Danielle Steel - The Promise

“What is it, Peter? It feels like a rock.” She smiled through the bandages and he laughed.

“Yes, the largest emerald I could find in the dime store.”

“Perfect!” But the gift was even more perfect than she suspected. The contents of the mysterious box proved to be a very expensive and highly elaborate camera. “Peter! My God, what a gift! I can't—”

“You most certainly can. And I expect to see some serious work done with it.”

They both knew how disturbed she was that she didn't seem to want to paint anymore. And now she no longer had the excuse of bandaged hands. But she couldn't. Something in her stopped every time she even thought of it. The paintings the nurses had brought from her Boston apartment were still enclosed in the large black artist's portfolio shoved to the back of a storage closet. She didn't want to see them, let alone work on them. But a camera might be different. Peter saw the spark in her eyes and prayed that he had opened a new door. She needed new doors. None of the old ones were going to reveal what she wanted them to. It would be better for her to start fresh.

“There is a fabulously complicated instruction booklet, which ten years of medical school never prepared me for. Maybe you can figure it out.”

“Hell, yes.” She glanced into the thick booklet and sat lost in concentration for a few moments, holding the camera and forgetting her friend, and then waved the booklet absently. “It's fantastic, Peter. Look … this thing over here, if you flick that…”

She was gone, totally enthralled, and Peter sat back with a comfortable smile. It was half an hour later before she noticed him again. She looked up suddenly with delight in her eyes, and they told him how grateful she was. “It's the most beautiful gift I've ever had.” Except for Michael's blue beads at the fair … but she forced them quickly from her mind. Peter was used to the sudden clouds which flitted across her eyes as old thoughts came to haunt her. He knew they would leave her in time. “Did you bring film?”

“Of course.” He pulled another, smaller box out of the wrappings and plonked it in her lap. “Would I forget film?”

“No. You never forget anything.” She was quick to load the camera and begin shooting photographs of him, and then of the view, and then a quick series of a bird as it flew past the terrace. “They'll probably be awful, but it's a start.” He watched her silently for a long time, and then he put an aim around her shoulders and they went inside.

“You know, I have another gift for you today, Nancy.”

“A Mercedes. See, I always guess.”

“No. This one's serious.” He looked down at her with a gentle, cautious smile. “I'm going to share a friend with you. A very special lady.” For an insane moment, Nancy felt a ripple of jealousy course down her spine, but something in Peter's face told her that she didn't need to feel that way. He sensed her watching him closely, though, as he went on. “Her name is Faye Allison, and we went to medical school together. She is, without a doubt, one of the most competent psychiatrists in the West, maybe in the country, and she's a very good friend and a very special person. I think you're going to like her.”

“And?” Nancy waited, tense but curious.

“And … I think it might be a good idea for you to see her for a while. You know that. We've talked about it before.”

“You don't think I'm adjusting well?” She sounded hurt, and put the camera down to look at him more seriously.

“I think you're doing remarkably well, Nancy, but if nothing else, you need another person to talk to. You have Lily and Gretchen and me, and that's it. Don't you want someone else to talk to?”

Yes. Michael. He had been her best friend for so long. But for the moment, Peter was enough. “I'm not sure.”

“I think you will be once you meet Faye. She is incredibly warm and kind. And she's been very sympathetic to your case from the beginning.”

“She knows about me?”

“From the first” She had been there the night Marion Hillyard and Dr. Wickfield had called, but Nancy didn't need to know that. He and Faye had been lovers on and off for years, more as a matter of companionship and convenience than as a result of any great passion. They were friends most of all “She's coining to join us for coffee this afternoon. All right with you?”

But she knew she had little choice. “I suppose so.” She grew pensive as she settled herself in the living room. She wasn't at all sure she liked this addition to her scene, particularly a woman. She felt an instant sense of competition and distrust.

Until she met Faye Allison. Nothing Peter had said had prepared her for the warmth she felt from the other woman. She was tall, thin, blonde, and angular, but all the lines of her face were soft. Her eyes were warm and alert; there was an instant Joke, an instant answer, an instant burst of laughter always ready in those eyes. Yet one sensed, too, that she was always ready to be serious and compassionate. Peter left them alone after the first hour, and Nancy was actually glad.

They talked about a thousand things, and none of them the accident Boston, painting, San Francisco, children, people, medical school. Faye shared chunks of her life with Nancy, and Nancy gave her glimpses of herself that she hadn't given anyone for a long time, not since she had first gotten to know Michael. Views of the orphanage, real views, not the amusing ones she gave Peter. The loneliness of it, the questions about who she really was, why she had been left there, what it meant to be totally alone. And then for no reason she could think of, she told Faye about her arrangement with Marion Hillyard. There was no shock, no reproach, there was nothing but warmth and understanding in the way Faye Allison listened, and Nancy found herself sharing feelings which covered years, not just the past four months. But the relief of telling her about Marion Hillyard was enormous.

“I don't know, it sounds so strange to say it, but—” She hesitated, feeling foolish, and looking childlike as she glanced up at her new friend. “But I … I had never had any kind of family, growing up in the orphanage. The mother superior was the closest I had to a mother, and she was more like a maiden aunt. But despite what I knew about Marion, from Michael, from his friend Ben, just from what I sensed—despite all that, I always had these crazy dreams, fantasies, that she would like me, that we would be friends.” Her eyes filled with unexpected tears and she looked away.

“Did you think that maybe she'd become your mother?”

Nancy nodded silently and then blinked away the tears with a terse laugh, “Isn't that insane?”

“Not at all. It was a normal assumption. You were in love with Michael. You have no family of your own. It's normal that you should want to adopt his. Is that why your deal with her hurt so much?” But she already knew the answer, as did Nancy.

“Yes. It was proof of just how much she hated me.”

“I wouldn't go that far, Nancy. From the look of things, she's done an awful lot for you. She did send you out to Peter for a new face.” Not to mention the extremely comfortable lifestyle she had provided during the process.

“As long as I gave up Michael. She was rejecting me, for him—and for herself. I knew then that I had never had a chance with her. It was a horrible moment.” She sighed, and her voice became more gentle. “But I guess I've lost before and survived it.”

“Do you remember losing your parents?”

“Not in any real way. I was too little to remember anything when my father died, and not much older when my mother left me at the home. I remember the day they told me she had died. I cried, but I'm not really even sure why I cried. I don't think I remembered her. Maybe I just felt abandoned.”