Summer's End Read Free Page A

as she watched a freighter glide slowly into the bay.
“Aren’t you cold out here, Mother?” The words were as chilly as the terrace tiles. Pilar had spoken to her as though she were an oddity, standing there in her bathrobe and bare feet. Deanna cast a look at the ship and turned slowly around with a smile.
“Not really. I like it out here. And besides, I couldn’t find my slippers.” She said it with the same steady smile and looked directly into her daughter’s brilliant blue eyes. The girl was everything Deanna was not. Her hair was the palest gold, her eyes an almost iridescent blue, and her skin had the rich glow of youth. She was almost a head taller than her mother, and in almost every possible way the image of Marc-Edouard. But she did not yet have his aura of power—that would come later. And if she learned her lessons well from her grandmother and aunts, she would learn to mask it almost as viciously as they did. Marc-Edouard was not quite as artful; there was no need to be, he was a man. But the Duras women practiced a far subtler art. There was little Deanna could do to change that now, except perhaps keep Pilar away, but that would be a fruitless venture. Pilar, Marc, the old woman herself, all conspired to keep Pilar in Europe much of the time. And there was more to Pilar’s resemblance to her grandmother than mimicry. It was something that ran in her blood. There was nothing Deanna could do, other than accept it. She never ceased to marvel, though, at how acutely painful the disappointment always was. There was never a moment when she didn’t care, when it mattered less. It always mattered. She always felt Pilar’s loss. Always.
She smiled now and looked down at her daughter’s feet. She was wearing the absentee slippers. “I see you’ve found them.” Deanna’s words teased, but her eyes wore the pain of a lifetime. Tragedy constantly hidden by jokes.
“Is that supposed to be funny, Mother?” There was already warfare in Pilar’s face, at barely seven-thirty in the morning. “I can’t find any of my good sweaters, and my black skirt isn’t back from your dressmaker.” It was an accusation of major importance. Pilar flung back her long, straight, blonde hair and looked angrily at her mother.
Deanna always wondered at Pilar’s fury. Teenage rebellion? Or merely that she didn’t want to share Marc with Deanna? There was nothing Deanna could do. At least not for the moment. Maybe one day, maybe later, maybe in five years she’d get another chance to win back her daughter and become her friend. It was something she lived for. A hope that refused to die.
“The skirt came back yesterday. It’s in the hall closet. The sweaters are already in your suitcase. Margaret packed for you yesterday. Does that solve all your problems?” The words were spoken gently. Pilar would always be the child of her dreams, no matter what, no matter how badly the dreams had been shattered.
“Mother! You’re not paying attention!” For a moment Deanna’s mind had wandered, and Pilar’s eyes blazed at her. “I asked you what you did with my passport.”
Deanna’s green eyes met Pilar’s blue ones and held them for a long moment. She wanted to say something, the right thing. All she said was, “I have your passport. I’ll give it to you at the airport.”
“I’m perfectly capable of taking care of it myself.”
“I’m sure you are.” Deanna stepped carefully back into her studio, avoiding the girl’s gaze. “Are you going to have breakfast?”
“Later. I have to wash my hair.”
“I’ll have Margaret bring you a tray.”
“Fine.” Then she was gone, a bright arrow of youth that had pierced Deanna’s heart yet again. It took so little to hurt. The words were all so small, but their emptiness stung her. Surely there had to be more. Surely one did not have children merely to have it end like this? She wondered sometimes if it would have been this way with her sons. Maybe it was just Pilar. Maybe