Danielle Steel - Impossible

She had nothing to look forward to now, except work, which had kept her going before, after Arthur died. But this seemed harder. When Arthur died, she had no choice but to accept it and adjust, however hard. There was no other option. Now, knowing that Liam was alive and well, working in his studio, and probably chasing young women, it was harder still. There was always the remote chance that he might call her, or come back again, except she knew he wouldn't. He was far too stubborn, and she knew how betrayed he felt over her refusing to confront her daughter. It opened too many old wounds of abandonment and betrayal for him, and she knew he wouldn't get over it. She knew him better than that, and she was right.

She had mentioned to Bernard on her first day back to work that if Liam called, she wanted him to handle it for her. She wasn't going to take his calls. She knew he might call the gallery about his upcoming show at some point, and she couldn't face talking to him. It was too painful.

“Is something wrong?” Bernard asked, with a look of concern. She didn't look well, despite her long vacation. Beneath the tan she'd gotten on the boat, he could see that underneath her eyes were dark circles, and she looked strained. He also thought that she'd lost weight, and she had.

“No.” She started to say something, and then decided to be honest. “It's over.” Her eyes looked grim.

“Oh.” He didn't know what else to say as he looked at her. He could see how unhappy she was. It was in direct proportion to how happy she had been only months before with Liam. “Are we still doing his show in New York?” Bernard wondered.

“Of course. We're his dealers,” she said, sounding professional, and then walked silently into her office and closed the door. The subject of Liam was as closed as the door.

Eugénie noticed how quiet she was too. When Sasha went to New York in September to curate a show, Marcie was worried about her. Sasha steeled herself not to cry when she told her it had ended with Liam. It had been two months now. She felt as though she had been crawling on her stomach across barbed wire since July. She looked exhausted now that her tan had faded. Marcie thought she looked awful, which was how she felt. Everything reminded her of him, everything seemed empty to her without him. Her bed in Paris was too big. The one in New York was an agony. The doorman asked her how he was. As careful as they had been not to tell anyone, everyone asked for him now. Everybody loved him. And worse yet, so did she. Only Tatianna didn't. She never even acknowledged that she knew he was out of her mother's life. In exchange, Xavier called her often, and she always enjoyed talking to her son.

Xavier had seen Liam several times, but he didn't tell his mother that. He didn't mention him at all. Each time he'd seen him, Liam was with a different woman. He seemed to be making up for lost time, and talked a lot about his divorce. He never mentioned Sasha, which made Xavier suspect that he was still in love with her too. His not mentioning her seemed too odd.

Xavier spent a weekend in Paris with her in October. The weather was beautiful, and they had dinner at Le Voltaire, which they both loved. She looked better by then. She had just gotten back from Amsterdam and had signed two new artists. She didn't mention it to Xavier, but she was steeling herself to go to New York for Liam's show. It was still six weeks off. She knew she had six weeks to get strong enough to see him, and not react at all, no matter how she felt. She had decided to be professional about it. She was his dealer after all. Xavier had seen his recent work, and said it was very good. Bernard had flown to London to see his new pieces too. He was very pleased, and thought Sasha would be too.

The show was on December 1st. Sasha and the children had agreed to meet in New York for Thanksgiving, since she had to be at the New York gallery on the Monday after. She was going to curate the show over the weekend. Thanksgiving in Paris never made any sense. It would be more fun for all of them to celebrate it in New York.

Xavier saw Liam just before he left for New York. He stopped by his studio, and there was a young woman there. Xavier had no idea if she was his new girlfriend or not. She looked about twenty-five, and Xavier just prayed he wouldn't take her to New York. It would kill his mother if he did, and he hoped Liam had the good taste not to do that to her, although they both had the right to pursue their own lives now, in whatever ways worked for them. But Xavier knew how painful it would be for his mother to see Liam with another woman. She wasn't seeing anyone. Xavier had asked her over dinner at Le Voltaire, her eyes had filled with tears, and she just shook her head. He didn't mention it again. He had the frightening feeling she had just given up. At forty-nine, it seemed an incredible waste to him, but she seemed to have withdrawn into herself, except when she was at work. The gallery seemed to be the only thing that could distract her, and he was grateful for that.

“See you in New York!” Liam called out happily, as Xavier left. He was excited about his show. He never mentioned Sasha even once.

Sasha and her children had Thanksgiving at the apartment. She and Xavier went to a movie afterward, while Tatianna went out with friends. It was their third Thanksgiving without Arthur, and the least painful one so far. For the rest of the weekend, Sasha was busy with Liam's show.

The work, as they uncrated it, was absolutely wonderful. Sasha stood back and looked at it, and was proud of him. He had done a fantastic job preparing for the show. It all arrived in perfect condition, and she propped it up against the walls around the gallery, as she decided where to hang it. She was still there late on Sunday night, trying to decide which of two spectacular pieces she wanted to hang in the front, so people saw it the moment they entered. She didn't even hear him come in. The door to the gallery was unlocked. Xavier had come by briefly, and Sasha had forgotten to lock it behind him. She was too busy hanging Liam's paintings. She was staring at the two largest paintings, and heard a familiar voice behind her that made her heart pound. It was Liam, fresh off the plane, in a black turtleneck sweater and jeans, the familiar baseball cap, motorcycle boots, and battered black leather jacket. His long blond ponytail hung straight down his back. He looked more than ever like James Dean. And no longer hers. She told herself that as she turned to speak to him in a deceptively calm voice, and met his eyes squarely. It didn't show to him, but it cost her a lot to do so.

“You did a great job,” she said softly. She was his art dealer now, she reminded herself silently, and nothing else. Their eyes held as they stood watching each other from the distance. He didn't approach to kiss her on the cheek. He stood across the gallery and looked at her, and she looked at him. Times had changed. He looked serious and sad and tired, but as beautiful as ever. “You've done an incredible amount of work.” It was impressive.

“I've been busy,” he said quietly.

“I suspected you would be,” she said, and then hated herself for the comment. What he did with his spare time now was no longer any of her business. She seemed flustered when she spoke to him again. “Which one do you like best for the front? I've been standing here for an hour, trying to decide.”

“That one,” he said, pointing to the larger, brighter of the two, without hesitating. “Don't you think?” He still valued her opinion about his work. Her eye was infallible, and he had the greatest respect for what she did and how well she did it.

“Yes, I do. You're right. I've been standing here like a fool, stumped. But you're right.” She carried the painting to where she wanted to hang it, and he stepped forward to help her. The painting was too big for her to carry alone, but she didn't mind. She often worked late at night, hanging paintings on her own, battling with the painting, the ladder, her tape measure, a level, nails, and her hammer. He smiled as she banged the nail into the wall, and then grabbed the painting, as he lifted it up for her. She was as stubborn and determined as ever. Nothing had changed. He was still smiling when she got down to admire her work. “Wow! That looks perfect!”