Michael looked over his shoulder and tried to smile at the cop. “Thanks.” But the attempted smile only made the cop wonder what was wrong. There was a kind of despair in the kid's eyes.

He gave the men in the patrol car an address a block from the hotel, and thanked them when he got out. And then he walked the last block. The suite was still empty when he got there, and for a moment he thought about taking off his clothes and going back to bed, but there was no point in playing that game anymore. He had done what he'd wanted to do. It had gotten him nowhere, but at least he'd gone through with it. What he'd been looking for was Nancy. He should have known that he wouldn't find her there, or anywhere else. He would only find her in the one place she still lived, in his heart.

The door to the suite opened as he stood looking out the window, and for a moment he didn't turn around. He didn't really want to see them, or hear about the meeting, or have to pretend that he was all right. He wasn't all right. And maybe he never would be again.

“What are you doing up, Michael?” His mother made it sound as though be were going to be seven in a few days, instead of twenty-five. He turned around slowly and said nothing at first, and then tiredly he smiled at George.

“It's time for me to get up, Mother. I can't stay in bed forever. In fact, I'm going to New York tonight.”

“You're what?”

“Going to New York.”

“But why? You wanted to stay here.” She looked totally confused.

“You had your meeting.” And I had mine. “We have no reason to hang around here anymore. And I want to be in the office tomorrow. Right, George?”

George looked at him nervously, frightened by the pain and grief he saw in the boy's eyes. Maybe it would do him good to get busy. He didn't look terribly strong yet, but lying about bad to be difficult for him. It gave him too much time to think. “You might be right, Michael. And you can always work half days at first.”

“I think you're both crazy. He just got out of the hospital this morning.”

“And you, of course, are famous for taking such good care of yourself. Right, Mother?” He cocked his head at her, and she sank down slowly on the couch.

“All right, all rigft,” she said with a slow smile.

“How was the meeting?” Michael sat down across from her and tried to look as though he cared. He was going to have to do a lot of that, because that afternoon he had made a decision. From now on he was going to live for one thing and one thing only. His work. There was nothing else left.





Chapter 8




“Ready?”

“I guess so.” She couldn't feel anything above her shoulders; it was as though her head had been cut off. And the bright lights of the operating room made Nancy want to squint, but she couldn't even do that. All she could see clearly was Peter's face as he bent over her, his neatly trimmed beard covered by a blue surgical mask, and his eyes dancing. He had spent almost three weeks studying the X-rays, measuring, sketching, drawing, planning, preparing, and talking to her. The only photograph of Nancy he had was the one taken the day of the accident, at the fair. But her face had been partially obscured by the silly board-walk facade she and Michael had stuck their heads through to have their picture taken. It gave him an idea though, a starting point, but he was going much farther than that. She was going to be a different girl when he was through, a person anyone would dream of being. He smiled down at her again as he saw her eyelids grow heavy.

“You're going to have to stay awake now, and keep talking to me. You can get drowsy but you can't go to sleep.” Otherwise she might choke on her own blood, but she didn't need to know that. Instead he kept her amused with stories and jokes, asked her questions, made her think of things, dig up answers, remember the names of all the nuns she knew when she was a child. “And you're sure you don't still want to be Sister Agnes Marie?”

“Uh uh. I promised.” They teased back and forth during the whole three hours that the procedure took, and his hands never stopped moving. For Nancy it was like watching a ballet.

“And just think, in another couple of weeks we'll get you your own apartment, maybe something with a view, and then … Hey, sleepyhead, what do you think of the view? Do you want to see the bay from the bedroom?”

“Sure. Why not?”

“Just 'sure’? You know, I think you're getting spoiled by the view from your room here at the hospital, Nancy.”

“That's not true. I love it.”

“Okay, then we'll go out together and find you something even better. Deal?”

“Deal.” Even with the sleepy voice, she sounded pleased. “Can't I go to sleep yet?”

“You know what, Princess, you just about can. Just a few more minutes and we'll whisk you back to your room and you can sleep all you want.”

“Good.”

“Have I been boring you then!” She giggled at his mock hurt. “There, love … all … set.” He looked up at his assistant with a nod, stood back for a moment, and a nurse gave Nancy a quick shot in the thigh. Then Peter stepped back to her side and smiled down at the eyes he already knew so well. He didn't even see the rest. Not yet. But he saw the eyes. And knew them intimately. Just as she knew his. “Did you know that today is a special day?”

“Yes.”

“You did? How did you know?”

Because it was Michael's birthday, but she didn't want to tell him that He was going to be twenty-five years old today. She wondered what he was doing.

“I just knew, that's all.”

“Well, it's special to me because this is the beginning. Our first surgery together, our first step on a wonderful road toward a new you. How about that?” He smiled at her then, and she quietly closed her eyes and fell asleep. The shot had taken effect.

“Happy birthday, boss.”

“Don't call me that, you jerk. Christ, you look lousy, Ben.”

“Thanks a lot.” Ben looked over at his friend as he hobbled into the office with crutches and the assistance of a secretary. She eased him into a chair and withdrew from Michael's overstuffed and much paneled office. “This is some place they fixed up for you. Is mine gonna look like this?”

“If not, you can have this one. I hate it.”

“That's nice. So what's new?” The talk between them was still strained. They had seen each other twice since Ben arrived from Boston, but the effort of staying off the subject of Nancy was almost too much for them. It was all either of them could think of. “The doctor says I can start work next week.”

Michael laughed and shook his head. “You're stark staring crazy, Ben.”

“And you're not?”

A cloud passed over Mike's eyes. “I didn't break anything.” Nothing you could see anyway. “I told you, you've got a month. Two if you need it. Why don't you go to Europe with your sister?”

“And do what? Sit in a wheelchair and dream about bikinis? I want to come to work. How about two weeks?”

“We'll see.” There was a long silence and then suddenly Mike looked at his friend with an expression of bitterness Ben had never seen before. “And then what?”

“What do you mean, Mike, ‘and then what?’”

“Just that. We work our asses off for the next fifty years, screw as many people as we can, make as much money as we can, and so what? So Goddamn what?”

“You're in a wonderful mood. What happened? Slam your finger in your desk this morning?”

“Oh for Chrissake, be serious for a change, will you? I mean it. Don't you ever think of that? What the hell does it all mean?” Ben knew what he meant, and there was no avoiding the questions now.

“I don't know, Mike. The accident made me think of that, too. It made me ask myself what's important in my life, what I believe in.”

“And what did you come up with?”

“I'm not sure. I think I'm just grateful to be here. Maybe it taught me how important life is, how good it is while you have it.” There were tears in his eyes as he spoke. “I still don't understand why it happened the way it did. I wish … I wish ….” His voice broke on the words. “I wish it had been me.”

Mike closed his eyes on the tears in his own eyes and then came slowly around the desk to his friend. They stood there for a moment, the two of them, tears running slowly down their faces, holding tight to each other, and feeling the friendship of ten years comfort them as little else could. “Thanks, Ben.”

“Hey, listen.” Ben wiped the tears from his cheeks with the sleeve of his jacket. “You want to go out and get smashed? Hell, it's your birthday, why not?” For a minute Mike laughed, and then like a small boy drawn into a conspiracy, he nodded.

“Hell, it's almost five o'clock. I don't have any more meetings I'm supposed to be at. We'll go to the Oak Room and tie one on.” He assisted Ben from the room, and then into a cab, and half an hour later they were well on their way to a major blow-out. Mike didn't get back to his mother's apartment until after midnight, and when he did he required a considerable amount of help from the doorman to get upstairs. The next morning when the maid came in, she found him asleep on the floor of his room. But at least he had gotten through the birthday.

He could hardly see when he got to the breakfast table the next morning. His mother was already there, in a black dress, reading The New York Times.

He wanted to throw up when he smelled the sweet rolls and coffee.

“You must have had an interesting time last night.” Her tone was glacial.

“I was out with Ben.”

“So your secretary told me. I hope you won't make a habit of this.”

Oh, Jesus. Why not? “What? Getting smashed?”

“No. Leaving early. And actually, the other, too. You must have looked charming when you came home.”

“I can't remember.” He was trying desperately not to gag on his coffee.

“There's something else you didn't remember.” She put the paper down on the table and glared at him. “We had a dinner date last night, at Twenty-one. I waited for you for two hours. With nine other people. Your birthday—remember?”

Christ. That would have been all he needed. “You never told me about nine people. You just asked me to dinner. I thought it would have been just the two of us.” It was a moot point now, of course.

“And it was all right to stand up just me, is that it?”

“No, I just forgot, for Chrissake. This wasn't exactly my favorite birthday.”

“I'm sorry.” But she didn't sound as though she remembered why this birthday was different, or as though she really cared. She sounded miffed.

“And that brings up another point, Mother. I'm going to move out and get my own place.”

She looked up, surprised “Why?”

“Because I'm twenty-five years old. I work for you, Mother. I don't have to live with you, too.”

“You don't ‘have’ to do anything.” She was beginning to wonder about the Avery boy and just what kind of influence he was. This sounded like his idea.

“Mother, let's not get into this now. I have an incredible headache.”

“Hangover.” She looked at her watch and stood up. “I'll see you at the office in half an hour. Don't forget the meeting with the people from Houston. Are you up to it?”

“I will be. And Mom … I'm sorry about the apartment, but I think it's time.”

She looked at him sternly for a moment and then let out a small sigh. “Maybe it is, Michael. Maybe it is. Happy birthday, by the way.” She bent down to kiss him, and he even smiled despite the terrible ache in his head. “I left you a little present on your desk.”

“You shouldn't have.” There was no present that mattered anymore. Ben had understood that. He had given him nothing.

“Birthdays are birthdays after all, Michael. See you at the office.”

After she left he sat for a long time in the dining room, looking at the view. He knew just the apartment he wanted. Only it was in Boston. But he was going to do his damnedest to find one just like it in New York. In some ways he still hadn't given up the dream. Even though he knew he was crazy to cling to it.





Chapter 9




“Hi, Sue. Is Mr. Hillyard in?” Ben had the look of five o'clock as he arrived at Mike's office door: not quite disheveled, but relieved that the day was almost over. He'd barely had time to sit down all day long, let alone relax.

“He is. Shall I let him know you're here?” She smiled at him, and he felt his eyes drawn to the carefully concealed figure. Marion Hillyard did not approve of sexy secretaries, even for her son … or was it especially for her son? Ben wondered as he shook his head.