Danielle Steel - 44 Charles Street

She was a striking, still beautiful woman, tall, stately, blond like her daughter, with big green eyes, and smooth creamy skin. She stayed in good shape with the help of a trainer, and she was rigorous about what she ate. She had worn a fur coat to lunch, and had sapphires on her ears, which matched a stylish navy wool dress by Dior. And she was wearing sexy high heels. Men had always flocked to her like bees to honey, and still did, but no one had taken her seriously in a long time. She was a little too fey, just a touch too eccentric, and she looked expensive and spoiled. And referring to her mother as “colorful” had been Francesca’s way of saying that she was a little nuts. She was going to a fat farm after the holidays to stay in shape, and wanted to have a tummy tuck by summer. She still looked great in a bikini. So did Francesca, but she rarely had time to wear one. And she couldn’t help smiling at their feet under the table, when she retrieved her napkin when it slipped off her lap. Her mother was wearing the sexiest high-heeled black patent leather pumps she had ever seen. Francesca had delivered two paintings to clients before lunch and was wearing jeans and sneakers. The two women were nothing alike.

“And what are you doing for Christmas?” Thalia asked Francesca with a bright smile, as though she were someone else’s daughter, or a niece she saw once a year. The question made it clear that Thalia wasn’t planning to spend it with her. She never did. She usually went skiing in Switzerland, or to St. Bart’s in the Caribbean, particularly if someone invited her on a yacht, which happened often. Thalia’s life was one long vacation all year round.

“Maybe I’ll go to Dad’s for Christmas,” Francesca said vaguely in answer to her mother’s question.

“I thought he was going skiing in Aspen,” her mother said, frowning. “I think that’s what Avery said. It’s been a while since we talked.”

“Then I’ll stay home. I’m keeping the gallery open that week anyway, so I’ll be busy, and Todd is moving out.”

“That’s too bad. You two should have gotten married. It might have kept you together.”

“That never kept you with anyone when it stopped working,” Francesca said matter-of-factly.

“That’s true.” Her mother smiled sweetly at her. “I always seem to fall in love with someone else.” Francesca didn’t remind her that that hadn’t happened in a long time. “Maybe I’ll meet someone in St. Bart’s,” she said dreamily, with a hopeful expression. She was always hoping to fall in love again and get married. For Thalia, life without a husband was a wasteland. She was always on the hunt.

Francesca changed the subject and told her about her tenant then, and her mother frowned in disapproval. “I don’t care if she’s a Girl Scout and looks like Little Bo Peep. I still think you’re crazy to live with strangers. You have no idea who these people are, or who they’ll drag in.”

“I have no other choice, Mom, if I want to keep the house.”

“You’d be much better off in an apartment, by yourself.”

“I don’t want an apartment. I love my house.”

“You can’t live in a house without a man. It’s just not safe.”

“Maybe one of my tenants will be a man,” Francesca said blandly, thinking of the people she had talked to, and how unsuitable most of them had been, which she did not share with her mother.

“You need a husband, Francesca,” Thalia said, and then laughed, “and so do I.” Francesca disagreed on both counts but didn’t say so. Her mother always said things like that and she no longer took the bait. There was no point.

“When are you leaving for St. Bart’s, Mom?” she asked her, to steer her onto neutral subjects.

“Two days before Christmas. I can hardly wait. I’m so tired of winter. I’m going skiing in Switzerland right after that. You should try to get away.” Her mother lived on a different planet, of parties and vacations, and never realized how hard Francesca worked. Whatever Francesca had, she had made on her own, and built from scratch. Her father had paid for her education, and she had supported herself ever since. And the money her mother had gotten in settlements from her ex-husbands she kept to herself. She felt she had earned it.

Francesca left their lunch feeling as she always did after seeing her mother, emotionally hungry. There was nothing satisfying about their exchanges, and never anything meaningful or deep. At least her encounters with her father were fun.

He stopped in at the gallery that week and bought a small painting for Avery that he thought she would like. Francesca gave him the partner’s rate, which made it ridiculously cheap, but he loved the work she sold. He was impressed that she frequently went to art fairs in other cities to discover new artists and spent hours in her artists’ studios, studying their new work with them. And he thought that most of what she had in the gallery was very good. He had a strong feeling that one or two of the artists she represented would have important careers one day. She told him that the artist he was buying had been selling well, and had sold several bigger pieces since Thanksgiving, although her father thought her prices were too low, and very fair. She commented that people seemed more willing to spend money right before the holidays. Her father was particularly pleased that he had just sold a very important piece himself. He was planning to buy Avery a new car, a Range Rover, with some of what he’d made. She had always wanted one, and despite her success, she still drove an ancient Toyota that Henry insisted wasn’t safe, and she had refused to let him replace it until then. He said he was going to surprise her with the car for Christmas before they left for Aspen.

It struck Francesca as she closed the gallery on Christmas Eve that neither of her parents was worried about what she was going to do for Christmas. They always made their own plans. It had made holidays more meaningful with Todd, but not this year. He had plans of his own, and she had none. There were friends and artists she could have called, but she didn’t feel like it. She had turned down two invitations. She felt melancholy this year and wanted to be alone. Todd was moving out in a few days, and his boxes were stacked in the hall when she got home. It was happening. She was ready for it now, but sad. It would have been hard not to be.

She watched movies and ate Chinese takeout on Christmas Eve. She hadn’t set up a Christmas tree and didn’t miss it. She wanted the holidays to pass as quickly as possible. And after the New Year, she could start a whole new life, alone again.

Both her parents called her on Christmas Day, and she saw Todd on his way out. He waved, smiled, and was talking to someone on his cell phone as he left. She noticed that he was wearing a suit, and wondered where he was going and with whom. It was hard to believe now that they had ever lived together, or had anything in common.

She took a long walk around the West Village that afternoon, and smiled at couples she saw, strolling with children. Some were carrying stacks of presents to someone’s house, and she saw a Santa Claus in a red velvet suit get out of his car, put on his hat and beard, and hurry in to a party. It was a strange day to be alone, but in a funny way she didn’t mind it. It was easier than pretending she was happy. She thought of her mother on the yacht in the Caribbean, hoping to meet a man, and her father and Avery in Aspen, and this year she was glad to be on her own. She went to bed early that night and was glad the day was over.

And then the day she had anticipated and dreaded for months came at last. She went to bed at nine o’clock on New Year’s Eve, and was sound asleep by midnight, and in the morning she could hear Todd thundering up and down the stairs, moving his boxes. He had rented a truck, and had two friends helping him. Francesca wandered into the living room, in time to watch them pick up the couch. They had already agreed to what each of them was keeping and he had paid for the couch. It was a good-looking brown leather piece that went well with their décor, and she knew she’d have to buy a new one. He had agreed to let her keep the bed and most of the things in their bedroom, although he had paid for them too. But he wanted the couch and the two big chairs that went with it, for his new apartment. Francesca tried not to feel her stomach turning over as she saw them go. She felt as though her body parts had been sawn off and were packed in each box, and somewhere amid the bubble wrap and styrofoam popcorn, along with their wineglasses that he had paid for too, was her heart.

It was over by midafternoon on New Year’s Day. The truck was packed to the gills, and Todd came to find her, standing in the kitchen, with a devastated look, looking out at the wintry garden.

“I’m leaving,” he said softly, as she turned to face him, and he saw tears roll down her cheeks. He took her in his arms, and he was crying too. “I know this sounds stupid now, but I love you. I’m sorry it worked out like this.”

“So am I. I love you too.” But no matter how much it hurt and they cared about each other, they both knew it was for the best. It hadn’t worked.

“Call me if you need me. I’ll come and help, anytime.” She nodded, unable to say another word. And with that he kissed her on the forehead, turned, and walked up the stairs, as she stood in the kitchen and cried. She heard the front door close a few minutes later. He was gone. It felt as though someone had ripped out her heart, and she knew he felt no better. It was hard to believe, but it had finally happened. The house was hers, and his days at 44 Charles Street were over. All she could do now was move on. She could tell he already had.

THE DAY AFTER Todd moved out, Francesca bought flowers for almost every room. She cleaned the kitchen, vacuumed the halls, and looked around the top floor to make sure that everything was in order, and by the time Eileen arrived at noon, the whole house looked terrific. She beamed as she walked in, and Francesca was ready for her. Eileen had four suitcases and several boxes, and three shopping bags of shoes. She pointed at them in embarrassment as Francesca helped her carry them up the stairs.