by Fiona Barnes
"I'm only a phone call away," Cal told her. She leaned forward again, placing her hand over Cate's on the front seat cushion, next to the headrest.
"It's not the same as having you in front of me."
"I know."
The two women exchanged an entire conversation of love with only their eyes as Mike crossed traffic. He turned into the airport, blissfully unaware.
The long, picturesque straightaway leading to the first parking garage usually filled Cate with anticipation. Today, she only felt dread and sadness. Calista was one of her very favorite people; she had such a good grasp on her own life. The way she made everything seem so easy and relatable comforted Cate. She was going to miss Calli.
They found parking on an upper level. Cate emerged from the car and opened Cal's door. Mike pulled bags from the trunk. Both women looked at one another with wistful smiles, he noticed. Cate turned toward the airport, taking two steps toward the cement half-wall. Cal joined her, looking down on the runway as long planes taxied back and forth. Cate imagined families sitting excitedly beyond the tall, rectangular windows of the airport, watching for their plane. Checking their bags one more time, smiling at their children who bounced up and down, asking questions repeatedly.
Mike closed the trunk with a solid thunk. He waited patiently until both women turned from the view and started toward him.
"Thanks for everything," Cal was saying.
"Thank you for everything," Cate replied.
"Next time you come to me."
"Deal!"
Arms around one another, Calista and Cate approached the glass stairwell that led to the terminal. Mike followed, gallantly carrying Cal's bags. At the bottom of the staircase, a wide cement sidewalk followed the path they'd driven by. It was lined with young trees and lush green plants. At the double doors, Cal found her airline and entered the airport in a whoosh of warm air.
"I don't know how much farther you can follow me."
"I just want to be sure you get off the ground safely."
"I'll make sure the pilot texts you first," Cal said, a twinkle in her eye.
The two women hugged fiercely.
"Mike−" Cal reached for him as he placed her bags down. "It was great to see you."
"It's always a pleasure. Come back soon."
"Maybe the next time Cate comes down, you'll come, too." Cal's words were lost in Mike's arm due to her height. He let her go and smiled.
Calista grabbed Cate in one more hug before picking up her bags and walking toward check-in. Cate stood for a few minutes, her back to Mike, watching Cal. He took one step forward and draped his arm around her shoulder casually. She looked up at him with a sad smile. From beyond security, Cal waved one more time then was gone.
Chapter Sixty Four
Mike drove slowly back toward home, cruising at a tolerable speed. As they approached the state line, Cate's phone dinged quietly.
"The pilot?" Mike's eyes laughed.
Cate didn't answer, leaning over to retrieve her phone from the depths of the bag she carried.
"It's Nic. Tom's left therapy."
"Left?" Mike fought the urge to pull the car to the side of the highway, frustrated. Cate didn't need one more stress. Tom deserved to heal and there was only one way to get there. Mike felt this strongly, after years of listening to Cate.
"I'm calling him." She was busy dialing.
Mike drove toward the nearest exit while Cate spoke quietly into the phone. His eyes hunted for a coffee shop while he navigated the quiet, unfamiliar streets. Finding a Mom and Pop style bodega, Mike pulled in. He parked on the far side of the building near a row of pine trees and out of the way of foot traffic. Catching her eye and motioning toward the building, Mike gestured that he'd be right back. Cate nodded. Her concentration was on Nic. Before he left, Mike hit the button to roll her window down just a hint. He knew she loved the scent of pine and sometimes, the smallest kindness' were calming.
Mike returned with two large covered Styrofoam cups and a small brown paper bag decorated with a single grease stain. He juggled napkins against his chest as he opened the door and slid into the driver's seat.
Putting Cate's drink down, he pulled the lid off his and sniffed appreciatively before placing it in the cup holder next to Cate's. Opening the brown bag, he contemplated donut holes before pulling one out and popping it into his mouth. His eyes sought Cate. She wouldn't meet his gaze as she finished the call and disconnected.
Two hits−no, three−in one day would do her in.
"How's Nic?" Mike offered the bag to Cate, who shook her head.
"He's fine."
"Tom?"
"He's giving Nic excuses."
"He's no longer in therapy?"
"Missed his last two appointments and scheduled the next one well into next month."
"Why?"
"Could be money." Cate locked the phone's screen and tossed it toward her bag. "Could be discomfort, disinterest. Who knows?"
"Cate−"
"Don't start with me, Mike." Showing a minute's temper, Cate felt badly. "I just want to go home. Please."
"Cate, you can't avoid how you feel."
"I know."
"Drink your cocoa."
"I don't want cocoa!" She put her hands up toward her face, meaning to cover it. Mike sat still for a minute, staring straight ahead.
"Cate."
"What?" Her voice was small and sounded lost.
"You can't fix him."
"I know."
"Your only job here is to support him. You don't even have to do that."
"I do. I do have to do that. He's their father."
"You want them to support someone who's not always good for them?" Mike tried another tact.
Shocked, Cate stared. "Is that what you think?"
Mike looked at Cate. "I think he's a good man who's lost. I think he needs things you can't give him. And I think you need to be true to yourself first."
"That was a lot of words out of you."
"Cate, I love you."
Cate stared at Mike, then looked away, out the far window. She inhaled the pine, admiring the tall, dignified but friendly trees that always soothed her. "I know you do, Mike."
"I only want what's best for you and I'm tired of watching you hurt."
"I'm tired of watching my children hurt."
"I know. I'm sorry for that, too."
A lone tear slipped from Cate's eye and she swiped it away angrily with the back of her hand. "Everyone's pulling for him but him!"
"You can't force him to get where he needs to be."
"But−"
"You can't. You can't help someone who doesn't want to be helped."
"That's my least favorite piece of advice ever."
"It's true though."
"It's not true. I've helped him in the past−"
"And look where it's gotten you."
"He was so good for a while there. He was so...present."
"And that makes you−?"
"Sad," Cate said quietly. "I miss my friend."
Mike had no words.
Cate continued suddenly, "How much of this is my fault?" Her huge eyes beseeched Mike now.
"None of it." His furrowed eyebrows underlined the words. How could she think that?
"But what if I'd...if I'd been a better wife? Got him into therapy sooner? Supported him better? Seen it earlier?" Cate heard the emptiness in her words before she saw it reflected in Mike's eyes.
Mike just looked at her, "Do you really think you caused this?"
"His disease? No. I know I didn't cause that."
"What are you blaming yourself for then?" He sipped his coffee, content to sit and listen to her spin her wheels.
"I don't know..." Cate's finger poked at the lid of the Styrofoam cup he'd brought her.
"You want to feel in control. None of this is your fault."
"There's that word again−"
"Which word? Fault?"
"Control. I've
heard it a few too many times recently."
"You're a woman with a lot at stake," Mike told her kindly. "It stands to reason you'd want to maintain some control."
"If you're being nice, why'd you say it?"
"Say what?"
"That I want to be in control."
Mike knew Cate was tired. He also knew that the stress of Tom's diagnosis weighed on her and caused her to grow foggy in the midst of the chronic stress it amplified. Simple, routine things often had to be explained twice to a normally spectacular brain. "Because blaming yourself is a childish way to maintain control."
"Childish! Childish?"
He should've known she'd hold onto that one word. "Childish as in young-thinking. I'm not insulting you."
"You think you're not."
"I'm not," Mike spoke calmly. He looked down briefly, using the tall cup to hide the smile that threatened. "You can't blame him, there's too much resentment. So you look for anything you've done wrong because blaming yourself is something you're used to."
"Oh, you're a psychiatrist now?"
"Am I wrong?" Mike spoke easily.
"I don't know, that's the thing," Cate's words spilled out in a jumble. She wasn't sure she wanted to trust anyone, even Mike, with her inner-most thoughts and possibly her fears. She felt worn, exhausted, and wasn't sure why. She'd just finished a vacation. She'd just left her already-missed friend at the airport. Cal's absence left a hole as great as the sun after a teasingly hopeful, delightful spring day. Cate found herself looking forward to an unprecedented weekend of sleeping late and resting if she couldn't find the nerve to invite Tom to go away with her. Or wouldn't find, she thought now.
Millie would have the house spotless again and Cate hadn't even thanked her for the last time. The fridge would be packed, waiting for Cate to play, making sweet brownies, lush frosting or crunchy granola-topped muffins. Merry would be hoping for a long walk in crunchy leaves, by the shore, with a stop to watch the waves crash onto the beach. Cate's office would be clean, her sheets fresh.
Cate felt a sense of gratitude blooming.
"This is wearing you out," Mike said, as if he were seeing her thoughts before him again. They were often in sync. It didn't even faze Cate anymore.
"Yes," she whispered, weary.
"You're free this weekend?"
"Apparently."
"We could go somewhere. Get away for a few days."
Cate stared at Mike, suddenly aware just how well he could read her.
He continued, "Do you want to?"
"Sure," she replied, in a daze.
"Good," he told her, starting the car. "Now drink your cocoa."
Chapter Sixty Five
When Mike arrived early the next morning, Cate was dressed and ready. She sat at the granite kitchen island with Merry, sipping hot coffee contentedly. Her hand lazily stroked the big dog's fluffy black head, one leg kicked back and forth below her. She was staring out the French doors, looking north.
"Where do you want to go?" Mike asked Cate now.
She turned to him, thoughtful and calm, "Somewhere with a big jacuzzi−"
Mike's eyes strayed to the expansive deck beyond the French doors and Cate's laughed in response.
"−a warm bed, fresh muffins and a beautiful view."
"She only asks so much," he told Merry. The dog's head cocked inquisitively and she tapped her tail once in response. "You're sure you don't want to just stay here?"
"I'm sure."
"Then let's go."
Chapter Sixty Six
They left Mike's Camaro in the driveway, packing Cate's Wrangler with supplies, their bags, food and water.
"Up!" Cate called at last and the big dog pounced, anticipating.
Cate climbed behind the wheel. Pulling out of the drive, taking one left and two rights, she headed northeast on the highway.
"We're just driving?" she asked Mike, who was poking through her collection of CD's.
"Sure," he answered without looking up.
After an hour, she pulled into a quiet rest-stop. Parking behind the small, deserted building, she climbed out. Gesturing to Merry, Cate walked the big dog through the trees quickly after pouring a splash of water in her shiny, stainless-steel dish. Cate gave the excited girl time to sample the cool water and sniff the immediate area then hooked her back into the Jeep. Mike waited for Cate to scoop the big bowl back up and stow it. Together they walked toward the store.
Inside, Cate bought a peppermint cocoa and a Mountain bar. Mike bought two bars and a coffee.
In the parking lot again, Cate tossed her keys to Mike. He adjusted the seat quickly and climbed in.
Navigating the exit, Mike merged onto the quiet freeway and settled back.
"What's your biggest fear?" he asked, casually surveying the rearview.
"Why?" Cate looked over. "Is it behind us?"
Mike's mouth twitched, but he waited.
Cate looked toward the fabric ceiling, kicking her flip flops off and stretching her jean-clad legs out in front of her. Popping her pedicured toes on the dash, twitching and bumping them against the window, she considered.
Mike knew there would be tiny toe prints later, where her bare feet had smudged the glass. He also knew, without looking, that Cate's toes were painted the color of meadow flowers. Her jeans were faded and she'd hooked a soft blue sweatshirt loosely around her, covering a clean white tee. Her hair was pulled back in a low bun. Little curls escaped, framing her face in gentle waves and sailing over the back of her neck.
Mike contained the urge to gently tug on them. He knew they'd feel soft as a whisper and smell like coconut. His hands fisted on the steering wheel.
"I don't know, my children hurting? Losing them," Cate decided. She adjusted aviator sunglasses, glancing right as scenery flashed by.
"You don't worry about losing this?" he asked, gesturing.
"What, this trip?"
"No, this life you've created."
"Such pretty words out of you, Mike," Cate laughed softly. "No, I don't."
Mike just watched the road. Dark, close sunglasses hid any hint of his eyes. His blonde hair blew gently in the breeze from the open window. He wore button-fly jeans that fit well. A black t-shirt covered his torso, the short sleeves tight on his biceps. His face was closely shaved and he smelled clean and crisp.
"What?" she asked finally.
"You've worked hard. You don't think about what if?"
"Only enough to know what will be, will be. If the bottom falls out, there must be something better coming. And what could be better than this?" Cate was digging in her bag for a stick of gum. She clutched one side of the voluminous fabric in a fist, while the other hand poked freely with determination, combing past a hairbrush, her wallet and a notepad. "Nothing. So, I'm okay either way."
Mike nodded once, his mouth set.
Cate, finding what she wanted, held the package out to him. "Your greatest fear?"
"I don't know," he answered. His left hand crossed over the right, holding the wheel, as he reached for a stick of gum. After glancing once at the package she held, then lifting briefly to hers, his eyes never left the road again. "Thanks."
Cate nodded, moving on. "Biggest..." she paused, one finger to her lip.
Mike chose to address the previous question, turning his head to look her dead in the eye once more. "Losing you."
Cate burst out laughing. Controlling herself, she hiccuped. Mike's jaw was set, his eyes unreadable behind his sunglasses.
"I knew you'd like that," he said, resolute.
"You're just what I needed, Mike," Cate told him, looking out the window as they crossed the border. "Let's stop and take a picture, okay?"
Swinging the wheel, Mike aimed for the exit she pointed at. A huge sign welcomed them across the the state line. He drove down the one-lane road, passing tractor trailers, buses and other vehicles. Finding a parking spot, he pulled in, pushing the Jeep into first gear and turning the key. Climbing out, he rolled th
e window down part way for Merry, locked the door and pocketed the key.
"Look at this view!" Cate exclaimed, her arms wide. Nature brought her peace and made her forget everything else.
A deep hill stood before them, rolling and falling a mile below in layers of green. Neat pastures dotted with late-year meadow flowers in faded purple and bright yellow met full, lush trees coated in brilliant reds and yellows, their colors peaking beautifully.
"Want to pitch a tent right here?" Mike teased.
"I would love to!"
Mike laughed and took her in, his eyes sweeping from the tip of her chestnut-colored head to her little, painted toes and back again. Cate stood in awe, staring, pictures forgotten. Her open sweatshirt blew out behind her. The flips flops she'd remembered, for once, sat neatly under matching toes the exact color he'd imagined. She'd call it violet, lavender plum, or some name like Midnight Fantasia Madness. For his reference he thought of it as purple. The sun brought out the natural streaks in her hair. As wave after wave blew free, her hand shot up, impatiently pulling it back and away from her soft skin, peeling each lock off as it playfully grabbed at her face in the breeze. Her cheeks glowed, rosy, and her eyes were excited as she turned to him.
Farmland, he remembered. Cate was home. "Let's go find you a farmer," he tugged at her shoulder. "Then you two can run away together."
"Why are you so obsessed with my love life lately?" Cate allowed herself to be pulled toward the rest area, where there was a small outdoor restaurant.
"I'm not."
"You are."
"I'm not. Do you want to fight or do you want a milkshake?" Mike reached around to slide his wallet from a back pocket.
"This isn't a fight," Cate answered lightly, checking the menu for chocolate.
"Two chocolate shakes," Mike ordered, before she could find it.
"Do you know who owns this property?" Cate asked the young boy behind the counter.
"The state, I think," he told her, not looking up from his pad. He pushed glasses back closer to large eyes with two of his fingers. "Two shakes, okay."
Mike paid, handing Cate the first shake and a napkin, their fingers brushing.
