“Goodwill what?” The driver was chewing a soggy cigar and was not particularly interested in Goodwill of any kind.

“Goodwill store. You know, used clothes, old furniture.”

“Oh yeah. Okay.” The kid didn't look like one of their customers, but a fare was a fare. It was a five-minute drive from Nancy's apartment, and the fresh air on his face helped revive Michael from the shock of the emptiness he had found. It was like looking for your pulse and finding that your heart had stopped beating. “Okay, this is it.”

Michael thanked him, absentmindedly paid twice the fare, and got out. He wasn't even sure he wanted to go inside. He had wanted to see her things in her apartment, where they belonged. Not in some stinking, musty old store, with price tags on them. And what would he do? Buy it all? And then what? He walked into the store feeling lonely and tired and confused. No one offered to help him, and he began to wander aimlessly up one aisle and down another, finding nothing he knew, seeing nothing familiar, and suddenly aching, not for the “things” that had seemed so important to him that morning, but for the girl who had owned them. She was gone, and nothing he found or didn't find would ever make any difference. The tears began to stream down his face as he walked slowly back out to the street.

This time he didn't hail a cab. He just walked. Blindly and alone, in a direction his feet seemed to know, but his head didn't. His head didn't know anything anymore. It felt like mush. His whole body felt like mush, but his heart was a stone. Suddenly, in that stinking old store, his life had come to an end He understood now what it all meant, and as he stood at a red light, waiting for it to change, not giving a damn if it did, he passed out.

He woke up a few moments later, with a crowd around him as he lay on a small patch of grass where someone had carried him. There was a policeman standing over him, looking sharply into his eyes.

“You okay, son?” He was certain the kid was neither drunk nor stoned, but he looked a terrible gray color. More likely he was sick. Or maybe just hungry or something. Looked like he had money though, couldn't have been a case of starvation.

“Yeah. I'm okay. I got out of the hospital this morning, and I guess I overdid it.” He smiled ruefully, but the faces around him did cartwheels when he tried to get up. The cop saw what was happening and urged the crowd to disperse. Then he looked back at Michael.

“I'll get a patrol car to give you a lift home.”

“No, really, I'm okay.”

“Never mind that. Would you rather go back to the hospital?”

“Hell, no!”

“All right, then we'll take you home.” He spoke into a small walkie-talkie and then squatted down near Michael. “They'll be here in a minute. Been sick for a long time?”

Michael shook his head silently, and then looked down at his hands. “Two weeks.” There was still a narrow scar near his temple, but too small for the policeman to notice.

“Well, you take it easy.” The patrol car slid up alongside them, and the policeman gave Michael a hand up. He was all right now. Pale, but steadier than he had been at first.

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.”