Daddy

“Don't give me that, Charlie,” he finally said. “I've been through that once with a woman I loved. She didn't even start to try to commute. But even if you do, how long do you think it would last? Flying 'redeyes' from here to there, spending a day together once a week. It's ridiculous, it wouldn't work. We haven't even built our relationship yet, and you want to put it under that kind of strain? I'd rather call it quits now. It would be a lot less painful for both of us, than waiting to do it a year from now. Forget it. I don't want to hear about 'commute.'” He tried to calm down then, and think of her. “Look, Charlie, you have to do what's right for you.” He loved her enough to let her do that, no matter what it did to him. He knew he had no right to stand in her way, and if he did, they'd lose in the end anyway. He had learned that lesson the hard way too. “Think about it, do what you want.” He closed his eyes for a brief instant of crushing pain, but he had lived through pain before, and loss, and despair. He'd survive it again. And he was willing to, for her. “I think you probably should do it. You'd always regret it if you turned it down, and we'd pay the price for it anyway. Go for it, baby … go for the brass ring. You have a right to it. You're at the top of your career now. These opportunities will never come again. But don't expect me to commute … or believe we can have everything. We can't. Sometimes you have to make choices in life. Just make the right one for you. That's all I want for you.” There were tears in his eyes then, and he turned away so she wouldn't see them.

“Are you telling me it would be all over for us if I go?” She looked stunned, and heartbroken too.

“I am. But not because I want to force your hand, or make you stay here for me. I'm just telling you I've been through something like this once, and I can't do it again. It doesn't work. We'll lose in the end anyway. And I can't go through that again. I'd rather wish you well, and kiss you good-bye with tears in my heart. But better now, than in a year or two, maybe even with a kid. And I don't think my kids could go through the loss again in any case. And I have to think of them too. I love you, Charlie. I love you enough to let you do whatever you want to. I'm going home now. You think it out. And call me when it's over. I'll understand … honest, I will.” His eyes were damp and she was crying. She couldn't believe what he'd said, and yet she understood it. “Just don't let me read about it in the papers first.” And then without looking back, he left and drove home to his own place.

Sam was still up when he got there, and he was playing with the guinea pig in the kitchen, as Oliver walked in looking as though he'd been run over on the Santa Monica Freeway.

“Hi, Dad.” He looked up with a grin and then stopped, forgetting the guinea pig for once. “What's wrong?”

“Nothing. I had a terrible day at the office. I'm going to bed.” He ruffled Sam's hair and went straight up to his room, without saying another word. And Sam ran right up to his sister's bedroom, with a look of terror.

“Something's wrong with Dad!” he reported. “He just came home and he was green.”

“Maybe he's sick. Did you ask him what was wrong?”

“He just said he had a bad day at the office.”

“Maybe he did. Why don't you just relax and leave him alone? He'll probably be fine in the morning.”

But the next morning he wasn't. They all noticed it. He was quiet and pale, and he didn't say a word. He came down late, and he didn't touch his eggs, as Sam looked pointedly at his sister.

“You sick, Dad?” She tried to sound casual. And without meaning to, Sam hit the nail on the head. His father almost flinched at the boy's words.

“You have a fight with Charlie last night?”

“No, of course not.” But she hadn't called after he'd left, and he hadn't been able to sleep all night. The terror of losing her was more than he could bear. And at what price. He loved her too much to try to hang on to something he could never have, just as he had discovered he had never really had Sarah.

He left for the office that morning feeling like a zombie, and he almost shuddered when his secretary told him that afternoon that Charlotte was waiting in his outer office. Suddenly he was afraid to let her in, afraid to see her, afraid to hear what she was going to tell him. He felt trapped when the secretary let her in with a look of awe, and he didn't stand up because suddenly his legs didn't feel strong enough to hold him.

“Are you okay?” Charlie looked at him worriedly, and walked slowly toward the desk, her eyes gripping his, her face pale, but no paler than Ollie's.

“You've made a decision, haven't you?”

She nodded, and slumped in the chair across his desk. “I had to come now. It's going to be on the news at six o'clock. The producers of the play made a deal with the network, and they've agreed to write me out of the show by Christmas.” … Christmas … their wedding day … almost.