Danielle Steel: The Kiss

“Life between two people who love each other is.” They had been to hell and back, and Isabelle felt they had a right to a small piece of Heaven together, however unusual it may be. She loved him, just as he was, without hesitation or reservation, and was more than willing to stand beside him for the rest of her life, and wanted to.

“I can't let you do this to yourself, Isabelle,” he said firmly. “I won't do it. No matter what just happened here. I shouldn't have let that happen. It was stupid and irresponsible of me.”

“And human. Do you ever leave yourself room for that? Can't you just let yourself be happy once in a while and not beat yourself to death?” He smiled at what she said, knowing that some of it, if not all, was true. “Why do you have to make this difficult, when it isn't, and doesn't need to be? We love each other. Can't you just let that be enough?” She was making a lot more sense than he.

“Sometimes love isn't enough. You don't know what you'd be getting into, Isabelle.”

“Yes, I do,” she argued with him. It was nearly six o'clock in the morning, and she knew he had to leave soon. “I spent fifteen years taking care of Teddy. I know what caring for and loving someone truly sick means. You're not sick. You're strong and healthy and whole. You can't walk. That makes no difference to me. I wouldn't have cared if you couldn't make love again. That's a lovely bonus, but I would have been willing to live without that too. What we have together means more than that to me.”

“I wouldn't have let you,” he said firmly, beginning to look grim. “But I can't let you take this on either. I'm not willing to. I came here to say good-bye to you, and that's what we have to do.”

“That's so stupid, and such a waste. I won't let you do that.”

“You have no choice. I won't see you again.” And they both knew he was capable of it.

“And then what? You condemn us both to be lonely for the rest of our lives, to think of what we had and lost, and could have had if you weren't so stubborn? To what end? Where is the victory here? Do they give us rewards in Heaven for punishing ourselves and each other, for depriving ourselves? All right, maybe it won't always be easy. It will not be ‘perfect.’ But nothing in life is. And as far as I can see, this is as perfect as it gets, what we have between us. Why can't you just let us have what we deserve and want? You've been punished enough, how much more misery do you have to inflict on yourself, and on me? I've lost enough in my life, so have you. For God's sake, be sensible….” Tears filled her eyes and ran down her cheeks as she looked at him, but he was unmoved.

“I'm sorry,” he whispered, kissed the top of her head, and then wheeled himself to the door and turned around to look at her.

“Why did you do this?” She was crying as she asked him. “What was the point? Just to torture both of us? To remind us both of how much we love each other and take it all away again, so we can live in darkness and sorrow forever? Why, when we are so happy together and love each other so much? Why can't you let us have that? Is that so hard for you?”

“Maybe I don't love you enough,” he said sadly, “or myself, and maybe you wouldn't be able to love me as much as you think.”

“Don't make it so complicated. It isn't. I love you. That's all that matters. And however much you love me, that's enough for me.”

“I am not enough for you, that's the whole point,” he said, looking agonized from the doorway, wanting to come back and hold her in his arms again, but he wouldn't allow himself to.

“Let me decide that. Let me be the judge of who I love, and who I don't. You don't have the right to make that decision for me.”

“Yes, I do,” he said, looking at her one last time, and wheeled out of her room. The door slammed behind him a second later, and Isabelle sat crying on the couch, and didn't move.

Chapter 19

Isabelle stayed in Washington for four days. The senator won the election, and she was pleased for Bill. She saw him on the news sitting in his wheelchair off to the side, the power behind the scenes. He never called her, and she didn't call him again. She believed him now. And she knew that, no matter how wrong she thought he was, she had to respect how he felt. It was hard to believe he was willing to be so stubborn and sacrifice everything they had. But he seemed willing to give up all that he could have had with her. It broke her heart to accept it, but she couldn't force him to come back to her. She had to accept the choice he'd made, no matter how much she disagreed with him. It was his right, just as it was hers to believe that they could have had a wonderful life. She would have been proud to be with him, wheelchair or not. It made no difference to her, but it did to him. It was his right to live as he chose.

She called Sophie on Tuesday night after the election, and told her she was coming home. Isabelle sounded sad, and Sophie didn't ask why. They had more than enough reason to these days. Sophie had struggled with her brother's loss, nearly as much as her mother had.

“Did you see your friend?” she asked, trying to cheer her up.

“Yes, I did,” Isabelle said quietly. “He looks great.”

“Is he walking again?”

“No.”

“I didn't think he would. He was in pretty bad shape when I saw him at the hospital, but so were you.”

“He seems fine in every other way. I'll be home tomorrow night, sweetheart. If you need me.” She liked Sophie knowing where she was at all times. It was a hangover of her years of being constantly responsible for Teddy, and the truth was, Sophie didn't really need to know where her mother was every minute, but it made them both feel secure. “I'll see you in a few weeks.”

“I'll call you this weekend, Mom. Did you have fun?” Sophie hoped she had, but her mother sounded very subdued.

“Not really,” Isabelle said honestly, “but I'm glad I came.” It had forced her to accept what she hadn't been able to in all this time. And she had gone to some museums and galleries. She was planning to go back to work restoring paintings at the Louvre after the first of the year, and she was steeping herself in art again. It had reminded her of her days in London with him more than a year before. Everything reminded her of Bill. Paintings, museums, Harry's Bar, dancing, music, laughter, air. Maybe it would finally stop one day. She hoped it would. If he wasn't going to be in her life again, she had to forget him as soon as she could. Maybe she'd even stop loving him one day. It would be a mercy for her when she did.

On Wednesday morning she packed the few things she'd brought, and called the bellman to collect her bag. Her flight was at one o'clock, and she left the hotel at ten. And as she closed the door to her room, the telephone rang. It took her a minute to unlock the door again, and when she got there, it had stopped. And when she checked out, the desk clerk told her he had just called to ask what time she was leaving the room. They already had someone waiting for it.

The ride to the airport was quiet and long. It had snowed again the night before, and Washington looked beautiful under a blanket of snow. She checked in for her flight, and after a while, went to buy some magazines and a book, so she'd have something to read on the plane. She felt quiet and sad, and free in a way. She had let him go at last, and she was glad she had come. She hadn't expected to feel as peaceful about it as she did. And she forced herself not to think about him as she paid for her magazines and books. She was thanking the woman for her change, when she heard a voice directly behind her.

“You know you're crazy, don't you? I always knew you were.” She closed her eyes, this couldn't be happening. It wasn't possible. But it was, and when she turned, she was looking at Bill. “You're not only crazy, but you're wrong,” he said quietly. He looked so familiar and powerful just sitting there, she smiled in spite of herself.