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Chapter 22

She had been attentive, physically affectionate with Paul all day. Uncomfortable with public displays of affection, she nevertheless snuggled her head into his shoulder and held his hand from the time the Cessna took off to return them to Miami. She knew very well she had hurt him badly, that he had feigned sleep for hours; his breathing patterns were too familiar to her.

She had been more wakeful than he. She knew that if he had wanted a child any earlier—anytime before she had met Val—she would have acquiesced. It was from Val and the difficulties of Val’s life that she had learned how circumscribed her life would be for years to come with the responsibility of a child. Yet Paul was nearing forty; it was his right to be a father. But her life and her career would be limited—not his. The options in her life would drastically narrow, just as they had for Val.

Val had told her, “I’m at my best as a regional painter, but I would have spent at least a year in Europe.” There had been a hunger in her face. “And I wouldn’t have spent so many years discovering what I wanted to paint and how to study my craft.”

Carolyn had asked, “If you had to do it over, would you have had a baby?”

“Oh God, yes. But if I could have waited till I was closer to thirty.”

They landed in Miami. An hour later, on their nonstop flight to Los Angeles, Paul stared fixedly out the window of the jet. Knowing how transparent her efforts were to please, she said again, “I had such a lovely time, it was all so very beautiful.”

He looked at her then, and smiled, and lifted her hand to his lips. “I love you, Princess. More than anything.”

She pulled his head to her, kissed him.

Everything will be fine, she reassured herself. He’ll come around to understanding that another year or two won’t make that much difference.

By early evening she had finished unpacking; her gifts for Neal and Val were piled on her dressing table. She called Val from the bedroom extension, realizing that she had never spoken with her on the phone.

The sound of Val’s low resonant voice struck her into sudden shyness. “Hi,” she stuttered, “uh, hello—”

“Carrie, welcome home. I was hoping you’d call. Neal wants to say hello, then I’ll ask you about—”

“Listen,” she said, gazing at the stack of gifts, the carefully packaged Queen of the Sea. “Why don’t I come over for maybe fifteen minutes? I brought back a few things…”

She came into the living room, the gifts in her arms. “Honey, I’ll be right back. They’re leaving for the weekend,” she lied, “otherwise I won’t see Neal till next week—”

He glanced up, then continued to sort through his mail. “I’m tired. Probably jet lag.”

“Lie down for a while, honey,” she said sympathetically. He smiled, pulled two issues of BusinessWeek out of the stack of mail.

Neal was running around in his new shark T-shirt singing, “I’m the king of the for-r-r-est…”

“The sea, you dummy,” Val said affectionately. She was looking at the glowing shell in her hands. “Carrie, it’s so incredible, so extraordinary. It would have been so easy for you to give me something I need. I’m so happy to have this wonderful treasure…”



“I have to get right back.” She was flushed with joy at the pleasure she had given.

“Hey, I haven’t even told you about the Olympics!” Neal shouted. “You can’t go!

“Stay just a little longer, Carrie,” Val coaxed. “After all, he’s had you for two weeks.”

 



Date: 2015-02-03; view: 538


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