Chapter 11 #2
The sisters left Connecticut reluctantly on Sunday afternoon after their day with Spencer.
He was appearing on Good Morning America the next day to promote his new book, and they all promised to watch.
Andy was going with him to keep him company, with his publicist. It was easy to forget what a big star Spencer was.
He was so unassuming and easy to be with that one forgot how famous he was.
He and Felicia had that in common, and many other things.
Spencer had been struck by how much Felicia’s daughters looked like her, although each in a different way.
And their personalities were so exactly as she had described them.
Spencer felt as though he had known them for fifteen years through Felicia.
He was planning to spend another week in New York, and then go back to London.
—
When Olivia got home from the country, Veronica dropped her off.
She had a date with Scott for dinner that night, since he had missed the lunch, and she was looking forward to it.
She hadn’t heard a word from Anson since he had evicted her from the apartment.
His absence wasn’t painful, and she didn’t miss him, which surprised her.
It just felt strange. She was startled by how easy the separation had been.
She had been more ready to leave the relationship than she realized.
His constant control had been stifling in the end.
And the brutal, cold way he had ended it had killed any feelings she had for him.
She wondered if she had already been replaced by another innocent malleable young woman he could form in the image he wanted and keep trapped in the apartment, waiting for him to appear.
There had been no fallout from it, no unpleasantness, just silence.
She felt as though she could breathe again and do what she wanted.
And being with Scott was so easy. She realized now how difficult and demanding and above all controlling Anson had been.
She didn’t miss it, and embraced her freedom.
Veronica and Scott had Thai food that night and she told him all about Spencer and what a nice man he was.
—
After she’d had dinner in her kitchen that night, Olivia rolled up to her computer table to check her emails.
She hadn’t looked that morning or when she got home.
On Sundays she liked to take a break from her obligations, students, classes, and charitable causes.
She had a full schedule all week and got a flood of emails on some days.
She glanced through them and didn’t see anything important at first, and then she saw it, the response from Francois.
It had been weeks since she’d written to him and he hadn’t answered, which she thought was a gentle way of letting her know that he was long since over her and didn’t want to hear from her.
She didn’t blame him, and was relieved for his sake to know that he had moved on.
It had been agonizing leaving each other after the accident, and he had done everything he could to convince her to remain in the relationship, which she flatly refused to do, for his sake.
She wanted him to have the happy full life he deserved, not be chained to a paraplegic for the rest of his days.
But letting go had been a tragedy for both of them. It had been years before he gave up.
When she saw the email among a long list of others, she just sat there and stared at it.
She didn’t want to open it. It was probably a short, polite response.
She had only written saying that she wished him well, and hoped that things were going well for him.
He was much more famous than he had been twelve years before.
His success had been meteoric and he was an immensely talented choreographer, working all around the world.
It took her a long time to have the courage to click it open, and finally she couldn’t wait any longer.
Her hands were shaking when she opened it, and she took a breath as she read it.
His last email to her had been five years before, to tell her he was marrying a very famous Russian prima ballerina.
He had choreographed a magnificent Swan Lake for her, which Olivia had watched on the internet and cried because it was so powerful.
He was a brilliant artist. She could hear his voice as she read his email.
My Dearest Olivia,
What a splendid and unexpected surprise to hear from you.
Apologies, I was in Russia when your email arrived, working night and day on a very nice Giselle, and had terrible computer problems. Back in Paris now.
How are you? Well, I hope, still teaching your classes.
Lucky students to have a teacher like you.
I hope that you and your lovely family are all well.
I am coming to New York to do three shows for the American Ballet Theatre.
Always fun to be in New York. It would be very special to see you. Staying at the Plaza.
He gave her a range of four days.
Kiss your wonderful mother and sisters for me.
Always,
Francois
It was warm and friendly and congenial, and polite.
He sounded happy and as full of life as always.
His Russian wife was obviously good for him, and Olivia stared at the dates he was coming, and wondered if she had the courage to see him.
By now, the last drop of emotion between them must have dried up and it wouldn’t be dangerous, but she didn’t want him to think she was chasing him.
He was married now, and she was still in a wheelchair and always would be.
He had trained as a dancer himself, with the Bolshoi and the Paris Opera Company, and had fallen in love with choreography.
She had been eighteen with a promising career ahead of her when they met and he was twenty.
They were in love for seven years, and had finally gotten engaged when she had the accident that ended her career and life as she knew it, and she ended the relationship.
He had refused to let go for so long, and now he sounded exuberant and happy and engaged in his life.
She wondered if he and his wife had had children in his five years of marriage.
She would love to see him, and wondered if it was wise.
It seemed foolish now, but also rude not to answer him, especially since she had initiated the correspondence.
She didn’t even know why she had, except that her sisters had suggested it.
She stared at the blank screen for a long time, and then typed a brief message.
So happy to hear from you. You sound great. I’m sure the Giselle in Russia was wonderful, and your ABT performances will be too. Tea when you’re here, if you like? Whatever fits your schedule, mine is flexible. Dry martinis on demand. See you soon.
She sent it before she could change her mind, teasing him about the dry martinis he had discovered in New York and loved.
He’d gotten terribly drunk and her mother put him to bed until he sobered up.
Felicia had loved him. They all did. Olivia was twenty-five when she had the accident, and Francois twenty-seven.
Now they were grown-ups. He was married and very famous, and her life had more or less stopped twelve years before, but she kept busy and involved in ballet and charitable causes.
It would be fun to see him, but perhaps emotional too, and he obviously didn’t know that her mother had died.
She could tell him when she saw him. She didn’t want to put it in an email.
She rolled away from her computer, thinking about him.
It felt silly to have written to him, and exciting too.
Everything about Francois was exciting—his talent, his looks, his passion for ballet, his exuberance, his love of life.
He used to make her feel like she could fly when they danced together.
And then it was over so soon. Felicia had thought they were too young to marry, and had convinced them to wait a year.
If they’d been married, Olivia would have stayed with him, but destiny had decided otherwise.
Probably for the best, she told herself.
She didn’t bother to answer her other emails. His was the only interesting one.
The dates he had mentioned for his New York trip were a week away and she had time to decide if she would see him. It was so tempting. He was a married man now. Maybe his wife was coming to New York with him, although he didn’t mention her.
She went to bed early and dreamed of dancing, as she often did, leaping across the stage, and then Francois was lifting her up until she felt as though she could soar to the sky. In her dreams, she could still dance.
—
Isabelle was in a deep sleep that night when she dreamed that she heard a child crying.
Then she woke up. It was Tyler. She jumped out of bed and went to him immediately.
He said his stomach hurt. She tried to soothe him and stroked his silky hair, but nothing helped.
She could hear that he was in acute pain.
She waited a few more minutes and called the pediatrician.
When the emergency service answered she gave them her name and explained the problem, and a few minutes later, the doctor came on the line.
He was the youngest member of the practice, whom she had only met once.
“It sounds like we should take a look.” He told her to go to the emergency room at NewYork–Presbyterian and he’d meet her there.
She tried to comfort Tyler but he was inconsolable and said the pain was the worst he’d had in his whole life.
She put on jeans and a sweater, slipped her feet into sneakers, and came back to bundle Tyler in a blanket.
Charlie and Penny were sleeping soundly, and she went to tell the nanny where she was going.