CRITICAL RAVES FOR
DANIELLE STEEL“STEEL IS ONE OF THE BEST.”—Los Angeles Times“THE PLOTS OF DANIELLE STEEL'S NOVELS TWIST AND WEAVE AS INCREDIBLE STORIES UN FOLD TO THE THRILL AND DELIGHT OF HER ENORMOUS READING PUBLIC.”—United Press International“A LITERARY PHENOMENON … ambitious … prolific … and not to be pigeonholed as one who produces a predictable kind of book.”—The Detroit News“There is a smooth reading style to her writings which makes it easy to forget the time and to keep flipping the pages.”—The Pittsburgh Press“Ms. Steel excels at pacing her narrative, which races forward, mirroring the frenetic lives chronicled here; men and women swept up in bewildering change, seeking solutions to problems never before faced.”—Nashville Banner
Also by Danielle Steel
DATING GAME JEWELS ANSWERED PRAYERS NO GREATER LOVE SUNSET IN ST. TROPEZ HEARTBEAT THE COTTAGE MESSAGE FROM NAM THE KISS DADDY LEAP OF FAITH STAR LONE EAGLE ZOYA JOURNEY KALEIDOSCOPE THE HOUSE ON HOPE STREET FINE THINGS THE WEDDING WANDERLUST IRRESISTIBLE FORCES SECRETS GRANNY DAN FAMILY ALBUM BITTERSWEET CHANGES MIRROR IMAGE THURSTON HOUSE HIS BRIGHT LIGHT: THE CROSSINGS STORY OF NICK TRAINA ONCE IN A LIFETIME THE KLONE AND I A PERFECT STRANGER THE LONG ROAD HOME REMEMBRANCE THE GHOST PALOMINO SPECIAL DELIVERY LOVE: POEMS THE RANCH THE RING SILENT HONOR LOVING MALICE TO LOVE AGAIN FIVE DAYS IN PARIS SUMMER'S END LIGHTNING SEASON OF PASSION WINGS THE PROMISE THE GIFT NOW AND FOREVER ACCIDENT PASSION'S PROMISE VANISHED GOING HOME MIXED BLESSINGS a cognizant original v5 release october 16 2010
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www.daniellesteel.com
DELL PUBLISHING
To Alex Haley,
my brother,
my friend,
with much, much love.To Isabella Grant,
with love and admiration
and immeasurable gratitude.And with special love
and thanks
to Lou Blau.And always,
always,
to John,
with my heart and
soul.
D.S.
On the afternoon of Thursday, December 11, 1941, the country was still in a daze. The casualty list was complete, the names of those killed had already been released, and slowly, slowly, in the past few days, the monster of vengeance was raising its head. In almost every American breast pounded a pulse that had been unknown before. It had finally hit us at home, and it wasn't simply a matter of Congress declaring war. There was much more to it than that, much, much more. There was a nation of people filled with dread, with rage, and the sudden fear that it could happen here. Japanese fighter planes could appear overhead at any time of day or night and suddenly wreak destruction in cities like Chicago and Los Angeles, Omaha … Boston … New York … it was a terrifying thought. The war was no longer happening to a distant, remote “them,” it was happening to us.
And as Andrew Roberts hurried east in the chill wind, his coat collar up, he wondered what Jean would say. He had already known for two days. When he had signed his name, there hadn't been any doubt in his mind, yet when he'd come home, he had looked into her face and the words had caught in his throat. But there was no choice now. He had to tell her tonight. Had to. He was leaving for San Diego in another three days.
The Third Avenue El roared overhead, as his feet pounded up the front steps of the narrow brownstone in which they lived. They had lived there for less than a year, and they hardly even noticed the train anymore. It had been awful at first, at night they had held each other tight and laughed as they lay in bed. Even the light fixtures shook as the elevated train careered by, but they were used to it now. And Andy had come to love the tiny flat. Jean kept it spotlessly clean, getting up sometimes at five o'clock to make him homemade blueberry muffins and leave everything immaculate before she left for work. She had turned out to be even more wonderful than he'd thought and he smiled to himself as he turned the key in the lock. There was a chill wind whistling through the hall and two of the lights were burned out, but the moment he set foot inside, everything was cheery and bright. There were starched white organdy curtains, which Jean had made, a pretty little blue rug, slipcovers she had gone to a night class to learn how to make. And the furniture they'd bought secondhand shone like new beneath her hardworking hands. He looked around now, and suddenly felt the first shaft of grief he had felt since he signed up. It was an almost visceral ache as he thought of telling her that he was leaving New York in three days, and suddenly there were tears in his eyes as he realized that he didn't know when he'd be back … when … or even if … but hell, that wasn't the point, he told himself. If he didn't go to fight the Japs, then who the hell would? And if they didn't, then one of these days the bastards would be flying overhead and bombing the hell out of New York … and this house … and Jean.
He sat down in the armchair she had upholstered herself in a deep, cozy green, and was lost in his own thoughts … San Diego … Japan … Christmas … Jean … he didn't know how long he'd been sitting there when suddenly, startled, he looked up. He had just heard her key in the lock. She flung the door wide, her arms filled with brown bags from the A&P, and she didn't see him at first, and then jumped as she turned on the light, and saw him smiling at her, his blond hair falling over one eye as it always did, the green eyes looking straight at her. He was still as handsome as he had been when they first met. He had been seventeen then, and she had been fifteen … six years … he was only twenty-three. “Hi, sweetheart, what are you doing here?” “I came home to see you.” He walked towards her and easily grabbed the bags in his powerful arms, and she turned her big, dark brown eyes up to him with the same look of awe she always wore when she looked up at him. She was so impressed with him, always had been, he'd had two years of college, going at nights, had been on the track team in school, the football team for a few months till he hurt his knee, and had been a basketball star when they met during his senior year. And he seemed no less heroic to her now. In fact, he seemed more so to her, and she was so proud of him. He had landed a good job. He sold Buicks in the biggest dealership in New York, and she knew that he'd be the manager eventually … one day … or maybe he'd go back to school. They had talked about that. But he brought home a nice paycheck for now, and combined with her own, they did all right. She knew how to stretch a dollar more than a mile. She'd been doing it for a long time. Both her parents had died in a car accident when she was just eighteen, and she'd been supporting herself since then. Fortunately, she had just finished secretarial school when they died, and she was a bright girl. She'd had a job in the same law firm now for almost three years. And Andy was proud of her too. She looked so cute when she went off to work in the well-tailored suits that she made herself, and hats and gloves she always bought so carefully, checking the styles in the magazines, and then consulting with Andy to make sure they looked just right. He smiled at her again now, as she peeled off her gloves, and tossed her black felt fedora onto the big green chair. “How was your day, Cutie Pie?” He loved to tease her, pinch her, whisk her into his arms, nuzzle into her neck and threaten to ravish her as he walked in from work. It was certainly a far cry from her constantly proper demeanor at work. He dropped in to see her there once in a great while, and she looked so serious and sedate that she almost frightened him. But she had always been that kind of girl. And actually, she'd been a lot more fun since she'd been married to him. She was finally beginning to relax. He kissed her on the back of the neck now and she felt a shiver run up her spine.