Danielle Steel - Bittersweet

“Take care of yourself, and Sam,” he said, in a voice that was suddenly husky. He felt oddly protective of her, and the child, and didn't know why. Maybe it was just as well Serena was coming. She had called him from L.A. to herald her arrival only that morning. “I'll call you.”

She thanked him for calling then, and a moment later, after they hung up, she sat staring at the phone in silence. It was odd to think that he was so nearby, in his own World, comfortably tucked in to his life on the Sea Star. It was a lifetime away from her own. In truth, although they had had a sympathy of souls, their lives had nothing in common, no shared borders. Meeting him at all had been an accident of sorts, a happenstance of destiny that could just as easily have never happened. But for her sake, and Sam's, she was glad that she had met him.

She lay in bed quietly that night, thinking of him, remembering the day they had shared, the conversations about her life, and what he thought she should do with it, and she couldn't help wondering if she would ever have the courage to do what he suggested. Just telling Doug she wanted to go back to work would cause a hurricane in their marriage.

She took a long walk down the beach the next day, thinking of all of it, with the dog at her heels, wondering what to do now. It would be easiest, it seemed, to retreat back into the life she'd led for fourteen years. But she was no longer entirely sure that she could do that. It would be like going back into the womb again, an impossibility no matter how much goodwill she applied to it. And now that she knew Doug didn't recognize the sacrifices she had made, she wasn't even sure she wanted to do it. If he didn't at least give her credit for it, why bother?

The next day was the Fourth of July. The kids slept late, and that afternoon, they went, as they always did, to the Parkers. The barbecue was in full swing, and all their neighbors were there. There were huge kegs of beer, and a long buffet table covered with the food the caterer had made this year. Nothing was burned, and it all looked delicious.

All of India's children were there, and she was talking to an old friend, when suddenly she saw Paul walk in, in white jeans, and a crisp blue shirt, with a tall, striking woman with long dark hair and a spectacular figure. She was wearing big gold hoop earrings, and India thought she had never seen anyone as beautiful as she watched her laughing. It was Serena. She was every bit as glamorous and poised and magnetic as India had thought she would be. Just watching her make her way through the crowd was mesmerizing. She was wearing a short white skirt, a white halter top, a gold necklace, and high-heeled white sandals. She looked right out of a magazine from Paris. And she had a kind of sexy elegance about her. As she approached, India could see that she was wearing a huge diamond ring, like an ice cube, on her left hand, and she stopped and said something to Paul, and he laughed. He looked happy to be with her. She was a woman you couldn't ignore or forget about, or lose in a crowd. Everyone seemed to turn and look at her, and some knew who she was. India watched her kiss Jenny and Dick, and she accepted a glass of white wine without even acknowledging the server. She looked as though she was totally accustomed to a life of luxury and service.

And as though sensing India watching her, Serena turned slowly in the crowd and looked right at her. Paul leaned over to say something to her then, and she nodded, and they made their way slowly toward her. She couldn't help wondering what Paul had said to her, how much he had told her. … I met this poor pathetic unhappy woman, who lives in Westport …she gave up her career fourteen years ago, and has had a diaper pail on her head ever since … be nice to her…. Just looking at Serena Smith, one knew that she would never be dumb enough to give up her identity or her career, or be treated as a “companion you can rely on to take care of the kids” by her husband. She was sexy and beautiful and sophisticated, she had great legs, and a fabulous figure. India felt like a total frump as Serena walked majestically toward her. And she felt breathless as Paul finally stood looking down at her, with a smile, and touched her shoulder. India could feel an electric current run through her when he did it.

“India, I'd like you to meet my wife …Serena Smith…. Darling, this is the fabulous photographer I told you about, who took all the great pictures I showed you. The mother of the young sailor.” At least he had told Serena about her. But India felt even more inadequate standing beside her. She had the most perfect smile she'd ever seen, and she looked fifteen years younger than Jenny, her college roommate. But Jenny hadn't worn makeup since she was eighteen, and Serena was put together like a model.

“I've been hoping I would meet you,” India said discreetly, afraid to sound like a simpering fan, but also not wanting to appear indifferent. “I read everything you wrote for a while, but my children keep me so busy I never have time to read anymore.”

“I can imagine. Paul said you have hundreds of them. But I can see why. The little guy in the pictures is gorgeous, and apparently quite a sailor.” She rolled her eyes then. “Whatever you do, stamp it out of him quickly. Never let him on a boat again. It's an insidious disease that rots the brain. And once it's too far gone, there's absolutely nothing you can do about it.” She was funny the way she said it, and India laughed in spite of herself, feeling a little disloyal to Paul as she did so. They had had such a good time with him on the Sea Star. “Boats are not my thing,” Serena confessed. “Paul may have told you.” India wasn't sure whether to admit it, as he disappeared to get himself a beer from one of the kegs Dick was presiding over.

“I have to admit, it's a wonderful boat,” India said graciously. “My little boy, Sam, just loved it.”

“It's fun,” Serena said blithely, “for about ten minutes.” And then she looked at India strangely, who prayed she wasn't blushing. What if she guessed how much India liked her husband, and how much she had said to him about her own life. It was easy to believe that Serena wouldn't have been too pleased to hear it. And it was always hard to gauge how much a husband told his wife, or vice versa. She and Doug had kept very few secrets from each other, in her case, only Gail's indiscretions, out of loyalty to her.

“I've been wanting to ask you a favor,” Serena said, looking uncharacteristically uncomfortable, and India could just guess what it was…. Stay away from my husband…. She was feeling inordinately guilty. But he was an incredibly handsome man, and she had spent a day alone with him, telling him she was unhappy with her husband. In retrospect, it was embarrassing, particularly if he had told Serena. India was suddenly feeling very foolish. “Ever since I saw your photographs,” Serena went on, as India continued to dread what was coming, “I wanted to ask you a favor, if you have time. We're leaving sometime tomorrow, but I'm desperate for a new book cover photo, and I haven't had time to do anything about it. Any chance you could come over in the morning and take a few shots? I look like death in the morning, and you'll need a good retoucher. A blowtorch will do fine. Anyway, I saw how good your work was. I can never get a decent shot of Paul and you got dozens when he wasn't even looking. Usually, he makes the most godawful faces and looks like he's about to kill someone. So what do you say? I'll understand if it's not up your alley. Paul says you normally do war zones and revolutions and dead bodies.” India laughed with relief at the convoluted recital. Serena didn't seem in the least upset that India had been on the boat with Sam, and taken an indecent number of photographs of her husband. India was so relieved, she wanted to kiss her. Maybe he hadn't given away her secrets after all, at least she hoped not. Or maybe Serena felt too sorry for her to even care.