Danielle Steel - Bittersweet

“I just thought it seemed respectful, since I took her picture.” It was the simplest way to explain it, and Paul had been nice to Sam. She felt as though she owed him something. She hadn't heard from him since she sent the picture, but she didn't expect to. Whatever else was happening, she was sure he had his hands full. She just hoped he had gotten it, with her letter.

“It makes you look like a stargazer.” Doug looked at her irritably. “Just because she was famous doesn't mean you knew her.”

“No, but I liked her.”

“I like a lot of people I read about too, but I wouldn't go to their funerals. I think you should rethink it.”

“I'll see how I feel about it tomorrow.”

And when they woke up the next day, it was raining. It was a gray, gloomy day, with a heavy rain, and a brisk wind that made an umbrella useless. It was a perfect day for a funeral, and would make it even more depressing.

Doug never said a word about it to her when he left

for work, and she was busy with the children and ran errands in the morning. But she was free that afternoon, which ultimately made the decision simpler. The service was set for three o'clock, and at noon, she showered and put on the suit. She wound her long hair into a chignon, and put on a little makeup. She put on black stockings and high heels, and the suit looked well on her. As she looked at herself in the mirror before she left, she could see vaguely why people often said she looked like Grace Kelly. But she wasn't thinking of herself as she drove to the station. She was thinking of Paul and how he must feel. Just knowing how he felt made her heart heavy.

She left her car in the parking lot, and caught the 1:15 train to New York, and an hour later she was there. If anything, it was raining harder by then, and it was difficult to find a cab. She arrived at Eighty-fifth Street and Park Avenue five minutes before the service, and the church was jammed to the rafters. There were men in dark suits, and expensively dressed women. The entire literary community was there, she learned afterward, but she didn't recognize them.

People from Hollywood had come too, and many of their friends. Every pew was filled, and there were people standing along the side aisles as the service began with a Bach sonata.

It was all very proper and beautifully done, and extremely moving. And after Serena's agent, her publisher, and a friend from Hollywood spoke, Paul Ward made his way to the altar, and gave a eulogy to his wife that had everyone sobbing. It was dignified, and respectful of her many accomplishments and enormous success, but then he talked about Serena Smith, the woman. He made them laugh and cry, and think about what her life had been about, and when he wished her farewell, there wasn't a dry eye in the church. He had somehow managed to get through it, but he was sobbing as he returned to his seat in the front pew, and India could see his shoulders shake as she watched him, and ached to reach out a hand of comfort to him.

He was the first to leave the church after the service, and no one stopped him as he disappeared into a limousine, still crying. And a moment later, India saw a younger man, whom she assumed to be his son, join him. He looked just like him. There was no receiving line, and everyone was so upset, most of them disbanded very quickly and disappeared into the rain, as India watched the limousine that carried Paul drive away, and hailed a taxi. She had never taken her eyes off him during the entire service, and she was quite sure he had never seen her. But she had only gone there out of respect for both of them, and to give support to Paul. And maybe Doug was right, she could have done as much by thinking of him at home in her living room in Westport, but she had wanted to be here, and she was glad she had come.

She stopped to call Doug from the station. She told him she had come to town for the service, and asked if he wanted her to wait there so she could take the train home with him. Otherwise, she was going to catch the four-thirty and get home in time to make dinner.

“I'm going to be late anyway, don't wait for me,” he said curtly. “I have to meet some people for drinks at six. I won't be home till nine. Don't bother saving dinner for me. I'll eat on the way home, I'll grab a sandwich or something.” He sounded distant and cool, and she suspected he was annoyed she had gone to Serena's service. She wondered if he was annoyed because he never knew her. But whatever his reasons, he was anything but warm. “Did you see lots of famous people there?” he asked a little crassly, and she sighed. He really didn't understand what she was feeling.

“I didn't expect to see people I knew there.” Except maybe the Parkers, but she hadn't seen them in the crowd, although they might have been there.

“I thought that was what you went for, to see all the stars who knew her.” It was a nasty thing to say and she had to force herself not to snap back at him.

“I went to pay my respects to a woman I admired. That's all. It's over. I'd better go so I don't miss the train. I'll see you at home.”

“See you later,” he said, and hung up. He seemed so devoid of emotion these days, so unable to empathize with her. She wondered if he had always been like that, and she had never noticed, or if he had gotten worse after their battles over the summer. Whatever it was, it left her feeling very lonely. But not as lonely as Paul, she was sure. She couldn't get the image of him out of her mind, as he left the podium sobbing. He had looked completely destroyed, and her heart had gone out to him as she watched him.

All she could think about on the way home was Paul, and the conversations they'd had on the Sea Star. The rain had stopped finally when she got home, and the children were all there, and they looked happy to see her.

“Where were you, Mom?” Sam asked as she came through the door and took off her raincoat.

“At Serena Smith's funeral,” she said simply. “It was very sad.”

“Did you see Paul?” he asked with interest.

“Only from a distance.”

“Was he crying?” Sam had the ghoulish fascination of all boys his age with tragedy, death, and drama.

“Yes, he was,” India said sadly. “He looked terrible.”

“Maybe I'll write him a letter,” Sam said sympathetically, and his mother smiled at him, as the others listened, but didn't say much. They had never met Serena, and Paul was Sam's friend.

“I bet he'd like that.”

“I'll do it after dinner,” Sam said, and went back to watching TV. And half an hour later, she had dinner on the table, hamburgers again, and frozen french fries. But no one complained, and they all had a lot to say over dinner, which compensated for India's somber silence. She couldn't get Paul out of her head, or her memories of Serena.

And she was still wearing the black suit when Doug got home at nine-thirty. “You look nice,” he said, with a look of surprise. She had been looking pretty shaggy lately. She had been so depressed, she didn't seem to care what she looked like. But the suit he'd given her looked very stylish and showed off her figure.

“How was it?” he asked, about the service.

“Sad.”

“That's not surprising. Do you have any food left? I never had time to pick up a sandwich. I'm starving.” She had thrown the last of the cold hamburgers away

hours before, and there wasn't much in the refrigerator except some cold turkey slices and frozen pizza. She was going to buy groceries in the morning. He settled for fried eggs and an English muffin. And for the first time in months, he asked what they were doing that weekend.

“Nothing. Why?” She was surprised at the question.

“I thought maybe we should have dinner or something.” Things had been going from bad to worse between them, and he was getting concerned. Even Doug couldn't ignore it anymore. The point had finally been brought home to him when he realized she no longer wanted to have sex with him. As long as it had been his decision, it didn't bother him. But her lack of interest was beginning to worry him. And he thought dinner out might help them.