To Have and to Hold

by Fern Michaels

  The moment she heard his voice she started to cry. She was still crying when he told her to hang up and he would call her back. They talked for thirty minutes, about the weather, about Betsy and Ellie, and about how certain she was that Della would be at the house when she got back. “I miss you,” she said. “I dreamed about you last night.”

  “Kate, I’m worried about you. Can you handle this?”

  “One minute I think I can, but the next minute I think it’s hopeless. I have to try. You said you understood.”

  “I do understand, but that isn’t going to stop me from worrying. Is there anything I can do?”

  “How did it go with the man who picked you up?”

  “Not well. They tend to work on intimidation. He thought he was intimidating the New York Times. I told him to go screw himself. I signed his damn paper, and underneath my signature I wrote, ‘Under duress.’ He tried to tell me I wouldn’t be permitted to leave until I signed a second form. We looked at each other for five goddamn hours. He went out to make a phone call, and finally he let me go.”

  “I wish I’d had the guts to do that.”

  “You need to be in a position of strength to fight them. You had nothing going for you. You have your husband back. They played on that, the bastards. As long as I know you’re okay, I can live with this. When can you call me again?”

  “I’ll try every few days. I’ll try to work out some kind of schedule. A routine is going to be important to Patrick. I’ve been thinking about enrolling him at a gym. I can take him into town and wait. I can’t give you anything more definite right now. I have to do this, Gus.”

  “Yes, you do. The poor bastard deserves the best. If there’s anything I can do, let me know. I love you, Kate, more than life itself.”

  Kate squeezed her eyes shut. She wanted to tell him she loved him just as much, maybe more, but the words wouldn’t come. She had no right to say them. Not now. Maybe never.

  “Take care of yourself, Kate. You’re in my thoughts every hour of the day.”

  “Don’t eat too much fast food,” Kate said, choking back a sob before she hung up.

  When she took her place at the table to finish her cold coffee, she looked around. The few customers who had been there when she’d entered were gone. A man who absolutely reeked of suspicion, right down to the propped-up newspaper, stared at her. Kate stared back, her eyes defiant. She was chagrined, to say the least, when she went up to the cash register to pay her bill and the man said, “Mrs. Starr?”

  “Yes?”

  “I thought I recognized you. I’m Reverend Timmins. You did a rendering of our rectory several months ago. I’ve been meaning to write you a letter to tell you how many comments I received from my parishioners.” His hands went to his tie. “Sorry, but today is not my collar day.”

  “We all need days like that,” Kate said, offering a huge smile. She felt like a fool as she walked out into the afternoon sunshine.

  At the hospital, Kate settled herself in the waiting room to wait for the doctor. He found her at ten minutes of five.

  “Well, Mrs. Starr, I’m happy to report your cousin Harry is not as bad as we thought at first. His EKG is fine. His lungs are a little congested, but medication is going to relieve that. His kidneys are good, his bowels are okay, too, considering the strange diet he’s been living on. Our resident dentist filled nine cavities and pulled six front teeth. A partial plate is being made up. It will be ready in three days. Soft diet, of course. His cataract is not ready yet to be removed. Laser surgery will take care of that, and he will have the use of his left eye. He’s already got his new glasses and can see quite well out of his right eye. His hearing has been severely impaired, but he’s now wearing the latest in hearing aids. He was quite fascinated with it. It goes behind the ear and is hardly noticeable. His entire mouth is numb and will stay that way for about six hours. The man is exhausted and is napping in one of our recovery rooms. Oh, yes, his preliminary blood and urine tests seem to be okay. We’ll know more when you come back for his partial plate. You can take your cousin home, Mrs. Starr. But”—he wagged an invoice under her nose playfully—“stop at the office and give them this.”

  “Thank you, Doctor,” Kate said, and glanced at the bill in her hand. Two thousand, eight hundred dollars. A small price to pay for Patrick’s health. She wrote out and signed the check with a flourish.

  Back in the waiting room, she stood quietly as Patrick tottered toward her. “I feel like hell,” he said around the packing in his mouth.

  “You look like hell, too,” she said cheerfully. “You can sleep on the ride home.”

  “I could hear every word you said,” Patrick mumbled, his face full of amazement. “Every word. I can see you clearly, too. You’re very pretty, Kate, but you’re too fat around the middle.”

  Kate didn’t know whether to laugh or cry when Patrick poked her playfully on the arm. “If I wanted to be nasty,” she said, trying to hide her smile, “I could tell you you look like shit right now. So there.” She dug her elbow into his arm. A sound escaped his mouth. He’s laughing, Kate thought. He’s really laughing. She grinned from ear to ear.

  Patrick fell asleep the minute the car started to move, and he was still sleeping when Kate pulled into the driveway. The house was lit up like a Christmas tree. She was out of the car in a flash when she saw Della’s plump figure outlined in the lighted doorway. They laughed and cried, hugged and kissed, and then they babbled like magpies. Patrick continued to snooze in the car while they walked around the garden.

  “I really need you, Della, can you stay? Will you stay?”

  “Of course. Now you need me. Before you didn’t. Those girls left such a mess. It took me hours to clean up. The cake was such a disaster, the top slid off onto the table. Even the birds wouldn’t eat it. I made another one. I made chicken soup and spaghetti and pudding and all kinds of things. It’s all ready. I hung Captain Starr’s clothes up. Your daughters have good taste, Kate. Betsy hugged me. She told me she loved me. We cried and cried. Everything is fine now. They did tell me that Captain Starr might not take to me because I’m Mexican. What should we do about that?”

  “It’s not that you’re Mexican, but that you’re not American. I settled all that. He might be a little standoffish for a while, but I know Patrick—he’ll come to love you like we do. And stop calling him Captain Starr. Actually, we’re supposed to call him Harry. ‘Hey you’ sounds better to me than Harry.”

  They were in the middle of the yard under one of the many Joshua trees when Della said, “What about Gus?”

  “I spoke to him today,” Kate said softly. “I thought my heart would break. He told me how much he loves me. I wanted to tell him how much I loved him, but I couldn’t. I don’t have that right anymore. I don’t know what’s going to happen. Patrick told me on the ride to the city that when we got married, he was in love with the idea of marriage more than he was in love with me. He said he just liked me, ‘most of the time.’ Liked me! How could I not have known that, Della? Was I that big a fool? I would have died for him if he’d asked me to. Everything I thought was real, wasn’t. I must have been the stupidest person in the world. A woman should know if her husband doesn’t love her. But not me—I was so busy making chickens and ducks, bows and ruffles, that it never occurred to me. How am I supposed to know if Gus loves me? Patrick used to tell me he loved me.”

  Ever practical, Della said, “Ask him if he’s in love with you.”

  “I can’t do that,” Kate faltered.

  “Then I’ll do it,” Della said.

  “No, you won’t.” Kate wrapped the older woman in her arms. “We have to get Patrick into the house and into bed. He’s had a tough day.”

  “I see it’s taking its toll on you, too, Kate. Well, I’m here now. Does he want to have sex with you?”

  “Dellllllaaa!” Kate sputtered. “I think sex is the furthest thing from Patrick’s mind right now.”

  “He’s a man,” Della said. “Wh
en it becomes in the front of his mind, what will you do?”

  “I don’t want to talk about this, Della.”

  “You’re going to have to think about it sooner or later. Captain Starr is a man. He’s not always going to be in such a delicate condition.”

  “Then I’ll think about it later, but not now. Definitely not now.” There was an edge to Kate’s voice.

  Della shrugged. “Life is never easy,” she said philosophically.

  Kate’s heart leaped to her throat at the sight that met her eyes when they returned to the driveway, the floodlights glaring down on the candy-apple-red Mercedes. Patrick was cowering in the front seat, his hands scrunched around his head. The sounds he was making were those of a trapped animal. “It’s the lights. He must think he’s being interrogated. He doesn’t like the dark. The girls must have turned the lights on before they left,” Kate whispered.

  “Patrick, it’s me, Kate,” she said soothingly as she approached the driver’s side of the car. “We went to the hospital today. You fell asleep on the way home. I want you to get up now and climb out of the car. No one is going to hurt you. These are good lights, Patrick, they make the dark go away.” She ran to the passenger side of the car and opened it.

  “I thought it was a bad dream,” Patrick said.

  “It’s all right now,” Kate purred. “Della is here, Patrick. I want you to say hello. She’s going to help us. She’s also going to make a poultice for your gums. Come along now.”

  “The lights weren’t this bright before, were they?”

  “Yes, they were, but you can see better now with your glasses. “Della, this is my husband, Patrick, also known as Harry.”

  “I’m very pleased to meet you, Captain Starr. For years I heard about you from your wife and daughters. I feel like I know you.”

  Patrick stiffened. Kate exerted pressure on his arm. “Hello,” he said, relaxing almost immediately.

  Della fussed then, hustling them inside, where she immediately set about making a poultice of tea bags for Patrick.

  When Patrick was settled for the night, the wet tea bags clamped between his gums, Della said, “You have a long road ahead of you, Kate. The bottom line is, what happens when you get to the end of that long road?”

  “Like Scarlett said, I’ll worry about that tomorrow,” Kate said wearily. “Della, will you sleep in my room with me?”

  “That’s where my things are. I think you should turn in, you look exhausted.”

  “Della, having you here means everything to me. I feel better just looking at you across this table. As usual, I’ll never be able to thank you.”

  “And as usual, no thanks are needed. Are you sure you don’t want anything to eat?”

  “I’m positive. Besides, Patrick told me I was fat today. I guess I could lose a few pounds around my middle.”

  The following morning, Patrick’s new routine began. To make it official, Kate carried a ruler. She wasn’t sure why, and Patrick didn’t ask. He was attired in gray Nike sweats, L.A. Gear sneakers, and a Mets baseball cap. He was still biting down on the wet tea bags. His tinted aviator glasses were in place, his hearing aid turned to full volume. He looked at Kate expectantly.

  Kate waved the ruler and cleared her throat. “You ate a good breakfast, hot cereal, mashed banana, pudding, and juice. Now we’re going to ... to do a few simple exercises. Simply because I probably can’t handle anything more strenuous. Then we’re going for a walk. A long walk. If we get tired, we’ll rest, come back, eat lunch. Della has spaghetti, soup, and a lot of soft stuff, and you’ll need to change your tea bags. You’ll rest or nap an hour and then we’ll do it all over again. If you’re up to it, we’ll go to town, maybe see about joining a health club. We’ll stop by the drugstore and get some Grecian Formula to color your hair. Then we’ll have high tea, cake, and whatever else Della makes. We’ll swim, soak in the hot tub, and I’m going to hire a masseur to give you daily body massages. Maybe me, too.”

  “You need it,” Patrick mumbled.

  “I heard that,” Kate snapped. He made the funny sound she knew was laughter. From the kitchen window Della smiled.

  On the third day, when they made the trip to the city for Patrick’s partial plate, he didn’t sleep at all. Kate giggled most of the way home as she watched him admire his new bridgework in the visor mirror. When she stopped for a light, he skinned back his gums and smiled, and then made the funny laughter sound.

  “I know you’re probably saying something profound,” Kate said as they neared the exit for Bakersfield, “but I’ll be damned if I know what it is. I guess it’s because you aren’t used to the bridge yet, and that Russian accent isn’t helping. I think we should hire a tutor. One-on-one will be good for you. Don’t worry, we’ll fit it in somehow. What’s another sixty minutes out of your life?” Patrick rolled his eyes, then patted her on the arm. Kate felt touched with his simple gesture.

  “Why don’t you freshen up now,” she suggested as they pulled into the drive. “I’ll make some iced tea and we can drink it out on the deck.”

  “Okay,” Patrick said agreeably, and he trotted off to do as she’d ordered. She watched him shuffle down the hall, her eyes full of pity.

  It was all too much. He felt trapped and free at the same time. His mind whirled. His room . . . He didn’t like the sound of that: his room. The room didn’t sound any better.

  He’d wanted everything to be the same, had expected just that. He’d even allowed for the change in the girls, but not Kate. Kate was . . . Kate was . . . a slick chick. He used to call her that, but at the time it was just words. Kate had been plain, a comfortable person, a warm person with love shining in her eyes.

  His eyes searched the room. It looked like a man’s room, with the box-pleated, navy-blue bedspread and matching drapes. Even the pillows had special covers. He wondered why that was. Maybe they were afraid he had lice or dandruff. The room was too big, it had too many windows. He needed a smaller space, some place where he could huddle. All this openness confused him.

  This was a stranger’s room in a stranger’s house. Was he ever going to belong here? He sniffed, hoping for some kind of familiar scent. Mothballs. The room hadn’t been used. A guest room. He was in the guest room. He looked at the light blue walls, at the deep blue shag carpet that was one shade darker than the spread and drapes. He wondered if he could ask for yellow or maybe light green. Red would be good, even orange. He thought about orange then as he crunched into himself.

  He saw it then. The closet. He hadn’t gone near it. He wondered why. “Maybe I didn’t see it,” he muttered. He opened the door and a wave of cedar washed over him. He sniffed again and again before he decided he liked the smell. The closet was small, with a rod and one shelf he could reach if he wanted to. His hands were shaking when he stretched to remove the bar. The shelf came away easily. He placed both outside the door, then walked into the closet. His shaking stopped when he leaned into the corner, his thin arms wrapped around his chest. His hands crept upward. He beat at his face, his shoulders, yanked at his sparse hair. His shoulders started to shake as he slid down to the floor. His feet clawed at the fluffy shag carpet.

  “I need you to help me, God. I can’t do this myself. Please, help me. I can’t bear the looks on my family’s faces. I’m scaring them. I don’t want to do that. Why am I in this closet? Why can’t I stand in the middle of the room? Why do I need this dark, narrow space? Kate won’t punish me. The girls won’t whip me. Show me what to do. Show me how I’m supposed to act. I forgot. Somebody has to help me,” he pleaded. “Give me a sign, something I can hang on to when it gets bad. Anything. My mind will recognize it. I want this so bad. Please, God, help me.”

  “Patrick?”

  His sign. He struggled to get up.

  She stared at him.

  He stared back.

  “Are you going to ask me why I’m in here?”

  “I think I know why. You’re comfortable there. All the rest of this kind of ...
scares you. It’s going to take time,” Kate said softly, a smile in her voice.

  “Kate, can I ask a favor?”

  “Of course.”

  “I don’t like these colors.”

  “Oh. Well, we can change that. What color would you like?”

  “Something ... sprightly.”

  “Like ...”

  “Yellow. Maybe green. I like red.”

  “It’s a done deed, Patrick. Tomorrow I’ll have someone come out and do it over. How about a nice moss-green with daffodil yellow accents? That will look . . . sprightly.”

  “Yes, sprightly.” Patrick grinned crookedly. Kate was his sign. Kate was going to make everything right. “Thank you, God,” he murmured.

  As the days and weeks passed, Patrick improved so rapidly, it boggled Kate’s mind. By the time the new year rolled around, he’d gained fifteen pounds. Twenty more would put him in his proper weight class. His face had filled in and begun to fit the aviator glasses he loved. His movements were less jerky, and if he paid close attention, he could actually stride, and even at times glide, to Kate’s amusement. He had color to him now, thanks to the tanning bed at the health club. “It’s just temporary, Patrick, sun isn’t good for you,” she told him.

  By St. Patrick’s Day, when Della cooked a huge corned beef and two heads of cabbage along with small white potatoes, Patrick was walking five miles in the morning, working out with minimal weights at the gym, swimming, and then walking another five miles before dinner. Afterward he had his body massage and worked with the tutor.

  Kate was exhausted and had lost only seven pounds.

  In June, Patrick passed his driving test and Kate bought him a Jeep Cherokee, a bright red one to match her Mercedes. He still carried the original fifty dollars in his pants pocket that Kate had given him on his arrival.