Danielle Steel - Lightning

“What'll we do to celebrate?” Brock asked her as they stood on Fifty-seventh Street, looking at each other in relieved disbelief.

“I have an idea,” she said mischievously, looking at him, but they both knew that within an hour, she'd be vomiting again. But also for the last time. This would never happen to her again. She felt sure of it. She wouldn't let it.

They went back to the office, and spent a quiet afternoon. She was sick, but even that didn't seem as bad as usual. Even her body seemed to know that it had suffered the last assault, the last vicious attack on her system.

And that night, she lay in his arms, with her door locked, in case Annabelle woke up. They had finally given up their chastity in her home. And they knew that if Sam wasn't home by nine or ten, he wasn't coming, and tonight was no different.

“What'll we do now, Alex?” Brock asked her. They had been talking about Long Island again. She wanted to rent a place with him for the summer, and one of the partners had offered her his home in East Hampton, and it sounded very appealing. She just didn't want him to find out about Brock because of the fraternization rule at the law firm, but she didn't think he would. And they had such a good cover, that no one thought anything of seeing them together. “I'd love to take a trip with you,” he said.

“Where?” She loved to dream with him. Their whole life together had been a dream so far, a promise for the future.

“Paris …Venice …Rome …San Francisco,” he said more realistically.

“Let's do that,” she said suddenly. She hadn't taken vacation time in a year, and although she had a lot of time coming to her, she had been out so much she felt she could go away only briefly. “We don't have any court appearances next month, that I know of yet. Why don't we just go for a few days? It would be fun.”

“You've got a deal,” he beamed at her, and they lay there and talked about it. “Are you going to take the house in East Hampton?”

“I think so,” she decided as they lay there. Suddenly they could make plans, they could lead a life. They could go away. She was a real person again, with hopes, and dreams, and, with luck, a future.

The next few weeks were frantic for her. She was still catching up on work, and she was taking on more responsibilities again, for future trials. She took back her full workload, and the last day of Cytoxan came and went, almost without notice. And by the first of June, she already felt stronger and more like herself again. They were going to San Francisco at the end of the month, but before that she and Sam had to deal with Annabelle, and tell her that her father was leaving.

He had finally found a penthouse that he liked. It was close to where they currently lived, and had a living room with spectacular views, a handsome dining room, three bedrooms and servants' quarters, and a kitchen that had been in House and Garden. It cost an arm and a leg, but Daphne absolutely adored it.

“Can we?” she begged him, like a little girl with a new doll, and he didn't have the heart to say anything but yes to her. In spite of the price, it was a beautiful apartment. They had a large master suite, a room for Annabelle, and a guest room, where Sam pointed out Daphne's son could stay when he came to visit. But she said she preferred to visit him in England. She said this was too far to drag a five-year-old alone, and his nannies were such bores she wouldn't think of bringing them with him. She always had good reasons for not bringing him over, and Sam wondered sometimes if he was a dreadful brat, or she just wasn't much of a mother. Maybe both, but he didn't worry about it. He had to focus now on Annabelle, and right before the Memorial Day weekend, Sam and Alex both came home early and told her.

“Daddy's leaving?” she asked, her eyes brimming with tears, and her face full of panic.

“I'm only going to be three blocks away,” he said, holding her in his arms, but she fought against him in total anguish.

“Why? Why are you going?” What had she done? What had they done? Why was this happening to her? She didn't understand it. And both her parents had to fight back tears as they consoled her.

“Mommy and I just think it's better, sweetheart,” he said, trying to calm her down and explain it simply. “I'm not here much anymore anyway. I travel a lot. And Mommy and I think …” How could you explain it to a four-year-old? They weren't sure they understood it themselves, how could they explain it to her now? “Mommy and I think we'll all be happier if she has her apartment, and I have mine. You can come and visit me anytime you want, and lots on weekends. We can do lots of fun things. We can even go to Disney World again if you like.” But she was smarter than that, and her mother's girl. Bribery didn't fix it.

“I don't want to go to Disney World. I don't want to go anywhere.” And then, the killer, “Don't you love us anymore, Daddy?”

He almost choked as he heard the words, and was quick to reassure her. “Of course I love you.”

“Don't you love Mommy anymore? Are you still mad at her for getting sick?” The correct answer would have been yes, but he wasn't that honest.

“Of course not. Of course I'm not mad at her. And yes, I love her. But we …” he had to fight back tears again, as Alex held her, “we don't want to be married anymore. Not like we used to be. We want to live in separate places.”

“Are you getting divorced?” She looked genuinely shocked. She had heard about that in school, from Libby Weinstein. Her parents were divorced, and her mommy had remarried and had twins, and Libby didn't like that.

“No, we're not getting divorced,” Sam said firmly, though Alex wasn't even sure why they weren't. What was the point of dying by inches? But neither of them seemed ready to take the final step yet, and there was no rush. So they could reassure Annabelle at least for the moment. “We're just going to live in separate houses.”

“I don't want you to.” Annabelle glowered at him, and then with a sudden jerk she spun around in Alex's arms and glared at her mother. “It's all your fault, for getting sick. You made him mad at us, and now he's moving out. That was mean of you! You made him hate us!” She spoke with such vehemence that neither of her parents was prepared for it, as she broke from Alex's arms and ran to her room and slammed the door, and inside, she lay sobbing on her bed, beyond consolation. They both tried talking to her, to no avail, and finally Alex decided to leave her alone for a while, and walked silently into the kitchen. Sam was already standing there, staring at her, mute with grief and guilt. He had never felt worse in his life than now as he looked at Alex.

“As usual, it's all my fault,” Alex said unhappily, and he shook his head, feeling no better than she did.

“She'll get around to hating me eventually, don't worry about it. It's neither of our faults, it's just the way it is. It's what happened.”

“She'll get over it,” Alex said, sounding unconvinced. They all would. “She'll see that you're not that far away, and if she sees enough of you, she'll be all right about it. You're going to have to make that effort.”

“Obviously,” he said, annoyed at the lecture. “I want her with me as often as you'll let me have her.”

“You can have her whenever you like,” Alex said generously, but uncomfortable with the feeling, as if they were dividing up candlesticks, and not their daughter. And then she looked at him, remembering their plans. “What about this weekend?” He had wanted to take Annabelle to the Hamptons with him for the Memorial Day weekend. He had rented a house for four days, and he thought it would be fun for her, and Alex had agreed.