The Promise - By Danielle Steel Page 0,16

The sobs were a little louder now, and coming at quicker intervals, with little panicky gasps.

“Is someone there?” The girl's entire head was covered with bandages, and the voice was muffled and strange. “Is someone …” She cried harder now. “I can't see.”

“Your eyes are Just covered with bandages. There's nothing wrong with your eyes.” But the words were met by fresh sobs. “Why are you awake?” Marion spoke to her in a monotone. They were not words of reassurance, they were devoid of all feeling, and Marion herself felt as though she were standing in a dream. But she knew that she had to be there. Had to. For Michael's sake. “Didn't they give you something to make you sleep?”

“It doesn't work. I keep waking up.”

“Is the pain very bad?”

“No, everything is numb. Who … who are you?”

She was afraid to tell her. Instead, she moved toward the bed and sat down in the narrow blue vinyl chair the nurse must have pulled up next to it. The girl's hands were wrapped in bandages, too, and lay useless at her sides. Marion remembered Wicky telling her that the girl had naturally used her hands to try to shield her face. The damage to them was almost as great as to her face, which would be devastating to her as an artist. In essence, her whole life was over. Her youth, her beauty, her work. And her romance. But now Marion knew what she had to say.

“Nancy—” It was the first time she had said the name, but now it didn't matter. She had no choice. “Did they …” Her voice was smooth and silky as she sat next to the broken girl. “Did they tell you about your face?” There was total silence in the room for an endless amount of time, and then a small broken sob freed itself from the bandages. “Did they tell you how bad it was?” Her stomach turned over as she said the words, but she could not stop now. She had to free Michael. If she freed him, he would live. She felt that in her guts. “Did they tell you how impossible it would be to put you back together?”

The sobs were angry now. “They lied to me. They said …”

“There's only one man who can do it, Nancy, and it would cost hundreds of thousands of dollars. You can't afford it. And neither can Michael.'”

“I'd never let him do that.” She was angry at the voice now, as well as at fate. “I'd never let him … ”

“Then what will you do?”

“I don't know.” And the sobs began again.

“Could you face him like that?” It took minutes for the stifled “no” to emerge. “Do you think he would love you like that? Even if he tried, because he felt some bond of loyalty, some obligation, how long could it last? How long could you bear knowing what you looked like and what you were doing to him?” The sounds Nancy made now were frightening. She sounded as though she were going to be sick, and Marion wondered if she herself would be as well. “Nancy, there's nothing left of you. Nothing. There's nothing left of the life you had before today.” They sat in interminable silence, and Marion thought she would hear those sobs forever. But it had to be painful or it would never work. “You've already lost him. You couldn't do this to him. And he … he deserves better than that. If you love him, you know that. And … and so do you. But you could have a new life, Nancy.” The girl didn't even bother to answer as her sobs went on. “You could have a new life. A whole new world.” She waited until the sobs grew angrier again and then stopped. “A whole new face.”

“How?”

“There's a man in San Francisco who could make you beautiful again. Who could make you able to paint again. It would take a long time, and a lot of money, but it would be worth it, Nancy … wouldn't it?” There was the tiniest of smiles at the corners of Marion's mouth. Now she was on familiar ground. It was just like making a multimillion-dollar deal. A hundred-million-dollar deal. They were all the same.

A small jagged sigh emerged from the faceless bandages. “We can't afford it.” Marion almost shuddered at the “we.” They were not a “we” anymore. They never had been. She and Michael were the “we.”