Read Online Once in a Lifetime by Danielle Steel - Free Book Online Page B

doing a wonderful thing for your son, Mrs. Fields, and I know how hard it is." And then, after the sobs had finally subsided, "Are you currently employed?" The question had come as a shock. Did they doubt her ability to pay his tuition? She had hoarded whatever money she and Jeff had had, and she had been desperately frugal. She hadn't bought so much as a new dress for herself since the few she had bought after the fire, and she was planning to use all of Jeff's insurance money for the school, for as long as it would last. But now of course, with Andrew gone, she could go back to work. She had not worked again since Jeffs death. She had had to recover herself, and then she had found out she was pregnant. She couldn't have worked anyway then, she was too distraught after their deaths. And Collins had given her a generous severance when they accepted her resignation.
    "No, I'm not employed, Mrs. Curtis, but my husband left me enough to ..."
    "That's not what I meant." The director's smile was filled with compassion. "I was wondering if you would be free to stay up here for a while. Some of our parents do that. For the first months, until the children adjust. And Andrew being so young ..." There were five other children his age, which was part of what had convinced Daphne. "There's a charming little inn in town, run by an Austrian couple, and there are always a few houses to rent. You might give it some thought." She felt as though she'd had a reprieve. And her face lit up like a sunbeam.
    "Could I see him every day?" Tears filled her eyes again.
    "At first." Mrs. Curtis's voice was gentle. "Eventually it will be better for both of you if you begin to cut the visits down. And you know"--the smile was warm--"he's going to be awfully busy with his friends."
    Daphne's voice was forlorn. "Do you think he'll forget me?"
    They stopped where they stood and the older woman looked at her. "You're not losing Andrew, Mrs. Fields. You're giving him all that he needs for a successful life in the world again."
    A month later she and Andrew made the trip, and she drove as slowly as she could through New England. These were the last hours of their old life and she wanted to drag them out as long as she could. She knew she wasn't ready to leave him. And somehow, the beauty of the countryside made it even harder. The leaves were turning, and the hills were a riot of deep reds and bright yellows, there were cottages and barns, horses in fields, and tiny churches. And suddenly she was reminded of the big beautiful world beyond their apartment that she wanted to share with him. There were cows and lots of sights lining the road he had never seen, and he pointed and made his odd little familiar sounds to ask her questions. But how could she explain to him a world filled with people, and airplanes, and exotic cities like London or San Francisco or Paris? She realized suddenly how deprived he had been and how little she had actually taught him, and the familiar feeling of failure washed over her again as they drove on through the scarlet hills of New England.
    All of Andrew's favorite treasures and toys were in the car, his teddy bear and a stuffed elephant he loved, and the picture books they had leafed through together, but which no one could read to him. Daphne found herself thinking of it all as they drove, and suddenly what stood out to her now was all that she hadn't accomplished rather than all that she had, and she found herself wondering what Jeff would have done in her place with his son, if he'd had the chance. Perhaps he would have had more ingenuity, or greater patience, but he could have had no greater love than she had for this child. She loved him with every ounce of her soul, and If she could have given him her own ears with which to hear, she would have.
    An hour before they reached the school they stopped for a hamburger at a roadside stand, and her bleak mood brightened a little. Andrew seemed excited by the trip, and he was watching