Her Perfect Life

by Hinze, Vicki

  To get you to notice that he’s loaded?

  What difference could that make? So he’s wealthy. Apparently, he’s always been wealthy. It hadn’t ever mattered to her, so why would it matter now?

  Apparently, there’s a reason. He did chose that day, that moment to make it evident…

  True. And gauging by the documents Barbie had sent to Katie, he had to be extremely wealthy because, with her commission, Katie was wealthy. His net worth had to be far greater than hers. Odd. He’d never tried to hide the fact that he had gobs of money, but he’d never mentioned it, either. And in all their hours of talking—very intimate talking, and very specific talking about finances, too—he’d never said or done anything to make Katie aware of his financial status. So why had he on that day? Why then?

  Maybe he’s ashamed of having money? Maybe he needed to know if you’d hold it against him? Maybe he needed to know if it changed the way you felt about him, or how you related to him?

  Good grief, didn’t he know her too well for that kind of stuff? The man knew her thoughts—half the time before she knew them. Surely he had to know she could care less about his money, one way or the other. Rich or poor, C.D. Quade was and would always be C.D. Quade.

  But is Katie Cole Slater still Katie Cole Slater? Some changes in you are apparent to him. But you won’t talk about a lot of your experiences. How can he know if you’re still you?

  She stared in the mirror above the sink. “I am not going to trudge through all that hell again. Real or imagined—what’s the difference? It’s all awful and agonizing and best put in the past.”

  Fine. So tell me. Why does a wealthy man live in a small apartment above a bar?

  She stared into her own eyes, wondering. But try as she might, she couldn’t think of a single reason that made sense. Why did he? Why didn’t he have a lovely home somewhere?

  How do you know he doesn’t? Have you ever asked him?

  She hadn’t asked. Water dripped from her hair onto her shoulders. She slung the towel over her head and rubbed. Oh no. The truth was she hadn’t asked him much of anything about anything. Was that significant?

  Cut yourself a little slack on that. You’ve had your hands full since the rescue. There’ve been a lot of adjustments. A lot of changes to deal with and a lot of surprises to absorb.

  Okay, granted that was true. She had been totally preoccupied with those things. But she never had given much thought to C.D.’s life other than to solicit his promise to never leave her during it.

  She blew her hair dry and waded through all that had happened. And as she did, certainty filled her with guilt and shame. Preoccupied. Self-absorbed. Definitely self-absorbed.

  In fairness, shoes reversed, he probably would have been, too. But that wasn’t the point. The point was, she hadn’t thought to ask. He’d been steadfast and strong for her, giving and giving and then giving her more. And she’d taken and taken and taken more without considering what she could give in return.

  Love was like that, of course. Sometimes one person was more needy than the other, and then the scale would tip and the other person would be more needy. But even during those needy times, the giver needed to know that the taker cared. That the taker wanted to know the details, to share…

  She tugged on a clean pair of jeans and a soft blue top, took the towel to the laundry room and tossed it on top of the washer. He was right. She snagged a soda from the fridge, opened it, and went out to the back porch swing. He was so right. Katie wasn’t ready.

  The cold soda slid down her throat. She toed the porch floor, making the swing rock back and forth. Until she started looking out, showing at least as much interest in him and his needs, as she spent looking in, showing interest in her own, she wouldn’t be ready to marry him.

  “Shoot.” She took another swig of cola.

  C.D. must have heard her curse; he walked onto the porch smiling, grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge and then came back outside.

  “Don’t you hate it when that happens?” He sat down beside her on the swing.

  “What?” She knew what he meant, but clearly he was going to make her admit it and nail her on it.

  “When you’ve got to admit that I’m right.”

  She sniffed and took another sip of her drink. “Okay. Okay, C.D. You’re right. Happy now? Go ahead and gloat.”

  “I never gloat.”

  “That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve heard come out of your mouth in at least… a long time. You always gloat, C.D. Quade.”

  He swung an arm around her shoulder and pulled her to him, laughing hard. “Okay, I gloat. But only when I’m right.”

  She grunted and shoved at his chest with her hand.

  They sat quietly for a few minutes, then C.D. said, “Go ahead, ask me.”

  She looked at him to see if that had superior look in his eyes, but he didn’t. He was sufficiently humble. “I’m sorry, C.D.”

  He raised his eyebrows, clearly not expecting an apology.

  “I’ve been really focused on me and I’ve neglected talking to you about your life. And it hit me, sitting here, that I’ve probably really messed things up for you, and because you’re you, you haven’t told me.”

  “Aw, man.”

  “What?”

  “You’re going off in the wrong direction, Katie.” He groaned his frustration. “I’m where I want to be, remember? I love you, remember? What could you possibly mess up being with me?”

  She knew all that, but still. “Why don’t you have a house?” she asked. “Why do you live in a little apartment above the bar?”

  His irritation faded and the look in his eyes gentled. “I’m with you out here more than in the apartment.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  He nodded. “Because the apartment is close to you.”

  “So you don’t typically live here?”

  “No, I don’t.” He looked out onto the yard. “I figured when you came home, you needed a small place.”

  “After being in a small cell for so long?” What a beautiful thing to do for her. He’d been so thoughtful about everything.

  He nodded. “I was afraid you’d feel lost in a house, but the cottage was bigger, just not too big. It seemed right. The apartment,” he glanced over to its balcony, “was close.”

  “So you could watch me.”

  “So I could watch over you and be close if you needed me.”

  She lifted a hand and stroked his cheek. Let him see in her eyes her love for him. “Why did you drive the Lotus the day of the divorce?”

  “I’d rather not say.”

  Disappointment shafted through her. “I won’t force you. I’ll never force anything on anyone again. But I would appreciate it if you’d tell me—even if it hurts me.”

  “It doesn’t hurt you or me,” he promised. “It’s embarrassing.”

  “You’re embarrassed with me? Oh, puleeze.” She grunted, tapped his thigh. “I don’t believe it. You and I have always talked about everything—even your women, C.D. What could possibly be embarrassing between us?”

  “I was uneasy,” he admitted. “I drive the Lotus when I need confidence, and that morning… Let me just say, I’d rather face an army of terrorists than to relive that morning. I was eaten up with doubt.”

  She’d had no idea; seen no signs of uneasiness in him. And she’d never sensed a lack of confidence. “About what?”

  He looked out at the dormant flowerbeds awaiting their first breath of spring. “I was concerned that you and Sam would get in there and change your minds. I had everything in the world that most matters to me, but it was highly possible that I’d walk through those doors at the courthouse and I’d have to stand there and watch it all slip away.” He cocked his head. “You and Sam weren’t like most couples. You weren’t divorcing because you hated each other. You died.” He shrugged, frustrated. “You know what I mean. You were gone.”

  She did, and hugged him. “I’ve told you, honey. I’ve neve
r been in love with Sam. Never. I am in love with you.”

  “Are you? You just didn’t need love so badly—Dr. Muldoon said—”

  “I needed to feel loved to heal,” she recalled. “I remember. You gave me that, but this is different, C.D.” Pulling back, she put her hands on his chest and looked him in the eye, then nodded. “I am totally, head over heels, crazy in love with you.”

  He searched her face. “I’ve promised you forever. You’ve promised me nothing. I realize it’s too soon, and I don’t want to push you. You look at me and touch me with promises, but you still have the nightmares, and you still can’t walk on the sand. I figure there’s a reason for that, and I’m hoping it isn’t because you aren’t content with me.”

  “I’m very content with you,” she said. “And I’m committed to you, too. I don’t know why I’m still having the nightmares. I don’t know why I can’t walk on the sand. But I intend to keep searching for answers, and to keep trying to deal with everything, C.D.”

  He nodded. “Okay.”

  She rested her chin on his shoulder. “So tell me about this house of yours. Is it big enough for two?”

  “Actually, it’s being remodeled.”

  “Really?”

  He nodded. “Jake’s been working with me on it.”

  “So that’s what all these secretive conversations have been about.”

  C.D. smiled. “He’s sharp. He has good taste, too.”

  “Do I get to see?”

  “If you want to.”

  “Sure I want to.” She shifted on her seat. “We can grab a burger on the way.”

  “If I eat one more burger, I’m going to turn into one.”

  She shrugged. “So have a salad, a chicken sandwich, or something else.”

  He smiled. “Okay.”

  “So where is this house?”

  “I don’t think you want to go there yet.”

  “Sure I do.” She fingered the chain, running up to the ceiling of the porch from the swing, focused on its little squeak. “Actually, I want to see your home very much.”

  C.D. frowned. “Katie, the house is on the beach.”

  Deflated, she blew out a breath, took a shaky sip of soda. “I—I can’t—”

  “I know.” He looped an arm around her shoulder. “Don’t worry about it, Angel. It’s just a house. When you’re ready, it’ll be there.”

  He understood. He hadn’t been held captive, but somehow he understood the emotional complexities of being a prisoner. As military pilots, they’d had training, of course, and it did simulate a lot of what she’d experienced. But there was so much more. So many subtleties that had taken her by surprise, and such substantial differences that training didn’t really prepare a person for the reality. The degradation, the humiliation, the total dependency for so much as a drink of water and the futile helplessness felt when that water was denied.

  Nothing could prepare a person but the experience itself.

  She took a sip of beer, the memories of thirst filling her mind. Memories of Ustead refusing to give her water for two days. Finally, he’d relented, and brought her a metal bowl full. He’d entered her cell, set it on the floor near the door, and then he’d urinated in it.

  She’d wanted to kill him. She’d wanted to die. And she’d never forget the gnawing temptation to drink it anyway. Oh, she’d been tempted, almost driven to obsession. Her mouth was so dry her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth, her teeth stuck to her inner cheeks. She couldn’t swallow; the ridges in her throat stabbed her. So tempted to drink it anyway—and she probably would have, if he hadn’t stood there and watched her, wanting to see her do it.

  He’d been so frustrated because she didn’t drink that he’d tried to taunt her into it. She didn’t move, and he’d totally lost it and kicked the metal bowl over. Every drop of water had spilled out onto the sand floor.

  Ustead had laughed and left.

  Katie had cried, and licked her tears to wet her mouth.

  Understanding came to her in a flash. That had happened. It wasn’t an imagined event. And that incident was why, since coming home, she had to have drinking water with her at all times. Why she panicked when there was none. She probably always would.

  The fear following her home wasn’t logical—there was no water shortage—but it had, and subliminally, she feared being thirsty again.

  It made perfect sense now. And if it took carrying water with her to cope with what had happened, well, what was wrong with that?

  Not a thing. She planted a kiss to C.D.’s neck, rested her head on his shoulder and watched the sunset.

  If she lived a thousand years, she’d never again take for granted the sun rising and setting, or having the chance to see it.

  She’d never again take for granted the privilege of… choice.

  Chapter Fifteen

  On the first day of March, Katie fairly sizzled. The Willow Creek Garden Center officially opened on a glorious spring day in an atmosphere Katie could only describe as one fit for a carnival. The local radio station, 98.1, did a live broadcast from there all morning, and C.D. arranged for hot dogs and soft drinks for everyone who came to the Grand Opening, and balloons for the kids.

  Because of Katie’s high profile, a TV crew came to film, too, but the woman who’d asked about rape wasn’t there. Before the crew left, a cameraman told C.D. that woman had left the station not too long after Katie’s press conference at the courthouse. She’d been working on a story involving a child and had crossed the ethical line to get an exclusive. The child had been injured and the woman had been fired. Last he’d heard, she’d told the obits editor she was going in search of herself. The business had sucked her dry.

  Maybe in seeking compassion, Katie thought, the woman would find her humanity.

  Sam and Blair came out with the kids, and Molly made herself right at home in the flower shop with Ashley. She took Blair by the hand and pointed out every single thing to her, which likely drove Blair nuts, but if so, she hid it well. Molly was definitely into flowers. And Blair was definitely into Molly, interested in all that interested her.

  The kids had really gotten lucky on the stepmother front, though for Blair to hear anyone refer to her as their stepmother would have broken her heart. Katie never used the word—Blair too was Molly and Jake’s mother—and neither did anyone else after Jason Slater said it once and Katie had set him straight.

  A lot of the patrons from the Top Flight came over to wish Katie well and buy a tree. Paxton Air Force Base had a base-wide project going on to replant oaks to replace those downed by several hurricanes that had ripped through the area in the past couple years. Even Judge Haines had stopped by. He was a good man, and when he looked into Katie’s eyes, she saw that he too still carried his P.O.W. demons. They shared a glance that no one else around fully understood, and he joined the family under Katie’s favorite oak tree while they ate. It was clear from the smile that played on his lips, he was at peace with his decision to grant the Slater divorce. Katie was grateful for that—to give this man, who had shared with her to comfort her, a moment of peace.

  By the time the Garden Center closed for the day, Ashley proclaimed the business off to a fantastic start—an opinion Barbie shared. Sam and Blair left to take the kids to an early movie, and Katie and C.D. headed for his car.

  “You knew we’d be successful,” Katie said, sliding onto the seat.

  “Never any doubt.” He cranked the engine. “But how did you know? I deliberately didn’t say a word.”

  She smiled. “You drove the Hummer.”

  He rolled his eyes back in his head. “Dinner out or home?”

  It had been a good day. A very good day. She thought of her new list on the fridge at the cottage, its three items that signified her perfect life.

  A warm and loving relationship with Molly and Jake. She had that now, and rarely thought of the missing years, unless something came up and then the kids referred to it as when she was “gone” not “dead
.” A huge improvement. No one mentioned captivity anymore, and oddly, she didn’t always “think” of that time as “captive time” anymore. The sharp edges were dulling.

  A business of my own that has nothing to do with flying or airplanes. The Willow Creek Garden Center was a reality now, open for business and off to a good start. Barbie, aka Samantha, predicted success, and who knew money better than Barbie?

  A relationship with the man who loves me before I turn fifty. No man could ever love a woman more than C.D. loved her. He had for a long time and he would forever. When exactly the certainty of that had seeped inside and whispered itself to Katie as an indisputable truth, she couldn’t say. But it had and she knew it. She felt it and sensed it and believed it with every beat of her heart down to the marrow of her bones. Ten years ahead of schedule, too.

  If not for the nightmares and her still persistent inability to step in the sand, her life would be fantastic. But those two challenges persisted. Both relentlessly reminded her that the ravages of those six years were a part of her now, and they would not be denied or be eager to relinquish their hold on her.

  But now Katie wasn’t the woman with that wry sense of humor that she had been then. She knew all she had to lose, knew what living her life with that loss was like. Now she respected all she had, and she had far more than before. Her life itself wasn’t the life she’d lived then, either. And what she’d lost, she’d given. Ustead and the guards couldn’t take what she’d refused to give then, and they couldn’t take it now—unless she permitted it.

  She refused.

  Taking off her sunglasses, she turned to C.D. in her seat. “I want to go to your house.”

  He’d been about to shift the Hummer into reverse, but stopped as if on a dime. “Are you sure?”

  She clenched her jaw and nodded, then stared out the windshield. “I’m scared,” she said softly. “But I’m tired of being scared, C.D.” She looked back at him. “I’m tired of not wanting to go to sleep because I’m afraid I’ll dream. I’m tired of the thousand little things that trigger horrible memories of stuff that happened to me there. I’m tired of them playing games with my mind even now.” She closed her eyes for a second, steeled her resolve. “I’m reclaiming my life, honey. All of it.”