Part 37 (2/2)

house in some cramped cold-water flat.

But Sylvie had gotten pregnant.

He remembered when she'd told him, her face pale and her eyes full of

hope and fear. He hadn't wanted children. Good Christ, he'd only been

twenty. His music had come first, had had to. And if his parents had

discovered he'd fathered a child with a Dutch c.o.c.ktail waitress ...

It had been lowering to realize that no matter how far he'd run, how

much he'd protested, what his parents thought had still mattered so

much.

Pete had arranged for an abortion, discreetly, expensively. Sylvie,

with the tears flowing down her cheeks, had done what he'd asked. Once

she had, she had walked out of his life. Until she had gone, Stevie

hadn't realized he'd loved her even more than he'd believed himself

capable.

He didn't want to think of it, hated to remember it, and her. But just

lately it had begun preying on his mind. It probably had to do with

Emma, he thought as he glanced over and saw her sitting flushed and

delighted in her swivel chair. His child, whatever it had been, would

have been about her age now.

The day in the studio was fun for Emma. So much fun her only regret was

that Darren wasn't there to share it. Watching her father and his

friends play now was different from seeing them in the theaters and

auditoriums across America. There was a different energy here. She

didn't understand it, but she felt it.

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