Within Reach (24 page)

During the drive back to Beacon Hill Reggie explained that she had the French Open behind her and the All England Championships ahead of her, that she had come back for a rest in between and on pure impulse had flown to Boston. “I’m not coming at a terrible time, am I?” she asked. There was a quiet urgency in her voice that alerted Danica to something. Reggie looked tired. And older.

“You couldn’t have picked a better time,” Danica assured her gently. “Blake is in Washington, and I’m getting ready to go up to Maine. If you’d called a week later, I’d have been gone.”

“How is Blake?”

“Fine.”

“You’re really jet-setting it now, I guess.”

“Nah. You know how much I hate Washington. I only go there when I have to. But tell me about you. How’s the tour going?”

As they neared the town house, Reggie told Danica about the tournaments she had played. An hour later, after they had dropped off her suitcase and the car and had walked across the Common to Locke-Ober’s for lunch, she was still talking.

“It’s getting worse all the time,” she moaned, refilling her wine from the bottle the steward had left chilling in a stand by their table. “I’m not getting younger, and everyone else is.”

“But you’re a fantastic player, Reggie. What you have in experience makes up for what they have in energy.”

“That’s what I’ve been telling myself for the past few years, but you know something? It’s not true anymore. They’re good, Danica. They’ve got good legs, good arms and good court sense. Me, well, my knee kicks up and my back aches and I’m just plain tired.”

Danica studied her friend. “You had the big one this year, didn’t you?”

“Thirty? Yup. And it shows.”

“Not from where I’m sitting,” Danica began in denial, then softened her words. “What I see is a woman who is tanned and healthy-looking and in remarkable shape. But neither of us is eighteen anymore.” She nudged a piece of brook trout with her fork. “Are you thinking of stopping?”

“Yup.”

Danice looked up. “Are you really?”

“I’m not sure I have any choice. I’m not winning the way I used to, and the effort is killing me.” Reggie paused. “Do you remember when we first went to Armand’s? We were on our way up then. Each year we won a few more tournaments. Each year we moved up in rank. It was slow, but it was steady and exciting.”

“Steady for you, slightly shaky for me.”

“That was something else, Danica. You had reasons for not wanting to play.”

“Yeah. I wasn’t winning the big ones.”

“Okay. Well, that’s where I am now.” She took a healthy gulp of wine, then set the glass down. “Only it’s harder on the backward slide. I was on top for a long time, maybe too long for my own good.”

“Success can’t be bad.”

“When it gets into your blood and then you lose it, it can.” She looked at Danica. “I ask myself where I am,
who
I am, and I don’t have the answers. Sure, I can retire now and rest on my laurels, but they’ll fade pretty fast when the new superstars take over. I really don’t know where I’m going anymore, and it’s mind-boggling.”

Danica didn’t know what to say. Her heart went out to Reggie. “Have you discussed things with Monica?” Monica Crayton had been Reggie’s coach for the past seven years, ever since she had split with Armand in a technical squabble.

“Monica.” She sighed. “Monica is looking around. She won’t admit it, but I’ve seen the way she sidles up to some of the younger players. Hell, she’s not blind. She sees what’s happening. She knows that it’s only a matter of time before I retire, and she’s looking out for her own future. I can’t blame her, really. I suppose I’d do the same if I were in her shoes.”

“Do you ever talk to her about what you should do…after?”

“If I don’t know, how would she? God, it’s awful. I mean, I’ve had a tennis racket in my hands since I was six. For as long as I can remember I knew where I was headed. There was never any question. Tennis was my future. Suddenly now I don’t know anymore.”

“Just because you won’t be competing doesn’t mean you have to leave the game. You could coach.”

Reggie took a deep breath. “I’ve thought of that. And I could. But it wouldn’t be the same, sitting on the sidelines watching someone else make it.”

“There would be pride in it.”

“Maybe. Then again, maybe I’d be a lousy coach. It’s like starting all over again. It’s scary.”

“How about teaching at a tennis academy? You could easily do that. I’ll bet Armand—”

“I couldn’t ask Armand, not after the way we parted.”

“Then, what about another school? There are hundreds of them out there now. With your name alone you’d be able to get a position.”

“Maybe. Then again, maybe I’d be bored. It seems forever that I’ve been thinking of my year in terms of the pro tour. Without that tension, without that—” she made a subtle jab with one fist “—that adrenaline flow—”

“From what you say, that adrenaline flow isn’t doing the trick anymore. Really, Reggie, you have choices.”

Reggie looked her in the eye. “I think
you
made the right one way back then. I’d give anything to be in your shoes. Look at you: you have a husband in the President’s Cabinet—the
President’s
Cabinet—you have
three
homes, and you’re financially set for life.”

Danica smiled sadly. “The grass is always greener, isn’t it?”

“Uh-oh. Things with Blake are still rocky?”

Danica rolled her eyes and motioned for the check. As she and Reggie walked slowly back, arm in arm through the Common, she brought Reggie up to date on exactly how rocky things were.

“He doesn’t see me at all, Reg. I’m there, but he doesn’t see me. It’s like I’m a piece of furniture.”

“The bastard. What’s wrong with him that he can’t see something good when he has it?”

“You’re prejudiced, but that’s beside the point. The point is that Blake sees a million good things he has, only I’m not one of them. It’s really an ego trip for him down there. Maybe it was here, too, but I never saw it.”

“Maybe you didn’t want to see it.”

“No. I guess I didn’t. I’ve always tried to rationalize—you know, he’s busy and important and he appreciates me even if he doesn’t say it. But I look at myself and my life and I know that something has to give. I don’t want to be an angry, bitter old lady forty years down the road. I don’t want to look back and think of everything I’ve missed.”

“Your work with James Bryant must help some.” Danica had written her about it.

“It does. I really enjoy it. But…”

“But what?”

Danica looked at Reggie, then away. She motioned toward an empty bench and they sat down. June was in its glory, and its glory was epitomized in the vibrant canopy of trees, the sweet smell of grass, the sounds of emerging humanity that filled the Common.

“There’s a man, Reg.”

For a full minute Reggie didn’t say a word. “A man. As in
other
man?”

“Uh-huh.”

“You never mentioned anyone in your letters.”

“I’m sure I mentioned him, just not in the proper light.”

Reggie frowned, trying to recall. Then her eyes widened. “The fellow from Maine?”

Danica nodded. “No one knows. You’re the first person I’ve breathed a word to. You won’t say anything, will you?”

“Have I ever said anything?” Reggie retaliated in teasing reminder of the adolescent fantasies the two had shared when they’d been younger.

“No.” Danica smiled, remembering those days. “No, you haven’t.”

“And I won’t now. Michael…was that his name?”

“Yes. Michael. He is the most wonderful person you’d ever want to meet.”

“Back up a bit. You first met him when you bought the house?”

Reliving it as she spoke, Danica told Reggie about those earliest days, about the slow development of her relationship with Michael, about biking and Rusty and her miscarriage. She told about the winter that had been, about the calls, about how Michael had been her touchstone when she had had no other.

“You’re in love with him. It’s written all over your face.”

“Now, yes. I usually keep it well hidden.”

“Does Blake know anything?”

“Blake’s met him. He knows that Michael and I are friends. He doesn’t really seem to care, but that’s the way everything’s been between Blake and me lately.”

“How far has it gone with Michael? Have you slept with him?”

“God, you’re blunt.”

“Would you want me to be any other way?”

“No.” Danica inhaled sharply and shook her head. “No, I haven’t slept with him. I can’t.”

“Why not? If you love him—”

“I’m married, Reg, remember?”

“Hell, Danica, married people do it all the time. I know. Some of the best men I’ve dated have been married.”

“You haven’t.”

“I have, and I did it with my eyes open. Not that I went looking for them. They came to me, willing and ready. I need a high from time to time. A good man, a nice, strong sexy one, can give you that, even if it’s only for a night.”

“But there’s more to it with Michael and me. It’s not just sex, and it wouldn’t be a one-night stand if it started.”

“Will it start? You’re heading up there for the summer. Is Blake going to be there at all?”

“I doubt it. He gives me the same line that he’ll make it whenever he can, but I doubt he will.”

“Which means you’ll be alone with Michael. What are you going to do?”

“I don’t know.”

“What do you
want
to do? Dream for a minute. If you had your way, what would you do?”

Danica didn’t have to take a minute to dream because she had been doing it for months and months. “I’d divorce Blake, move permanently to Maine, marry Michael and have six kids.”

“Then
do
it!”

“I can’t! It’s just a dream. I can’t divorce Blake. Do you have any idea how hurt he’d be? Do you have any idea how hurt my parents would be?”

“To hell with them. What about
you
?”

Danica gave a clipped laugh. “You sound like Michael.”

“You’ve talked to him about divorcing Blake?”

“No. He knows that I feel an obligation to my family, though.”

“What good are obligations if you’re miserable?”

“But I’m not. Not really. I mean, I do have a lot to be grateful for. And now that I’m working with James, there’s some satisfaction.”

“But you’re missing so much,” Reggie said more gently, then thought. “Is there any way you can work things out with Blake?”

“Resurrect our marriage? I don’t know, Reg. I was trying to do that when I bought the house in Maine and look what happened. Blake and I are growing further apart. He has his own life. He’s always had his own life. Because of that, I’ve begun to build one for myself. We’re heading in different directions. I’m not sure if either of us can turn around and find the other.”

“Then you have your answer.”

“No, I don’t. There’s still that ugly little word,
divorce
. I don’t want it. It scares me.”

“It’s just a word with a little paper work involved. People do it all the time, precisely because they realize that their marriages have failed. And it’s easier than it used to be. You could fly to Haiti—”

“Please, Reggie. I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Okay. We don’t have to. Not now, at least. But at some point you may have to face it.”

“Not now. Not now.”

“Okay.”

Reggie fondly squeezed her arm, then gaily informed her that she wanted to go shopping in the Marketplace. By the time they returned to the town house much later Danica had managed to shove that ugly little word to the back of her mind. Reggie kept her mind occupied with tales of off-court escapades, both her own and those of other players Danica knew. Mrs. Hannah made their dinner, then they settled on the bed in the guest room to reminisce about the days at Armand Arroah’s house. Danica felt like a teenager again, and was grateful that Blake wasn’t around to look down his nose at the snickering and laughter that echoed through the halls.

No more was said about either of their futures until much later, when they had stolen down to the kitchen for tea and cake and Reggie raised her hand for attention. “Listen to this.” She read from her tea bag. “‘We often discover what will do by finding out what will not do.’ Is that apt or is that apt?”

“Listen to mine. ‘The best kind of wrinkles indicate where smiles have been.’ Neither of us has wrinkles. Is that good or bad?”

Neither one of them knew the answer. While Reggie distracted herself by marveling that the sun hadn’t weatherbeaten her face into a thorough mass of wrinkles, Danica pondered switching to another brand of tea.

ten

s
INCE SHE WAS TRANSPORTING A WORD processor and its bulky accessories, not to mention dictionaries and reference books, in addition to her personal things, Danica allowed Marcus to follow her to Maine in the Mercedes. While she opened the windows and aired out the house, he emptied both cars, then helped her set up the word processor in the den. He was anxious to please, offering to run into town for food, but she gently refused. She breathed a grand sigh of relief when he finally pulled the Mercedes from the drive and headed back to Boston.

Dashing into the bedroom, she threw off her skirt and blouse and was in the process of tugging on jeans when she heard Michael’s voice.

“Dani? Dani, it’s me!”

Heart pounding as she shimmied into a T-shirt, she raced back into the living room just as Michael was opening the screen.

“Michael!” She was in his arms then, being swung off her feet and around. “Michael, oh, Michael, it’s good to see you!” Her arms were around his neck, his around her waist. “I thought Marcus would never leave.”

“So did I. I’ve been hiding behind the rocks, waiting.”

“You haven’t.”

“I have.”

He set her back then. “Let me look at you.” He did, head to toe. “You look wonderful. Your hair’s longer. I like it.”

“So do I.” She combed her fingers through his own clean hair. “Yours is shorter. I like it, too.”

He colored. “The barber got carried away. It’ll grow.”

“No, I like it.” What she liked was the way the front still fell over his brow but not low enough to hide the faint creases that made him look distinguished. She liked the way his sideburns were trimmed, making his jaw look all the stronger. She liked the way the back was layered, feeling feathery and soft to her touch. “It’s so good to see you,” she breathed, not caring if she repeated herself, because the words bore repeating.