"Can I call you?" Devin asked brokenly.

"No, darling, it has to be a clean break. I can't handle anything else. We'll have our memories."

"I don't want memories, I want you! There has to be a way around this. Boston has medical marvels, doctors that are . . . the best. You have the money, Sallie, get the best there is."

"The damage can't be undone, Devin. Su Li called in two specialists at the very beginning, one from New York and one from Boston. It's what it is, Devin. I've accepted it, and you must too."

"No."

"Yes. There are no choices. I wish it were otherwise."

"You're giving up your life to a man who ... a man who can't recover. I can't believe Philip would expect or want you to do this. Not the Philip I know. This is so wrong, SaUie."

"No, Devin. It's right. Till death do us part. That's what I signed on for. I didn't love, honor, or obey. That part of it. . . Philip and I agreed to that part of it. I can't talk about this anymore. I can't afford to fall apart. I need to be strong for Philip. He needs me. He tries so hard to smile when he sees me. He would do anything in the world for me. I can't . . . won't do less for him. He's my friend as well as my husband."

"Sallie . . ."

"I have to go now, Devin." Sallie choked back a sob. What she wanted to do was throw herself in Devin's arms. "I will always love you, Devin. Always, forever, into eternity." Then she turned and left the room.

Devin walked into his office and closed the door. He looked around at the life he'd created for himself, recalling the early days when Sallie was his only client. He leaned back in his chair, closed his eyes, and brought his most precious memories to the forefront of his mind. When he had tucked away his fmal memory, Devin stood up. He tried to see beyond the moment, to tomorrow, the day after. He saw nothing but total blankness. What was the point in going on?

He worked steadily for the rest of the day, sorting through files, calling other attorneys, making plans. At the end of the day he wrote out a check, placed it in an envelope, and put it in the center of his secretary's desk. The last thing he did was place a call to Dr. John Noble, asking him to stop by the office on his way home from making evening rounds. He spent the next hour writing personal letters, letters he left in the outgoing mail basket. He rummaged for a cigarette, saw that there was one in the crumpled pacL That was okay, he only needed one.

Fanny was alone in the kitchen. Simon, the twins, and SaUie were preparing Philip for bed. Sunny and Billie had gone down to Chue's to make Christmas cookies.

She sat at the table, her hands cupped around a mug of coffee. She knew if she drank it, she'd not sleep all night. The same feeling she had the day Philip had his stroke was with her once again. She gulped at the coffee, burned her tongue, and swore softly. She gulped again, this time more cautiously. What could possibly be wrong? This was the Christmas season, nothing goes wrong during the Christmas holidays, she thought. Somewhere, though, something was wrong.

When the phone rang fifteen minutes later, Fanny bounded out of the chair to catch it on the first ring. Her voice was hoarse and gruff when she said, "Hello." Her voice turned to a whimper when she heard John Noble identify himself. "Please don't tell me something happened to Bess. Please, John, don't tell me that."

"Bess is fine. Fanny, I want you to sit down. I'm going to tell you something, and then I'm getting in my car and driving up there. I want ... I need to prepare you so you can take whatever steps are ... are necessary. Is Ash with you?"

"No, John. My attorney filed for divorce this morning. What is it, John?"

"It's Devin."

"Devin? Whafs wrong?"

'T)evin... died in his office earlier this evening. I'm going to hang up now. I should be there in a little less than an hour."

Tears burned Fanny's eyes. Devin dead? Sweet, kind, wonderfid Devin, who gave her her first job, the man who loved SaUie more than he loved life?

Fanny poured a fresh cup of coffee and gulped at it. She was staring into the bottom of the cup when Simon walked into the kitchen.

"I know, you're a tea leaf reader in disguise. Tell me," he said dramatically, smacking his palms together, "v^ I meet a tall, blond, willovi^ lass who has millions and who can't live without me?"

398 Fern Michaels "John Noble called. Devin died. He didn't say how, but I think ... he's on his way up here now."

"God, Fanny, I told her to go to town to talk to him."

"Don't blame yourself. I've been telling her the same thing for days. Each time she called, I'd ask her if she spoke to him. I gave her ever>' single message he left. She'd look right through me when I was talking. She heard me, but she didn't hear me, if you know what I mean. Where is she now?"

"She said she was going to bed, not to sleep, but to read. She looked exhausted. Even with the twins' help, it was hard to get Dad undressed and into bed. Brushing his teeth was a horror. Poor guy, he tries to fight it. He wants Mom to do everything. I tried to explain to him, but I don't know if he understood. Mom weighs 110 pounds, Dad weighs 180. I think he was embarrassed that we had to diaper him and the boys saw . . . helped. They were real good about it, Fanny. I saw the way Sunny and BiUie were with him this afternoon. They didn't let up at all. They put in their time, gladly, willingly, and I even think they enjoyed what they were doing. Believe it or not, Sage and Billie can decipher what he's saying. You can be proud of them, Fanny."

"I feel like I should cry. I want to cry, but I can't. Someone has to cry for Devin. Do you think your mother will, Simon?"

"No. I don't know why I say that, either."

"Devin has no family left. He was talking about that just a few months ago. He said the Thornton family was his family. I guess that means we have to make . . . do . . . you know. .. take care of things. Sallie told me once Devin wanted to be cremated. I'm a Catholic, so I'm not too comfortable with . . . that. If you do that, there's nothing left, that person is totally gone. Sallie got such comfort from vis-inng in the cemetery. There won't be a place to go. A memory isn't good enough, not for someone like Devin. I'll keep the ashes if his will says he's to be cremated. I will, I'll. . . what I'll do is ... I don't know what I'll do, but I'll do something. No scattering, Simon."

"Maybe . . . maybe we could bury the ... whatever the ashes are in ... in the cemetery."

"He's not family."

"Cotton Easter wasn't family, either," Simon said.

"Yes, but this is . . . was . . . Easter land. Oh, Simon, the kids are going to take this real hard. They adored Devin. Christmas is going to be very difticult."

"Only if we make it difficult. We have a lot to be thankful for.

Dad's alive. Christinas isn't just packages with red ribbons. If I have a vote, I say we go ahead with the plans for the tree and the Christmas Eve dinner. I'm sure you've got all your gifts wrapped. I don't think we should tell Dad about Devin."

"I agree."

"I'd like some coffee," Simon said. "I hear a car." He went to the door to wait for John Noble, "I'll make the coffee," Fanny said.

"Where's SaUie?" John asked from the open doorway.

"In bed reading," Fanny said. "We didn't tell her. She's in a fragile state right now." Fanny looked him straight in the eye. "Was it. . ."John nodded.

"Did he leave a letter or anything?"

"Everything was on his desk, the letters, his will, his insurance policies. Letters of instructions to other attorneys regarding pending cases. Sallie's affairs, as I'm sure you know, were separate, in the second room off the hall. Everything was packed in boxes, properly labeled, and a name of an attorney who he thought would handle her affairs as well as he did. I scanned his will to see if there were any burial wishes. He wanted to be cremated. I had him moved to the mortuary awaiting your decisions."

"How .. . ?"

"He shot himself. He used a pillow so ... it was a tidy death, for want of a better word. It was so like Devin to do it this way."

Fanny held out a mug of coffee to him.

"I'U have it after I talk with Sallie. Is she in the same room?"

"Yes, at the end of the hall on the left," Fanny said.

"We'll wait here," Simon said.

John knocked softiy on Sallie's door. He waited for the command to enter. "You don't seem surprised to see me, Sallie."

"I take things one day at a time, John. It is rather late for a house call, isn't it?"

"I have bad news, Sallie. There's no easy way to say this, so I'm just going to say it. Devin committed suicide this evening. He called me earlier. I guess he wanted me to be the one to find his body."

Sallie closed her eyes. "I appreciate you coming all the way up here to teU me."

"I don't understand, Sallie."

"It's not terribly complicated. I had to tell Devin that my place 400 Fern Michaels was here now with Philip and that I couldn't see him anymore. I never thought I could love someone so much, and Devin felt the same way. It's rare, John, for two people to find the kind of love we shared. My life is over, at least my life as I knew it, before Philip had his stroke. I owe so much to Philip, and I can't turn my back on him. I couldn't share my life with Devin any longer. I explained it to him, and I thought he understood. I never said in so many words that I felt dead. Devin knows . . . knew me so well. When two people love one another, they are very attuned to one another. He didn't want to go on, and I understand why he did what he did. I'm not being vain, John, when I tell you he couldn't live without me. Because I feel so ... I hate to keep using the word dead, but I must, because I feel as I do, I know I have to take care of Philip. When Phihp .. . goes, I will do the same thing Devin did. If the situation was reversed, I would do what Devin did. Thank you for coming up here, John. I think I'll go to sleep now."

"He left you a letter. Shall I put it on the dresser?"

"Yes. Good night, John."

John walked down the stairs, accepted a cup of coffee, and repeated his conversation with SaUie. "I'm leaving now. I want to be with my family. If you need me, call."

The following day, at twelve o'clock noon, the Thornton family, minus Sallie, Philip, and Ash, carried Devin Rollins's ashes to the private cemetery on the side of the mountain, where Chue had a small square opening waiting. Simon bent to lower the urn, his touch gentle, reverent. The family watched as Chue covered the urn with the hard frozen ground, packing the soil down with the back of the shovel.

Simon said a prayer. The others bowed their heads, their eyes filled with tears.

Inside the warm, cozy house called Sunrise, Sallie Thornton watched the simple burial. Her eyes were dry, her heart barely beating. A fine white snow was falling. She pressed her forehead to the windowpane, the palms of her hands flat against the grids. "Wait for me, Devin. I'll be there before you know it." The whispered torment in her voice was so intense, Philip started to jabber. Sallie turned around, her face totally blank. "It's snowing. I guess we're going to have a white Christmas after all."

More jabbering. "Where is everyone? Outside. They're going down the mountain to pick out just the right tree. Simon said he'd chop it down. I think Chue might be a little annoyed. He's been doing it for forty years, so he's going along since he claims to have an eye for height and width. I had no idea there was so much work involved in getting a Christmas tree. Did you know, Philip, you have to bore a hole in the base of the trunk and then set the tree in a bucket of water? According to Chue, you can actually see the tree suck up the water. I find that amazing."

A long stream of fretful gibberish permeated the room. "What in the world makes you think I'm babbling? What could possibly be wrong, it's Christmas Eve? I know you want everyone here in the room with you all the time, but it can't be, Philip. We're never going to leave you alone, someone will always be here, but you can't expect everyone to be here all the time. Please don't upset yourself. There's no reason for you to be fearful.

"Devin? No, Philip, Devin won't be joining us for Christmas this year. Now, let's talk about something else, or would you rather I read you the morning paper? No. Oh, I see, Birch is going to read it to you later. Does he really put more zip into his words? I'll work on that, Phihp, so that when he goes back to school and I take over, I do it right. Sage is very good with the funnies. I'll have to listen to see how he does it. My work will be cut out for me. Yes, the way yours was v/hen you first came to Sunrise. It was so long ago, Philip, and yet it feels like last week."

SaUie lowered herself to the floor to sit next to Philip's chair. She dropped her head into her husband's lap, tears rolling down her cheeks. She made no sound. Phihp's eyes blinked furiously as he focused on the window and the falling snow. A tear formed in one eye, then in the other eye. He knew they were dropping onto his wife's curly blond head he so dearly loved, and there was nothing he could do about it. Just as he couldn't do anything about what lay beyond the window.

He struggled, sweat beading on his forehead, to move his arm, his hand, his fingers. He felt the sweat mingle with his tears. He struggled harder, and then he said the only prayer he could remember. Christmas was a time for miracles if one beheved. He'd always believed. He wanted to say the prayer again, but the words were gone from his memory. He knew his hand had moved, knew it was touching soft, silky hair. SaUie hadn't lied to him after all. He'd moved his hand.

A miracle.

402 Fern Michaels

19.

The wide front porch of the cottage was of verandah proportions, and painted a soft yellow. '*You need a soothing color," John Noble had said. And, because John was a friend as well as Philip's doctor, SaUie had the porch painted the same color as the early spring daffodils. The wicker furniture was a pale green, the same color as the stems of the spring flowers, 2ilso a soothing color, according to John. Right up until October, lush green plants hung from the beams-plants for Phihp to see when he lay on his back on the portable therapy table. Two swings, one on each end of the porch, were also painted a soft green. PhiHp had requested the swings, so that SaUie could watch his intense therapy, his body pummeled and massaged by the New York therapist who charged S150 an hour, six hours a day, seven days a week.

The therapy started early in the morning, usually right after breakfast. It had been going on for three and a half years. Sallie's dedication, Philip's endurance, the therapist's greed, and John Noble's expertise were proof that the body could recover. Philip was now walking with the aid of a cane, his speech was intelligible, his motor skills greatly improved. At times he had memory lapses, and sometimes he would start a sentence and stop in the middle, forgetting what it was he was trying to say, but that happened less and less often.

Sallie sipped at her coffee from her position on the swing. She hated the array of medical equipment that lined the walls of the p)orch-the wheelchair, the canes, the walkers, the crutches, the therapy table, the stack of weights, the poles used for range of motion exercises. A wicker table held towels, ointments, liniments, medical books, and a telephone for emergencies. She hated sitting on this porch nine months of the year. She hated this house, hated this porch. More than 2inything, she hated her husband. She finished her coffee and moved off the swing.

"Where aire you going, Sallie?" Philip asked.

SaUie schooled her face to blankness. "You ask me that every morning, Phihp. I'm going into the house."

"What are you going to do?"

SaUie felt her shoulders grow stiff. Her standard answer for the past three and a half years was always the same, "I'm going to the bathroom." Today for some reason she didn't feel like making the same response. Instead she said, "I'm going to bake a cake and then I'm going to eat the whole thing."

Philip's voice was a whine, full of self-pity. "I want you out here with me. I don't want any cake."

"Philip, I said I was making the cake for myself. I didn't offer to share it with you. I've watched you every single day for three and a half years. I think you've punished me enough. John said you don't need this therapy every day. He said we could have stopped it ten months ago. Once a week is sufficient from now on. Your new, local therapist from the medical center will come up on Mondays and work with you for four hours. He will give you a list of instructions to follow. What that means, Phihp, is, you're ready to start taking care of yourself. I've been your slave for the past three and a half years. No more. Chue will be up later to move all this stuff to the bam at Sunrise. You're going to have to relocate because the porch and the furniture is going to be painted."

Philip started to cry, his shoulders shaking. "Why are you doing this to me?"

In a frenzy, Sallie tossed her coffee cup off the railing, then crossed the porch to where her husband was sitting. "You're a man, act like one," she said. She knew that the disgust she felt finally showed in her face, something she'd hidden since Phihp's stroke.

"Can I watch you bake the cake?"

"No! You don't get it, do you, Philip?"

"Get what?"

"This sick devotion you're demanding of me. The guilt you put on me. I can't take it anymore. I won't take it anymore. You're well enough to work. Three different specialists have said so. I don't mean you should get out in the pens with the chickens, but you can handle the office end of things. You can start out a few hours at a time and build up to whatever you can handle. You're too young to give up on life. Everyone needs a purpose in life. I am not your purpose. It's time for you to do for yourself."

"I'm afraid," Philip said as he started to wring his hands. "What if..."

"What if. . . what? It happens again? I can't stop it, Philip. I would think the chances of it happening again would be greater with you sitting here whining and feeling sorry for yourself You need to move about, you need to do things, have an interest in life. I can't do it for you, you have to do it yourself. You have to want to do it Don't think for one minute that I don't know what your game is. You've shackled me to you. You have a rope around my neck and you try to reel me in each time you think I might be getting away. You're pimishii^ me for not loving you the way you want me to. In spite of yourself you couldn't hate Devin because he was a good, kind man. You're making me pay for Devin. I paid, Philip, and paid and paid. I have the wherewithal to walk away from you. I wouldn't look back, and I would never come back Ever. Look at me, Phihp, read my lips, I-don't-like-you!"

"You're a bitch!" Philip said under his breath, but Sallie heard it clearly.

"Perhaps. If I am, you can take credit for it. And you can cut out that bullshit that you're afi^d. You don't have an ounce of fear in your body. What you have is vindictiveness, anger, and a host of other emotions. I want to remind you one more time, /wanted a divorce. You said no. You better be listening to me, Philip, because.. . I won't put up with you any longer."

"I didn't mean to call you a bitch."

"Yes you did. It's okay, that was an honest emotion on your part. Now you negate it. You make me sick, Phihp."

"I'll change. I'll do what you want I'll go to the ranch and start out slow. Don't leave, SaUie."

"I don't want you to do it for me. I want you to want to do it for yourself. I have nothing else to say, Phihp."

In the kitchen she picked up the phone. "Chue, it's SaUie. I want you to come now and move the things from the front porch. If Phihp is sitting in one of the chairs, paint over him."

Salhe dusted her hands dramatically. Time to bake a cake. She ate it while it was still warm, the frosting dribbling down the sides. She guzzled two botties of soda pop before she headed for the living room to get rid of Philip's indoor equipment, equipment that was meant to wrench at her soul. According to the specialists, the therapist, and John Noble, all Phihp had to do now was take long walks with weights on his ankles and wrists. She shoved the box of weights into the closet after she pushed and shoved cdl the things in the hv-ing room out to the front porch.

Now it was time to walk out to the cemetery. She needed to talk to those she'd once held near and dear. It was finally time to shed her guilt. Her step was light, her shoulders less heavy with her decision.

It was time to take her place in the sun again.

Part Four.