The House on Hope Street - By Danielle Steel Page 0,51

the years since, he had given up his search for the perfect woman. Women drifted in and out of his life from time to time, and he never got too attached to them anymore. It seemed safer that way, and simpler. He didn't need or want more than that.

“We were very lucky,” Liz echoed, and then stood up finally and thanked him for the tea. “I guess I'd better try to get some sleep before Peter wakes up. I was going to try and go to the office in the morning, and come back in the afternoon with Jamie.”

“I'll be here.” Bill smiled at her, and reminded her that he wanted to meet Jamie when he came in.

She turned in the doorway then, and looked at him, with a look of sorrow in her eyes. As she had said to him, for her, the nightmare of losing Jack was not yet over. “Thanks for letting me talk. It helps sometimes.”

“Anytime, Liz.” But he hadn't done it entirely for her. He liked talking to her, liked the boy. He was just sorry they'd had so much trouble, so much pain.

She went back to the couch in the waiting room then, and lay awake for a long time. She was thinking about him and the lonely, demanding life he led. It didn't seem like much of a life to her, but these days hers wasn't much of a life either, except for her work and her kids. She fell asleep finally, dreaming about Jack, and he seemed to be saying something to her. He was pointing at something and trying to warn her, and when she turned, she saw Peter diving neatly off a high diving board, into concrete. She awoke with a feeling of panic, mixed in with the old familiar sadness again. There was always that terrible moment when she woke up when she remembered that something horrible had happened. And then in an instant, she would remember that Jack had died. She still hated waking up in the morning. It was what made it so hard to go to sleep at night, knowing she'd have to wake up and face the sharp blow of reality all over again.

She had combed her hair and washed her face and brushed her teeth, but she still felt rumpled and messy. Peter was awake when she went back to the ICU in the morning. And he was complaining about the fact that he was hungry and no one would feed him. Eventually, they gave him a bowl of oatmeal, and he made a terrible face as his mother fed it to him.

“Yerghkkkk!” he said, looking five instead of seventeen. “That's disgusting.”

“Be a good boy, and eat it. It's good for you,” she scolded him, but he clenched his teeth and pursed his lips, and when she set the spoon down, she was laughing. “What did you have in mind instead?”

“I want waffles.” He was referring to hers, and she had purposely never made them again, since the morning Jack died. She just couldn't. And the children understood. Although they were a family favorite, none of the children had ever asked her to make them. But this time, Peter had forgotten. “And bacon,” he added. “I hate oatmeal.”

“I know you do. Maybe they'll start feeding you real food today. I'll talk to Dr. Webster.”

“I think he likes you.” Peter smiled at his mother.

“I like him too. He saved your life. That's a good way to impress me.”

“I mean, he likes you. I saw him watching you yesterday.”

“I think you're hallucinating, but you're cute anyway, even if you won't eat your breakfast.”

“What if he asks you out, would you go?” Peter asked the question with a grin.

“Don't be ridiculous. He's your doctor, not some high school Romeo. I think the bump on your head jiggled your brain.” She was amused, but not particularly interested in what he was saying. Bill Webster was a nice man, and they'd had a nice talk the night before, but it meant nothing to either of them.

“Would you, Mom?” Peter was persistent, and she only laughed at him, refusing to address the question seriously. There was no need to. What he was saying was absurd.

“No, I wouldn't. I'm not interested in going out with anyone. And he's not interested in going out with me. So you can stop matchmaking, and concentrate on getting better.”

She helped the nurses bathe him then, and later that morning, she went to her office. Jean