Danielle Steel - Full circle

“It didn't sound like you.” His voice was almost a caress, and she was startled at first, wondering if it was a crank call.

“Who's this?”

“Drew Lands.”

“Christ … I'm sorry … I was so totally submerged in my work, I didn't recognize your voice at first. How are you?”

“Fine. I thought I'd give you a call and see how you were, more importantly.”

“Preparing a big murder case I'm starting next week.”

“That sounds like fun.” He said it sarcastically and they both laughed. “And what do you do in your spare time?”

“Work.”

“I figured as much. Don't you know that's bad for your health?”

“I'll have to worry about that when I take my retirement. Meanwhile, I don't have time.”

“What about this weekend? Can you take a break?”

“I don't know … I…” She usually worked weekends, especially right now. And the panel had cost her a whole week she should have spent preparing her case. “I really should…”

“Come on, you can afford a few hours off. I thought I'd borrow a friend's yacht in Belvedere. You can even bring your work along, although it's a sacrilege.” But it was late October then, and the weather would have been perfect for an afternoon on the Bay, warm and sunny with bright blue skies. It was the best time of the year, and San Francisco was lyrical. She was almost tempted to accept, but she just didn't want to leave her work undone.

“I really should prepare.…”

“Dinner instead … ? lunch … ?” And then suddenly they both laughed. No one had been that persistent in a long time and it was flattering.

“I'd really like to, Drew.”

“Then, do. And I promise, I won't take more time than I should. What's easiest for you?”

“That sail on the Bay sounded awfully good. I might even play hooky for a day.” The image of trying to juggle important papers in the breeze did not appeal to her, but an outing on the Bay with Drew Lands did.

“I'll be there, then. How does Sunday sound?”

“Ideal to me.”

“I'll pick you up at nine. Dress warmly in case the wind comes up.”

“Yes, sir.” She smiled to herself, hung up, and went back to work, and promptly at nine o'clock Sunday morning, Drew Lands arrived, in white jeans, sneakers, a bright red shirt, and a yellow parka under his arm. His face already looked tan, his hair shone like silver in the sun, and the blue eyes danced as she followed him out to the car. He was driving a silver Porsche he had driven up from L.A. on Friday night, he said, but true to his word, he hadn't bothered her. He drove her down to the Saint Francis Yacht Club where the boat was moored, and half an hour later they were out on the Bay. He was an excellent sailor, and there was a skipper aboard, and she lay happily on the deck, soaking up the sun, trying not to think of her murder case, and suddenly glad she'd let him talk her into taking the day off.

“The sun feels good, doesn't it?” His voice was deep, and he was sitting on the deck next to her when she opened her eyes.

“It does. Somehow everything else seems so unimportant all of a sudden. All the things one scurries around about, all the details that seem so monumental, and then suddenly poof … they're gone.” She smiled at him, wondering if he missed his kids a lot, and it was as though he read her mind.

“One of these days, I'd like you to meet my girls, Tana. They'd be crazy about you.”

“I don't know about that.” She sounded hesitant, and her smile was shy. “I don't know much about little girls, I'm afraid.”

He looked at her appraisingly, but not accusingly. “Have you ever wanted children of your own?”

He was the kind of man one could be honest with and she shook her head. “No, I haven't. I've never had the desire, or the time,” she smiled openly then, “or the right man in my life, not to mention the right circumstances.”

He laughed. “That certainly takes care of pretty much everything, doesn't it?”

“Yup. What about you?” She was feeling breezy and carefree with him. “Do you want more?”

He shook his head, and she knew that that was the kind of man she would want one day. She was thirty years old and it was too late for children for her. She had nothing in common with them anyway. “I can't anyway, or not at least without going to an awful lot of trouble. Eileen and I decided when Julie was born that that was it for us. I had a vasectomy.” He spoke of it so openly that it shocked her a little bit. But what was wrong with not wanting more kids? She didn't want any, and she didn't have any at all.

“That solves the problem anyway, doesn't it?”

“Yes,” he smiled mischievously, “in more ways than one.” She told him about Harry then, his two children, Averil … and when Harry came back from Vietnam, the incredible year of watching him fight for his life and go through surgery, and the courage he had had.

“It changed my life in a lot of ways. I don't think I was ever the same after that.…” She looked out over the water pensively, and he watched the sunlight dancing on her golden hair. “… it was as though things mattered so much after that. Everything did. You couldn't afford to take anything for granted after that.” She sighed and looked at him. “I felt that way once before too.”

“When was that?” His eyes were gentle as he looked at her and she wondered what it would be like to be kissed by him.

“When my college roommate died. We went to Green Hill together, in the South,” she explained seriously and he smiled.

“I know where it is.”

“Oh.” She smiled back. “She was Sharon Blake … Freeman Blake's daughter, and she died on a march with Martin Luther King nine years ago.… She and Harry changed my life more than anyone else I know.”

“You're a serious girl, aren't you?”

“Very, I guess. Maybe ‘intense’ is the right word. I work too hard, I think too much. I find it hard to turn all that off a lot of the time.” He had noticed that, but he didn't mind that. His wife had been like that, too, and it hadn't bothered him. He hadn't been the one who wanted out. She was. She was having an affair with her boss in Washington, and she wanted some “time off,” she said, so he gave it to her and came home, but he didn't want to go into details about that.

“Have you ever lived with anyone? I mean, romantically, not your friend, the Vietnam vet.” It was funny to hear Harry referred to that way, it was so impersonal.

“No. I've never had that kind of relationship.”

“It would probably suit you very well. Closeness without being tied down.”

“That sounds about right.”

“It does to me too.” He looked pensive again, and then he smiled at her almost boyishly. “Too bad we don't live in the same town.” It was a funny thing to say so soon, but everything happened quickly with him. In the end, it turned out that he was just as intense as she said she was. He came back to see her for dinner twice that week, flying up from Los Angeles, and then flying back afterwards, and the following weekend he took her sailing again, even though she was totally immersed in her murder case and she was anxious for it to go well. But if anything he soothed her, and made things easier for her, and she was amazed at that. And after their second day on the Bay in his friend's boat, he brought her home, and they made love in front of the fire in her living room. It was tender and romantic and sweet, and he made her dinner afterwards. He spent the night, and remarkably, he didn't crowd her at all. He got up at six o'clock, showered, dressed, brought her breakfast in bed, and left in a taxi for the airport at seven fifteen. He caught the eight o'clock plane to Los Angeles, and was in his office by nine twenty-five, looking neat as a pin. And within weeks, he had established a regular commuting schedule, almost without asking her, but it all happened so easily, and made her life so much happier that she suddenly felt as though her whole life had improved. He came to see her in court twice and she won her case. He was there when the verdict came in and took her out to celebrate. He gave her a beautiful gold bracelet that day that he had bought her at Tiffany in Los Angeles, and that weekend she went down to Los Angeles to visit him. They had dinner Friday and Saturday nights at the Bistro and Ma Maison, and spent the days shopping on Rodeo Drive or lounging around his swimming pool, and on Sunday night, after a quiet dinner he cooked her himself on his barbecue, she flew back to San Francisco alone. She found herself thinking about him all the way home, about how quickly she had gotten involved with him, and it was a little frightening to think about, but he seemed so definite, so anxious to establish a relationship with her. She was also aware of how lonely he was. The house he lived in was spectacular, modern, open, filled with expensive modern art, and with two empty rooms for his two girls. But there was no one else there, and he seemed to want to be with her all the time. By Thanksgiving she had grown used to his spending half the week in San Francisco with her, and after almost two months, it didn't even seem strange to her anymore. It was the week before the holiday when he suddenly turned to her.