Danielle Steel - Daddy

Oliver smiled at his friend, and then laughed. “You might say that.”

“Well, at least it got you out of your shell.” It certainly had done that. He smiled again. “That's nice about your father.”

“It seems kind of crazy, doesn't it, Daph? Benjamin is about to have a kid, my dad's getting married, and I'm sitting around by myself.”

“That'll change one of these days.” But he was in no rush. If the affair with Megan ended, it wouldn't be the end of the world. He wasn't even divorced, and he still couldn't imagine getting remarried. He was busy with his life, with his children, and his work. The rest could wait for the moment.

They swam late into the night, and the children sang, and his father left eventually, and Benjamin had to get to work. Daphne helped Oliver clean up, and Aggie was back after a relaxing summer. And it felt somehow as though they'd all come a long way since the summer began. And it hurt only briefly when he remembered the year before when Sarah was there and life had been so simple and sane. Nothing was quite as simple anymore. And nothing was sure now. But life was sweet, and he was grateful for what he had. If he never had more than this again, even that might be all right.

He finally saw Megan at her place the night they got home, and after making love for hours, they finally talked things out, and she admitted to him that she'd gone to East Hampton with an old lover. It hurt to have her tell him that, and yet, he had suspected it anyway.

“It's over, isn't it?”

“Not really.” She lay languidly in her bed and looked at him. “I'd be happy to see you anytime. But I'm not going to play mommy to your kids, if that's what you want. And you don't have the kind of time for me you did when they were away. That's just the way things go sometimes, Oliver. But between us, nothing's changed.” She was so casual about it all, everything was easy and unattached and purely sexual. He had loved that about her at first, and yet now, it didn't seem enough. He didn't want to share her with anyone else, didn't want to have to have a life separate from his children. But it was too difficult being with someone who didn't really care about them, and whom they resented. And he knew now that she would make no effort for them. She really didn't want to. It was part of her all-out effort to stay unattached. In the end, she had won. But it was a losing game.

“I'm sad things worked out this way,” he told her honestly as he dressed, and this time she didn't fight to take his clothes off. It had changed for her, too, whether she admitted it or not.

“There was really no other way it could have gone. I told you that from the first. You don't need a woman like me, Oliver. You deserve better than that. You deserved better than Sarah. Don't settle for less this time, my friend. If you do, you'll always get hurt, and you don't deserve that.”

“Why don't you want more than that?” Why didn't she? Why were they so different?

“I'm not made that way, I guess, Priscilla was … but I never was. It's too painful, I suppose. I'm not willing to take those risks, to throw my heart out there, to take chances with my life and my heart. I just want to have a good time, Ollie. That's all I want. Simple as that.” And it had been that. A good time. A great time. A wild, wonderful time, and he could have gone on forever, except that eventually the moussaka would have gone stale. One needed more than that. At least he did, even if she didn't.

“What do I say as I leave?” he asked her sadly, as he stood in the hall, fully dressed, knowing he wouldn't be back again. “Thank you?”

“You say, ‘so long,’ ‘see you around,’ ‘thanks for a good time.’”

“Thank you for more than that … thank you for something very special. You're very special. Don't forget that. And maybe one of these days, you'll get brave.”

“Don't count on it.” She kissed him lightly on the lips and pressed the button for the elevator. And as the doors closed, he saw her for the last time, wrapped in a white satin kimono, smiling at him, the mane of dark hair ebony against her ivory face.

He knew he was going to miss her. And he felt sad for her as he walked home that night. Sad for what she would never have, for what she didn't want, for what she was afraid to reach out for. And far above, she stood on the terrace, watching him, and she gave a silent wave. She walked back into her living room, and turned on the music. She finished the brandy he had left, and sat down alone on the couch, remembering how his flesh had felt when she touched him.

“You would have liked him a lot,” she whispered to the memory of the twin who was long gone. He would have been perfect for her, and Megan would have teased her, about how decent he was, and how square and how tame. Megan smiled to herself, thinking of them both, and then she walked slowly back to her bedroom. She had work to do and another book auction to run the next day. There was no point thinking about the past. She forced them both from her heart, like furniture she no longer had room for, took a shower, brushed her teeth, turned the light out, and went to bed, knowing that it had been nice for a while, but it was over with Oliver Watson. She didn't cry, she didn't mourn. She was used to handling these things, and as she drifted off to sleep, she forced herself to think of something else. Her moment with Oliver was over.

Chapter 19

George Watson's wedding to Margaret Porter was exactly what it should have been. It was tender and sweet and simple, and there were tears in Daphne's eyes as the couple took their vows. Weddings always did that to her, probably because she'd never had one. But this one particularly so, because they were both such dear people.

The bride wore a simple beige lace dress and carried a bouquet of tiny beige orchids. She wore a small, elegant hat, and Oliver gave her away, as promised, and then stood next to his children with damp eyes, as the organ played.

The ceremony was brief and to the point, and afterward they all went to the house in Purchase for a small reception. Oliver had decided to do that for them, and he had invited a few of their close friends. Many of them had been shocked at first, and then, like Oliver, they had mellowed. It was difficult to deny them the joy they obviously shared, and plainly deserved.

It was a sunny September afternoon, and the bride and groom left at five o'clock to drive into the city. They were spending the night at the Plaza Hotel and then flying to San Francisco for two weeks. Margaret had relatives there, and they wanted to go to the opera. They were going to spend a few days in Carmel, and then go back to San Francisco and fly home. It sounded like the perfect trip for them, and Margaret hadn't said so, but she didn't want to be far from “civilization.” With George's heart, she liked keeping near places where she knew he could get competent medical care. But he looked in need of nothing but her kind hand, as they left for the city, with the guests throwing rose petals after them, as the two old people beamed and waved.

“It was perfect, absolutely perfect!” Daphne raved as they sat in the living room afterward. “Maybe I'll get married when I'm their age.” Oliver shook his head and grinned.

“You would do something like that. Maybe I'll join you.” He had told her about the end of the romance with Megan. And she wasn't surprised, although she was sorry for him. It had been a good distraction over the past two months, and now that it was over he had that lonely look again, although he claimed that he was happy.

“You just have to go back to the drawing board again.”

“What a pain in the ass.” The prospect of dating again filled him with despair. But he also recognized that the fling with Megan had been more than a little exhausting, and unusual to say the least. Someone who lived by more ordinary norms might be easier in the long run.