts. Come on"--he stood up and held out a hand--"let's go to bed."

"Let's wait until the fire goes out." Their bedroom and Aimee's was upstairs in the little duplex they had acquired the summer before with his last raise, and Daphne loved the fireplace but she always worried, especially now, so near to the Christmas tree.

"Turn your worry button off, it's almost out now."

"Then let's wait."

"Let's not." He pinched her behind. "I'm so horny I can hardly see straight. I think you put an aphrodisiac in my hot chocolate."

"Bullshit." She grinned at him and stood up. "You've been a sex maniac ever since I met you. You don't need an aphrodisiac, Jeffrey Fields. You need saltpeter in your food just to keep you normal." He laughed and chased her up the stairs to their bedroom, where he threw her gently into bed and began to caress her beneath her sweater and she wondered, as she had for the past two months, If she would get pregnant this time. "Why do you think It's taking so long this time?" She looked only faintly worried. With Aimee she had gotten pregnant almost on the first try, but this time it hadn't taken yet. Jeffrey only shrugged and smiled.

"Maybe I'm over the hill ... hell, maybe you ought to get a new model."

Her eyes were serious as she looked at him across the bed as they undressed. "I'd never find anyone like you, Jeff. I don't give a damn if we never have another baby. Do you know how much I love you?"

"How much?" His voice was deep and husky as he reached for her across their bed and pulled her slowly toward him.

"More than you'll ever know, my love." Her words were swallowed by his lips as they kissed and held, and began to make love beneath the comforter she had bought for their big brass bed. The bed was a kind of joke between them. The springs squeaked, and the bed creaked outrageously when they made love, but it was an antique they had bought at an auction and they loved it. They had bought a smaller one for Aimee, and Daphne had discovered a beautiful child's quilt her grandmother had made among her mother's things.

"Think I should check on Aimee?" She always did before they went to bed, but tonight she felt sensual and lazy as she lay sated in her husband's arms, and he felt the same, and for a prescient instant she wondered if there would be life in her womb again. Their lovemaking had had an ardor and a depth and seriousness to it that somehow seemed as though it ought to result in their longed-for second child. She was thinking of the baby they wanted, and not the one they had, as she lay sleepily in Jeffrey's arms.

"She's all right, Daph." He always teased her because she stood so solemnly beside Aimee's bed every evening, staring down at the golden-haired little girl who looked so much like her. And If she slept too soundly, Daphne would put a finger just beneath her nose to make sure that she was breathing. 'Just stay put tonight. She's fine." Daphne smiled drowsily then, and a moment later was sound asleep curled up within Jeffrey's comfortable clasp. She lay there like that asleep for hours, until she stirred slowly in a distant dream. They were standing beside a waterfall, all three of them, she, Jeffrey, and Aimee, and the sound of the cascading water was so loud that it disturbed her sleep, but there was something more, too, a smell in the woods that somehow she couldn't escape from, and at last she stirred beside Jeffrey, coughing, opened her eyes to flee the dream, and looked through their bedroom doorway to discover that the sound of water that had roused her was the roar of fire, and that beyond their bedroom was a wall of flame.

"Jeff! ... My God, Jeff!" She jumped from the bed feeling dazed and dizzy and he stirred slowly as she shook him and began to scream. "Jeff! Aimee!" He was awake then and saw instantly what was happening as he struggled from their bed, heading naked toward their bedroom doorway. Daphne was right behind him, her eyes wide with terror as he was forced back by the flames. "Oh, God, Jeff, the baby!" There were tears streaming from her eyes from the pungent smoke and raw fear, but he turned to her swiftly and grabbed her shoulders tightly in his hands, shouting above the roar of the fire.

"Stop it, Daff! The fire's in the hall. We're safe, so is she. I'm going to get her now and she's going to be fine. I want you to put the blanket around you and crawl as fast as you can down the stairs to the doorway. I'm going to grab Aimee out of bed and I'll be right behind you. There's nothing to be afraid of! Do you understand me?" He was wrapping her in the blanket as he spoke, his movements quick and agile as he shoved her down toward the floor in the doorway of their bedroom and spoke clearly into her ear. "I love you, Daff. If I'll be fine." He spoke with absolute conviction and then dashed the few feet toward Aimee's bedroom as Daphne headed down the stairs, trying not to panic, knowing that Jeff would keep Aimee safe, he always took care of them ...always ... always ... she said it over and over to herself as she crawled down the stairs, trying to glance behind her, but the smoke seemed to have grown more dense and she could barely breathe, she felt as though she were swimming in the acrid smoke, and she couldn't see, and suddenly there was the sound of an explosion behind her, but as she heard it, it seemed to come from a great distance, and she was back in the dream she had had, standing beside the waterfall with Aimee and Jeff, and suddenly she wondered if the fire had only been a dream too. She felt comforted as she realized that it was ... just a dream ... just a dream ... as she drifted off to sleep and felt Jeff at her side ... she heard voices then in the dream as she slept on and after she heard a strange and eerie wail ... that familiar sound again ... that sound ... and the lights coming at her through the fog ... Mrs. Fields, the voices said, Mrs. Fields ... and then the lights had been too bright, and she was in an unfamiliar, frightening place, and she had felt terror course through her like hot blood, unable to remember how she had gotten there or why, and she had looked everywhere for Jeff ... trapped between reality and dreams ... there had been bandages on her hands and legs, and a thick coating of ointment on her face, and a doctor had looked down at her with despair as she cried ... "no, NO! Not my baby! ... not Jeff!!!

NOOO "

Daphne Fields called out in the night in an anguished broken voice, remembering when she had seen those bright lights before ... after the fire.... It was Christmas morning when she woke, and the day nurse in intensive care came running to see her, lying there, shaking, her eyes wild, her face frozen with remembered pain. She had waked then as she did now, feeling the same shaft of agony slice through her like a guillotine, just as it had then, nine years before, the night Jeff and Aimee died in the fire.

Barbara Jarvis arrived at Lenox Hill two hours after Liz Watkins had called. She had looked up Barbara's number when she got home, and Barbara came at once, shaking from head to foot at the news. It was nine o'clock in the morning, and unlike the starched nurse who led her down the hall, Barbara Jarvis looked as though she hadn't slept all night. She had been up late, and the news of Daphne's accident rocked her to the core. She had been told that her employer was in intensive care at Lenox Hill and that she could visit for fifteen minutes on the hour and should notify whatever relatives there were. Liz Watkins had wondered, after she called, if the secretary would come and what she would be like. She hadn't sounded very friendly on the phone, hadn't thanked Liz for her call, and had sounded almost suspicious in answer to the nurse's words. Liz suspected that she was a strange one, and the nurse who saw her appear at the desk would have agreed. Not strange, but far from friendly either, she had a fierce, protective way about her as she asked for Daphne's room. Her questions suggested a kind of paranoia that left the nurse feeling both angry and annoyed. She wanted to know if the press had been called, if anyone had been to see Miss Fields yet, if her name appeared on any central register, and if the general nursing staff was aware of who she was.

"Yes, some of us are." The nurse stared down at her. "We read her books."

"Maybe so. But she isn't writing here. I don't want Miss Fields disturbed." Barbara Jarvis looked ferocious as she stood to her full, rather impressive height, her dark hair pulled into a knot, her eyes deeply troubled. "Is that clear? If any of the newspapers call, there are to be no comments, no stories, no reports. Miss Fields hates publicity, and at a time like this she is entitled to be left alone."

The nurse on duty was quick to snap, "We had the governor of New York here last year, Miss ..." She was so damn tired she couldn't even remember the woman's name, and a sudden urge to call her Miss Bitch almost overtook her. "And he enjoyed total privacy while he was here. Miss Fields will do the same." But it was obvious that the dark-haired amazon standing before her didn't believe a word she said. She was in total contrast to her employer, so tiny, so frail, so delicate and blond as she lay in her hospital bed.

"How is she?"

"There's been no change since you were called. She had a difficult night."

Little lightning bolts of worry darted into Barbara Jarvis's eyes. "Is she in a great deal of pain?"

"She shouldn't be. She's being well medicated, but It's hard to tell." And then she wondered if Barbara could shed some light on the obvious terrors Daphne had suffered the night before. Her voice softened as she looked at Barbara Jarvis. "She had a rough night." She explained the nightmares Liz Watkins had described in the chart and something in Barbara Jarvis's eyes said that she knew, but she wasn't going to give anything up. "She had nightmares ... dreams ... it could be from the concussion. I'm not really sure." The secretary said not a single word. "If you'd like to see her, you can see her briefly. She floats in and out of consciousness and she may not know who you are." Barbara nodded and looked rapidly at the rooms all along the well-lit hall. There was an eerie quality to intensive care, even to a healthy person. Nowhere in the hall was there a trace of daylight, everything was brilliant and fluorescent and technical and bright. It was more than a little frightening and Barbara Jarvis had never seen an intensive care unit before. But she knew that Daphne had. She had come to her long after the tragic fire, but Daphne had told her about it one night. She knew all about it, and about Aimee and Jeffrey, and after the past three years with Daphne she knew a great deal more than that.

"May I see her now?"

The nurse nodded and led the way to Daphne's room. She walked into the room on swift, silent feet and stood looking down at Daphne, glancing at the monitors again and satisfied that all was well. She'd had another shot of Demerol an hour before and she would sleep now for several hours. The nurse glanced at Barbara and saw tears sliding slowly down her cheeks as she reached toward Daphne and took her tiny white hand in her larger one and held it as though Daphne might have been her child. Her pulse was still weak, and it was still too soon to tell If she would live. Barbara held her breath as she watched, trying not to cry but she couldn't help it. The nurse left them alone at last, and Barbara stood staring at Daphne miserably until the nurse came back and signaled to Barbara from the doorway. The tall, sturdy woman stood exactly where she had when the head nurse left her, and she gently replaced Daphne's hand on the bed, and then left the room. As she walked slowly back down the hall, she looked grief-stricken for a long unguarded moment and then put back her mask as they stood beside the desk.

"Will she be all right?" Barbara's eyes sought something they couldn't have, some encouragement, some hope, a promise. But it was difficult to believe that Daphne would make it, lying there, so still, so small, so immobile. She almost looked as though she were already gone. Liz took small comfort in knowing that Daphne inspired the same kind of passionate devotion from those who knew her as from those who read her books. But Barbara Jarvis was looking at her now, wanting an answer, an answer that no one had, save God.

"It's too soon to say. She could very well make it." And her voice gentled with long years of practice. "Or she might not. She has suffered a very extensive trauma." Barbara Jarvis nodded in silence and walked slowly away and into a phone booth. When she came out she asked when she could see Daphne again and they told her in half an hour. "Would you like a cup of coffee? You can see her again for fifteen minutes, on the hour. Or ..." Maybe she would leave, she was only her secretary after all.