Love Story by Erich Segal Page B

cigarette, when
I appeared.

    ‘Phil? ‘I said softly.

    ‘Yeah?’ He looked up and I think
he already knew.
    He obviously needed some kind of
physical comforting.
    I walked over and placed my hand on
his shoulder. I was afraid he might cry. I was pretty sure I
wouldn’t. Couldn’t.
    I mean, I was past all that.
    He put his hand on mine.
    ‘I wish,’ he muttered, ‘I
wished I hadn’t …’ He paused there, and 1 waited. What was the
hurry, after all?
    ”I wish I hadn’t promised Jenny
to be strong for you.’
    And, to honor his pledge, he patted
my hand very gently. But I had to be alone. To breathe air. To take a
walk, maybe.
    Downstairs, the hospital lobby was
absolutely still.
    All I could hear was the click of my
own heels on the linoleum.
    ‘Oliver.’
    I stopped.
    It was my father. Except for the
woman at the reception desk we were all by ourselves there. In fact,
we were among the few people in New York awake at that hour.
    I couldn’t face him. I went
straight for the revolving door. But in an instant he was out there
standing next to me.
    ‘Oliver,’ he said, ‘you should
have told me.’
    It was very cold, which in a way was
good because I was numb and wanted to feel something. My father
continued to address me, and I continued to stand still and let the
cold wind slap my face.
    ‘As soon as I found out, I jumped
into the car.’
    I had forgotten my coat; the chill
was starting to make me ache. Good. Good.
    ‘Oliver,’ said my father
urgently, ‘I want to help.’
    ‘Jenny’s dead,’ I told him.
    ‘I’m sorry,’ he said in a
stunned whisper.
    Not knowing why, I repeated what I
had long ago learned from the beautiful girl now dead.
    ‘Love means not ever having to say
you’re sorry.’
    And then I did what I had never done
in his presence, much less in his arms. I cried.