Danielle Steel - Amazing Grace

Sarah called the real estate brokers the next day, and put the house on the market. She called the bail bondsman to tell him what they were doing, so he didn't think there was something sneaky going on. He had the deed to the house anyway. He explained to her that he had a right to approve the sale, hang on to his ten million dollars, and anything over and above that was theirs. He thanked her for the call, and didn't say it, but he felt sorry for her. He thought her husband was a jerk. Even when he'd met with him in jail, Seth was pompous and full of himself. The bail bondsman had seen others like him before. They were always run by their egos, and wound up screwing over their families and wives. He wished her good luck with the sale.

After that, she spent her days calling people she knew in the city and Silicon Valley, looking for a job. She wrote up a ré sumé, which gave the details of her MBA program at Stanford, and her work on Wall Street in an investment banking firm. She was willing to take anything—trader, analyst. She was willing to get a stockbroker's license, or work in a bank. She had the credentials and the brains, all she needed was the job. And meanwhile, out of both curiosity and real interest, potential buyers were crawling all over their house.

Seth got himself a penthouse in what was referred to as the Heartbreak Hotel on Broadway. It was a modern apartment building, full of small, expensive furnished apartments, heavily populated by men who had just broken up with their wives. Sarah got a small cozy flat in a Victorian on Clay Street. It had two bedrooms, one for her, and one for the children. It had parking space for one car, and a tiny garden. Rents had plummeted since the earthquake, and she got it at a good price, and it would be hers on the first of June.

She went to see Maggie in the Presidio to tell her what she was doing. Maggie was sorry for her, but impressed that she was moving forward and making cautious, wise decisions. Seth went out and bought a new Porsche to replace the Ferrari he'd lost, on some sort of deal with no money down, which infuriated his lawyer. He told him this was a time to be humble and not showy. He had hurt a lot of people with the deals he'd made, and the judge was not going to be favorably impressed by his flamboyance. Sarah bought a used Volvo station wagon to replace her crushed Mercedes. Her jewelry had gone to Los Angeles to sell. She still had said nothing to her parents, who wouldn't have been able to help her anyway, but would at least have been supportive. And so far, by some miracle, Seth's indictment hadn't appeared in the press, nor had Sully's, but she knew it wouldn't be long. And then the shit would hit the fan, even more than it already had.

Everett spent days after the earthquake editing pictures. He had turned in the most relevant ones to Scoop magazine, and they had printed a whole section on the San Francisco earthquake. And predictably, they had put one of Melanie in camouflage pants on the cover. They had printed only one of Maggie, and identified her as a nun volunteering in a field hospital in San Francisco after the quake.

He sold other photographs to USA Today , the AP, one to The New York Times , and several to Time and Newsweek. Scoop had allowed him to do that, as they had far more than they could use, and they didn't want to overdo it on the earthquake. They liked the celebrity aspect a lot better, and had run six pages on Melanie, and only three on the rest. Everett had written the article himself, with high praise for residents and the city. He had a copy of the magazine he wanted to send to Maggie. But more than that, he had dozens of absolutely spectacular photographs of her. She looked luminous in shots of her ministering to injured people. There was one of her holding a crying child, and comforting an old man with a gash on his head in the dim light … several of her laughing with her bright blue eyes when she'd just been talking to him … and one he had shot of her as they drove away on the bus when the look in her eyes was so sad and bereft, it almost made him cry. He had clipped up photographs of her all over his apartment. She watched him as he ate breakfast in the morning, sat at his desk at night, or lay on the couch and stared at her for hours. He wanted to make copies of them for her, and he finally did. He wasn't sure where to send them. He had called her several times on her cell phone, and she never answered. She had returned his call twice, and then had missed him. They had been playing phone tag, and both of them were busy, but as a result, he hadn't spoken to her since he left. He was missing her terribly, and he wanted her to see how beautiful the photographs of her were, and show her some of the others.

He was home alone on a Saturday night, when he finally decided to go up to San Francisco and see her. He had no assignments for the next few days. And on Sunday morning, he got up at the crack of dawn, took a cab to LAX, and hopped a plane to San Francisco. He hadn't warned her, and hoped he'd find her at the Presidio, if nothing had changed in the weeks since he'd left.

The plane landed at ten A.M. in San Francisco. He hailed a cab at the curb, and gave the driver the address. He had the box of photographs under his arm to show to her. It was nearly eleven when they reached the Presidio and he noticed the helicopters still patrolling overhead. He stood staring up at the field hospital, hoping she was inside. He was well aware that what he'd just done was a little crazy. But he had to see her. He had missed her ever since he left.

The volunteer at the front desk told him that Maggie was off today. It was Sunday, and the woman who knew her well said she had probably gone to church. He thanked her and decided to check the building where the religious volunteers and assorted chaplains were living. There were two nuns and a priest standing on the front step when he asked for Maggie, and one of the nuns said she'd go inside and check. Everett's heart sank as he stood and waited, and it seemed to take forever. And then suddenly she was standing there, in a terrycloth bathrobe, with her bright blue eyes, and soaking-wet red hair. She said she'd been in the shower. She broke into a smile the minute she saw him, and he nearly cried he was so relieved to see her. For a minute, he'd been afraid he wouldn't find her, but there she was. He swept her up in a warm hug, and nearly dropped the box of photographs. He stepped back to look at her as he beamed.

“What are you doing here?” she asked him, as the other nuns and the priest walked away. Deep friendships had formed for all of them during the initial days after the earthquake, so they saw nothing unusual about the visit or the obvious delight with which they greeted each other. One of the nuns remembered him from when he'd been at the camp, before he went back to L.A., and Maggie said she'd catch up with them later. They'd already been to church, and were heading to the mess hall for lunch. It was beginning to feel like an eternal summer camp for adults. Everett had been impressed on his way in by some of the improvements he already saw in the city after just a couple of weeks. But the refugee camp in the Presidio was still going strong.

“Are you here to do a story?” Maggie asked him, and then they both spoke at once, in their excitement to see each other. “I'm sorry I keep missing your calls. I turn my phone off when I'm at work.”

“I know … I'm sorry … I'm so glad to see you,” he said, and hugged her again. “I just came up to see you. I had so many photographs to show you, and I didn't know where to send them, so I decided to bring them up myself. I brought you a full set of everything I got.”

“Let me put some clothes on,” she said, running a hand through her short, wet hair, smiling broadly.