Danielle Steel - The Gift

“Sometimes I just think about things …like my folks … or my sister …”

“Do you talk to them?” He was intrigued, there were still so many little mysteries about her. Everything was new and so exciting.

“I write. It works better that way. My dad still gets kind of mad when I call.”

“You must have really made him mad at you.”

“It's a long story. I'll tell you one day. Maybe next time.” Assuming that there was one.

“When's your next day off?” He couldn't wait to go out with her again. He loved being with her, the scent of her hair, the look in her eyes, the feel of her skin when he held her hand or accidentally touched her, the things she said to him, the ideas they shared. He loved everything about her.

“I've got a couple of hours off on Sunday afternoon. But after that I'm not off again till Wednesday.”

“Want to go to a movie Sunday night?” he asked hopefully, and she smiled. No one had ever taken her out like that. Most of the boys at school had no interest in her, except creeps like David O'Connor. She had never really dated anyone …not even Paul …this was all new to her and she loved it.

“I'd love it.”

“I'll pick you up at the restaurant, if that's okay with you. And if you want, Wednesday we could come back here, or we could do something else if you d rather.”

“I love it here' she said, looking around, and then at him, and meant it.

They didn't leave until after six o'clock when the sun started to sink a little lower in the sky, and they drove slowly back to town. He would have liked to take her out to dinner, but he had promised he would help his mother install a new bookcase. And she had insisted she was going to cook dinner, which was rare these days. He had said he would be home by seven.

At twenty to, he was at the little house where Maribeth lived, and she got out of the truck regretfully. She hated to leave him.

“Thanks for a great time.” It was the happiest afternoon she'd had in years, and he was the best friend she had ever had. It seemed like providence that he had come into her life now. “I really loved it.”

“So did I,” he smiled, standing next to her and looking into her shining green eyes. There was a luminous quality about her that mesmerized him. He was dying to kiss her as he stood there. “I'll come by the restaurant tomorrow night for dinner. What time do you get off?”

“Not till midnight,” she said regretfully. She would have liked to be free to go everywhere with him, at least for the rest of the summer. After that, everything would change anyway. But just now she could still pretend that it wouldn't. Although, after feeling the baby move that afternoon, she knew that those days were numbered.

I'll drive you home tomorrow night after work.” His parents didn't mind his going out, and he could tell them he was going to a late movie.

“I'd like that,” she smiled at him, and she stood on the front steps and waved as he drove off with a huge smile. He was the happiest boy alive when he got home, and he was still grinning when he walked in the front door of his house at five to seven.

“What happened to you? Did you catch a whale at the lake today?” His mother smiled at him, as she finished setting the table. She had made roast beef, his father's favorite, and Tommy had the odd feeling that she was making a particular effort to please him.

“No … no fish …just some sun and sand, and a little swimming.” The house smelled wonderful, she had made popovers too, and mashed potatoes and sweet corn, everyone's favorites, even Annie's. But the familiar stab of pain at the thought of her seemed a little less acute tonight. Talking about her to Maribeth had helped, and he wished he could share that with his mother, but he knew he couldn't. “Where's Dad?”

“He said he'd be home at six. I guess he got delayed. He'll be home any minute. I told him dinner was at seven.” But an hour later, he still hadn't come home, there was no answer when she called him at work, and the roast was well done by then, and her mouth was set in a thin line of fury.

At eight-fifteen she and Tommy ate, and at nine, his father walked in, obviously having had a few too many drinks, but in very high spirits.

“Well, well, the little woman cooked dinner for a change!” he said jovially, trying to kiss her, but missing even her cheek by several inches. “What's the occasion?”

“You said you'd be home at six o'clock,” she said, looking grim, “and I told you I'd have dinner on the table at seven. I just thought it was time this family started having dinner together again.” Tommy panicked at her words, but it didn't look as though that was going to happen again anyway, at least not for a while, so he decided not to worry prematurely.

“I guess I forgot. It's been so long since you cooked, I didn't even remember.” He looked only mildly apologetic, and made an effort to seem more sober than he was as he sat down at the table. It was rare for him to come home drunk, but his life had been pretty bleak for the past seven months, and relief in the form of a whiskey or two hadn't seemed so bad when offered by two of his employees.

Liz served him up a plate, without saying another word to him, and he looked at it in surprise when she handed it to him.

“The meat's pretty well done, isn't it, dear? You know I like it rare.” She grabbed the plate from him then, and poured all the food on it into the garbage can, and then banged the empty plate in the sink with an expression of disappointment.

“Then try coming home before nine o'clock. It was rare two hours ago, John' she said through clenched teeth, and he sat back in his chair, looking deflated.

“Sorry, Liz.”

She turned around at the sink then and looked at him, even forgetting that Tommy was there. They always seemed to forget him. It was as though, in their minds, he had left with Annie. His needs no longer seemed to be of importance to anyone. They were too desperately distraught themselves to ever help him.

“I guess it doesn't matter anymore, does it, John? None of it does. None of the little niceties that used to seem so important. We've all given up.”

“We don't have to,” Tommy said softly. Maribeth had given him hope that afternoon, and if nothing else, he wanted to share it. “We're still here. And Annie would hate what's happened to us. Why don't we try and spend more time with each other again? It doesn't have to be every night, just sometimes.”

“Tell your father that,” Liz said coldly, and turned her back on them as she started to do the dishes.

“It's too late, Son.” His father patted his shoulder and then disappeared into their bedroom.

Liz finished the dishes, and then, tight-lipped, put up the new bookcase with Tommy. She needed it for her schoolbooks in the fall. But she said very little to her son, except about the project they were working on, and then she thanked him and went to the bedroom. It was as though everything about her had changed in the past seven months, all the softness and warmth he had known had hardened to stone, and all he saw in her eyes now was despair, and pain, and sorrow. It was obvious that none of them were going to survive the death of Annie.

John was asleep on the bed with all his clothes on when she walked into the room, and she stood and looked at him for a long moment, and turned and closed the door behind her. Maybe it didn't matter anymore what happened between them. She'd been to the doctor several months before and he had told her there wouldn't be any more children. There wasn't any point even trying. There had been too much damage when Annie was born. And now she was forty-seven years old, and she had always had a hard time getting pregnant, even when she was younger. This time the doctor had admitted to her it was hopeless.