by Karen Cimms
She started to cry.
“Okay,” he said. “Give me that.” He wrested the fork from her fingers. Then he turned off the grill, piled the hot dogs onto the plate, and balanced it on top of the empty pot. He opened the backdoor and held it, waiting for her to enter.
“Daddy’s home!” Rhiannon cried from the kitchen.
Thunderous footsteps were heard on the stairs.
“Hey, Dad,” shouted Devin. “Hot dogs!”
He grabbed a roll.
Rhiannon wrinkled her nose. “I hate hot dogs. Besides, I already ate.”
Kate was too aggravated to argue.
“Then you can sit here while the rest of us eat,” Billy said.
“Why? I have homework.”
“Your homework can wait until after dinner. Sit down. I haven’t seen you for a few days.”
“That’s not my fault.” Rhiannon glared at her mother, indicating she knew exactly whose fault it was.
Kate wasn’t in the mood for a go-round with either of them. She pulled off the boots and hung her wet coat on the rack by the back door.
“Where were you?” Devin asked, already reaching for another hot dog.
“I had business in the city.”
Kate coughed, and Rhiannon muttered something under her breath.
“You have something to say, young lady?” Billy asked.
Her head shot up, surprised, but she gave him a smile that matched his own.
“No, Daddy. I’m just glad you’re home.”
“I thought so.”
Kate spread some homemade relish on her hot dog and took a bite. She chewed and chewed, but the thing didn’t want to go down.
“Your homework finished?” Billy asked Devin.
“Yep, did it as soon as I got home.” He gave his sister a smug look. She made a face and rolled her eyes.
“Good. Then you can go grocery shopping with me after dinner.”
“Grocery shopping?” Devin asked, his mouth hanging open. “Why do I have to go?”
“Someone needs to show me where the store is.” He smiled at Kate, who was too surprised to respond.
“But that’s Mom’s job,” Devin continued.
Rhiannon snorted softly.
“You can do the dishes,” Billy told her.
“What? That’s Mom’s job,” she cried, truly indignant.
Devin smirked into his plate.
“Speaking of jobs,” Rhiannon said, “did Mom tell you she got a job?”
Kate shot her daughter a warning glance, but it was too late.
“What?” Billy looked from Rhiannon to Kate.
“Yeah,” Devin chimed in. “Mom’s going to be a reporter.”
“Not a reporter, jerkface. She’s going to be a typist.” Rhiannon was eager to correct her brother.
Billy’s smile faded. “You got a job?”
She fidgeted in her seat, wistful for the days before her children could speak.
“I did,” she said, her voice low. She cleared her throat and stuck out her chin. “For the Belleville News and print shop.”
“You’re going to be a reporter?” He seemed more than a little surprised.
“I’m just going to work the counter at the print shop a few days a week for Mr. Holmes. Do some proofreading and typing for the paper, like birth announcements and weddings, stuff like that.”
He pushed his plate with the half-eaten hot dog away. “You don’t need a job. You can call him tomorrow and tell him never mind.”
“But I do,” she insisted. “Besides, I want this job.”
He seemed about to argue but let it go. “We’ll talk later.” He turned to his son. “You ready there, buddy?”
Devin nodded, his cheeks puffed out with a fourth hot dog.
Rhiannon started clearing the table, while Devin went to fetch his boots and jacket. Kate stood and began gathering the rest of the plates.
Billy came up behind her and put his hand on her arm. “Let her do it. You look tired.”
He looked tired too, but she wasn’t about to exonerate him. Not yet, anyway.
He drew a finger along the side of her face. “I’m sorry.” His voice was so low she could barely hear him.
She owed him an apology too and would have given it—three days earlier, before he’d walked out on her. Now, she wasn’t in the mood to apologize.
He didn’t seem to expect one, though. He kissed the top of her head and slipped into his jacket. “Let’s go!” he called to Devin before telling Rhiannon to make her mother a cup of tea.
“What am I, the goddamn maid now?” Rhiannon said.
He rounded on her. “What did you say?”
“Nothing,” she muttered, running hot water into the sink. “When are we going to get a dishwasher?”
“Keep it up,” he warned, “and I’ll tell you where I just found one.”
Kate hid a smile at the long, low sigh from her daughter.
After a hot bath, Kate climbed into bed. She was reading when she heard the truck pull into the driveway. The deep bass of male voices could be heard coming from the kitchen below her as they put the groceries away.
The light was out, but she was still awake when Billy came to bed. He undressed quietly and climbed in beside her. She welcomed the familiar creak of the bedsprings and shift of weight beside her in spite of her residual anger. She had settled in far over on her side with barely an inch to spare, her back to him.
He was still for a while, then moved closer. “Katie.”
He lay his hand atop the blanket covering her. She didn’t move. He slid his hand underneath and touched the bare skin of her arm.
“Babe. You awake?”
She didn’t answer, so he moved his hand up and down her arm, gently.
“Katie.” His face, clean-shaven just days ago, bristled with whiskers against her ear. “I need you.”
She let out a small sigh of exasperation.
He ran his hand over the curve of her waist and down her hip until he reached the hem of her nightgown. He slipped his hand beneath it. He traced his fingers over her back in small circles, just the way she liked. When she didn’t respond, he moved his hand across her belly, then up, cupping her breast.
“What are you doing?” she asked finally.
His lips trailed along the curve of her neck and stopped just below her ear, where he planted soft, gentle kisses. She cursed the goose bumps that popped up under his touch.
“I need you,” he said. “Please don’t shut me out.”
She rolled toward him. “Are you serious? Shut you out? You walk out on me, leaving me with nothing but eighteen dollars in the bank, no food in the house, no gas in my car, and you don’t even call to tell me where you are or if you’re okay? And four days later, you just show up and go to the grocery store and now you’re the big hero, and I’m supposed to lie here and spread my legs like I’m grateful?”
“Don’t be crude.”
His response took her by surprise.
“You know it’s not like that,” he said. “It’s never like that.”
He kept his hand on her waist and pulled her closer.
“I was too angry,” he whispered. “It scares me when I get that angry. I had to go.” His voice was so soft he could have been speaking words of love, not justifying his actions. “Please, Katie. I need you.” He kissed her temple, his whiskers tickling her cheek as he moved closer to her lips. “I’m sorry. I was wrong. I shouldn’t have left. I was just so mad. I thought I should go before I did something.”
She pushed against his chest, but he held her tightly.
“Baby, please, I need you.” He sighed against her throat.
She pushed again, but not as hard. It was clear, no matter her opinion on the matter, that he meant to have her. And he was impossible to resist.
Her anger and resolve melted under the heat of his touch. He was on top of her now, her nightgown scrunched up about her neck, kissing and touching her, wearing her down to the place they
could always go no matter what, the place they could get lost in each other and damn the rest of the world.
He knew she’d give in, and she did. And all of the last few days were forgotten, at least until morning.
Kate woke to the smell of coffee. When the edge of the bed dipped, she opened her eyes slowly. Billy handed her a cup. Surprised, she blinked several times, looking between him and the cup, and then nearly spilled it when she saw what time it was.
“I already took them to school.”
She pulled herself into a sitting position and narrowed her eyes.
“Grocery shopping, taking the kids to school, making me coffee—are we trading places?” Her voice was raspy with sleep. “I told you, it’s just a part-time job.”
“And I told you that you don’t need to work.”
She gave him a baleful look over the top of the cup.
“I’m sorry about the other day.”
“So am I. I don’t want you to be a plumber.”
The edge of his mouth curled into the grin she loved so much. It faded before he spoke again. “About a month ago, I got an offer from Pandemonium to go on tour, but I turned it down. I was trying to focus on my own music . . .”
“It’ll happen. It will.”
“I don’t know.” He shook his head and sighed. “Anyway, when I left the other day, I drank too much, and when I’d sobered up, I went into the city to see if I could hook up with their manager, see if they’re still interested.”
She cringed. A tour meant he would be away for weeks at a time.
“They hired someone already, but I kind of wore him down, and . . .”
She exhaled slowly. “When do you leave?”
“Tuesday.”
“How long?”
“Three weeks in Canada.”
Not too bad. She nodded.
“Then five weeks in Europe, a week in Russia, a week in Japan, then back to the West Coast to start the US leg of the tour.”
“What?” Several drops of coffee splashed onto the comforter.
He took the cup from her. “I gotta take it. It’s a good opportunity and good money.”
“That’s such a long time,” she said, trying to tamp down her anger and disappointment. Anger at herself for pushing him to this.
“The good news, however . . .”
She folded her arms crossly and frowned.
“ . . .the good news is that I called a couple of contractors to come out today and give us some prices on the addition we’ve talked about. With this tour, we can afford it now. We’ll add on to the kitchen, put a bathroom upstairs for the kids, and add a master bedroom with your own bathroom.”
All very nice. But still.
“Would you skip the tour if I told you I don’t mind one bathroom for four people?”
He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “No, and you’d be lying. Besides, I already signed the contract. I have to go.”
“That’s that, I guess.” She started to get up.
“So now, you see, you don’t have to go to work. There’ll be plenty of money.”
“You’ll give me the checkbook?”
He looked for a second as if he might lose his temper again. He shook his head. “I told you I’ll take care of that. I’ll have money deposited into your account regularly. You won’t have to worry.”
“Fine. But just so you understand: I already accepted the job. I’m taking it.”
Over the next eight years, Kate regretted taking that job many times over. But never did she regret it as much as she had over the past ten months.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Jessie Jones, 1955 Beechnut Street, Houston, Texas
Kate didn’t need the paper anymore. She had long since committed the address to memory. It had become a talisman. It not only gave her courage, but it kept her blood simmering at a low boil, right where she wanted it.
The plane lurched as it touched down. Her stomach was in knots. She’d told no one what she was doing or where she was going, and she’d almost turned back several times during her drive to the jetport. She’d either lost her mind or found her strength. Either way, she’d come too far to turn back.
She collected her bag from the overhead compartment and headed for the exit.
“Welcome to Houston,” chirped a stewardess with a painted-on smile. “Enjoy your stay.”
“We’ll see,” Kate answered honestly.
Less than an hour later, she was sitting in a taxi in front of 1955 Beechnut Street, a tan stucco, three-story apartment unit in a working-class neighborhood.
“Promise you’ll wait for me,” she implored the driver for the third time. “I wrote down your name and license number.” She tried to sound threatening or at least like she meant business.
He glanced at her in the rearview mirror, then swiveled until he was facing her. “I’m not going anywhere. But just so’s you know, it’s twenty-four dollars an hour for waiting.”
“I won’t be that long. If I am, call the police.”
There was no way of knowing what she would find or the reception she would receive. She didn’t even know if Janet, or Jessie, or whatever the hell she was calling herself, was home.
She took a deep breath but made no move for the door.
“Do you want me to open the door for you?” he asked.
She shook her head and put her hand on the door handle. The driver watched her in the rearview mirror.
“Here goes nothing.”
The building had a single entrance with a glass vestibule. Inside the vestibule was a list of names and call buttons. She scanned the first line. Nothing. Near end of the second row, she saw it: Jones/Donaldson, Apt. 3G
She stepped back. Janet could be using either name, but seeing both names like that made her wonder if Billy’s father also lived here. Why hadn’t she thought of that? This was a bad idea. She should just leave now, head back to the airport.
She glanced at the cab parked on the street. The driver gave her a thumbs-up and flicked his hand, motioning her forward.
Now what? She could push the button to be let inside, but when Jones/Donaldson asked who she was, what would she say? Hello, I’m your long-lost daughter-in-law here to give you hell.
A teenaged boy sauntered into the vestibule on the way out of the building. Kate stood to the side, reading the list of names, and once he passed, she scooted in. He hadn’t even noticed her, his head bobbing rhythmically to the music blasting through his earbuds.
An elevator was located directly in front of her; corridors extended to the right and left. The hallways were dark and smelled of mildew, cigarettes, and the unmistakable combination of body odor and urine. Trying to calm her jittery nerves, she pushed the button for the elevator and waited. It made no sound. After trying two more times, she walked toward the end of the hall until she came to a set of double doors that led to a staircase.
Outside, the air had been steamy. Inside, it was stifling. How could anyone over fifty climb up and down three flights of stairs in the southeastern Texas heat? Kate huffed her way upward, focusing on why she was here. She was frightened and nervous, but she was also angry as hell. And this time, she was going to do something about it.
The third floor didn’t smell quite as bad as the lower level, although it was far from pleasant. Stained beige carpet contrasted with the apartment doors, which were painted a bright, beachy turquoise.
Kate stood outside 3G, drawing on her anger to strengthen her. Loud country music seeped through the door.
A tiny voice inside her spoke as she lifted her hand to knock: It’s not too late to turn and run.
“Yes, it is,” she answered. “It’s twenty years too late.”
She knocked. Nothing. After a minute, she knocked again, harder this time.
The music stopped. “Jesus Christ.” She heard a woman’s muffled voice. “Hold your horses.”
Heels clacked angrily across a tile floor. The door flew open.
“Yeah?”
Kate recognized her immediately. She had aged, of course, and she looked as though she lived hard, despite her obvious use of Botox and lip injections. Given her unnaturally large, high breasts for a woman her age, it wasn’t difficult to figure out how she spent a good portion of the money her son was giving her.
The one time Kate had seen Janet Donaldson, the woman had been wearing sunglasses. It was her eyes she found most unsettling now, a soft blue-gray with flecks of gold—Billy’s eyes. A cigarette dangled from her lips, and she tightened the belt on her hand-painted silk kimono. Her hair was still long and blond, and she was made up like a drag queen.
Kate tried to speak, but nothing came out. Instead, she coughed.
“Can I help you?” Janet looked about two seconds away from slamming the door in her face.
It was now or never.
“Sorry. I had something in my throat.” She coughed again, although she didn’t have to fake it. The cigarette smoke floated around her head, burning her throat and eyes. “Jessie Jones, right?”
“Who wants to know?” She took another drag, stuck out her bottom lip, and blew it straight up into the air over her head.
“And you’re also Janet Donaldson?” She felt braver now, even prepared to stick her foot in the door if need be.
Janet narrowed her eyes, looking at Kate as if trying to place her, then bent down suddenly to grab a small black cat that was about to stroll out into the hallway.
“Whaddaya want? I ain’t got all day,” she snapped, straightening up.
“I won’t keep you long, I promise.” Kate forced herself to smile. “May I come in? I have a business proposition for you.”
Janet eyed her narrowly, squinting from the smoke that appeared to be burning her eyes as well.
“May I?” she mimicked Kate in a high-pitched, nasally whine. She laughed at her little insult, then leaned against the door. “Business proposition, huh?”
“I promise I won’t stay too long. In fact, I have a cab waiting. So the longer it takes, the more it’s costing me.”
Janet stood back, opening the door wider. “C’mon in, then. Far be it from me to cost you any money.”
Kate snorted involuntarily. Oh, honey, you’ve cost me plenty. It was the reminder she needed. The rest of her nervousness evaporated.
