“I moved back to my apartment this morning,” Peter explained, sipping the martini, and playing with the olives.

“It must be Mom's cooking,” Sam said, shaking his head, as he went back to his own room. It was an adjustment for everyone, especially me, as we sat on the couch holding hands, and finally snuck into my room once we knew the kids were asleep. Out of sheer habit from the last two weeks, I lit the candles on either side of my bed, and Peter raised an eyebrow.

“Isn't that dangerous?” he inquired, looking worried.

“I don't think so … it's pretty.” I turned to face him, and he was watching me cautiously. I knew we were both wondering the same thing. What would it be like now?

“You're beautiful, Stephanie,” he said softly. “I missed you while I was away.” And I could see from the look in his eyes that he meant it.

“So did I,” I said in a whisper in the candlelight.

“Did you?” He looked worried, but as though he wanted to believe it was true, and it was. I loved him even more now. “It wasn't the same here without you.” An obscene understatement. But I had missed him. Terribly. Just seeing him standing there again, I was reminded of all that we had together. And then he reached for me ever so gently, and pulled me closer to him, and as he did, all else was forgotten, as though Paul faded from my memory the moment Peter touched me and erased a whole block of information and feelings. It was very odd, and I didn't understand it.

Peter was everything I had always known him to be, tender, loving, artful, considerate, sensual, an extraordinary lover in every way. There were no acrobatic twists and turns, no double flip, no triple, or quadruple. There were only the two of us, transported to a place I had nearly forgotten in the past two weeks. And as I lay in his arms afterward, he gently stroked my hair and then kissed me.

“God, I missed you,” he said, and I smiled.

I missed you too … so much … it was a crazy time.” But in a way, although I didn't realize it at the time, it had shown me how much I loved him. He didn't ask about Paul then, or what we had done together. I sensed easily that he didn't want to know, although I was sure he suspected. Sending Paul to me was something he had done for me, a kind of gift from him, but in his mind, it was over. In mine, it was something I would have to live with, and absorb. But it was Peter who was important to me, who was a part of my real life, not the Klone. And wherever Paul was now, I knew they had already taken his wires apart, and his head off.

“You looked beautiful when you picked me up today,” Peter said peacefully in the flickering candlelight. “Where did you get all those rubies? Were they real?” They had been extraordinary, but he'd been so excited to see me that he'd forgotten to mention them.

“They're from you.” I smiled, looking up at him, as I lay against his shoulder. “Paul bought them for me, at Van Cleef. They're pretty, aren't they?”

“Did he charge them to me?” Peter asked, trying heroically not to look as stunned as he was. I nodded, and felt him grow anxious as we lay side by side.

“He said he knew you'd want me to have them. Thank you, sweetheart.” I nestled closer to him, and felt his tension as he lay next to me, and he said nothing more about the rubies. “I love you, Peter,” I said gratefully, remembering the miraculous things he had just done to me. It was good to have him home again, better than it ever had been.

“I love you too, Steph,” he whispered. And I knew that, wherever he was, and whether or not he would return again, in his own loving, inimitable way, Paul Klone had brought Peter even closer to me.





Chapter Seven

The next three months with Peter were remarkable, in their own way, the children readjusted to him, although they wondered what happened, after his brief two-week fling at near insanity and wearing cool clothes. But they got used to the Gucci shoes again, and so did I.

Peter and I spent a lot of time together, and I had never been as happy in my life as I was with him. We went to movies, plays. I met all his friends, and I liked most of them. He spent weekends with me, whenever the children went to stay with their father. And I spent the occasional night at his apartment, when I had a sitter for the kids, and left at six A.M. to come home to make breakfast for them, still smiling from my nights with Peter.

I fell in love with him more each day, in spite of his occasional cool spells, and his occasional doubts about being involved with me, which I think came from years of independence and being on his own. According to him, I was the first serious relationship he'd had in many years. His freedom was important to him. He was actually very different from Paul. In contrast, Paul seemed to have very little need for freedom. But Peter was another story. He had been single for a long time, and in some ways, I suspected that commitment wasn't easy for him anymore.

But in spite of that, the relationship seemed solid. It meant a great deal to me, and it was obvious that it did to Peter as well. It was a more meaningful relationship than I'd ever had with anyone, including, and perhaps even especially, Roger. This was real, as real as it could be, with ups and downs, and laughter, and occasionally tears, and the shared confidences that we trusted each other with, and there were many of them. And although I'd had doubts about him when he sent the Klone to me, I decided finally that although he was perhaps unusual, Peter was, in fact, normal and very sane. The Klone was simply an added facet to him. And of course, like all men, he needed to remind me from time to time that there were parts of him I didn't know yet, and still other parts that I might never know. It added a veil of mystery he seemed to feel was important, but the truth was that I saw who he was, and he had fewer secrets from me than he wanted to believe. I was willing to accept that there were some small, dark, hidden parts he had kept to himself, but they didn't frighten me. What I saw and what I felt and what I knew was a kind, generous, sensitive, intelligent, loving man. And he proved it to me in a thousand ways.

He was always patient and loving with my children, and had a special kind of empathy and tenderness in handling Sam. He was tolerant and understanding of Charlotte's moods and quirks as well, and the fact that some days she liked him, and at other times she wouldn't even say hello. I scolded her if she was rude to him, but he then chided me in turn for my lack of compassion, and was always quick to explain to me why this wasn't easy for her, and I had to back off, and give her a chance to get to know him in her own time.

But it was with Sam that he particularly touched me in late October. It was in fact on Halloween, and I had been putting together a Batman costume for him. Roger had promised to take him to a Halloween party, and there was no way I could take him, because I had promised myself to Charlotte that night, as a chaperone at her school dance. And it was important to her that I be with her. If they didn't have enough chaperones, they had threatened to cancel the school dance, and my canceling out on her could put the whole event in jeopardy, since most of the other parents didn't seem to want to go. I had sworn to her that, no matter what happened, I would be there. But at the last minute, Roger called, and said Helena was sick and he couldn't take Sam out after all. I explained to him that he had to, but he said Helena would never understand how important it was, they thought she had appendicitis, and I would have to make other arrangements for Sam on my own. Peter sat listening quietly on the couch, as I battled futilely with Roger on the phone.

I sat for a long quiet moment, wondering what to do, and what I was going to tell Sam. I was already signed up at Charlotte's school, and she was in her room, dressing for the dance. Backing out on her at the last minute would be a sin she would never forgive me for, but making Sam stay home with a sitter on Halloween would break his heart.

I glanced across the room at Peter, with despair in my eyes.

“I take it Roger can't make it?” He looked at me sympathetically as I nodded, silently running through the options in my mind. I was wondering if a sitter could take Sam to his party, but it was too late to find one, and I knew Sam better than that. He would opt not to go, and I knew how important Halloween was to him. I needed to be two people, and unlike Peter, there was no way out for me. I didn't have a Klone.

“They think Helena has appendicitis,” I explained with a morbid look. “Christ, couldn't she have done that some other time?”

Peter walked across the room to me with a gentle smile and a warm look in his eyes. “I'll take him, if he'll have me. I don't have anything else to do tonight.” He had been planning to have dinner with friends, while I went to Charlotte's dance. And the truth was, I didn't know if Sam would have him. He had expected to go with his father, and although he liked Peter, going out with the man in my life on Halloween wasn't quite the same. “Why don't I ask him?” Peter said matter-of-factly. “If it's okay with him, I'll cancel my other plans.” I knew he was fond of the people he was meeting and they were only in town from London for a couple of days, and this was the only free night they'd had. But there was no question in my mind, I needed his help.

“Let me ask him first,” I said gratefully, and stopped to kiss him. “Thank you for doing it … I know it'll mean the world to Sam.”

But when Sam heard what had happened, he was too disappointed to be reasonable. He didn't care what Peter had offered, he was furious with Roger, and so disappointed he wadded his Batman costume up in a ball, and threw it on the floor.

“I'm not going,” he said, throwing himself on his bed, with tears of defeat and sorrow running down his face. “Dad always goes out with me on Halloween … it won't be the same.”

I know, sweetheart … but it's not his fault if Helena is sick. And he can't just go out and leave her. What if she has to go to the hospital and he's not there?”

The voice from the depths of his pillow was muffled, but audible nonetheless. “Tell her to call 911.”

“Why can't Peter take you?”

“He's not my father. Why can't you?” Sam said, rolling on his back to look at me mournfully, the tears still fresh on his face.

“I have to go to Charlotte's dance.” And as I said the words, I saw the door open, and Peter take a single cautious step into Sam's room. He stood there hesitantly for a moment and looked straight at Sam, man to man, and asked a respectful question.

“May I come in?” Sam nodded, but didn't answer as Peter made his way slowly to Sam's bed, and sat down on the end of it, as I quietly left the room, praying that Peter would know the right things to say.

I'm not entirely sure what happened after that, except that Sam told me many days later that Peter's father had died when he was ten, and his mother had had to work very hard to support him and his younger brother. There had never been anyone to go places with him. But he had been very close to the father of his best friend. He had gone fishing with them, and camping, and skiing once. And for the father-son camping trip, his best friend's father had taken both of them. It hadn't been the same for Peter either, but to this day, he had told Sam, as my son relayed to me later on, he and his best friend's father were still friends. He went to Vermont, where he lived now, every year to see him, and it means more to him than ever, because the man's son, Peter's friend, had been killed in Vietnam.

Sam had obviously been impressed by the story, because half an hour later, he appeared in my room with Peter standing beside him, his Batman costume on, and a look of resignation on his face.

“Peter said he'd go as Robin,” Sam announced, “if you've got anything for him to wear.” No problem, one Robin costume coming right up, twenty minutes before I had to leave for the dance. Of such minor challenges motherhood is made. We made holes for him to see through in an old sleepmask I'd taken from an airplane. I found an old gray sweatshirt, and a black wool cape, and he actually looked pretty credible, even in his gray flannels. I somehow couldn't see him leaving the building in gray tights, even if I had had some, which thank God, I did not. And for a moment, as I looked at him before they left arm in arm, Peter reminded me more of the Klone than of himself. Paul would have had the tights, of course, and a pair of Versace boots to match, but Peter's gray slacks and loafers looked just fine. I kissed them both before they left, thanked Peter, and rushed back to my room, to comb my hair and change my dress for Charlotte's dance.