Summer's End (40 page)

He looked up at Kim again, and she wanted to die from the look in his eyes. “Is she in some kind of trouble?” But Kim shook her head no.

“She’s all right, Ben. She is. I think in some ways she’s happy for the very first time.” She wanted to tear her tongue out for saying it. Deanna had been even happier during the previous summer, but Kim wasn’t sure how to alter what she had just said. “She’s painting a lot.”

“And she’s happy.” He looked at the bay and then at Kim. “With him….” But suddenly Kim couldn’t stand it anymore. She very slowly shook her head. “What do you mean?”

“He went back to France.” Deanna had told her that just last month. Marc had finally gone back to his home.

“Permanently?” Ben looked stunned. Kim merely nodded. “And she stayed?” Kim nodded again, and now there was despair in his eyes. She hadn’t called him. Marc was gone, and she hadn’t called. But as he looked down into his drink, he felt Kim’s hand gently touch his.

“Give her a chance, Ben. A lot of things have happened. I think it may take her a few more months to sort it all out.”

“And she’s living here? In Sausalito?” None of it made any sense. Why wasn’t she living in their house? Had he just run off and left her? “Do you mean to tell me they’re getting a divorce?”

She took a deep breath. “Yes. I do.”

“Was it his doing, or hers? Kim, you have to tell me. I have a right to know.”

“I’m the first person to agree with you, Ben.”
But try telling her.
… “It was her doing, but he agreed. He really had no choice.”

“How is she? Is she adjusting? Is she all right?”

“She’s fine. She’s living in a funny little house, working on some new paintings, getting ready—” And then she stopped; she had gone too far.

“Getting ready for what?” He was confused again, and Kimberly was driving him crazy. “For chrissake, Kim, is that lousy gallery giving her a show?” He was incensed. How dare they? Suddenly Kim laughed. She looked at him with a bright light in her eye.

“You know something? This is crazy. We’re sitting here playing twenty questions about how Deanna is, when the one thing she needs is you.” She pulled a pen out of her handbag and grabbed a piece of paper from among her ads. She jotted down the address and handed it to him. “Go. That’s the address.”

“Now?” He looked stunned as he took the piece of paper from her hand. “But what if … if she doesn’t want to see me?”

“She will. But from now on it’s up to you.” She laughed. “And if she gives you any trouble, just punch her in the mouth.” He grinned and looked at her again in confusion.

“What about our lunch?” All he wanted to do was get the hell out of there and go to find Deanna. He really didn’t want to sit there a moment longer with Kim, but she knew it, and she smiled.

“Screw our lunch. We can talk about the ads some other time. Go.” He bent to kiss her and squeezed her shoulder very hard.

“One day, Kim Houghton, I’ll thank you. But right now”—he finally smiled back—“I’ve got to run. Tell me, do I break the door down or just climb down the chimney?”

“Throw a chair through the window. It works every time.”

He was still smiling when he got to his car, and he was at the cul-de-sac five minutes after he left Kim. He glanced at the piece of paper again and quickly saw that it was the house hidden by the large daisy bushes and surrounded by the little picket fence. He wondered if she was at home. Maybe she wasn’t in. He was frightened now. What would he say to her? What if she was angry that he’d come? He couldn’t bear to have her do that to him now, after all the long months of dreams.

He got out of the car and walked slowly to the door. He could hear someone moving around inside, and there was a radio softly playing jazz. He rang the bell and then knocked. More quickly than he expected, her voice rang out from the back of the house.

“Hi, Kim, it’s open. Come on in!” He opened his mouth to tell her it wasn’t Kim, but he closed it as quickly. He didn’t want her to know the truth until he was inside, until he saw her, just once, even for a moment. Just once more. He pushed the door open with one hand. He was standing in the bright little front room, and there was no one there.

“Are you in?” she called out to him from the back. “I’m painting the other bedroom. I’ll be right out.”

He felt as though his guts were melting as he listened to her voice for the first time in five months. He simply stood in one spot and waited for her to come out. He wanted to say something to her, but he couldn’t. He almost felt as though he didn’t have the strength. But then she called out again. “Kim? Is that you?” This time he had to speak; he didn’t want her to be frightened.

“No, Deanna. It’s not.” There was silence then, and he heard something drop. He stood there, silent, immobile, waiting. But no one came. Nothing happened. No one moved. And slowly he began to walk toward the back of the house. He didn’t have far to go. A few steps and he was standing in the tiny bedroom doorway.

“Deanna?” She was standing there, one hand on a bassinet, leaning against the last unpainted wall. His eyes went to hers and he couldn’t repress a smile. “I’m sorry, I….” And then he saw, as her eyes grew wide and he saw her chin tremble. “My God, you’re… Deanna….” He didn’t want to ask her, he didn’t know what to say. When and how? And whose? And then not caring whose, he closed the gap between them and pulled her into his arms. That was why she was selling the paintings, why she was alone.

“It’s ours, isn’t it?” he asked. She nodded, tears spilling onto his shoulder. He held her tightly in his arms. “Why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you call?” He pulled away just enough so that he could see her face. She was smiling.

“I couldn’t. I left you. I couldn’t go back to you like that. I thought that maybe … after the baby….”

“You’re nuts, but I love you. Why after the baby? I want to be there with you, I want to … oh, Deanna,
it’s ours
!” He pulled her back into his arms triumphantly, with laughter and tears.

“How the hell did you find me?” She laughed as she held him close and then sniffed. When he didn’t answer, she knew. “Kim.”

“Maybe so. Or maybe that atrocious little gallery that’s selling your work. Deanna, how could you …” His voice trailed off, and she grinned.

“I had to.”

“Not anymore.”

“We’ll see.”

“You prefer Seagull to me?” He laughed at the thought, and she vehemently shook her head.

“I’ve just managed to do it all for myself though. I’ve gotten independent. I’ve made it. Do you realize what that means?”

“It means that you’re wonderful and I adore you. Are you getting divorced?” He was holding her in his arms and gently touching her stomach. He jumped as the baby kicked. “Was that our kid?” The tears glazed his eyes again when she nodded yes.

“And yes, I’m also getting divorced. It will be final in May.”

“And the baby?”

“Will be final in April.”

“And in that case, you crazy, independent, mad woman, we will also be final in May.”

“What does that mean?” But she was laughing now and so was he.

“Just what you think. And”—he looked around the room with a quizzical air—“pack your stuff, madam, I’m taking you home.”

“Now? I haven’t finished painting the baby’s room. And—”

“And nothing, my darling. I’m taking you home.”

“Right now?” She put down her paintbrush and grinned.

“Right now.” He pulled her close to him again then and kissed her with all the longing of the past five months. “Deanna, I’ll never be without you again. Never. Do you understand?” But she only nodded, smiling, and kissed him, as his hand traveled slowly to their child.

Published by
Dell Publishing
a division of
Bantam Doubleday Dell Publishing Group, Inc.
1540 Broadway
New York, New York 10036

To Beatrix and Nicholas, cherished people of my soul

Copyright © 1979 by Danielle Steel

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the Publisher, except where permitted by law.

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eISBN: 978-0-307-56686-7

July 1989

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