Man, Woman and Child (19 page)

Silence once again. Then she looked up.

'Til try," she whispered. "I can't promise more. Bob. But I'll try."

He took her in his arms. As she leaned back she spilled her champagne.

"That's good luck," he said, kissing her eyes. Her cheeks. Her lips.

At last she responded, embracing him.

"I've missed you terribly," she said. "I couldn't bear the thought of losing you. Oh, Robert. . ."

He kissed her everywhere, releasing all the tenderness pent up so long. And prayed that someday all the pain he knew that she still felt would disappear.

Please, God. I love her so.

Q

uiCK, Johnny, Tm free—pass me the ball!"

In late summer a young man's fancy turns to thoughts of autumn sports. The casual soccer sessions on the Nanuet High School field had gradually become serious scrimmages. But Davey Ackerman and his new friend, ''Jo^^^Y" Guerin, were still allowed to play with the varsity boys. And they always contrived to be on the same team. Ever since Jean-Claude was well enough to kick a ball again, he and Davey had worked out together, evolving a terrific give-and-go which would always get one of them past the defense into a clear shot at the goal. Their teamwork made Bernie ecstatic and Jessie sullen.

It was the final week of August. Afternoon shadows were growing longer. The Beckwiths and the Ackermans had come to watch the two kids match their skills against the bigger boys.

''What a combo," shouted Bernie as they scored their second goal. He slapped Bob on the back. "Terrific, huh?"

Paula clapped. Jessica sat motionless until her gallant knight waved at her as if to dedicate the goal. She acknowledged with a little wave. Sheila

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and Nancy were busy discussing books and failed to notice the heroics.

There is a touch of sadness at the close of summer, when the trees begin to hint it will soon end. And despite its tumultuous beginning, the summer was concluding with a certain harmony.

After the game, Bob and Bemie jogged around the track. Jean-Claude and Davey stayed on the field, practicing corner kicks. Sheila offered to drive Nancy and the girls home. Only Paula refused, seemingly determined to keep her father always within view.

"Too bad the kid*s gotta go,'' said Bemie as they chugged around the far curve. "He's got great potential."

"Yeah," said Bob.

"Too bad," repeated Bemie. "In seven years those two coulda made Yale invincible."

"Yeah," said Bob, thinking, Bem, you have the soul of a soccer ball.

Ten minutes later, Bemie summoned the two players with a shout.

"Come on, gang, it's time for chow."

They jogged side by side to the edge of the track.

"Can Johnny eat at our house?" Davey asked.

"May I?" Jean-Claude asked Bob.

"Sure."

"Can he sleep over too, Uncle Bob?"

"If it's okay with Nancy," said Bob.

"She won't mind," said Bernie. "Come on, guys. Let's hit the road."

Paula followed them, a step behind.

Dinner conversation seemed a bit subdued. "Gosh," said Paula, "it feels funny not having him here."

No one had removed the place mat set for Jean-Claude.

"Well, better start getting used to it/' said Jessie to her sister. ''He'll be gone for good soon. Won't he be, Dad?''

'Tes," said Bob quietly, "any day now." He said it as matter-of-factly as he could. He wanted Sheila to know he had no qualms.

The girls went to bed about nine-thirty. Bob went upstairs to kiss them good night. Jessica, even while accepting his embrace, let him know she was getting too old for this sort of thing.

When he came back downstairs, Sheila was putting on a sweater.

"Feel like a little walk?" she asked.

"Sure."

Bob got a flashlight and they went out to stroll beneath the trees. It was silent except for the sea behind the house. Peaceful. He felt close to her. He took her hand.

"Bob?"

"Yes?"

'Tou want him to stay, don't you?"

"Of course not," he said very quickly. "It's out of the question. We agreed—"

"That isn't what I asked. I wanted to know how you feel. Honestly."

They walked for a few steps before he answered.

"Well, I'm not overjoyed at his leaving. But hell, it's a fact of life. I mean"—he hoped this admission wouldn't hurt her—"I do like him a lot."

"We all do," she said softly.

"Yeah," he replied, thinking, This is her way of consoling me.

"I mean me too, Bob."

Tliey had reached a small clearing in the woods.

She stopped and looked at his face, with its forced stoic expression.

"He doesn't have to go. Bob/' she said.

Though they were standing very close, he wasn't certain he had actually heard her.

'Took," she continued, "something terrible happened to us. It will take years for the scars to really heal " ^

She paused.

"But it has nothing to do with him. Bob. Nothing. Besides, he's your child. Do you think you'd ever forget him if he went away?"

He hesitated.

"No. I guess not."

Then she continued his thoughts for him.

"There would always be a part of you that would be wondering how he was, what had become ot him "

"Yes," he said quietly.

"And he'd be thinking of you."

Bob was silent.

"He adores you. We can all see that."

Bob refused to let himself surrender to the impulse of the moment.

"Honey, the most important thing in my life is you and the girls."

"Yes," she answered. "Let's talk about them for a moment."

They sat down on an ancient tree trunk lying in the darkened forest.

"They're both in pretty fragile shape, I know," he said. "Especially Jessie with that whole not-caring act."

"And Paula?"

"She seems to be taking it better, for some reason."

"Bob, she's so obsessed with losing you she won't

let you out of her sight. Haven't you noticed that every morning, and I mean every morning, she peeks into our room and looks at your side of the bed. She's petrified/'

Bob took a deep breath. Now, retrospectively, he realized how desperately Paula had been clinging to him.

"But if he did stay . . . ?"

"Bob, we'd have a better chance if he were here instead of somewhere in the corner of everyone's imagination. I mean yours and mine—and especially the girls'. They'd always be afraid that you might go away."

He reflected for a moment.

"Oh, Christ," he said. And thought, I've really put them in a no-win situation.

"There's one more thing," Sheila said gently.

"Yes?"

"You love him."

"Yes," he answered. And thought. Thank you, Sheila.

He broached it the next morning while Jean-Claude was still at Bernie's.

"Jessie and Paula, your mother and I were considering asking Jean-Claude to . . . stay on with us. We'd like to know what you two think."

"Is this true. Mom?" Jessie asked. "It isn't just his idea?"

"I suggested it," said Sheila. For the moment Jessie withheld comment. Bob turned to Paula.

"Gee," she said uneasily. "Would he be in my grade?"

"I suppose so," said Bob. "Tliey'd probably make him take a test. But how would you feel about it?"

Paula pondered for another moment. "We start

French this year," she said. "It would be neat to have Jean-Claude around to help."

Which was her way of saying yes.

"Jessie?" Bob inquired.

"I have no objection," she said tonelessly. And then added, "Actually, I like him quite a lot."

Bob looked across at Sheila. They smiled at one another.

Bob drove to Bemie's about noon. TTie smile on Jean-Claude's face suggested not only that he was happy to see Bob, but that he had heard more than enough of Bernie's pep talks on the future of world sport.. Bob asked the boy to take a walk with him along the beach.

"Summer's almost over," Bob said as they surveyed the empty shore.

"I know," the boy replied. "I must be leaving soon."

"That's just what I wanted to talk to you about, Jean-Claude," said Bob. "Uh—how would you feel about staying on with us?"

The boy stopped, a surprised look on his face.

"I mean sort of joining the family," Bob continued.

"That is impossible," said the boy.

"Oh, I know what you're thinking. But everyone is sorry for what happened. All of us want you to stay. Wouldn't you like that?"

Jean-Claude did not know how to answer. At last he spoke. Very shyly.

"Bob, I cannot. School—Zci rentree—starts in fifteen days."

"But you could go to school here, Jean-Claude. Besides, where would you live in France?"

"At St. Malo," the boy rephed.

"What's that?"

"A school. It is where my mother wanted me to go when I was eleven. To be with other boys. But Louis has been speaking to the director. He says I can start now if I pass certain examinations. And I have studied hard."

So that explains all his reading.

"But we want you to live with us/' said Bob. "We . . . love you."

The boy looked up at him.

"Bob, I must go to St. Malo. It is what my mother planned. And it is the right thing."

Bob looked down at his son. Did he understand what he was saying?

"Is that really what you want—to be alone?''

Please change your mind, Jean-Claude.

"Bob, I must go ... for many reasons."

"Are you positive, Jean-Claude?"

The boy seemed at the limit of his strength.

"Yes," he said softly, and turned his gaze away. Toward the sea.

i HERE WAS NOTHING MORE TO SAY, REALLY. BOB

booked a flight for three days later. The leave-taking was subdued. Sheila and the girls stood on the porch and watched the car go off. No one cried. Yet each had the vague sensation that the others would, eventually.

Bob wanted the ride to Logan to last forever. There was so much he wanted to tell the boy. To clarify his feelings. Establish their relationship. Express his love. And yet they barely spoke during the journey.

He parked the car and took the green valise out of the trunk. Jean-Claude carried his red flight bag and they walked to TWA, where the boy was checked in for flight 810 and the suitcase sent via Paris on to Montpellier. Bob walked him to the gate. It was only six-thirty. They still had some time. The sky outside was not yet dark, although the airport lights were beginning to come on, anticipating nightfall.

The big white 747 was crouched like a friendly elephant, waiting to take on passengers. Since it

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was the end of summer, not many people'were flying to Europe. The departure lounge was quiet. Now and then a flight was called. Not his. Not yet. The woman calling flights had no emotion in her voice.

They sat side by side in white plastic chairs.

''Do you have enough to read, Jean-Claude?"

'*I have my books."

*'Oh, yes, of course. Good luck on the exams. Uh —are you nervous?"

"A little."

"You'll be sure and let me know how it turns out?"

"Yes."

"And we'll stay in touch. . . ." . The boy hesitated slightly, then said, "Yes."

"TWA announces its final call for flight 8JO, non-stop 747 service to Paris, Immediate boarding Gate

Yir

They stood up without a word and started slowly toward the gangway door. But there was .still something important Bob had to say.

"Uh—if you like, you could visit us again next summer. Or even Christmas. I mean anytime."

"Thank you," he said.

"So maybe you'll come next summer, huh?"

"Maybe."

Or maybe not, thought Bob. Very likely not.

The lady taking tickets seemed to be signaling.

"I should go, Bob," said the little boy.

No, please, thought Bob. Not yet. Not yet.

Now Jean-Claude held out his hand and, as if preparing for the life awaiting him across the ocean, spoke his final words in French.

"Au revoir. Papa.*'

Bob could hold out no longer. He swept the little boy into his arms and hugged him. He could feel

the boy's chest breathing rapidly against his own. They spoke no words. He longed to say I love you, but was scared of breaking down. So he simply held his son. And hugged him, wanting never to let go.

On the periphery of his awareness, someone said the doors were going to close.

He put the httle boy dovm. And took a final look at him.

''Go on," he whispered hoarsely, unable to say more. His throat was tight.

The boy looked up at him for a split second, and without another word, turned toward the gate.

Bob watched him hand his ticket to the hostess, watched her tear a page off. Watched him walk straight-backed, carrying his flight bag, down the gangway onto the plane. And disappear.

The gate closed.

A few minutes later, the white jumbo slowly backed away, then headed toward the runway into the growing darkness.

Bob stood there for a long while.

At last he turned and started walking slowly down the now deserted corridor.

I love you, Jean-Claude. Please don't forget me.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Bom in New York City in 1937, Erich Segal earned his A.B. and Ph.D. at Harvard and then moved to Yale to begin a career as a teacher of Latin and Greek.

During one Christmas vacation, he learned that the young wife of a former student had just died. He was moved to write about it, and the result was the worldwide phenomenon Love Story. The sequel, Oliver's Story, was also a bestseller, but it was only with this third novel, Man, Woman and Child, that critical acclaim was added to popular success.

A veteran of more than forty marathon races, Erich Segal has been a television commentator for three Olympic ganies.

He lives and teaches in New England, the setting of his first three novels and of the fourth, on which he is currently at work.

He is married and has one child.

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