Authors: Danielle Steel
You're all right, babe. You're just fine, and you're beautiful and I love you. But she wasn't crying. She was only trembling very slightly in his arms, and when she looked up at him, the much too serious eyes reached out to him as she tried to smile.
I'm sorry you had to see that, Tom.
I'm sorry you had to go through it.
She nodded silently and pulled slowly away from his arms. He opened the car door for her and she slipped inside.
Well it was a tiny voice as he slid into the car next to her I think that means it's just us. My father said he never wanted to see me again. He said I'd betrayed them. She sighed deeply. Betrayed them. By loving Tom? By leaving school? Stanford was a tradition in her family. And so was marriage. Shacking up, as her father had called it, was a disgrace. So was loving a nobody. A coal miner's son. She was forgetting who she was, who her parents were, who her grandparents had been ' all the right schools and right clubs and right husbands and right wives. Her mother was then the president of the Junior League, and her father was senior partner of his law firm. And now she sat in the car next to Tom, looking stunned. He glanced at her again worriedly. He'll change his mind He patted her hand and started the car.
Maybe he will. And maybe I won't.
He kissed her very softly and stroked her hair. Come on, baby. Let's go home.
Home that week was the apartment of another player on his new team. But Tom had a surprise for Kate the next day. He had been busy all week. He had rented a flat in a beautiful little Victorian house on a hill overlooking the bay. He drove her to the door, put the key in her hand, and carried her easily up three flights of stairs and over the threshold, while she laughed and cried. It was like playing house. Only better.
And he was good to her, always, even more so after they realized she would never again hear from her parents. Tom couldn't really understand what they were doing to her, or why. To him family was family; that meant love, and roots that couldn't be destroyed, bonds that couldn't be severed, people who never deserted you, no matter how angry they were. But Kate understood. Her parents had counted on her to be everything they were, and more, to be one of them. She had committed the unpardonable error of falling in love with someone different, and daring to be different herself: daring to betray the rules, daring not to be bound by their restrictions or tiny hopes. She had hurt them, so they were hurting her. They would justify and inflate and dignify their actions until they were convinced her sins were beyond repair, until they wouldn't have to admit even to each other how much the loss of their daughter had hurt them. And if for a moment they doubted, her mother could speak to her bridge friends, or her father to his partners, and there would be instant reassurance: It's the only way ' you did the only thing you could do. Kate knew. So now Tom was everything to her mother, father, brother, friend and she flourished in his hands.
She traveled with Tom, she modeled, she wrote poems, she took beautiful care of the flat, she saw some of her old friends now and then, though less and less often, and she came to like a few of the players on Tom's team. But mostly Kate and Tom were alone, and her life centered increasingly around him. About a year after they moved in with each other, they were married. Two minor happenings threatened to mar the event, but nothing really could. The first was that Kate's parents refused to attend the wedding, but that came as no surprise. And the second was that Tom got wound up in a heated discussion in his favorite bar and knocked a guy cold. He had been under a lot of pressure at the time. The San Francisco team was not what his old one had been, and he was one of the old men on the team. Nothing came of the incident in the bar, but the papers made it sound ugly. Kate thought it was silly, Tom laughed it off; the wedding took precedence over everything.
One of his teammates was their best man, one of her roommates from Stanford was her maid of honor. It was a strange little wedding at city hall, and Sports Illustrated covered the story. She was Tom's now, entirely and forever. And she looked exquisite in a dress that was layer after layer of white organdie, with delicate embroidery and a little-girl scooped neck and huge, puffed, old-fashioned sleeves. It had been a present from Felicia, who was growing increasingly fond of the doe-like young model oddly paired with one of the country's heroes. For Kate she had chosen the cream of the store's spring line.
Kate looked like a beautiful child at the wedding, with her long hair swept up on her head in a gentle Victorian style, threaded with lily of the valley. She carried a bouquet of the same tiny fragrant white flowers. There were tears in her eyes and Tom's as they exchanged wide gold rings and the judge pronounced them married.
They spent their honeymoon in Europe, and she showed him all her favorite spots. It was his first time abroad, and turned into an education for both of them. He was growing in sophistication, and she was growing up.
The first year of their marriage was idyllic. Kate went everywhere Tom did, did everything Tom did, and spent her spare time writing poetry and keeping a journal. Her only problem was that she didn't like being financially dependent on Tom. Felicia's position enabled Kate to get all the work she wanted, but her constant traveling with Tom made it hard for her to model as much as she felt she should. There was still the tiny income from a small trust her grandmother had left her, but that was barely enough for pocket money; it was impossible to reciprocate the lavish gifts Tom constantly gave her. On their first anniversary Kate announced that she had made a decision She was giving up traveling with him to stay home and model full-time. It made sense to her. But not to him. It was hard enough traveling with the team he worked for now, without having to do it alone. He needed Kate with him. But she thought he needed a financially independent wife. He put up a fight, but he lost She was firm. And three months later, he broke his leg in a game.
Well, Princess, looks like the end of the season He was good-humored about it when he flew home. But they both knew that it might be the end of his career. He was over thirty, the deathly magic number. And it was a bad break; the leg was a mess. He was getting tired of the game anyway, or at least that was what he said. There were other things he wanted more, like children, stability, a future. The move to the San Francisco team had made him professionally insecure; it was something about the chemistry of the team, or maybe the constant underlying threats of the manager, who called him old man. The man's attitude drove Tom nuts, but he lived with it, hating the manager every inch of the way.
He also worried about leaving Kate when he traveled. She was twenty years old; she needed a husband around more often than he could be. He'd be home with her now, though, because of the leg. Or he thought he would be. As it turned out, he was home. Kate wasn't. She was getting a lot of modeling work, and she had signed up for a class on women in literature, at State. She went twice a week.
And there's a super creative writing class next term.
Terrific. She looked just like a kid when she talked about the courses. And he felt like what they called him on the team. Old man. A very bored, nervous, lonely old man. He missed the game. He missed Kate. He felt as if he were missing life. Within a month, he punched out a guy in a bar, wound up in jail, and the story was all over the papers. He talked about it constantly, he had nightmares about it. What if they suspended him? But they didn't. The charges were dropped, and he sent the man a big check. The leg still hadn't healed, though, and Kate was still out modeling most of the time. Nothing had changed. And a month later, he decked another guy in a bar, breaking the man's jaw. This time the charges stuck and he paid a whopping fine. The team manager was frighteningly quiet.
Maybe you should go into boxing instead of football, huh, sweetheart? Kate still thought'Tom's antics were funny.
Look, dammit, you may think it's amusing, kiddo, but I don't. I'm going goddamn nuts sitting around here waiting for this fucking leg to heal. Kate got the message. He was desperate. Maybe about a lot of things, not just the leg. The next day she came home with a present. After all, that was why she modeled so she could offer him gifts. She had bought two tickets to Paris.
The trip was just what he needed. They spent two weeks in Paris, a week in Cannes, five days in Dakar, and a weekend in London. Tom spoiled her rotten, and she was thrilled with having bought him the trip. They came back restored, and Tom's leg had healed. Life was even better than before. There were no more bar fights and he began practicing with the team again. Kate turned twenty-one, and for her birthday he bought her a car. A Mercedes.
For their second anniversary Tom took her to Honolulu. And wound up in jail. A fight in the bar of the Kahala Hilton resulted in a bad story in Time magazine and a worse one in Newsweek. And coverage in every newspaper in the country. Jackpot Only the story in Time told Kate why the fight had really happened: apparently there had been a rumor that Tom's contract wasn't going to be renewed. He was thirty-two. He had been playing pro ball for ten years.
Why didn't you tell me? She looked hurt Is it because of the fighting? But he only shook his head and looked away, as the lines tightened around his mouth.
Nope. That schmuck who runs the team has this mania about age. He's worse than anyone else in the business. The fights aren't such a big deal. Everyone fights. Rasmussen kicks ass on more people in the streets than he does on the field. Jonas had a drug bust last year. Hilbert's a fag. Everyone's got something. But me, it's my age. I'm just too old, Kate. I'm thirty-two, and I still haven't figured out what the hell to do with myself after football. Christ, this is all I know. There were tears in his voice and in her eyes.
Why can't you get yourself traded to another team?
He looked at her finally and his expression was grim. Because I'm too old, Kate. This is it. Last stop. And they know it, which is why they hassle me all the time. They know they've got me.
So get out. You could do all kinds of other things. You could be a sportscaster, a coach, a manager ' But he was shaking his head.
I've been putting out feelers. It all comes back no.
Okay. So you'll find something else. You don't need a job right away. We could go to school together. She tried to look cheerful. She wanted him to be happy, to share her youth with him, but her efforts only made him smile ruefully.
Oh, baby, I love you. He folded her into his arms. Maybe it didn't matter. Maybe all that mattered was what they had. And her support did help, for a while. A year, more or less. But after their third anniversary, things seemed to get worse. Tom's contract was under negotiation, and he started getting into fights again. Two in a row, and this time two weeks in jail and a thousand dollar fine. And a five thousand dollar fine imposed by the team. Tom sued for causes of injustice. He lost. He got suspended. And Kate had a miscarriage. She hadn't even known she was pregnant. Tom drove himself nuts. In the hospital, he wept more than she did. He felt as though he had killed their child. Kate was'stunned by the sequence of events. The suspension would last for a year, and now she knew what was in store bar fights, fines, and a lot of time in jail. And yet Tom was so good to her. So sweet, so gentle. He was all she'd ever dreamed of in a man. But she could see only trouble ahead.
Why don't we spend the year in Europe?
He had shrugged disinterestedly at her suggestion. He moped for weeks, thinking about the child they had almost had. But what really frightened him was what was happening to his career. When the suspension ended, so would his career. He was too old to make a recovery.
So we'll start a business. Kate was still so damn young, and her optimism only depressed him more. She didn't know what it was like the terror that he'd be a nobody, have to drive a truck, or even work in the mines like his father. He hadn't invested his money well and he couldn't count on that income. What the hell was he going to do? Commercials for underwear? Pimp for Kate's modeling career? Have her ghostwrite his memoirs? Hang himself? Only his love for Kate kept him from the bleakest possibilities. The bitch of it was that all he wanted to do was play football. And none of the colleges were considering him as coach. He had earned himself a stinking reputation with all the fighting.
So they went to Europe. They stayed a week. He hated it. They went to Mexico. He was equally miserable there. They stayed home. He hated that too. And he hated himself most of all. He drank and he fought, and reporters bugged him everywhere. But what did he have to lose now? He had already been suspended and they probably wouldn't renew his contract anyway. The only thing he knew for certain was that he wanted a son. And he'd give his son every thing.
Just before Christmas, they found out that Kate was pregnant again. This time they were both careful. Everything stopped. Kate's modeling, his drinking, the fighting in bars. They stayed home together. There was nothing but tenderness and peace between them, except for her occasional bouts of temper or tears. But neither of them took that very seriously; it seemed to be part of the pregnancy, and if anything, it amused Tom. He didn't even give a damn about the suspension anymore. To hell with them. He'd sit it out, and then he'd force them to renew his contract. He'd beg them. All he wanted now was one more knock-out year, so he could put the money away and take good care of his son. The next year he played would be for the baby. For Kate, he bought a mink coat for Christmas.
Tom, you're crazy! Where'll I wear it? She modeled it over her nightgown with a huge grin. It was heavenly. But she also wondered what he was trying to hide. What wasn't he facing? What didn't she know?
You'll wear it to the hospital when you have my son. And he had bought an antique cradle, a four-hundred-dollar English pram, and a sapphire ring for Kate. He was crazy, and madly in love with her, and she was just as in love with him. But deep inside, she was afraid. They spent Christmas alone in San Francisco, and Tom talked about buying a house. Not a big house. Just a nice house in a good area for bringing up a kid. Kate agreed, but wondered if they could really afford a house. As New Year's approached, she had an idea. They'd spend the holiday in Carmel. It would do them both good.