too sorry for him,” he warned, kissing her again gently. “I need you,” he whispered.
“So do I,” she whispered back, and they made love that morning in the bed she had once shared with Sam, and knew she never would again. What she had said to Brock was true, and she believed it. The past was gone, and it was time to move forward. Besides, she loved him.
But Sam was in a pensive mood when she picked Annabelle up at the Carlyle late that afternoon, after their day together. It was as though in the past twenty-four hours, the verdict had really sunk in, and he was beginning to panic. He was about to lose everything, his freedom, his life, his little girl, even the last whispers of all he had once shared with Alex. And he was suddenly a lot less philosophical and less glib than he had been the night before over his Scotch after the verdict. Being with Annabelle had reminded him of all he would lose, and seeing Alex made it even more poignant.
He had told Annabelle that afternoon that things hadn't gone well for him. She still didn't understand what that meant, and he hadn't explained it fully with all the implications. He had said nothing about leaving her, or going to prison. He would have to deal with that later. He had another thirty days in which to do it.
“Did you two have fun?” Alex asked, smiling at them. She had come to pick Annabelle up, while Brock shopped for their dinner at Gristede's.
“We had a great time,” Sam said, looking better but still tense. “We went skating.” And then he sent Annabelle into the other room to get her doll and her sweater, and he turned to Alex with a look of anguish. “I'm sorry about your friend this morning. He seemed annoyed. I think I upset him,” he said. She nodded, hesitating about how much to say to him, but as always she was honest.
“He's afraid of our history, Sam. I can't really blame him. Eighteen years is a long time, it's hard to explain that to someone else. He's afraid that loyalty is more powerful than love, which is foolish.”
“Is it?” he asked softly, daring to raise his eyes to hers, and he ached instantly at what he saw there. He saw a woman he had hurt deeply, and every moment he spent with her, he remembered. “Is it only loyalty?” he asked thoughtfully. “I'm sorry to hear it. I suppose I'm lucky there's still that, after what I did to you.” He had spent the previous night, and even that afternoon, thinking about her, and the pain he had caused her.
“Sam, don't …” she said gently. It was too late for recriminations. There were too many regrets, and bad memories, along with the good ones.
“Why not? I guess I shouldn't say anything, but I have this crazy sense of time running out suddenly, which we both know isn't so crazy, after Friday's verdict. Maybe it's important to say things now, just in case there's no chance to say them later.” She understood what he felt, but she couldn't help him. She could be there for him, to a point, she could help him with Annabelle, and sympathize with what he was going through, but she couldn't give him more than that. That part of her life was Brock's now. “I still love you,” he said softly, and tore at her heart, as Annabelle skipped back into the room with her doll and her sweater. “I mean it,” he said pointedly, and she turned away, ignoring him, wishing he hadn't said anything. He had no right to.
Alex helped Annabelle put her sweater on, and then her hat and coat with trembling hands and she didn't say a word to Sam until Annabelle went to ring for the elevator, and they followed.
“Don't make things harder than they have to be. I know this is a hard time for you, and I feel terrible, but Sam …don't hurt all of us again now.” If he toyed with her, it would only hurt her, and Brock, and Annabelle, and even himself. “Don't do that.”
“I didn't mean to hurt you,” he said thoughtfully. There was suddenly so much he had to tell her. “I guess I ought to have the guts to leave you alone, no matter what I feel, especially if I'm going to prison. I promised myself that. But maybe it's a bigger