“Actually, it suits me. I've done what I wanted to in the world. I've proven everything I want to prove. I live on a beach and I paint… and talk to stray children, and dogs.” He smiled to himself, thinking of Pip, and thought of Ophélie suddenly, who in her own way, was far more beautiful than this woman. They were infinitely different in every possible way.

“You need a life, Matt,” Sally said gently. “Do you ever think of going back to New York?” She had been thinking of it. She had never liked Auckland, or New Zealand. And now she was free, to do whatever she wanted.

“Never. Not for a minute,” he said honestly. “Been there. Done that.” Thinking of Ophélie, even for a minute, had somehow helped him return to his senses and maintain distance from her.

“What about Paris or London?”

“Maybe. When I get tired of being a beach bum. I'm not there yet. When I do, maybe I'll move to Europe. But now that Robert will be here for the next four years, I'm more motivated to stay.” And Vanessa had told him she wanted to go to UCLA in two years, or maybe even Berkeley. He wasn't moving anywhere for the moment. He wanted to be near his children. He had been cheated out of them for long enough, now he wanted to soak up every moment he could with them.

“I'm surprised you're not bored with all that, Matt. The life of a recluse. You were pretty jazzy in the old days.” And the art director of the biggest ad agency in New York, with a lot of powerful, important clients. He and Sally had chartered planes and houses and yachts to entertain them. But he no longer had a hunger for it, hadn't in a decade.

“I guess I grew up at some point. It happens to some of us.”

“You don't look a day older.” She tried another tack, since the others weren't working. She couldn't see herself living in a beach shack with him, that really would have killed her.

“Well, I feel it. But thank you, you don't either.” In fact, she looked better than ever, and a little more weight suited her and gave her a slightly more voluptuous figure. She had always been too skinny in the old days, although he had liked it. “So what are you going to do now?” he asked with interest.

“I don't know. I'm trying to figure that out. It's all so fresh.” She hardly looked like a grieving widow, and wasn't. She looked more like a liberated felon. Unlike Ophélie, who had been ravaged by the death of her husband. The contrasts between the two women were enormous. “I've been thinking about New York,” she said, and then looked at him shyly. “I know it's a crazy idea, but I've been wondering if …” Her eyes looked deep into his, and she didn't finish. She didn't need to. He knew her. And that was the issue. He knew her.

“If I'd like to go with you, and try it for a while, see where things go…if we could put it all back together, turn back the clock and fall in love all over again… God, that would be an idea, wouldn't it? …” He filled in for her, looking pensive, and she was nodding. He had understood her. He always had. Better than she knew. “The trouble is… that's all I wanted for ten years. Not overtly. I didn't torture myself daily, you were married to Hamish, there was no hope for us… and now you're not, he's gone… and the funny thing is, Sally…I realize now that I couldn't do it. You're beautiful, just as beautiful as you always were, and with another couple of martinis, I'd fall into bed with you and figure I'd died and gone to Heaven…but then what? You're still you, and I'm me… and all the reasons it blew to smithereens before are still there and always would be…I probably bore you. And the truth is, much as I love you and maybe always will, I don't want to be with you anymore. The cost is too high to me. I want to be with a woman who loves me. I'm not sure you ever did. Love isn't just an object, a purchase, a sale, it's an exchange, a trade, a gift you give and receive…I want the gift next time…I want to get it, and give it …” He felt remarkably at peace as he said it to her. He had had the chance he wanted for ten years, and found that he didn't really want it. It was an incredible feeling of liberation, and at the same time of loss…of disappointment, victory, and freedom.

“You always were such a romantic,” she said, sounding slightly irritated. Things weren't going the way she wanted.

“And you weren't,” he said, smiling. “Maybe that's the problem. I believe in all that romantic drivel. You want to get on with it. Bury one guy, and exhume another. Not to mention what you did with our kids. The trouble is you damn near killed me, and my spirit is floating out there somewhere, it's free now… and I think it likes it that way…”

“You always were a little crazy.” She laughed. But he had never been as sane in his life, and he knew it. “What about an affair?” She was playing let's make a deal now and he felt sorry for her.

“That would be foolish, and confusing. Don't you think? Then what? I'd like nothing more than to go to bed with you. But that's when all the trouble starts. I care. You don't. Someone else comes along. I get tossed on my head out a window. It's not exactly my favorite form of transportation. Sleeping with you is a dangerous sport, for me at least. And I have a healthy respect for my own pain threshold. I don't think I could do it. In fact, I know I couldn't.”

“So now what?” She looked frustrated and angry as she poured herself another martini. Her third now. He had left his first one unfinished. He had outgrown those too. It didn't taste as good as it used to.

“Now we do what you said we would. We declare ourselves friends, wish each other luck, say good-bye, and go on about our business. You go to New York, have a good time, find a new husband, move to Paris or London or Palm Beach, bring up your kids, and I'll see you at Robert and Vanessa's weddings.” It was all he wanted both for her and from her. And nothing more.

“And what about you, Matt?” she spat at him. “You rot at the beach forever?”

“Maybe. Or maybe I grow like a strong old tree, put down roots, and enjoy my life with the people who sit under it and don't want to shake the tree every ten minutes, or chop it down. Sometimes a quiet life is a good thing.” The concept was entirely foreign to her. She loved excitement. No matter what she had to do to create it.

“You're not old enough to think that way. You're only forty-seven, for chrissake. Hamish was fifty-two and he acted half your age.”

“And now he's dead. So maybe that wasn't such a hot idea either. Maybe somewhere in the middle works. But whatever the case, your path and mine have gone in different directions forever. I would drive you insane, and you would kill me. Not a pretty picture.”

“Is there someone else?”

“Maybe. But that's not the issue. If I were in love with you, I would drop everything and follow you to the ends of the earth forever. You know me. Romantic fool, all that stuff you think is so incredibly stupid. But I'd do it. The trouble is, I'm not in love with you. I thought I was. But I guess I got off the train somewhere along the way, and didn't know it. I love our kids, and our memories, and some crazy, young lost ancient part of me will forever love you. But I don't love you enough to try again, Sally, or to follow you forever.” And with that, he stood up, bent down, and kissed the top of her head, and she didn't move as she watched him walk to the door and open it. She didn't try to stop him. She knew better. He meant every word he said. He always did, always had, always would. And as he stood there, he took one last look at her before he left her life forever.

“Bye, Sally,” he said, feeling better than he had in years. “Good luck.”

“I hate you,” she said, feeling drunk, as the door closed.

And for Matt, the spell was broken at last. It was finally over.





25

MATT HAD DINNER WITH PIP AND OPHÉLIE AT THEIR house, to exchange presents with them the night before Christmas Eve. They had decorated the tree, and Ophélie had insisted on cooking a goose for him, because it was a French tradition. Pip hated it and was going to eat a hamburger, but Ophélie had wanted to have a nice Christmas with him, and she had never seen him look better.

They had both been busy and had hardly talked in the past week. He had never mentioned to her that he had seen Sally, and he wasn't sure yet if he would. What had happened between them still seemed private to him, and he wasn't ready yet to share it with her. But there was no question, it had liberated him, and although Ophélie didn't know what had happened, she could sense it. And as always, he was extraordinarily gentle and loving with her.

They were planning to exchange gifts that night, but Pip couldn't wait until after dinner. She insisted on giving hers to him, and wanted him to open it immediately, when he threatened to save it till Christmas.

“No! Now!” She hopped up and down and clapped her hands, watching him excitedly as he tore off the paper, and as soon as he saw what it was, he burst into laughter. They were a man-sized pair of giant yellow, fluffy Big Bird slippers, and they fit him.

“I love them!” he said, hugging her. He put them on and kept them on through dinner. “They're perfect. Now we can all wear them in Tahoe. You and your mom have to bring Grover and Elmo.” Pip promised to do that, and then was overwhelmed when he gave her the beautiful bicycle he had gotten for her. She rode through the dining room and living room, nearly knocked over the tree, and then took it outside to ride it down the block while her mother finished cooking dinner.

“What about you?” he asked Ophélie, as they each sipped a glass of white wine. “Are you ready for a present?” He knew his would be a double-edged sword, and there was a chance it might upset her, but in the long run he thought she would be pleased. “Do you have a minute?” She nodded and they sat down, while Pip was still outside trying out her new bike. And Matt was glad to have a moment alone with her mother. He handed her the wrapped gift, and she couldn't imagine what it was. It was in a large flat box and didn't rattle.