We All Fall Down (Of Love and Madness Book 2)

by Karen Cimms

  Kate didn’t believe that for one second.

  “What?” he asked. “You’re looking at me the same way Joey did.”

  That made her smile. “Your parents might be a little shocked, but drop dead? Your father is an intelligent, thinking man. He’s known a lot of people in his career, and I bet quite a few have been gay. I’m sure he knows they’re no different than anyone else. So no, I don’t believe he’d drop dead or disown you.”

  Tom’s face shifted as he struggled with his emotions. “Don’t you see? Even if you’re right, I can’t tell them now.”

  “Why?”

  “Because if I couldn’t do it while Joey was alive, what right do I have to do it now? I have no right to live openly. I forfeited that when Joey died.”

  She took his hand and held it across the glass-topped table. “That’s ridiculous. I think he’d be proud of you for finding the courage.”

  “No. Besides, you’re forgetting something.”

  Her gums had begun to feel pleasantly numb, thanks to two quickly downed martinis, so if she was having a hard time following his reasoning at this point, it wasn’t her fault.

  “Stephanie. If I humiliate Stephanie by coming out, she’ll use that against me to take Lian. If that happens, then I would truly have nothing to live for anymore.”

  Kate rested her chin in the palm of her hand. “Oh, we’re a fine pair. Both of us with so little to live for.”

  Tom nodded.

  “Well,” she gave him a weak smile, “until we get our shit together, how about we just live for each other and worry about the rest when we feel like it?”

  He saluted her with an olive-skewered toothpick. “Sounds like a plan.”

  After dinner, which included both bottles of wine, Tom built a fire and they sat around the fire pit gazing up at the stars. It was very possible she might even have dozed off once or twice. Her brain was so foggy—something she was definitely okay with.

  “We do have other business to talk about,” Tom said, interrupting the murkiness, his face glowing orange in the firelight.

  He had to be kidding. “What business?” She wasn’t capable of discussing any business of any kind.

  “The will. We have to set up a reading of the will.”

  “The will?” She squirmed deeper into her lawn chair. “I’m drunk. I don’t want to talk about that right now.”

  “I understand, but you may not realize the extent of Joey’s property and business dealings. It’s substantial, Kate.”

  She shrugged impatiently. “He seriously didn’t expect me to deal with any of that, did he?”

  “Maybe not, but he also didn’t expect to die at forty-three.”

  How could he possibly be lawyering right now? She wasn’t even sure she’d be able to stand and walk back to the house.

  “Can’t we please put it off for a while?”

  “Yes, but there are decisions to be made that affect other people, remember? There are employees with families and bills to pay.”

  “Can’t you just do the reading or whatever and just let me deal with my part when I can manage it?”

  “No—because everything goes to you.”

  She sat bolt upright, a lot more sober than she’d felt a minute earlier. “That’s crazy. What about you?”

  He laughed. “Now how would I explain that? It’s all yours, Kate. But for the time being, as executor, I can manage things for you.”

  She hadn’t even wrapped her head around Joey’s death yet, and then there was the implosion of her marriage. And now she was supposed to run a multi-million dollar business? What the hell had Joey been thinking?

  “Can you?”

  “Do you mean am I capable?” Even in the firelight, she could see she’d probably insulted him.

  “I know you’re more than capable. I mean are you able? Emotionally?”

  His face softened, and he stared into the fire for a few moments. When he looked up, the lawyer was gone. “I know what it meant to him, and I know what he wanted—so yeah, I can do that for him and for you.”

  “Make sure you pay yourself.” She felt guilty for dumping her responsibility, but there was no way she could deal with it. Not tonight, that was for damn sure.

  “That’s worked out in the will, but I’d do it for nothing if I had to.”

  Thinking it was all settled, Kate leaned back and resumed stargazing.

  “Before we end this topic—for now, that is—I want you to know Joey took very good care of you.”

  “Tommy, please, I really can’t think about th—”

  “Just listen. File it in the back of your mind if you must, but listen. Financially, you’ll be very well off. There are some properties: the loft in Tribeca, of course, and there’s a cottage up in Maine . . .”

  The delicious numbness she’d felt earlier was evaporating. She squeezed his hand. “I don’t want anything, Tommy, but for life to go back to the way it was a month ago. I’ll bet there’s nothing in your little Prada briefcase that will do that, so for now, please let’s drop it. I truly can’t listen to one more word.”

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  The patter of rain on the roof made it that much more difficult for Kate to get out of bed. It was soothing, and God knows she needed to be soothed.

  How was she supposed to go back to work? She hadn’t been able to concentrate long enough to read more than a paragraph in a book these past couple of weeks. How could she be expected to actually write something?

  She lay there, head throbbing, heart aching, and recalled what Tom had said about the will. For a split second, she thought about calling him and asking him to define “substantial.” Then she threw back the covers. She would never feel right accepting it. Better to just get up and go to work. Be an adult.

  Of course, an adult would have made sure she had something to wear for work the night before instead of waiting until morning. She’d been avoiding her closet. The empty rod where Billy’s clothes used to hang was too painful to face.

  It wasn’t any easier this morning.

  She grabbed an armload of dresses and jackets and slid them across the bar. It still looked pathetically empty. No matter how hard she tried, there were reminders everywhere that he was gone. Little ones, like his World’s Greatest Dad coffee mug, and big ones, like his truck in the driveway, snuggled up to her Saab.

  “I know.” She took off down the hall, her robe fluttering behind her, to retrieve her winter clothes and evening dresses from the closet in the music room. They would fill the rod, at least, if not the empty space echoing inside her.

  The door to Billy’s sanctuary had been closed when she’d come home, and she’d left it that way. If she’d thought the empty closet was hard to face, Billy’s missing instruments and the photos and other memorabilia there would be even more difficult.

  “Here goes nothing.”

  She took a deep breath and pushed the door open slowly. It wasn’t as bad as she expected, mainly because almost everything was still there. The Martin was gone, as was the Strat, but the other instruments still hung in their places. The photos and album covers still lined the shelves.

  It looked no different than if he’d been on tour.

  “Son of a bitch,” she muttered.

  If she were being reasonable—which was unfair to expect at this point, wasn’t it?—she knew there was no room for his things at Rhiannon’s other than the finished basement. As much as she loved her daddy, Rhiannon wasn’t about to disrupt her household with an assortment of boxes, instruments, and amps. Billy probably expected to leave everything where it was until he found another place to live. Damn him!

  She could even smell him; that warm, spicy scent of lemongrass, and something else, uniquely his own. She inhaled deeply. Probably marijuana. She should open the window, air the room out. It was hard enough not to think about him. The last thing she needed was to keep smelling him. As soon as it stopped raining, she would open that window. In the meantime, she’d stay the hell
out of there.

  Forgetting the reason she’d gone in there in the first place, she was about to leave, when she spotted an envelope on the shelf leaning against a framed picture of Billy and Jimmy Page. Her name was scrawled across the front. Just seeing his handwriting caused her stomach to tie itself in a knot. How dangerous would it be to actually open it? She stared at it for a few more moments, then reached out cautiously as if it might burn or bite her.

  She slipped her finger under the flap, and tore it open.

  My dearest Katie,

  I’m sorry. There are no words to explain or justify what I’ve done. I just need you to know that after all these years, you still own my heart. There has never been anyone else. You are still my passion and my madness, and even if I never see your beautiful face again, I’ll love you long after I take my last breath and well beyond the end of time.

  Always and forever,

  Billy

  The note slipped from her fingers and floated to the floor as a dam broke loose inside her. How was it possible to still love him after everything he’d done?

  Kate was an hour late for work. She’d thought about calling in sick, but she had to go back sooner or later. Might as well get it over with. The door to the elevator slid open, and she stepped into the newsroom. It was worse than she expected. She trudged past a dozen desks to her cubicle in the far corner. They all meant well, but hearing a dozen I’m sorrys was difficult.

  She dropped her purse into her bottom drawer and sat. The first thing she saw was the photo of Billy accepting his Grammy award. She slammed it down so hard the glass cracked.

  She mumbled a quiet sorry of her own to the heads that had turned in her direction and scraped the photo, frame, and broken glass into the trash while her computer booted up. The phone rang as she waited for the servers to load. The caller ID said John Sullivan.

  Shit. She put on a businesslike tone. “Newsroom. This is Kate.”

  “Could you step into my office? Er, please?”

  Click.

  ‘Please’? Likely an afterthought, a nod to her grieving, reserved for only when absolutely necessary. She smoothed her palms over the front of her navy Lilly Pulitzer dress—an ironic gift from Joey, who said it was the only Pulitzer she’d ever receive—and headed for the glass-walled office at the back of the newsroom.

  Linda kept typing, her head down as Kate passed. “That was quick,” she whispered.

  Kate’s voice was equally low. “I hope he fires me.”

  “Close the door,” Sully said, his sixth sense somehow knowing she was there even though he hadn’t turned around. He picked up the phone, motioned for her to sit, then held up his finger as a signal for her to wait. Did he want her to wait before sitting down or just wait?

  “Daniel!” he barked into the phone. “Where’s the story on the driver ID law? That should have been filed ten minutes ago. If that’s not in the system in three minutes, you’ll be writing obits for the rest of the year.”

  He slammed down the phone. “Sit!” he demanded, then reeling it in a bit, added, “Please.”

  He rose and closed the door she’d left open.

  Why couldn’t he just fire her? She needed the money, but she couldn’t deal with this right now.

  “I’m sorry about your friend,” he began in a moderated tone that sounded sincere, if not exactly warm. “Joey, right?”

  “Yes. Thank you.”

  “I understand you were very close.”

  She chewed the inside of her cheek, fighting a nervous desire to laugh in the face of this unexpected response.

  “And I understand you’re having some issues at home.”

  Rolling her lips together, she nodded. “Yes, sir.”

  “Well.” Sully cleared his throat as if being nice was a difficult task. He fumbled with some papers on his desk. “I’m glad you’re back. It’s understandable that it will take you a few days to get caught up, to right your ship, so to speak, so I’m taking you off all assignments for the week. Catch up on your email, get your feet wet, whatever.” His continued use of clichés confirmed his discomfort. “If you need to leave early for the next few days, that’s fine. Just let me know. Next Monday, however, I expect you back at one hundred percent though. You got it?”

  She nodded. Thank heaven for small miracles.

  It turned out a low-key week was exactly what Kate needed to try and “right her ship.” Sully seemed almost human toward her for the rest of the week. Although she never asked to leave early, he sent her home each day around noon.

  She kept herself busy working in the garden. She even had time to put up several batches of tomatoes and raspberry jam, as well as a batch of sour cherry jelly. Her counters and pantry held the fruits of her labors, sparkling with dozens of jars of jewel-toned distraction—more fruit than one person could ever hope to eat.

  She wasn’t doing well, but she was surviving.

  Eileen stopped over early in the week and invited her to dinner. Kate had no interest in round two, but she didn’t want to disappoint her friend.

  They made small talk over the meal, but clearly there was something on Eileen’s mind. She’d unveil it sooner or later. Hopefully later. Much later.

  “Have you heard from Billy?” Eileen asked as she cleared away the remnants of a bland, somewhat dense macaroni and cheese. Eileen wasn’t much of a cook. Her high blood pressure ruled out the use of salt, so her food was often tasteless, but Kate appreciated the gesture.

  “No. To his credit, he’s leaving me alone.”

  “You’re not even curious how he’s doing?”

  Of course she was, but she’d never admit it, especially not to Eileen. “Not really,” she lied. “Anyway, Doug stopped by this week to check up on me and said he’s fine.”

  “Fine?” Eileen’s eyebrows shot up over the rim of her glasses.

  She ticked off Doug’s comments like items on a shopping list. “He’s trying to get sober. He’s not eating or sleeping well. He’s also devastated. Other than that, he’s fine. Okay?”

  “Am I okay?” Eileen gave as good as she got. “I’m fine. Are you okay?”

  “Yes. Fine.”

  Eileen humored her like a spoiled child. “Come sit in the living room.”

  Kate followed reluctantly. She was about to sit in the wing chair across from Eileen’s recliner, but Eileen bypassed it, moved to the couch, and patted the cushion beside her.

  “Next to me. I want to show you something.”

  Several photo albums lined the coffee table. Inwardly, Kate groaned. She didn’t want to look at old photos. Even though it was only Eileen, socializing was too draining right now. She just wanted to go home.

  Eileen picked up the first album and flipped it open. The pages were yellowed, and most of the photos were black and white. Scraps of paper marked the pages. Eileen flipped to the first one.

  “This is Michael when he was two.”

  Eileen’s son had a sweet, pudgy face and bright eyes. His hair was styled into a miniature pompadour.

  The corners of Kate’s mouth lifted. “He’s adorable.”

  Eileen beamed at the compliment, then picked up another album.

  “This is Michael in high school.” She flipped to the next marked page.

  Tall and handsome, he stood between Marty and Eileen wearing his Belleville Lions basketball uniform. The ball he held proclaimed that he’d scored one thousand points.

  Eileen ran a finger over the photo.

  “Athletic, too,” Kate said. She had a similar picture of herself and Devin, who had also been a standout high school athlete. Billy had been on tour when their son hit his milestone.

  Eileen nodded. “And smart. He went to Lehigh for engineering. Did you know that?”

  Kate shook her head.

  “Here’s the last picture I have of him.” Eileen pulled out another album. Michael stood next to a Christmas tree, looking nothing like the young man in the earlier photos, especially not the proud teenager. He wore
a faded flannel shirt, and his hair was long and stringy. A cigarette dangled from his lips. He squinted as if he’d just woken up. The transformation was startling.

  Kate found herself struggling for something to say. “He looks . . . different.”

  “Believe it or not, it was hard to notice at first. The change was so gradual. He started smoking, which was the biggest shock for me. He’d always been so health-conscious. When he’d come home from college, he’d rarely see any of his old friends. Looking at pictures, the change is dramatic. In real life, it was much more difficult to see.”

  Eileen snapped the album closed, put it on the coffee table, and turned toward Kate. “My son had a drug problem.”

  “I’d heard that.”

  “He needed help, help we couldn’t give him. It was easier for us to scold or threaten, to stick our heads in the sand. He promised he’d stop, and we believed him because we wanted to. But he didn’t. It had a grip on him stronger than anything we could’ve imagined.”

  Why Eileen felt the need to bring this up, Kate had no idea. Michael had died over twenty-five years ago.

  “He stole from us when he came home that Christmas. He took my engagement ring and my mother’s pearls. He took his father’s golf clubs. Even the television from the rec room downstairs. He pawned it all for money to buy drugs.”

  “That must’ve been hard for you.”

  She shook her head. “It was a lot harder burying my son.” Eileen’s bright blue eyes bore into Kate. “It would have been easier to call the police and have him locked up. Force him to get the help he needed, rather than to put him in the ground.”

  Kate wanted to look away, but she couldn’t.

  “Your husband is an alcoholic, Kate, and he has a drug problem. You have your head in the sand like I did. He needs help, and you and your family don’t want to see it.”