“Come inside, Kate. We’ll get your stuff later. I figured you’d be hungry, so I made us some lunch. I thought we could eat outside.”
“I’d like that,” she said, following him into the house.
“Oh, Kate, something arrived for you. It’s from Grace.” He handed her a thick white envelope. Kate opened it; there was another envelope inside with a note from Grace paper-clipped to it.
“Kate, Mac dropped this for you. I read it; I think you need to see this.”
Her hands started shaking. Not now, she thought. Not now.
…
True to his word, Nick made up the guestroom for her. It was a lovely, bright room with a sweeping view of his back yard, which was spacious and colorful. Green grass bordered with colorful flowers. Kate loved waking up and looking out her window. It was a great way to start the day.
Nick had a hectic life. His stores kept him pretty busy, so she was home alone much of the time. He often left early, sometimes before she even got up. He made sure she had keys and a list of great places to see in San Marino in case she wanted to venture out. On her first day, Kate drove into San Marino proper, stopping on Huntington Drive to do some window-shopping. She stopped in at Sweet & Savory for a cup of coffee and ended up spending much of the afternoon there, just thinking and people watching.
Kate nearly forgot the envelope Grace had sent her.
Mac.
She didn’t want to look but she knew if Grace had seen it and sent it, it was probably important. Kate arrived home, walked up to her room, and pulled the envelope from the drawer she’d slipped it into. She took it out and sat on the bed, staring at it in her hand. Finally, she turned it over and pulled out the contents. A letter dropped out. Mac’s handwriting. She reached out a shaky hand, picked it up, and started reading.
My dearest Katie,
You’re probably in California by now, on your way to a new life. I wanted to get this to you as quickly as I could, because it could be important to your future. It doesn’t matter how this happened, just know it did.
Edward signed off on Allan’s book. It’s yours, free and clear. He can’t ever come after you—my attorney made sure of that. I’ve enclosed my attorney’s card in case you need clarification on the terms of the agreement. Basically, the book is yours, lock, stock, and barrel. It’s a magnificent piece of literature and I hope you’ll publish it, for Allan’s sake as well as yours.
Katie, I want you to know that I’m sorry, for all of it. I know this doesn’t make up for what happened, but I owe you so much. This is just a small token. It was the very least I could do. I also included a severance check that Ed signed off on.
Katie, I love you more than I can even tell you, and I wish you nothing but happiness wherever this new life takes you. I will never forget our time together; it was the best time of my life.
Love, Mac
Kate’s hands were trembling; she felt tears burning her eyes.
Mac. What had he done? She opened the legal papers and another piece of paper fell out. It was a check for $100,000. She was stunned. How had he managed this? The legal papers were straightforward. Edward had signed off on Allan’s second book. It was hers to do with as she wished.
Kate picked up her phone; she wanted to call Mac, to thank him. She set it down without dialing.
No.
Distance.
No more Mac. Not ever.
Kate wasn’t sure how long she’d been sitting on her bed, but she heard a door open downstairs and she realized Nick was home. She needed to tell him. She took a couple of deep breaths and headed downstairs, taking the legal documents but leaving Mac’s letter and her check on the bed.
She met him in the kitchen.
“Katie, how was your day?” It was Nick’s usual greeting. She really enjoyed being around him. He was funny and caring, and, of course, handsome and smart. The perfect man. But was he perfect for her?
Too much, she thought, not now.
“I have a surprise for you,” she said, handing him the envelope. He took it from her, opened it, and started to read.
She spoke while he read, “I have been afraid to do anything with Allan’s book. Ed is such a slime. If the book was successful, I was certain he would do anything he could to get his hands on it, and I didn’t want your uncle’s memory tainted by that.”
Nick frowned. “How did you get this?”
Kate licked her lips nervously. “A-a coworker.”
Nick squinted his eyes, setting the document on the table. “A coworker did this, Kate? Seriously? This is pretty big stuff.”
Kate sighed. Nick deserved better than to be lied to. Well, it was a coworker, but it was more than that. He’d opened his home to her and it was his uncle’s book. He deserved the truth.
Kate ran a finger along the edge of the table. “It was Mac.”
Nick watched her intently. “Is he the man? The guy?”
Kate nodded.
From somewhere in the corner of his mind, tucked away and almost forgotten, the memory came crawling out of the darkness. Nick remembered meeting Mac—twice, in fact. Once last year right after his uncle died, and then again in Los Angeles. That awkward meeting. He remembered thinking that the man seemed sort of off—distracted or annoyed—he wasn’t sure which. Now it made sense. How could he not have seen it? The memory was there, and Nick took a moment to examine it and turn the scene over in his mind. He saw Kate again, this time differently. Slightly nervous. Of course she would be. Kate watched Nick tentatively, wondering what he was thinking. Nick turned his head, looking out the kitchen window into the yard.
He said softly, “Katie, are you sure this is over between you two?”
“Yes,” she said firmly. Nick wanted to believe her, but something in her voice wavered, just slightly.
“Kate, I’m not sure I believe you. I’m not implying that you’re lying, but I think you’re a bit too optimistic about the end of this. Certainly it’s not over for him.” Nick’s voice was unconvincingly nonchalant as he tried to be matter-of-fact. He paused while he gave Kate a moment to respond.
“I’m sure you’re right.” She finally said softly. Of course it’s not over for him, you idiot! The voice inside her head chided her.
“And he’s married.”
Kate nodded. “Yes, he is and he always will be.”
Nick ran his fingers across the sleek countertop, deeply contemplating his next words. “Look, I know you’ve been through a lot, and, at best, the entire axis of your world has shifted. It could be months before you feel like you are on solid ground again. I’d like to help you get there if I can, but I need you to be completely honest with me. I mean, I always knew there was someone else. But Mac is, well…” Nick thought for a moment. He knew Mac was a formidable opponent, and he knew that despite Kate’s protests, she probably still loved him. Jealously curled inside him, hot and obtrusive. Nick rested a hand on hers. Kate looked up and her gaze met his. Her eyes sent a hitch through his body. He left his sentence unfinished. It was enough just to have said his name that still hung between them.
Nick continued, his voice low and steady. “I’m sure by now you’ve gleaned that I’m in love with you. I’m not the best guy about voicing my feelings, and I didn’t think it was really a good idea, considering.” When Kate didn’t respond immediately, Nick pulled his hand away and ran a finger along the countertop, tracing its smooth lines. “I know your life is fairly unhinged right now and I’m happy to have you here, with me, but I would be lying if I said I wasn’t hoping for more.”
Kate’s eyes met his. “I know,” she said softly. Kate reached out a hand and touched his cheek.
Nick took a deep breath and tried to realign his senses. Telling someone you loved her without a response was not something that had ever happened to him. He wasn’t sure how to deal with it. Finally, he handed her back the paperwork. “When you’re over this man, this Mac, let’s see if there’s a future for us. But in the meantime, sounds like you
have a book to publish.”
Chapter Forty-Two
Mac sat by the window and looked out as the Connecticut–bound train gently swayed on the tracks. How long had it been since he’d been home? Months? Wait, home? Should he be really calling this place home? Home was his apartment in Manhattan with Kate. But with her gone, it wasn’t home. The other day, he’d realized her things were still there—suits and sweaters, a stray jacket. He had entertained a fleeting thought to send them back to her, and then realized that, selfishly, he didn’t really want to. He liked having some of her things in his apartment as if one day she’d return for them, although he doubted that day would come.
California.
She was gone, and, hopefully, in the throes of publishing Allan’s book. He hadn’t heard a word about it from anyone he knew, although he didn’t expect her to go through any of the usual channels to get it in print. The likelihood that she trusted anyone in publishing right now was fairly minimal.
Mac thought about Carolyn.
His wife. Well, at least on paper.
He had called her to tell her he was coming by. Ironically, she had not been surprised, despite the fact that it had been months since they’d seen each other. When he told her he was paying her a visit she had said, “Oh, all right, this sounds important. I’ll cancel my tennis game.”
And that was it.
He heard the conductor call Fairfield. He knew Bridgeport was the next stop.
Home, of sorts. The boys still had another week in school before summer break began. He would be alone with his wife, for the first time in ages.
…
Mac stood on the street outside his house. It was a lovely colonial, painted a Cape Cod blue with a wraparound porch and nestled on two acres of land. He’d loved it here once, but that had been a long time ago. He walked up the winding driveway and spotted Carolyn in the yard weeding her summer garden. Just like she always did when working outside in the sun, she wore a wide-brimmed hat. Her blond hair was tucked beneath the rim, but some stray tendrils escaped down her neck. Mac watched her for a moment and realized that she was as beautiful today as the day he’d met her years ago at college. She had been assisting one of his professors, and Mac couldn’t take his eyes off of her. She had moved with grace and poise as if she was softly keeping time to some unheard music, a soft, sweet ballad that guided her every step. Her smile that used to light up a room vanished the day their Isabella died. Even now, years later, Carolyn rarely smiled and her walk, once of lightness and air, was still heavy and burdensome.
Feeling someone watching her, Carolyn looked up and threw Mac a hesitant smile.
“Hello MacDermott, what brings you to Connecticut?” She greeted him as though he was a stranger, and in truth, he really was—at least to her. It had been years since they’d last shared a bed. Before Isabella. So, twenty—no—almost twenty–five years? He remembered vaguely what it was like to wake up beside her delicate frame and long, blond hair spread across the pillow. He couldn’t remember what it felt like to make love to her, and suddenly he found that so odd. Soon, they would be celebrating thirty years together and the last time he’d held her was, well, he couldn’t exactly remember.
He smiled as she stood up. She wore a tight set of capris and a blouse knotted at her waist that showed off her still slender figure.
“Good to see you, Carolyn,” he responded without answering her question and pecked her on the cheek.
“Seems like you’ve had a heck of a time in New York.” Carolyn began walking toward the house. Mac fell in step behind her.
“It’s been rough,” he said briskly. Rough was putting it mildly. They walked inside and Carolyn removed her hat, sending her blond hair cascading down into light waves around her shoulders. Mac used to tell her that her hair looked like spun gold. It still did. It was an odd comfort that some things never change.
“Can I get you some lemonade?”
“Sure, that would be great.”
“Wait for me in the study. I’ll be right in.”
Mac walked through the house, recalling bits and pieces of the happy life he’d spent there. He felt like a stranger suddenly, just remembering fragments of days, moments, things that had happened years ago. A lifetime ago. In between then and now, instead of finding the courage to fix what was broken, he’d found easy ways to heal his suffering.
He walked over to a shelf and pulled down a photo album. It was an album of the boys, before Isabella. Happy, smiling faces looked up at him from the pages. The photographs were starting to wear.
Carolyn breezed in with a pitcher of lemonade on a tray and two glasses.
Mac looked up. “We should have all these pictures scanned before they fade too much.”
Carolyn frowned and poured a glass and handed it to Mac. “Well,” she said tentatively, “I guess we could.” She paused and her eyes met Mac’s. “What brings you here, Mac?” Her voice had a slight bristle to it.
It was a reasonable question. These days he came home only when his boys were back from college or some other necessary family gathering. Mac took a sip of his lemonade. It was as he remembered. Sweet, slightly tangy, swiftly cool. A memory popped into his mind. He was sitting on the porch with his wife. They had just moved into the house, with boxes everywhere and the entire place in chaos. Still, she’d managed to find two glasses and make a perfect pitcher of lemonade. They had sipped it while talking about their future in this house, all of the exciting things they would do, and the happy life they would lead together.
He sat down in a tall, wingback red leather chair. It was one of the first pieces of furniture to go into this room. It had belonged to Carolyn’s father who was a wannabe author. He’d written six books sitting in that chair—none of them published.
“Carolyn, I came to apologize to you. I haven’t been a good husband.”
She looked puzzled, and Mac continued. “After we lost Isabella, I felt I lost you. You retreated from me so far I couldn’t reach you.” His voice caught for a moment, remembering how he’d desperately tried to connect with his wife after the loss of their child. “After ten years of trying to make it work, I gave in to my needs and have been having affairs ever since.”
Carolyn sipped her lemonade and said coolly, “Did you think I didn’t know that?”
Of course she did, he thought. She had dropped more than a few hints about it. He was a man with needs; she knew those needs all too well. If they weren’t being met at home, they’d surely be met somewhere else.
“Carolyn, I’m sorry.” Mac scanned her face trying to read her emotions, but Carolyn just looked blank and empty. He expected more. Surprise, perhaps? Maybe he’d underestimated her. He continued, “I gave in. I gave in to temptation. I dishonored you and our marriage and then…” He hesitated for a moment. “It was one thing to have sex, sex is sex, but then,” Mac set the sweaty glass on the table in front of him, “then I fell in love.”
Carolyn was silent. She walked over to the window and gazed out across her yard. She turned to him, then and in a voice he would never forget said, “So did I.”
Mac was startled. “What did you say?”
Carolyn walked over and set her glass down on the coffee table, and then she pulled a chair close to his. “I really didn’t give you much of a choice, did I?” she said silently. “Why didn’t you leave me years ago, Mac?”
He hadn’t expected this. He anticipated crying and arguing. But never this. “I, I guess I felt I couldn’t. I didn’t think you could take it—emotionally I mean.”
Carolyn nodded. “I wasn’t a strong woman then.”
But she sure seemed to be now, he thought.
Carolyn smiled. “I’ve, well, I’ve been in therapy the last year or so. Haven’t you noticed the difference?”
Candidly, he hadn’t—he was never home long enough to really see it like he could now. “No,” he said quietly, “I wasn’t paying attention.”
She patted his hand. “It’s okay, Mac, real
ly. I was in my own world, too.”
“You said you fell in love,” he asked, “with whom?”
She chuckled. “Jeff, my tennis instructor.”
Mac blinked. Wasn’t Jeff younger? Much younger?
“Carolyn, he’s…”
She blushed. “I know. Young. I haven’t told the boys, nor do I intend to, really. I mean, it’s sort of fun keeping it secret.”
Mac knew all about that. “So, how did it happen?”
Carolyn sipped her lemonade. “Well…” A smile appeared on her face, one he hadn’t seen in years. He assumed the smile was for Jeff. “We just got to know each other, and I realized how much I missed being with a man. You know, sex. But I was sort of conflicted because I didn’t want to have sex with my husband. Sorry,” she added quickly.
Mac shrugged. At this point, it didn’t matter, but she was having sex? Mac was stunned and oddly relieved. At least someone had been loving Carolyn when he couldn’t, or wouldn’t.
“So,” she continued, “I decided I wanted to have a life, a different life, and a friend of mine told me about this therapist in Bedford, New York. I went to see her and we talked and talked, and, well, it was really good. And then I started seeing Jeff. You know, we’d meet after the games for coffee and then coffee turned to dinner and then, well…”
“How long?” Mac asked.
Carolyn swallowed. “Almost a year.”
Jesus. He’d been stashing Kate away like some hidden vice, which in a way she was, and all this time, he could have been with her and none of this would be happening.
“Fuck,” he said and stood up, walking around the room.
“Mac, I’m sorry. I didn’t think…”
“No, it’s not that.” He turned to her. “Carolyn, I’m happy for you, really. We haven’t worked for a long time. It’s just that…”
Carolyn nodded. “Ah, the girl. You said you fell in love. Tell me about her.”
The Publicist Book One and Two Page 32
