Danielle Steel - Safe Harbour

“Can I sleep with you tonight?” Pip asked hesitantly, as they walked upstairs, after they'd cleaned up the kitchen and put the leftovers in the fridge. Alice, the cleaning woman, had left them enough groceries for breakfast the next day, and Ophélie was going to buy more in the morning. And she looked startled at Pip's request. In the whole last year, she'd never asked her mother once if she could sleep with her. She had been afraid to intrude on her mother, and in her own intense grief, Ophélie had never offered.

“I guess so. Are you sure you want to?” It had been Matt's idea, but Pip thought it another good one.

“I'd like to.” They each took baths in their own bathrooms, and then Pip turned up in her mother's bedroom in pajamas. It suddenly felt like a slumber party, and Pip giggled as she got into her mother's bed. Somehow, by remote control, Matt had changed the entire texture of their evening. And Pip looked blissful as she snuggled in the big bed next to her mother, and was asleep in minutes. And Ophélie was startled at how much comfort it gave her to hug the little body close to hers. She wondered why she hadn't thought of it sooner. They couldn't do it every night, but it was certainly an appealing option on nights like this one. And within minutes, she was sleeping as soundly as her daughter.

They both woke with a start when they heard the alarm ring. They had forgotten where they were, and why they were sleeping together, and then they both remembered. But they didn't have time to get depressed again, they had to hurry to get ready. Pip went to brush her teeth while Ophélie ran downstairs to make breakfast. She saw the Chinese food in the fridge, and with a smile, cracked open a fortune cookie and ate it.

“You will have happiness and good fortune all year,” the fortune said, as Ophélie smiled to herself. “Thank you. I need it.” She poured milk into cereal for Pip, orange juice for both of them, and dropped a slice of bread in the toaster. And then made herself a cup of coffee. Pip was down the stairs five minutes later in her school uniform, as Ophélie reached outside the front door for the morning paper. She had hardly read it all summer, and barely missed it. There was nothing exciting happening, but she glanced at it anyway, and then ran upstairs to dress so she could drive Pip to school. The mornings were always a little hectic, but she liked that, it kept her from thinking.

Twenty minutes later, she was in the car, with Mousse, driving Pip to school, and the child was smiling as she looked out the window, and then back at her mother.

“You know, that stuff Matt suggested really worked last night. I liked sleeping with you.”

“I liked it too,” Ophélie admitted. More than she'd expected. It was so much less lonely than sleeping in her big bed all alone, mourning her husband.

“Can we do it again sometime?” Pip looked hopeful.

“I'd love to.” Ophélie smiled at her as they approached the school.

“I'll have to call and thank him,” Pip said, and with that, the car stopped, and Ophélie kissed her hastily, wished her luck in school, and with a wave, Pip was gone to her friends, her day, and her teachers. Ophélie was still smiling to herself as she drove home to the much-too-big house on Clay Street. She had been so happy when they moved into it, and now it made her so unhappy. But she had to admit, last night had turned out better than she'd expected. And she was grateful for Matt's input, and creative ideas.

She walked slowly up the stairs with Mousse, and sighed as she unlocked the front door. She still had a few things to unpack, and groceries to order, and that afternoon she wanted to go by the homeless shelter. It was enough to keep her busy until she picked Pip up at three-thirty. But as she walked past Chad's room, she couldn't help herself. She opened the door and looked in. The shades were drawn and it was dark, and so empty and sad, it nearly tore her heart out. His posters were still there, and all his treasures. The photographs of him with his friends, the trophies from when he'd played sports when he was younger. But the room looked different than when she last saw it. It had a dry quality, like a leaf that had fallen and was slowly dying, and a musty smell. And as she always did, she went to his bed, and put her head on his pillow. She could still smell him, although more faintly. And then, as always happened when she walked into this room, the sobs engulfed her. And no amount of Chinese food or loud music would change that. They only postponed the inevitable agony, as she realized once again that Chad was never coming home.

She had to tear herself away finally, and went back to her bedroom, feeling drained and exhausted. But she refused to give in to it. She saw Ted's clothes hanging there, and it was almost too much for her. She lifted a sleeve to her face, and the rough tweed felt incredibly familiar. She could still smell his cologne and almost hear him. She almost couldn't bear it. But she forced herself not to give in to it. She couldn't. She knew that now. She couldn't afford to become a robot again, to stop feeling, or to let the feelings destroy her. She had to learn to live with pain, to go on in spite of it. If nothing else, she had to keep going for Pip's sake. She was grateful she had group that afternoon and could talk to them. The group was about to end soon, and she wasn't sure what she was going to do without them, and their support.

When she went to group, she told them about the night before, the Chinese food and the loud music, and Pip sleeping in her bed with her. And they saw nothing wrong with that. They saw nothing wrong with any of it, even with dating, although she insisted she wasn't ready for that, and didn't want to. They were all at different stages of their grieving. But at least it was comforting to share it with them.

“So, do you have a girlfriend yet, Mr. Feigenbaum?” she teased him as they left the building together. She liked him. He was honest and open and kind, and willing to make an enormous effort to recover, more than most.

“Not yet, but I'm working on it. What about you?” He was a warm roly-poly old man with pink cheeks and a shock of white hair. He looked like one of Santa's helpers.

“I don't want a boyfriend. You sound like my daughter.” She laughed at him.

“She's a smart girl. If I were forty years younger, young lady, I'd give you a run for your money. What about your mother? Is she single?” Ophélie just laughed at him again, and they waved as they left each other.

And after that, Ophélie stopped at the shelter. It was in a narrow back street South of Market, in a fairly dicey neighborhood, but she told herself that she could hardly expect it to be in Pacific Heights. But the people she saw at the desk and wandering in the halls were all friendly. She told them she wanted to make an appointment to sign up as a volunteer, and they asked her to come back the next morning. She could have called to make the appointment, but she wanted to see it. And as she left, two old men were standing outside with shopping carts full of everything they owned, as a volunteer handed them styrofoam cups full of steaming coffee. She could see herself doing that. It didn't seem very complicated, and it might do her good to feel useful. Better than sitting at home crying, and smelling Ted's jackets and Chad's pillow. She just couldn't let herself do that, and she knew it. Not again. Not for yet another year. The year before, of mourning them, had been a nightmare and nearly killed her. Somehow she had to make this year better. The anniversary of their death was coming up in four weeks, and although she was dreading it, she knew that in the second year of their grief, she had to make it better. Not just for herself, but for Pip as well. She owed it to her. And maybe working at the shelter would help her. She hoped so.