Season of Passion by Danielle Steel Read Free Book Online Page A

and turned the radio up louder. She'd had enough of her own thoughts. She rolled down the window and let the early morning wind play with her hair. She hadn't bothered with the braids today. Tom had always liked her hair loose. And the denim jumper was too tight now, but he wouldn't notice. The seams seemed to beg for release the way her own skin did now. But there was no give left in either her or the dress. She patted her stomach softly with one hand, as she turned onto the freeway and stepped on the gas. The baby was moving again, almost like a puppydog squirming in her lap. It made her smile as she edged the station wagon up to eighty-five. She wanted the drive to go faster. She wanted to see him now.
    After another two and a half hours on the freeway, she knew the turnoff was near. All the signals were familiar now. A big green billboard advertising the restaurant another ten miles down the road. A white clapboard house with blue shutters. A sad-looking little motel, and then the turnoff. She automatically slid into the right lane and eased down her speed. Nervously she flicked off the radio, lit another cigarette, and waited at the first crossroads for the traffic to pass. Another fifteen miles and she'd have been in Carmel. This area was more rustic, but prettier in its own way. It was inland from Carmel, but you could see the gulls overhead, endlessly looking for food.
    Kate stepped on the gas again, and turned onto the first narrow road on her right. It led her onto another smaller road, more like a lane, overgrown with bushes and small trees. Here and there she could see berries ripe on the bushes, and she longed to get out of the car and pick some; she had done that as a child. But she didn't have time, she had to get there. She looked at her watch. It was already nine-thirty. He would be sitting outside now, or maybe just, lying in his hammock, thinking. He did that a lot She wondered what he thought. He never said. He just laughed when she asked, and sometimes he would look like Tom again, as it he still had things to think about. It was strange to see him that way, as though he were teasing, as though any minute he would stop the game. It made her love him even more; there was such sunlight in his eyes, such joy in his face. He was a beautiful boy.
    The main building looked like any large well-kept house. It was painted a crisp white with freshly tended yellow trim, there were flower boxes at almost all the windows, and beautiful flowers planted at the edge of the lawns. A narrow, winding walk led to the front door of the main house, which bore a small brass plaque, carefully engraved. Mead Home. Only two words. They didn't need to say more; anyone who came there knew what the place was. There were several smaller houses visible nearby, all painted in the same yellow and white, and farther from the main cluster were a dozen small, cozy-looking yellow cottages, surrounded by flowers and adorned with white trim. The cottages were the more exclusive accommodations. Some were fitted for two residents, others for only one. And each cottage had its own resident attendant to care for his or her charge. Tom lived in one of the cottages, with a quiet older man in attendance-Mr. Erhard, who discreetly disappeared when Kate visited. The enormous insurance Tom had had as a member of the team miraculously covered his stay at Mead, and would continue to do so for ten or twelve years. After that, Kate was going to have to make other arrangements, but by then ' who knew ' the doctors said he could go on for years the way he was.
    The grass felt damp on her sandal-clad feet as she walked toward Tom's cottage. She didn't have to check in at the main house anymore. The residents were carefully protected, but she was familiar now. They saw her arrive from the ever-watchful windows of the main house, and she could come and go as she pleased. She simply arrived and went to find Tom. He was easy enough to find. But today when she