The Promise - By Danielle Steel Page 0,39

and deposited him in the bathtub. She had to be careful not to get splashed, so as not to get her face bandages wet, but he submitted to the bath with no resistance. And as they progressed, she discovered that he was not beige and brown, but brown and white. His brown was the color of milk chocolate, and his white was the color of snow. He was really an adorable dog, and Nancy hoped no one called to report him missing. She had never had a dog before, and she had already fallen in love with this one. It hadn't been possible to have a dog at the orphanage, and pets weren't allowed at her apartment building in Boston. But this building's management had no objection to pets. Nancy sat back on her heels and rubbed him again with the towel as he rolled over on his back, waving all four feet. And then she thought of a name. It was the name of a dog Michael had told her about the first puppy he'd had as a child, and somehow it seemed the perfect name for this independent little dog. “How do you feel about Fred, little guy? Sound okay to you?” He barked twice, and Nancy took that to mean yes.

Chapter 13

Nancy peeked her head around the door to grin at Faye, already cozily settled near the fire.

“And what do you have up your sleeve today, young lady?” Faye smiled at her, relieved that she looked so well.

“I brought a friend.”

“You did? I'm gone for two weeks and you already have a new friend? Well, how do you like that?” And with that, Fred bounced into the room, obviously proud of his new red collar and leash. No one had reported losing him, and as of that morning he officially belonged to Nancy. He had a license, a bed, a bowl, and about seventeen toys. Nancy was lavishing him with love.

“Faye, I'd like you to meet Fred.” She smiled down at him with motherly pride, and Faye laughed.

“He's adorable, Nancy. Where'd you get him?”

“He adopted me on Christmas night. Actually, I should probably have called him Noel, but Fred seemed more appropriate.” For once, she was embarrassed to tell Faye why. She was beginning to feel like a fool for clinging to Michael. “I also brought you a stack of my work to look at.”

“My, haven't you been busy. Maybe I should go away more often.”

“Do me a favor, don't.” A glimpse into Nancy's eyes told Faye just how lonely she'd been. But at least she had made it through Christmas, and alone. That was no small accomplishment for anyone. “And …” She drew the word out with pride “… I've made arrangements for a voice coach. Peter says It's all part of the package. I start tomorrow at three. I can't do dance class yet, because my face isn't finished, but I can do that next summer.”

“I'm proud of you, Nancy.”

“So am I.”

They had a good session that day, and for the first time in eight months, they didn't talk about Michael. Much to Faye's astonishment, it was spring again before Nancy mentioned his name. It was almost as though she were determined not to. All she talked about now was her plans. Her voice lessons. Her photography. The work she wanted to do with the photography when her techniques became more sophisticated. And in the spring she and Fred went for long walks in the park, through the rose gardens and along the remoter paths near the beach. She sometimes went on drives with Peter to out-of-the-way beaches where her bandages didn't matter. But little by little her face was emerging, and so was her personality. It was as though by remolding her cheek-bones and her forehead and her nose, he was also revealing more of the soul that had been hidden by youth. She had matured a great deal in the year since the accident.

“Has it already been a year?” Faye was astonished as she looked at Nancy one afternoon. Peter was working on the area around her eyes just then, and she was wearing huge dark glasses which hid her cheekbones as well as her eyes.

“Yes. It happened last May. And I've been seeing you for eight months, Faye. Do you really think I'm making progress?” She sounded discouraged. But she was still tired from her last surgery three days before.

“Do you doubt your progress?”

“Sometimes. When I think of Michael too much.” It