While Kassie cleared the table and brewed a pot of coffee, Chris read the letter from her mother. Annie rummaged through her liquor cabinet, retrieving a new bottle of Kahlua and her good crystal snifters, not the cheap ones she’d bought at a dollar store long ago for a neighborhood block party.
“Some letter,” Chris said as they re-gathered around the dining table.
“This is what I don’t get. Since she confessed so much in her letter, why did she fail to tell me she knew Mike had a vasectomy?”
“She did, Kassie, at least I think she gave you a clue. Read the postscript. Here.”
Kassie brushed away Chris’s attempt at handing her the letter. “I know it by heart: P.S. Remember, divorce isn’t the only way to cut the ties that bind. I think it’s a riddle.” She tugged on her earring.
“I do, too. Think about it. Your mother knew Mike’s vasectomy sliced your marriage in two.”
“Ew.” The two ladies cringed and crinkled their noses.
“Symbolically,” Chris clarified. “It was the ultimate betrayal of your marriage vows. I think she’s telling you that you didn’t have to divorce him yourself because he’d already done it for you.”
Kassie soaked in his theory as she swirled the Kahlua around the snifter.
“And because he’d already cut the ties, she was giving you permission to divorce him. Now that she was dead, that is.”
“Like I needed her permission.”
“Well, apparently you did,” Annie interjected.
“So, that’s the theory of the Patricia O’Callaghan case. What about Michael Ricci? Why did he hide his past? And to make matters worse, why did he play me like a fool as I jumped through hoops to get pregnant?”
“Have you seen her jump through hoops?” Annie asked Chris.
“No, but I’d like to.”
Kassie laughed along with their little joke. “Get serious, you two.” She smacked Chris alongside his arm.
“Okay. Okay. Let’s put ourselves in Mike’s shoes. You were both young and married only a couple of years,” Chris launched a possible scenario.
“And then you had the miscarriage,” Annie added.
“He had just started his business. I was doing well, too. We had our whole lives ahead of us. He knew I wanted a baby.”
“It’s pretty simple. I think he got scared,” Chris said, shrugging his shoulders.
“Scared of what?” Kassie and Annie said in unison.
“Maybe he was afraid he’d do to you what he did to Karen. That he’d walk out on you. Desert both you and a baby, another baby. He loved you and was committed to you. So he had to do something to maintain the status quo. I can understand a man doing that.” Chris paused and squeezed Kassie’s hand.
“That’s a sad, sad story, Chris.” Annie wiped away crocodile tears.
“You’re doing it again.” Kassie pounded her napkin on the table, this time with a smile and a twinkle in her eye.
“Doing what?” Annie asked.
“He defends Mike all the freakin’ time. I just don’t get it.” With that, Kassie gave up trying.
Chris’s story sounded more like fiction than non, so she filed it in her brain under “Chris defends Mike.” In the days and weeks that followed, Kassie stopped psychoanalyzing her mother and Mike, and instead decided to get on with her life.
She refused, or at least minimized, any direct interaction with Mike. She blocked him on both her personal and business phones. She put the two dozen pink roses he sent to the office on her assistant’s desk. Annie accompanied her to the house to pack her belongings, gather her important papers, collect her favorite books.
Kassie directed her attorney to move forward with the divorce. And she and Chris fell into a routine of seeing each other one night during the week at the Charlestown apartment. And on Saturdays they’d do something special, like stay overnight on the Cape or take in a ballgame if the Red Sox were in town. Sex became not-so-spontaneous, yet still maintained its ooolala distinction.
“It’s like we’re becoming an old married couple,” Chris said one night when they’d made love with the lights out.
“I promise to change that,” Kassie said.
In June, month two of their separation, Mike showed up at her office one afternoon with bad news. He’d had an appointment with Dr. Singleton that morning. Dialysis or a transplant were now on the table.
“I need your help, Kassie. Please.”
Whether it was because he showed up unexpectedly or because she and her team just landed a new account, Kassie let her guard down and agreed to go for a walk with him.
It was a perfect day for a stroll around Boston Common. The cloudless blue sky was like a transparent umbrella protecting them from the internal chaos they each must have felt in that moment, but for different reasons. They rested a spell on a bench on which Kassie staked her life savings was the same one Robin Williams and Matt Damon had shared in Good Will Hunting. Mike had his doubts.
“Just go with it,” Kassie urged him with a friendly shoulder nudge. “It’s a sign. Good karma.”
And so it was. Short of getting on his knees, Mike tried to make amends as best as he could.
“It’s not just because I’m scared. I’ve had a lot of time to think over the past couple of months. When your fate is staring you in the face, you realize the error of your ways.”
Kassie let him talk. She figured his words were mutually cathartic. And maybe Chris was right about Mike’s fears. She was afraid, too, for Mike. What did the prospects hold for him? Was it fair she could see a bright future with Chris, yet Mike’s tomorrows were cloudy?
“What about a donor? There’s a national list. You must get on it. Now.”
“I’m glad you brought that up.”
Kassie reassured Mike she’d at least think about getting tested. How could she not at least offer to consider it when he sounded both contrite and pitiful? Yet, before proceeding down the testing path, she sought guidance from her three closest advisors.
“What are you crazy? What if you match? Are you going to give one of your healthy kidneys to a man who wouldn’t give you a baby? The injustice of it all,” Annie argued with Kassie each morning at breakfast and each night before bed.
On the flip side when she suggested the possibility to Chris one night in bed at the apartment, he said he admired her for considering it. “I’ve been working with Mike for a couple of months now. He’s not such a bad guy.”
“You weren’t married to him.”
“True, but you took vows, for better or worse, in sickness—”
“Not sure you’re in the best position to quote my vows to me.” Kassie rolled on top of him.
“Point taken.”
“But you think I should do the test?”
“What do you have to lose? Oops, scratch that.”
“Would you donate a kidney to someone?”
“That depends. For you, my mother, my father? Almost certainly. For a not-so-immediate family member? Hypothetically, I probably would.”
Kassie interlaced her fingers with his and squeezed. “You, Christopher Gaines, are a wonderful, caring man. Which is why I love you.”
“I don’t know if it’s Annie’s influence, or the absence of Mike’s, but you’ve become more compassionate in the last couple of months. You’ve come a long way on the road to forgiveness. I’m very proud of you. If you do this for Mike, you’ll be giving him the greatest gift you’ve ever given him. Which is why I love you.”
With a split decision, Kassie visited her mother’s grave searching for a tie-breaker. Sitting on the dry ground hardened by the June sun, she read aloud the infamous letter which occupied a permanent home in a zippered compartment in her bag. This time rather than focus on the postscript, the words, “set you free” nagged at her. She wondered if Mike would forgive her infidelity if she gave him one of her kidneys. A fair exchange, she figured, though a steep price to pay for her freedom.
The verdict was in. She calle
d Dr. Singleton.
Wouldn’t you know? After all her consternation, Kassie wasn’t a match.
Annie didn’t hide her relief. “Oh, thank God. I thought I would have to lock you in a closet or move you cross country or maybe drug you. Yeah, that’s what I’d do.”
“The problem still exists, Annie. I hoped if I could be Mike’s donor, I’d never have to feel guilty about Chris or about divorcing him at a time when he’s frantic and scared.”
“Frankly, my dear, you have nothing to feel guilty about. There is one way. It’s as plain as the ring on your finger. By the way, why are you still wearing that thing?”
“I’m still married to the man.”
39
Here Comes the Son
Getting on a plane to meet Karen was Annie’s big idea. To say Kassie struggled with it would be an understatement. She had barely recovered from the incident when Annie convinced her to put on her big-girl pants and do the right thing. Where had she heard that one before?
Just for jollies, Kassie checked the list of the fifty states she kept in her planner. She’d visited thirty-eight for business or pleasure. New Mexico was not one of them, nor would she be able to cross it off her bucket list, also in her planner. She offered to meet Karen in Elephant Butte, but no, Karen insisted Chicago the day after the fourth of July would be mutually beneficial. After all, it would mean just a two-hour flight for Kassie, and Karen would be there attending a sorority reunion.
“It’ll be a win-win, Kassie, you’ll see I’m right.” Karen shut the door on the possibility of Kassie getting a first-hand view of what Mike’s monthly stipend had supported for over eight years.
“I’ll do anything to help Mike,” Karen bubbled when Kassie explained Mike’s situation over the phone.
“Does that include promising not to tell him about our meeting?”
“Yes. I know Mike. He’d step in and derail it.” Though Karen chuckled, Kassie cringed and flipped her the bird. How dare you say you know Mike? He’s still my husband.
“Remember, you catch more flies with honey,” Annie warned her to leave Bad Kassie behind as she packed for the trip.
As the plane approached O’Hare, Kassie closed her eyes and meditated, breathing in the cabin’s stale, polluted air, exhaling all the grief Mike had heaped upon her.
Maybe the plane’s next flight will transport my inner hell to a place far, far away.
Her hands clutched the armrests as the plane touched down. If she were to save Mike, she knew at some point she’d have to let go.
Kassie gazed around the sprawling hotel lobby with its palest of yellow walls, white accents, gold fixtures, stone-cold marble everywhere. Clearly Mike’s money subsidized Karen’s trip, even if he didn’t know it. He probably wouldn’t care if he did. She’d shrugged when Karen chose the five-star hotel. Why not? She picked the city.
As agreed, Kassie left a message for Karen at the front desk letting her know she’d arrived. There was no reciprocal message waiting for her, though she confirmed Karen had checked in as well. Kassie could’ve just called her room or her cellphone, but that would’ve been against the rules. And right now, Karen held all the cards.
Later that evening, Karen played one of them. A little after ten, with the Cubs about to score in the bottom of the ninth, tie game, bases loaded, two outs, Kassie heard a soft swish sound coming from the direction of her hotel room door. She swiveled the television so she could watch the action as she walked backward to retrieve whatever had been delivered.
Oh great! The Cubs won. Nice.
She turned off the tube, grabbed a water, and curled up on the king-sized bed. The envelope was small, pale blue, and sealed. It was addressed to Kassandra O’Callaghan, not Kassandra Ricci or Kassie Ricci, or any combination that would include the name Mike claimed Karen once wanted but could not have. How strange life was when you think hard about it. Karen had what Kassie wanted but could not have. Maybe that made them even.
Nevertheless, if Karen intended to send Kassie more than one message, she’d succeeded. This was her ballgame.
Kassie stared at the note. Unlike the plain white paper Karen used in her letters to Mike, this stationery aligned more with the Karen Copperman she’d visualized since learning about her existence three months ago. Its texture felt rich and her name, embossed in deep royal-blue script, screamed “look at how important I am.” Pretentious. Entitled. It was the kind of stationery Kassie imagined she would’ve had to buy had she stayed at Mizzou and in the sorority. A rite of passage, she presumed. Don’t they ever grow up?
Kassie was far from impressed. Before she left Boston, she predicted to Annie that she wouldn’t like this woman and, so far, Karen lived up to Kassie’s expectations.
Yet, Karen’s note was simple enough. Even friendly.
So thrilled, Kassie, you agreed to meet here in Chicago. You won’t be disappointed. Why don’t you come to my suite at eleven? I’ll order brunch for us. How do mimosas sound?
She signed it, For Mike’s sake, Karen. Room 1422
Suite? If Kassie weren’t on a secret mission, she’d call Mike right then and tell him to stop funding Karen’s lifestyle. Short of that, she was relieved she hadn’t signed the note KR.
Truth be known, Kassie was nervous about meeting Karen. After a night of tossing and turning, she got up early and went to the gym to work off some adrenaline. She grabbed a grande English Breakfast tea at Starbucks in the lobby, read USA Today, and still had three hours to kill before making her way to room 1422. On her way back to her room on the sixth floor, she noticed there was no floor designated thirteen. That meant Karen’s room was on the thirteenth floor. Kassie felt her right eye and upper lip twitch. An omen? Tell me this isn’t so.
Kassie had to do something to get on a level playing field with Karen. She tried on three outfits before deciding on white pants and a red silk top. As a lifelong marketer, she knew the power of red, especially in negotiations. But this wasn’t a negotiation. It was a fact-finding mission and success would be achieved if and only if she walked away with the goods. Who was Mike’s son and where was he? She replaced the red top with a striking, emerald green blouse with a stand-up collar that accented her shapely silhouette.
She checked to be sure she had a small notebook and pen in her purse. Of course, she did. Like other important things, she never left home without them.
The latch propped open the door to Karen’s suite. When Kassie knocked, Karen greeted her with a sing-song, “Come on in, the door’s open.” And right on cue, two servers arrived behind Kassie with carts, plural, overflowing with typical brunch fare. The sound of a cork popping accompanied the competing aroma of Eggs Benedict, bacon, waffles and maple syrup.
“You’re right on time,” Karen said. “Mike always said you were a detailmonger.”
All Kassie could do at that point was shake her head and apply the requisite two-cheek kiss, hoping Karen would keep the Mike-always-saids to a minimum.
“What a spread. It looks wonderful. Thank you.” Ahead of time, Kassie had warned her alter ego to be polite, be a lady. And to focus. Remember the end game, which had broadened to include finding a donor for Mike, not just divorcing him.
Kassie shouldn’t have been surprised when she met Karen. Even after all those years, Karen still resembled the co-ed in the photo she’d seen on Mike’s desk, with her bright eyes and cheerful smile. Kassie had to admit if they stood next to each other, they could be mistaken as sisters, or at least related in some way. Bad Kassie wondered if being screwed in more ways than one by the same guy also evened the score.
What surprised Kassie was how likable Karen was on first blush. How could this be? Wasn’t she Kassie’s arch enemy, her competition? The woman who captured her husband’s heart, as well as his manhood.
Karen spent much of the time over brunch, which the servers had set up on a table for two overlooking the Chicago skyline, talking about her late husband. How much she adored him, how devastated she was when he
’d died. She hadn’t been skiing since.
“I know Mike has been sending you money since Barry died.”
“Oh, yes. Mike . . .” Karen said gazing out the huge picture window. “How is he, really?”
“He could use your help. We could.” Kassie twirled her wedding ring.
And with that, Kassie opened a door she could not close.
Karen walked them down memory lane, sharing her side of the “Mike and Karen Ricci” story. Though Kassie had heard most of it before, she didn’t interrupt her. It was comforting for Kassie to know there were some things Mike did not fabricate.
“I was devastated when my parents pulled me out of school. Away from Mike. I loved him beyond belief and wanted his baby. We wanted to get married, but everyone said we were too young. We’d ruin our lives.” Karen shook her head as tears trickled down her right cheek.
“Excuse me. I think I need a tissue.”
“Get one for me, too.” Kassie could feel a sudden crack in her heart as she shared an overwhelming sense of loss with a woman she begrudged less than an hour before.
“What happened to your son, do you know?”
And this is where Mike and Karen’s story diverged.
“My parents insisted I give the baby up for adoption. And so I did. But not in the conventional way.”
“What do you mean?”
“Let me be perfectly, absolutely clear. Mike knows nothing about this.” Karen stood up and paced the room. Kassie squirmed in her high-back chair uncertain about where the conversation was heading.
“Please sit, Karen, you’re making me nervous.”
“You know I was in a sorority. That’s why I’m here this weekend. Our annual reunion.”
“Go on.”
“One of my sisters, sorority sisters, was graduating and getting married just before I was to give birth. She offered to adopt my baby.”
Kassie froze. She struggled to process the words she’d just heard.
“You know who raised your son?”
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