Once in a Lifetime Page 8

  "And now you're what?" He grinned, amused. "Twenty-five? Twenty-six?"

  "Twenty-nine." She said it with solemnity and he laughed.

  "Of course. I had no idea you were so old. I, my friend, am all of fifty-two. Twenty-nine looks like baby years to me." He looked it, and yet he didn't. There was something very wise and old and rare about him. Like fine cognac.

  They finished the rest of their coffee and he stood up and looked around the room. "Are you happy here, Daphne? It's a cozy little place."

  "I like it. Sometimes I think I'll stay up here forever." She smiled and watched him. He was a beautiful male animal, even at fifty-two.

  "Why would you stay here? For yourself or for Andrew?"

  She wanted to say that she wasn't sure, but she was. It was for him, and he saw the answer in her eyes. "You ought to get yourself back to New York one of these days, pretty lady. Don't waste yourself up here, in a cabin, living life for your child. You ought to be back with your own people, your own kind, busy, working, seeing friends. I get the feeling you've been in hibernation all these years, and you know what? You'd damn well better not waste it.

  One of these days you'll wake up and you'll be as old as I am, and you'll wonder what in hell you've done with your life. There's more to you than that, I can see it."

  Her eyes met his and all the pain of loss and time was there. "I'm not so sure. I don't have any remarkable goals, any urge to create anything memorable, no dreams of greatness. Why couldn't I be happy here?"

  "Doing what? Visiting Andrew? Hanging on to him when you ought to set him free? Walking on dark country roads when your car breaks down? Going to the Austrian Inn for Saturday-night dinner? Come on, lady, I don't know where you've been in your life, but I can tell you from looking at you, you deserve more than that."

  "Do I? Why?"

  "Because you're smart as a whip and damn pretty. Whether you want to remember that fact or not." She blushed then and he smiled at her, reaching for his jacket. "And having talked your ear off, and made a nuisance of myself, making speeches, I will now take myself off and see what those young 'uns at the garage are doing with your axle."

  "You don't have to do that." For a crazy moment she didn't want him to leave her. She felt comfortable with him there, and safe and happy. And now she would be alone again. For five years it hadn't really bothered her, and now suddenly it did.

  But he was smiling at her from the doorway. "I know I don't have to do it, but I want to. I like you, Daphne Fields." And then, almost as an afterthought, "Will you have dinner with me some night over at the inn? I promise not to lecture or make speeches, it's just that watching pretty young girls waste their lives has always bothered me."

  "I'd love to have dinner with you, John."

  "Good. Then let's do that." He looked pensive for a moment and then smiled at her. "Is tomorrow night too soon?" She shook her head slowly, wondering what she was doing, who this man was, and why she felt such a need to know him better, to be with him.

  "That would be fine."

  "I'll pick you up at six thirty. Country hours." He nodded to her, smiled, and then ambled out the door, closing it softly behind him as she stood and watched him from the window. He waved once as he pulled his truck out of the driveway, and then in a splash of gravel, he was gone. She stood there for a long time, watching the empty roadway, wondering where her life was going, and who John Fowler really was.

  In Saturday evening John arrived promptly at six thirty, wearing the same sheepskin coat, but this time over a pair of gray slacks, a blazer, and a shirt and tie. The clothes were neither well cut nor expensive, and yet on him they had a certain style. His extravagantly macho build had a way of making everything about him look handsome, and Daphne was touched that he had dressed for dinner with her. There was a certain old-fashioned chivalry about the man that she couldn't help but like.

  "My, don't you look pretty, Daphne." She was wearing a white skirt and a blue turtleneck sweater that almost perfectly matched her eyes, and over it she wore a short lamb's wool coat that made her look like a tiny French poodle. Everything about her seemed soft and small, and yet there was something so intrinsically powerful about the woman, that her tiny size sometimes seemed a lie. She had worn her hair in a simple chignon, and he looked at it with interest and a shy smile. "Do you ever wear your hair down?"

  She hesitated for a moment and then shook her head. "Not lately." She had worn it down a lot for Jeff, cascading past her shoulders. But that was all part of another time, another life, a woman she had been for another man.

  "I'd love to see it that way sometime." He chuckled softly to himself as he watched her eyes. "I have a great weakness for blond beauties, I have to warn you." But despite the teasing, and the obvious interest in his eyes, she felt safe as she left the house at his side. It was a quality she had noticed before about him. Perhaps it was because of his size, or maybe it was his almost fatherly manner, but she always felt safe beside him, as though he would take care of her, no matter what. But there was something different about her now too. She knew she could take care of herself. She hadn't known that when she married Jeff. She didn't need this man. She liked him.

  He drove her to the Austrian Inn for dinner, and the Obermeiers seemed surprised to see them together, and took special care of them both. They both happened to be among their favorite people, and in the kitchen when the frantic bustle of dinner slowed, Hilda looked at her husband with intrigue in her eyes and a victorious grin. "How do you suppose she met him?"

  "I don't know, Hilda. And it's none of our business." He chided her gently, but her curiosity and amazement could not be stopped.

  "Do you realize that I haven't seen him out to dinner since his wife died?"

  "Do you realize that you shouldn't be talking like that, Hilda? They're grown people, what they do is their business. And if he wants to take a pretty woman to dinner, why not?"

  "Did I say it was wrong? I think it's wonderful!"

  "Good. Then take them their coffee and shut up." He patted her gently on the behind and went back to see that all his guests had what they needed, and a moment later he saw John and Daphne talking over their coffee, he was telling her something funny and she was laughing like a little girl.

  "And then what did you tell them?" Her eyes still looked amused.

  "That if they couldn't run a logging camp, then they should run a ballet. And you know what, damned It'six months later they didn't sell the business and wind up buying some kind of dance troupe in Chicago." He shook his head, his eyes still laughing. "Damn fools." He had been telling her about the pair of New York phonies who had been thinking of buying a business a few years back, and running it for a tax loss. "Hell, I didn't get that place running like I did just for two jackasses from New York to come in and blow it. Not like that."

  "Do you like the work, John?" She was intrigued by him. He was obviously intelligent, well read, aware of what was happening in the world at large, and yet he had lived all his life in this tiny New England village, and worked with his strong back and his hands.

  "Yes, I like it. It suits me. I'd never have been happy in an office. I could have. Sally's father ran a bank here and all he wanted was to get me to work with him, but it wasn't me. This suits me better, out in the air all day, dealing with the men, working with my hands." He smiled at her. "I'm a laborer at heart, Mrs. Fields." But it was obvious that there was a great deal more to him than that. But what the laboring had done was give him an earthiness, a strength, a sense of reality, and a chance to observe human nature. He was a wise man, and as the evening wore on she found that she liked that about him. It was over dessert that he looked at her for a long moment and then took one of her hands in his own. "We've both lost a great deal, you and I, and yet here we are, strong and alive, we've survived it."

  "I wasn't always sure I would." It was a relief to admit that to somebody.

  "You always will. But you don't know that yet, do you?"

  "So
metimes I have my doubts. Sometimes I think I won't make it another day."

  "You will." He said it with quiet confidence. "But maybe it's time you stopped fighting all your wars alone." He had sensed instantly that there had been no one in her life for a very long time. She had the kind of silent sorrow of a woman who has almost forgotten the gentle touch of loving. "Has there been anyone in your life since your husband died, Daphne, or shouldn't I ask?"

  She smiled and looked shy, the huge cornflower eyes suddenly even bigger. "You can ask. No, there hasn't. In fact"--she blushed and he felt an almost irresistible urge to kiss her--"this is the first date I've ever had ... since ..." She didn't have to say the rest. He understood.

  "What a waste of a beautiful woman." But this time his words were too much, and she turned her eyes away from his.

  "It was better that way. There was more of me to give to Andrew."

  "And now?"

  "I don't know...." She looked troubled as she said the words. "I don't know what I'll do without him."

  "I think"--he narrowed his eyes as he watched her--"I think that you're going to do something very important."

  She laughed and shook her head, amused by what he said. "Like what? Run for Congress?"

  "Maybe, if that's what you want. But it isn't. There's something deep inside you, Daphne, that's aching to come out. And maybe one of these days you'll let it." She was stunned by his words. She had often thought the same thing, and the only release that she had for what she felt was in her journals. For a moment she wanted to tell him about them, but then suddenly she felt silly. "Would you like to go for a walk?" They stood up after dinner, and he followed her outside the inn as Mrs. Obermeier watched with obvious pleasure. "You've made friends in this town, little one." He smiled down at her as they walked outside. "Mrs. Obermeier likes you."

  "I like her too." They walked side by side in silence for some time, along the deserted streets, and then he tucked her gloved hand into his arm.

  "When am I going to meet Andrew?" There seemed to be no question that he would, only when it would happen. It was as though in two days this man had become a part of her life, and she wasn't sure where they were going, but she knew that she liked it. She felt released suddenly from all the bonds that had chained her for years, and she felt a little bit adrift, but it was a pleasant feeling.

  She turned her face up to his as they walked along and looked at the powerful profile beside her. She wasn't sure what he would be in her life, but she knew for certain that he would be her friend. "How about tomorrow? I was going to visit him in the afternoon. Would you like to come?"

  "I'd love it."

  They walked slowly back to his truck then, and he drove her home. He walked her to the door, and she didn't invite him in, and he didn't seem to expect it. She waved as she closed the door and he slipped into his truck and drove away, filled with his own thoughts of Daphne.

  Andrew was waiting outside with two counselors and some of the other children when Daphne and John arrived at the school, and she was quick to recognize a look of suspicion in her son's eyes. He wasn't sure who the man was, and perhaps he was threatened by John's size. But Daphne had the feeling that he wasn't sure if he liked seeing someone with his mother. He had an instinctive sense of possession about her, which she had allowed to flourish.

  She folded him quickly into her arms and kissed his cheek and his neck, nestling her face beside his, feeling the familiar warmth of the child who was so much a part of her, and then she pulled away and signed to him that this was her friend, just as he had friends at the school. And his name was John. And John knelt on the ground beside him. He didn't know any of the signs Daphne had already learned, but he seemed to communicate with the little boy with his eyes and his huge, gentle hands, and in a few minutes Andrew came to him hesitantly, like a cautious puppy. Without saying a word to him, John stretched forth a hand and took Andrew's small hand in his own. He began to talk to him then, in his deep, soft voice, as Andrew watched him. The boy's eyes stayed riveted to John's and once or twice he nodded, as though he understood him. There seemed to be total acceptance between them as Daphne watched in fascination. And then, without a word to her, Andrew led John away to sit beneath a tree, and "talk." The child signed, and the man spoke, and they seemed to understand each other as though they had always been friends. Daphne stood in the distance, watching in total fascination as she felt a surge of emotion within her, half sorrow to have lost another little piece of Andrew, half joy to see John reach out to this child she loved with her whole soul. And somewhere deep within there was resentment, too, to see the doors to Andrew's silent world swing open so easily for John, when she had struggled for so long to unlock them. But above all there was tenderness for both John and Andrew as they returned to her at last, hand in hand, and smiling. They began to play then, and a little while later all three of them were laughing. The hours until dinnertime flew like minutes, and Daphne showed John the school, suddenly proud that she had done the right thing for Andrew. And as they walked back downstairs from the room where Andrew slept, John looked at her with warmth that washed over her like a Mediterranean summer.

  "Has anyone told you how terrific you are, little one?" She blushed and he put an arm around her shoulders and held her close. It was the first time she felt him near her, and it was a powerful feeling as she closed her eyes in his embrace. "You're brave and you're wonderful. You did a beautiful thing for Andrew, and it's going to be good for both of you," and then in a soft voice that took her completely by surprise, "and I love you for it." She stood staring at him for a moment, not sure what to say, and he smiled and bent to kiss her forehead. "It's okay, Daphne, I'm not going to hurt you."

  "Thank you." She wasn't sure why she said it, but she suddenly slipped her arms around his waist and held him. She had so desperately needed someone to tell her what he had just told her, that she hadn't deserted Andrew, that it was all right, that she had done the right thing. "Thank you so much."

  He gave her a quick squeeze and then walked the rest of the way downstairs, where they found Andrew and the others ready to sit down to dinner. It was time for them to go, and this time Andrew whimpered for a minute before they left, and Daphne held him close to her with tears in her eyes, breathing softly on his cheek, "I love you." She pulled him away from her then, so he could see her mouth the words, and he flung himself ferociously into her arms again and made a croak, which was his "I love you." Mrs. Curtis came along then, and touched his cheek with a warm smile, signaling to him to ask if he was ready to come to dinner. He looked unsure for a minute, and then he nodded and smiled, signing yes, and then with a quick wave and a kiss, and a look of friendship toward John, he left them and joined the others.

  "Ready to go, or do you want to wait awhile?" John didn't want to rush her. He could almost feel in his own gut the fresh pain she was feeling. But she nodded slowly, her eyes still riveted to her child, and then she turned and looked up at John, grateful that he was there. "You okay?"

  "Yes. Let's go."

  He followed her out, and she marveled at how good it felt to have someone to take care of her for a change. And suddenly as the cold night air hit their faces outside, she wanted to run. The pain of leaving Andrew was already dim, and she felt more alive than she had in years. She laughed suddenly and skipped to the truck like a little girl, as John walked beside her.

  "He's a terrific little kid, you know." He looked at her almost with shared pride as he started the engine. "You've done one hell of a fine job."

  "That's just the way he is. I'm not sure I had anything to do with it."

  "Yes, you did. And don't you forget it." He sounded almost stern as they drove away from the school, and he saw with pleasure that she still looked happy. "Want to go back to the inn for dinner? I feel like celebrating, and I'm -not even sure what." He glanced at her and their eyes met and held. There was a powerful bond forming between them, and she had just shared an important part of her life with him. He
was touched and pleased that she had let him meet Andrew.

  "How about if I make you dinner instead?"

  "Can you cook?" He was teasing and they both laughed. "I eat a lot."

  "How about spaghetti?"

  "That's it?" He looked shocked and she laughed, feeling like a kid, and suddenly for no reason at all, she remembered the first time she had cooked dinner for Jeff at her apartment. That had been an eternity ago, and she was ashamed to realize that it all seemed dim now, long ago and far away and not entirely real. There were times now when she had the feeling that the memories of Jeffrey were fading. "Just spaghetti?" John's voice brought her back to the present.

  "Okay, how about a steak? And a salad."

  "I accept. With pleasure," he added, and she laughed again.

  "You must cost one hell of a lot to feed, John Fowler."

  He looked amused at the look on her face. "Not to worry. I make a healthy wage logging."

  "Isn't it dangerous though?" Her brow creased in a small frown. And it pleased him that she was worried.

  "Sometimes. Not very often. Most of us know what we're doing. It's the greenies you have to look out for. The young kids who sign on for a summer. They'll kill you, if you don't watch them."

  She nodded quietly and they pulled up in front of her house and walked inside, and for the next half hour she was busy cooking. He set the table and did the steaks. She did the spaghetti and the salad, and he looked longingly at the fireplace, and she knew instantly what he was thinking. "It's all right, John. If you want to, go ahead. This room would be pretty with a fire."

  "We don't need that. It's pretty without it." But suddenly she wanted him to. She wanted to leave the past behind. She was tired of the terrors and the fears and the agonies of the past.

  "Go ahead. Light the fire." There was something about him that made her feel brave.

  "I don't want to upset you, Daphne."

  "You won't. I think it's time to leave the past." It felt strange to say it, but at long last it did not feel like a betrayal.