“I'm going to save up to buy a CAD-CAM program for the computer,” Clay announced.
“I have one already,” Kate said.
“Mom, that one's obsolete.”
Kate winced. She had used that program for her consulting business. She hoped that Clay's comment didn't apply to her qualifications as well.
Patrick thought for a minute. “Can I put it in my savings account?” he asked.
“Well, sure,” said Kate. “But isn't there something you'd like to buy with it? You've earned it, you know.”
Patrick shook his head firmly. “I like to earn interest best,” he said.
Kate rolled her eyes. “A budding J. P. Morgan.”
“I'd rather be Bill Gates.”
Kate laughed. “You'll be even richer than Bill Gates if you start saving your money at this age.”
“Isn't Mr. Johnson rich, too? Clay says he owns a whole bunch of companies.”
Kate looked at Clay, who shrugged. “I looked him up on the Internet. He owns an airline, an oil company and a bunch of other stuff.”
“And a helicopter,” Patrick added. “It showed a picture of him getting in it. Mom, it's a Bell JetRanger!”
“I imagine that it belongs to the company,” Kate said in an attempt to quell his enthusiasm.
“Well, he owns the company, so he owns the helicopter, too,” Patrick said with unassailable logic. “Maybe he'll give you a ride in it.”
Kate shuddered; she hated to fly in anything. “I hope not. And you don't need to do any more research on Mr. Johnson. I won't be seeing him again.”
Clay looked torn between sympathy and relief. “Bad date?” he asked.
“Just boring,” Kate said. “Now what about a movie?”
Oliver had promised to come on Sunday for soccer practice and dinner. He arrived with a bouquet of flowers and a new soccer ball. Kate watched him rumple her sons' hair and listen to their loud and simultaneous descriptions of dog walking, winning Saturday's soccer game and acing tests in school. She thought what a heartwarming picture the three of them made: the tall, quiet man with two energetic boys orbiting around him.
Oliver looked up to catch her watching, and his slow smile lit up his face. Kate smiled back. He handed her the flowers with a small bow. “Congratulations on your undefeated record in soccer,” he said, giving her a kiss on the cheek.
“Thanks. I'm beginning to feel like a real coach. That Soccer for Dummies book really works.”
The whole group moved into the kitchen where Kate filled her sons' water bottles and put her flowers in a vase before heading out to the backyard. Although Oliver and her sons could run rings around Kate, they always insisted that she participate in their Sunday afternoon scrimmages. When Kate pointed out that coaches were paid to supervise, all three males would look sad and beg her to even up the sides. Usually she agreed to play goalie since it required the least amount of ball-handling skill.
As the sunlight slanted lower across the yard, Kate decided that she had put in her time and she needed to start dinner. “This is the last shot on goal,” she called. Oliver neatly passed to Patrick who gave the ball a hard kick to the corner of the goal. Kate threw herself at the ball and caught it just before it went by her.
“Way to go, Mom. Great hands!” Clay cheered.
Oliver gave her a male jock slap on the rear and said, “Great save.”
Kate smacked his rear right back and said, “Thanks. You can play awhile longer.”
She walked into the kitchen chuckling and heard the telephone ringing. Without thinking, she picked up the receiver. “Hello,” she said as she opened the refrigerator door to get out the hamburger meat.
“Hello, Kate. This is Randall.” As if that voice could belong to anyone else.
Kate straightened up abruptly and let the refrigerator door swing closed. She took a deep breath. “Hello, Randall. How are you?”
“Well, I'm standing here on my heated terrace with my shoes off, but I'm not having as much fun as the last time I did that. I was hoping you would come up here and join me.”
Kate closed her eyes. She had a vision of Randall dressed as he was at the Princeton picnic, in blue jeans and a white shirt, but barefoot. She was suddenly overwhelmed with a longing to feel the warm skin and muscle under the shirt and jeans. “No, no, I can't,” Kate said, horrified at the obvious regret in her voice.
“Can't or won't?”
“Both.”
“I understand. You have kids. So we'll have dinner on Saturday. I'll pick you up at seven.”
“No, Randall. I'm not...”
Kate realized that she was talking to a dead telephone line. He had hung up.
“What an arrogant –” she said, slamming the phone onto its cradle. Then she sagged against the wall. She had intended to be polite but very firm in her refusal and instead she had sounded like a wimp. Randall Johnson was pushing her buttons and he knew it. She resolved to call him back, give him a piece of her mind and tell him never to call her again.
She'd do it on Monday.
Six
Dinner was over, and the boys had disappeared upstairs. Oliver and Kate had carried their wine out onto the porch to listen to the crickets and watch the moon. Kate remembered evenings when this scene had included David. Not long ago, the recollection would have made her smile through a haze of tears. Now she wanted to scream at David for ruining even her memories.
Kate dropped onto one end of the wicker porch swing as Oliver seated himself two feet away on the other end. She tucked her legs up under her, giving Oliver the job of keeping the swing going.
“I didn't know that you had decided to start dating,” Oliver began. “Patrick told me that you went out to dinner last weekend. With a man who owns a helicopter.”
Kate laughed without much humor. “That wasn't a date; it was a mistake.”
“I'm not surprised. Randall Johnson isn't exactly in your league.”
“Excuse me?” Kate said in a slightly frosty tone.
Oliver smiled as he said apologetically, “I didn't mean it that way. I meant that he has a certain reputation, which wouldn't appeal to you.”
“What reputation is that?”
Oliver shrugged. “He's a womanizer. Here today, gone tomorrow. He attracts starlets and fashion models.”
“All blond, according to Georgia,” Kate added.
“Exactly. The very rich live by a different set of moral standards than you and I do.”
Kate couldn't repress a bitter laugh. “Don't be so sure about that.”
Oliver raised an eyebrow in silent inquiry.
Regretting her outburst, Kate stared into her wineglass for a moment. “It's not worth discussing.”
Oliver looked as though he had more to say but he obligingly changed the subject. “The boys tell me they're walking dogs to make money.”
“Yes. It was all their own idea, and I'm about to burst with pride.”
“They also said you sold the Porsche.”
“It's hard to keep a secret with the two town criers in residence,” Kate said lightly.
Oliver reached over and took Kate's free hand. “Kate, are you in that much financial trouble? I don't want you to struggle. Let me help.”
Kate let out a shaky breath as she gave Oliver's hand an affectionate squeeze. “I'm just trying to plan for the future. This old house is expensive to maintain, the boys' expenses are going to keep going up, I have to save for college tuition... the list goes on and on. The bottom line is that I have to go back to work.”
“Clay and Patrick are still pretty young, Kate. You don't want them to be latchkey kids, do you?”
Kate pulled her hand away. Oliver was making her feel guilty so she snapped at him, “No, I don't, but sometimes one doesn't have a choice, does one? David didn't make any provision for his death, so I'm left to cope with the consequences.”
“You seem angry with David.” Oliver sounded shocked.
Yes, she was but she wasn't about
to tell Oliver why.
“No, no. Just upset and a bit overwhelmed. I didn't expect to be in this position and I wasn't prepared for it,” Kate said, sagging back into her corner. She mustered a weak smile. “I'm sorry. I don't want to leave Clay and Patrick alone either.”
“I have no business commenting on your decisions,” Oliver said with an apologetic touch on her hand.
“Sure you do. You're my friend and that's what friends do.”
Oliver was silent for a while. His long legs were stretched out and crossed at the ankles, his knees folding and unfolding with the swing's motion. Kate couldn't help comparing his short straight nose and classic features to Randall Johnson's strong profile and slashing cheekbones. Kate shook her head to banish the image. Oliver was a very attractive man with clear blue eyes and a slow smile. He was considerate, caring – the exact opposite of Randall Johnson. He was also slightly dull.
Kate sighed and Oliver spoke at the same moment. “Have you considered marrying again?”
“You and Georgia!” Kate said in exasperation. “This is not the Dark Ages, you know. Women don't solve all their problems by getting married. Besides, I'm sure that my hypothetical husband would be just delighted to know that I married him so I didn't have to get a job.”
Oliver laughed. “I'm not suggesting that you marry someone you don't care about in other ways.”
Kate sighed again.
“I have to do some rebuilding first,” she said.
“Rebuilding?”
“Of my soul, of my confidence, of something inside,” she groped for the proper phrasing. “It's hard to explain.”
Of course, she couldn't explain the real reason for the devastation of her sense of self.
Then it suddenly struck her. Oliver might have known about Sylvia. She winced just thinking of the woman's name. She looked at Oliver with new intent. He had been David's closest friend. Would David have told him about an affair?
Kate was pondering how she could find out, subtly, whether her husband had confessed his adultery when Oliver spoke again.
“You loved David very much, didn't you?”
“What?” Kate was startled by the question's odd relation to her own thoughts. “Yes, I did,” she said truthfully. “But that's the past and I have to go forward now.”
“I'm glad to hear you say that.”
“I know. I'm supposed to be out of the mourning period after all this time.”
“Not just because of that.”
“Then why?” Kate asked, sipping her wine and looking at Oliver curiously.
He hesitated and then smiled at her. “Because it's hard to compete with a memory.”
For a split second, Kate thought that Oliver meant that he was competing with David's memory. Then she realized she was reading too much into his comment.
She changed the subject. “I'm ready to sign the partnership sale papers whenever they're ready. I've been over the numbers and I can't make them come out any higher, no matter what I do.”
“Don't you think I tried that already?” Oliver asked angrily.
“I was joking,” Kate said, taken aback at his vehemence.
“I'm sorry. I just feel so terrible about this....”
“David would want us to do what's best for C/R/G,” Kate said quickly.
After they had sat in silence for a while longer, she took his empty wineglass, carried it into the kitchen and began tidying up so that he could go upstairs to say good night to the boys. She was disconcerted when he came back into the room and drew her into his arms, holding her lightly against him. “Kate, think about what I said earlier. And remember to ask me if you need anything at all.”
“Thank you. I will.” Kate put a little distance between them. “Good night, Oliver. I'll talk to you when the papers are ready.”
As she watched him pull out of the driveway, she was still considering the best way to approach him about David's affair.
Monday morning she braced herself and dialed Randall's work number. She got the same lovely female voice, which informed her that Mr. Johnson was out of the office for the day. Kate heaved a sigh of relief, and then said, “Please let him know that Kate Chilton will not be able to keep her engagement with him Saturday night.”
“Ms. Chilton, I'm so glad that you called,” his administrative assistant spoke as though to a long lost friend. “Mr. Johnson asked me to give you his private telephone number.”
“He did?” Kate squeaked, automatically picking up a pen and scribbling it down. “Thanks, but you'll give him my message, won't you?”
“Of course, Ms. Chilton. Good-bye.”
Kate stood looking at the square of paper with the private number on it as though it contained hieroglyphics. She had to give him full marks for this maneuver. It was the most subtle but profound kind of flattery. And she wasn't immune to it. She stashed the paper in her cutlery drawer.
Resolutely putting Randall Johnson out of her mind, Kate immersed herself in the plans and design proposals of her former life. She was relieved at how quickly her brain started to follow the old paths. If only someone would hire her! She was actually looking forward to analyzing structural stresses and load-bearing points again. She even pulled out the set of blueprints of the George Washington Bridge that David had given her for her birthday years ago. Kate loved bridges and the GWB was her favorite. She traced its soaring piers and curving cables with familiar affection and admiration. She could still think like an engineer.
Clay and Patrick came home to find their mother engrossed by the computer. “What are you designing, Mom?” Clay wanted to know, looking over her shoulder.
“A new tunnel under the Hudson River,” Kate said, as she clicked away with the mouse. “I'm tired of sitting in traffic when I go into New York City.”
“Cool.” The two boys settled down on either side of her, asking questions and offering suggestions. They would have worked right through dinner if Patrick's stomach hadn't rumbled. Kate wondered why she had never shared this part of her life with her sons before.
She was loading the dishwasher with dinner plates when Clay suddenly called her from the family room. “Mom, Mr. Johnson's company is on the news. His storage tanks are burning.”
Kate dashed in to see a dramatic aerial view of flames shooting up against the night sky. The television screen was captioned TexOil storage tanks, Elizabeth, NJ. The camera cut to a reporter standing in front of an array of fire trucks. “Eyewitnesses say that the tanks seemed to literally explode into flames about a half an hour ago. Fire-fighting equipment is on the scene but a spokesperson states that all they can do is try to keep the nearby tanks from catching fire as well.”
There was the unmistakable racket of a helicopter overwhelming the reporter's commentary. He stopped to watch it land behind the fire trucks and the view shifted back to the aerial shot.
“Do you think that was Mr. Johnson's helicopter?” Patrick asked without taking his eyes off the television.
Before Kate could answer, the screen shifted back to the reporter. “The helicopter you saw landing belongs to RJ Enterprises, the corporation which owns TexOil. It has been confirmed that CEO Randall Johnson was on board. Sources say that employees working in the control center of the storage facility are still unaccounted for. Although the fire does not threaten that area, there is a danger of smoke inhalation. Firefighters are mounting a rescue expedition.”
Suddenly, Kate spotted him. “There he is, in the dark suit, talking with the fireman and another man in a suit. See him? By the ladder truck?”
“How many men did you get out of the control room?” Randall barked at the fire chief.
“Two. That's all that were in there.”
“There should be four. Tom, was one of the two they found the foreman?” Randall asked, turning to Tom Rogan, who had arrived on the scene first.
“I don't know. They took them straight to the hospital.”
“Damn! The other two must have gone for the manual shut-
off valves behind Tank C.” Randall turned back to the fire chief. “Give me a coat and five of your strongest men.”
The fire chief didn't like taking orders, especially from a civilian. “You can't go in there.”
“The hell I can't. Those are my people and my oil tanks.” Randall grabbed a fireman's coat off the nearest fire truck and shrugged into it. “I know where the valves are and you don't. Get your men or I'm going in alone.”
The chief cursed but called out several names. “Mr. CEO thinks he knows where the missing men are. Take care of him.”
Randall addressed the firefighters, yelling over the noise of the blaze, “We're heading behind Tank C over there. We're going to close the valves feeding all the tanks and bring back my men. Let's go.”
“Mom, I think that Mr. Johnson's going after the missing guys!” Patrick exclaimed in disbelief.
“The firemen are trained to rescue people. He should let them do their job,” Kate said tartly. What was he thinking? Those oil tanks could explode at any minute!
“He'll be okay. He knows what he's doing,” Clay said in a clear attempt to comfort her.
Kate gave him a strained smile and then exclaimed “Oh, for Pete's sake!” as the news program cut to a different story.
She looked at the clock and said, “Time to do your reading. Go upstairs. I'll call you if the oil tanks come back on.”
Clay and Patrick grumbled and dragged their feet as they trudged upstairs.
Kate was amazed by the weight of her concern for Randall Johnson. She had wanted to scream at him to stop as he dashed into the flames. Evidently physical intimacy, even with a virtual stranger, created ties she hadn't been aware of.
Kate called the boys when the news was back to the aerial view of the fire. All three Chiltons were glued to the television as the camera cut back to the reporter standing on the ground. “Just moments ago, a team of firefighters returned from a rescue expedition carrying the two missing employees. The unconscious men were whisked away in the RJ Enterprises helicopter, presumably to a nearby hospital. Sources report that the tank feeds have been closed and that the fires will soon be under control. Right now it's still a spectacular sight as these flames leap hundreds of feet into the sky.”
A Bridge to Love Page 6
