by Karen Cimms
Gravel crunched in the driveway. Maybe Rhiannon had returned, or Digger, given Billy’s shouts and threats. The back door opened and closed, followed by heavy footsteps on the stairs.
“C’mon, Billy. Time to go.” Kate recognized Doug’s voice. “You need to let her be.”
Kate’s lip quivered. Her breathing quickened, and tears pricked her eyes.
“Leave me alone,” Billy cried. “I’m not leaving.” He pounded the door again. “Katie!”
The rest was mumbled—drunken slurs and angry sobs.
“Billy, don’t make this harder than it is.”
“Get the fuck away from me! Don’t make me hurt you!”
The windows were open, yet Kate struggled to breathe.
“She wants you to leave.” Doug’s voice was calm but firm. “You need to respect her. You owe her this—”
“No!”
The force of the single word reverberated inside her, drawing her up from the bed. Her fist pressed to her mouth, she moved toward the door. She reached for the knob. There was a loud thud, and the door shuddered in its frame.
“Come on, Billy. Let’s go.”
Billy’s drunken rambling continued. Her head rested against the door, her hand on the knob. One more second.
Her heart said open the door. Her brain said: Enough.
There was movement on the other side, followed by muffled grunts and footsteps.
“That’s it. Just lean on me.”
Billy’s words were unintelligible as they moved down the hall.
“I’m sure she does, but you have to give her some space. Give her a little time.”
The back door slammed shut.
Kate stood at the window overlooking the driveway, watching Doug help Billy across the pavement. He loaded him into the passenger seat of the Lexus, then buckled him in like a child. When he lifted his face toward their bedroom window, and she could see his anguished expression, her heart split the rest of the way.
The car disappeared around the bend. Exhausted and numb, she lay down and stared at the ceiling overhead. Anything more would be impossible.
Chapter Ten
Kate woke with a start, her heart pounding. Other than the neon light of the clock, the room was dark. Her body felt stiff, her eyes burning. Her mouth was dry and her stomach lurched with nausea. She rolled onto her back and blinked up at the ceiling, trying to let her eyes adjust to the darkness.
The pounding continued. It wasn’t her heart.
She fumbled for the lamp. Soft light filled the room. Her eyes fell on Billy’s pile of discarded clothes. The fog of confusion faded, and heartache roared back to life.
Still the pounding. Someone called her name.
She stumbled downstairs, flicking on lights along the way, until she was met with a frantic face peering in her back door.
She flipped the lock and pulled it open. “What are you doing here?”
“Oh my God! I’ve been calling you for three hours!” Joey screeched in her face. “I finally got in the car and started driving. Why didn’t you answer the phone? I was worried sick! What the hell’s going on?”
“It’s over.” Even the words hurt.
“Oh, honey,” he frowned, leading her into the kitchen. “You’ve said that before.”
She stared back at him. “No, I haven’t.”
He dismissed her with a flick of his wrist. “It was only a matter of time.”
“Please don’t start.”
From the day they’d met, Billy and Joey had held a mutual dislike for each other that had even bordered on ugly. In more recent years they had at least been civil, although Joey couldn’t resist making a snarky comment if the opportunity presented itself.
“I’m sorry you’re hurting,” he said. “C’mere.”
Kate buried her face against his designer T-shirt. In the arms of her dearest, closest friend, she let go.
Joey held her for a while, then pulled away. “God, you’re an ugly crier. Are you ready to tell me what’s going on?”
She nodded, and he guided her to a chair in the dining room.
“I’ll make some tea, and you can tell me what happened.”
She pulled her legs up, then rested her chin on her knees. Holding up her head felt like too much of an effort.
“Or maybe something stronger?” He gave a lift of his brows.
“No. Tea. My throat hurts. But you go ahead,” she added between heaving breaths.
Joey pulled a bottle of shiraz from his messenger bag, found a glass with a large bowl, and filled it three-quarters of the way. He sniffed, sipped, swallowed. Satisfied, he retreated to the kitchen to put the kettle on.
“What the hell is this?” He stood in the doorway holding her large sauce pot. Inside was a thick, reddish brown mess.
“Marinara.”
“Remind me not to come for your next Italian night,” he muttered.
“What time is it?” Kate asked.
The battery was dead in the hand-painted Vaillancourt clock that hung over the fireplace in the dining room. In all the drama of the past day, Billy must have missed it.
“It’s a little after three,” Joey called from the kitchen.
Cabinet doors banged open and closed as he searched for tea bags and a mug. It hurt too much to call across the room, so she got up and walked into the kitchen.
“In the morning?” She had been asleep for hours.
“No, in the afternoon. We’re having an eclipse.” There was that trademark sarcasm.
She pulled a stool up to the counter, where she noticed a large bouquet of stargazer lilies and gardenias in an antique agateware coffeepot—the flowers from Rhiannon and the boys. In the sink sat the pot of dark brown marinara, and on the counter lay the dented saucepan she had hurled at Billy’s head. She leaned over to look into the dining room. The shattered glass had been cleaned up.
“Lemon and honey?”
She nodded. “So how’d you know?”
“Rhiannon called, hysterical. She said she came to surprise you for your birthday—I know, a day late.” Joey rolled his eyes. “She said you threw her father out. A police officer came to arrest you. You’ve completely lost your mind. And there’s just no talking to you.” He recited all of this in a sing-song voice. “Yada, yada, yada. I asked if she’d been drinking, and then she really lost it. She said she had all she could deal with trying to take care of her father, who I assume is doing the actual drinking, and that somebody had better straighten you out. She called Devin, but he’s not answering his phone.”
Kate groaned and covered her face with her hands.
Joey poured the boiling water into Kate’s mug and pulled up a stool. Rubbing his hand on her back, he asked for the non-hysterical version. She began with the arrival of the sympathy fruit basket and ended with Doug’s removal of Billy. Reliving it didn’t make it easier, but Joey listened quietly, holding her when she cried.
By the time she had finished, the line of trees that edged her property was becoming visible through the kitchen window.
“I don’t know what I’m going to do. I’m tired of being hurt and disappointed. I didn’t want him to take this gig, but he wouldn’t listen. I could tell when he called me that he was stressed and miserable. Not that he would ever admit it. And it’s obvious he’s been lying. If he lied about the drugs, what else is he lying about? What if he ends up in jail? Or we lose the house? I don’t know if I can handle this.”
Joey threaded his fingers between hers. “Come to New York. Stay as long as you want. Let me take care of you for a while.”
“What good would that do? That won’t fix anything. Plus I have a job, remember? Sully would love nothing more than an excuse to fire me. I asked him for some time off because Billy was coming home. He gave me two days. He’s not going to change his mind.”
“They can’t do without you for a little while? Just tell them Romeo is at it again.”
Kate shook her head. “Sully doesn’t care. He just expects to see a newspa
per every day. Besides, I need the money.”
She choked up again thinking of the humiliation when the sweet young man came to repossess her car.
When she told Joey, his jaw tightened.
“Why didn’t you tell me it was this bad?”
“I don’t know how bad it is or even if it’s bad. I have no idea.” She shook her head. “I can’t take your money. I need to figure this out myself, on my own.”
“You’ll never be on your own, Kate. I’m always here for you. Always.” He squeezed her hand, then leaned forward and rubbed his nose against hers.
She tried to smile.
As night surrendered into a pink dawn, promising another hot day, Joey put Kate’s cup in the sink, topped off his glass, then turned out the light.
“Let’s go. I’m putting you to bed, and I’m gonna head for that futon myself. If I can’t sleep, I’ll snip all the strings on that collection up there.” He winked.
Upstairs, after she came back out of the bathroom dressed in one of Billy’s old T-shirts, he sat her on the edge of the bed and began brushing her hair.
“One hundred strokes a night. Right?”
“Um-hmmm.” It was all she could do to remain upright.
When he finished, she lay down.
“Do you need anything?” he asked, pulling the covers up to her chin.
She shook her head, and her eyes filled with tears. “No. I’m just so tired.”
“Then it’s a good thing you’re in bed.” He walked to each window and pulled the drapes closed. “It’s Saturday. Sleep all day if you want.” He pointed to the phone, sitting off the hook on the nightstand, and frowned. “Should I hang this up?”
“I guess.”
He kissed her forehead. “I’m right down the hall if you need me.”
Charlie nosed at the edge of the covers, already intent on settling onto Billy’s side of the bed.
“C’mon, Charlie. You’re sleeping with me, you lucky fellow. Mommy needs sleep, and you aren’t waking her up at the crack of noon. Let’s go.”
A rooster crowed in the distance.
“That settles it,” said Joey. “Now it really is bedtime. If you get used to these hours, you’ll fit right in in New York.” He blew her a kiss. “Right down the hall. Okay?”
She closed her eyes. When she heard the door to the music room close, she rolled over to Billy’s side, buried her face in his pillow, and cried herself to sleep.
Chapter Eleven
Joey stared into a bowl of fresh eggs. Knowing Kate, she’d probably plucked them out from under the chicken’s ass herself. He should probably do something with them, like crack them into a hot pan. But then what? Cooking wasn’t his thing; in fact, living in Manhattan, it wasn’t even on his radar. But here, in no man’s land—
There was a knock at the back door, three soft taps.
“Hey,” he said when he saw Tom on the other side of the screen. He opened the door and let him in.
“When did you get here?” Tom was wearing running shorts and a Fighting Irish T-shirt. Sweat trickled down his temples, and his shirt was damp. His short, sandy hair stood up in spikes around his head.
Joey held his finger to his lips. “Kate’s sleeping. I got here around three. Rhiannon called me.”
“Where’s Billy?”
Joey shook his head and huffed. “Gone. She threw him out.”
“Shit. When?”
“Yesterday, right after Chief Asshat came to arrest her.”
He didn’t give Tom much time to react before he relayed everything Kate had told him, including the kid who had come to repossess her car and the visit from Digger.
“That’s too bad.”
“No, it’s not!” Joey shook his head furiously. “It’s about time is what it is. Actually, it’s about twenty-four years too late.”
“She loves him, Joey.”
“She’ll get over it.”
Still irritated, he motioned for Tom to follow him into the kitchen, where he held out the bowl of eggs. “What do you do with these?”
“Eggs?”
“I know they’re eggs. I want to make Kate breakfast.”
“You?” Tom laughed.
Joey gave him the stink eye and folded his arms over his chest.
“Allow me.” Tom washed his hands, then ran a dishtowel under some cool water and draped it around his neck. “Omelet?”
Joey snuggled into a stool at the kitchen island. “Yes, please.” He let out an exaggerated sigh. “I’m starving. And don’t forget the coffee.”
“You haven’t had coffee yet?” Tom glanced at his watch. “It’s almost noon.
Joey leaned back on the stool and dropped a hand to his hip. “Is there a Starbucks around here I don’t know about?” He waggled a half cup of cold tea. “Then no. I can’t figure out how to work that thing.” The newfangled coffeemaker on the counter mocked him. “I’m treading water here.”
With a smirk, Tom filled the reservoir with water, scooped some ground coffee into the basket, and set it to brew. He cracked several eggs into a bowl and whipped them into a froth with a utensil that might have been left over from the Middle Ages, moving efficiently around the kitchen.
Satisfied that his caffeine fix was close at hand, Joey hopped off the stool and made his way to the other side, where Tom had just dropped a large pat of butter into a skillet. He took Tom’s hand and paused, listening to the silence. Convinced that Kate was still asleep, he pulled Tom into the laundry room off the kitchen.
“I hate this.” He wrapped his arms around Tom’s waist and rested his head on his shoulder.
“I know.” Tom pressed his lips to Joey’s head. “I hate sneaking around as much as you do. I’m just not ready.”
“Not ready for what?” Joey pulled back. “Not ready to be who you are? For fuck’s sake. Anyone who can’t accept that, then the hell with them. That’s not someone you need in your life, is it?”
“I know. I hate hurting you, but my parents . . . They won’t understand.”
Joey plucked Tom’s shirt away from his damp skin and ran his fingers along the base of his spine. “Being gay is nothing new, Tommy. It isn’t something we came up with just to shock people, you know.”
He felt rather than heard Tom sigh.
“I know, but what about Stephanie? She’ll take Lian, and then I’ll have nothing.”
Joey pulled away. “You won’t have nothing. You’ll have me!”
“I didn’t mean it like that. I’m just not as strong as you.” Tom lifted Joey’s chin and kissed him. “You know I love you, don’t you? And I promise, next month we’ll get away. I’ve already told Stephanie that you’re looking to open a boutique in Boston and you need me to review the paperwork. We’ll head up to Maine. For a whole week this time.”
The prospect of having Tom to himself for an entire week was exciting, but he was tired of living his life in pieces, never able to step out into public with the man he loved.
But it was more than that. “It’s bad enough this sneaking around for years—years—and only seeing each other when you can get away, but I hate lying to Kate.”
“I know, but you can’t tell her,” Tom whispered frantically. “You can’t!”
“I won’t. I just don’t like it.”
“I’m trying. I am. Someday I’ll be strong enough, I promise. Then we won’t hide from anybody.”
“I’ll be old and gray by then.”
“I’ll love you even when you’re old and gray,” Tom promised, running his fingers through Joey’s halo of dark curls, “and maybe even if you’re bald.”
“God forbid.”
The aroma of fresh-brewed coffee filled the air. Other than the hum of the coffeemaker and the steady tick of the clock in the dining room, the house was still.
He pushed Tom against the washing machine and closed the door.
Breakfast—even his precious coffee—would have to wait a little longer.
Chapter Twelve
&
nbsp; The buzzing was back, only this time it wasn’t in Kate’s head. Her cell phone shimmied on the bedside table. It was probably Billy, but Kate wasn’t ready to talk to him. She was about to send it to voicemail, when Sully’s name popped up.
She should have ignored him as well.
In a tone just short of barking, he informed her that not only had the Associated Press released an entertainment brief about an altercation Billy had in Miami with Mick McAvoy, leading to his subsequent termination from Stonestreet—which was news to her—but the story of his arrest in Andrewsville was also moving on the entertainment and state wires. That was bad enough, but what was currently making Sully’s head threaten to explode was that another major daily in the same market as the Evening Examiner had picked up both pieces. Although Kate used her legal name of Donaldson, the competition had identified her as Billy’s wife—and given the name of her employer.
Reporters should write the news, not make the news, Sully reminded her loudly. As if she’d played any part in this mess. He put her on a two-week administrative leave—with pay, he grudgingly added—to “let things die down.” In an attempt to soften the punishment, he told her Sedge Stevens had called the newspaper several times, “huffing and puffing” about the article she’d written. Because of that, Sully thought it best to send a more seasoned reporter to the next meeting in case things came to a head between Stevens and the committee, as if it would be difficult for her to report on something more contentious than squabbling neighbors.
Kate hung up and stared at the ceiling. She wanted to pull the covers over her head. Instead, she let the promise of fresh coffee and the aroma of sautéed onions lure her downstairs.
Bright sunlight hit her face, and she squinted as she stepped outside. “Morning.”
Tommy and Joey sat at the table on the patio, shaded by a large, colorful umbrella. Kate ran her hand lightly across Tommy’s shoulder and bent to kiss Joey on the head.
“Morning, Mary Sunshine,” Joey sang. “How’d you sleep?”
She shrugged. “I slept.”
“How’re you doing?” Tommy poured her a cup of coffee from a carafe on the table and handed it to her.
