Danielle Steel - Heartbeat

And when she walked into his apartment, she saw yet another dimension. There were beautiful modern paintings on the walls, and some interesting sculptures he had collected in the course of his travels. The couches were leather and comfortable and well worn. The chairs, enormous and soft and inviting. And in the dining room there was a beautiful table he had found in an Italian monastery, a rug he had bought in Pakistan, and everywhere there were wonderful pictures of his children. There was a feeling of hominess about it that made you want to browse around, walls of books, a brick fireplace, and a beautifully designed large country kitchen. It looked more like a home than an apartment. He had a cozy den where he worked, with an old typewriter almost as old as his beloved Royal, and more books and a big cozy leather easy chair that was all beaten up and well loved and had been his father's. There was an attractive guest bedroom that looked as though it had never been used, done in beige wools, with a big sheepskin rug, and a modern four-poster, and there was a big colorful bedroom for the boys, with a bright red bunk bed that looked like a locomotive, and his own bedroom was just down the hall, all done in warm earth tones, and soft fabrics, with big sunny windows that looked out on a garden that Adrian hadn't even known existed in the complex. It was perfect. It was just like him. Handsome and warm and loving. And parts of it looked a little worn from the hands that had touched it. It was the kind of place where you wanted to stay a year, just to look around and get to know it, and it was in sharp contrast to the expensive sterility she had shared with Steven until he walked off with all of it, leaving her nothing but the bed and the carpet.

“Bill, this is gorgeous,” she said in open admiration.

“I love it too,” he admitted. “Did you see the kids' bed? I had it made by a guy in Newport Beach. He makes about two a year. I had a choice between that and a double-decker bus. Some English guy bought that, and I got the locomotive. I've always had a thing for trains. They're so great and old-fashioned and cozy.” He sounded as though he were describing himself as Adrian smiled at him.

“I love it.” No wonder he had laughed at her empty apartment. His had so much character and so much warmth. It was a great place to live or to work.

“I've been trying to talk myself into buying a house for years, but I hate moving and this is so comfortable. It works. And the boys love it.”

“I can see why.” He had given them the biggest room, even for the little time they spent with him, but to him, it was worth it.

“When they're older, I hope they spend more time here.”

“I'm sure they will.” Who wouldn't, with a father like him, and a home like this to come back to. It wasn't that the place was so big or so luxurious, it wasn't. But it was warm and inviting, and it was like a big hug just being there. Adrian felt it as she settled into the couch to look around, and then went out to the kitchen to help him with dinner. He had built most of the kitchen himself, and he was adept at cooking their dinner.

“What can't you do?”

“I'm rotten at sports. I told you, I'm terrible at tennis. I can't build a fire in the wilderness to save my life. Adam has to do it whenever we go camping. And I'm terrified of airplanes.” It was a short list compared to what he could do.

“At least it's nice to know that you're human.”

“What about you, Adrian? What aren't you good at?” It was always interesting to hear what people said about themselves. And he asked her as he carefully chopped fresh basil for their salad.

“I'm not good at a lot of things. Skiing. I'm so-so at tennis, terrible at bridge. I'm lousy at games, I can never remember the rules, and I don't care if I win anyway. Computers, I hate computers.” She thought seriously for a moment. “And compromising. I'm not good at compromising about what I believe in.”

“I'd say that's a virtue, not a flaw, wouldn't you?”

“Sometimes,” she said thoughtfully. “Sometimes it can cost you a lot.” She was thinking about Steven. She had paid a high price for what she believed in.

“But isn't it worth it?” he said softly. “Wouldn't you rather pay a price and stick to what you believe? I always have.” But he had ended up alone, too, not that he really minded.

“Sometimes it's hard to know what's the right thing to do.”

“You do your best, kid. Give it your best shot, and hope that does the trick. And if the folks don't like it,” he said, shrugging philosophically, “them's the breaks.” Easily said. But she still couldn't believe what had happened as a result of her sticking to her guns with Steven. But it wasn't as though she'd had a choice. She couldn't have done otherwise. She just couldn't. There was no reason to. It was their baby, and she loved him. It made it impossible to get rid of it, on a whim, just because it frightened Steven. So she had lost him.

“Would you stick by what you believed in, no matter how someone else felt?” she inquired as they sat down to the big juicy steaks he had cooked while she watched him. She had set the table and made the salad dressing, but he had done everything else, and the dinner looked delicious. Steak, salad, garlic bread. And there were strawberries dipped in chocolate for dessert. “Would you hold your ground no matter what?”

“That depends. You mean at someone else's expense?”

“Maybe.”

He puzzled over it for a minute, as she helped herself to the salad. “I think it would depend on how strongly I felt. Probably. If I really thought my integrity was at stake, or the integrity of the situation. Sometimes it doesn't matter how unpopular you get, you just can't deviate from what you believe in. I know, as one gets older one is supposed to get more moderate, and in some ways I have. I'm thirty-nine years old and I'm more tolerant than I used to be, but I still believe in taking stands about things I care about. It hasn't exactly won me a lot of gold stars, but on the other hand, my friends know I'm someone they can count on. That counts for something, I think.”

“I think so too,” she said softly.

“How does Steven feel about that?” He was getting curious about him. Adrian spoke of him very little, and he wondered how well they got along. He wondered how much they had in common. Just looking at them, they seemed very different.

“I think he feels strongly about his opinions too. He's not always very good about understanding other people's positions.” It was a classic understatement.

“Is he good about adjusting to you?” Their marriage intrigued him. He wanted to get to know them both, since he couldn't have her to himself, much as he would have liked to.

“Not always. He's good at …” She groped for the words and then found them. “Parallel living is the best way I can describe it. He does what he wants to do, and he lets you do what you want without interfering.” As long as he thought you were doing the right thing to get ahead. Like working in the newsroom.

“Does that work?”

It used to. It did. Until he moved right out of her life because he didn't like what she was doing. She took a breath as she tried to explain it to Bill Thigpen. “I think to make a marriage really work, you need more involvement than that, more intertwining, more interaction. It's not good enough to let each other be, you have to be something together.” It made sense to him, and he had figured that out when he was married to Leslie. “But I only figured that out recently.”

“The kicker is that that's the whole secret. A lot of people will just let you do your own thing. The trouble is, there are damn few people who want to do the same thing you do. I've never found one. Though I have to admit, I haven't looked very hard in the last few years. I haven't really had the time, or the inclination,” Bill added.