by Fiona Barnes
"Millie!" Cate said, delighted with her brain.
"You pay Millie enough for a team of cleaners."
"She does the work of a team," Cate replied. "When Cal visited, she filled the house with flowers."
"Oh?"
"All different kinds. She found roses."
"She's good." Melissa was back to her computer, the pencil finding a home in her mouth again.
"This morning, in fact, there were more flowers," Cate said quietly.
"Oh?" Melissa looked up, hearing a wistful tone in Cate's words.
"A beautiful huge arrangement."
"Tom?"
"Mike."
"Ohh−"
"The card said shoot the moon."
"What does that mean?"
"It's something he told me the other day. He means to go for it, live life."
"It's sound advice."
"Yes." Cate was in another world.
Melissa shook her head, "You and your men." She laughed and flipped her wrist delicately, checking her watch out of habit. "You've got a show. Go shoot your moon on stage. Mary will be in your office after you tape."
"Here's your hat.." Cate stood, grumbling playfully.
"Have a good show."
"I always do."
"Cate−"
"Yes?" Cate, at the door, turned.
"I'm so glad you're back."
Cate blew Melissa a quick kiss, her heart light. "Thanks. Me, too."
Chapter Seventy Three
On set, Cate was breezing through instructions regarding easy dinner plans for a surprise houseful or a quiet, hopefully peaceful, pre-holiday evening. She had a tall pot of chowder simmering, with lobsters and corn on the cob ready to be popped on. For now they stood by, looking delicious and festive, if unexpected, for the season.
"I realize it seems like an expensive dinner; it's not. Lobsters are sometimes on sale or you can often buy them the next day for less. Ask at your local fish market. The only other problem is that some folks don't care for the smell of seafood, or are allergic, so ask your guests before you start cooking."
Cate chopped large cloves of garlic as she talked. As she finished that task, she spoke again. "Mussels are another treat that are so easy to prepare. A pound is usually less than five dollars at your local market. Scrub them in the sink, then steam them, covered, over boiling water."
She poured a pound into a shiny double boiler, the top half a quirky, old-fashioned cooking colander. "Only for a few minutes, though−usually three to five. Maybe a few more. When they open, they're ready. Eat them while they're hot."
The trick to feeding a group is offering many different textures, flavors and courses. Your guests will feel fuller faster and be happily satisfied. You'll be better able to afford dinner and feel like a wonderful hostess. Because you are!"
Cate stopped to take a breath, moving to the stainless steel refrigerator, "To prepare a delicious dipping sauce for your lobster, melt about one tablespoon of butter per person. You can also drip it over your corn." Closing the fridge, she returned to the cooktop. "For a delicious boost to your mussels, add garlic to the same pan and let it sauté over low, low heat. You can allow the butter to brown or you can take it off and serve it immediately, when it's golden."
Cate peeled a fat mussel from its shell with her fingers, dipping it into the warm butter and delicately eating it.
"Perfect." Content, Cate smiled at the camera. "Later this week, I'll show you how to make an easy red sauce for unexpected company. On Tuesday's show, we'll make some snacks you can prep ahead when you have a houseful−homemade puddings, rhubarb muffins and oatmeal or granola. We'll have an organizing expert here to talk about how to fit a lot of friends under one roof during this busy season."
Cate paused, dipping a clean table spoon into the chowder and tasting, "Wednesday, we're baking bread. It will make your home smell delicious and you won't believe how easy it is. No bread maker required! It's only flour and salt, yeast, warm water and sugar. We'll add oats and nuts and all kinds of healthy and yummy treats. Deni Houston will be here to inspire us with a simple workout. Delicious! Tune in then. You're going to love it!"
When the signal came, Cate's smile relaxed. Another show dropped. She was diligently heading into another busy holiday season and Cate was ready. In fact, she was pumped.
Chapter Seventy Four
In her dressing room, Cate changed back into jeans and a cozy sweater, pulling on low boots and tying up her hair.
In her office, Cate found Mary patiently waiting, a tidy pile of papers in her arms, fountain pen at the ready.
"What do we do first?" Cate grinned at Mary, delighted.
A dazzling smile lit Mary's face. "Melissa told me to be extra good to you. You've got messages. Rick O'Shea called−"
"Rick!"
"He said you'd know what it was in reference to."
Rick called when he had downtime, which wasn't often. He and Cate shared a long history and a deep friendship had grown because of it.
Rick had lost his mother when he was only eight. He'd gone on to serve overseas−twice−losing his entire squad once. He'd been gravely wounded and then had missed his father's funeral. Diagnosed with PTSD himself, he became Cate's go-to when she wasn't sure what to think of Tom.
Rick had phoned at just the right time. He instinctively seemed to know when Cate needed him. And she had, Cate realized. She could speak honestly to Rick, and only Rick, about Tom. Rick would offer insight and support without question, his green eyes boring into hers in a way she found reassuring. She felt like he really heard her. He knew Tom, he knew the disease and he was honest and insightful, offering sage wisdom to his friend.
Maybe Rick had time for dinner, she thought, reaching for her phone and hurriedly dialing. He had to eat. Maybe they could catch up−
"Hey," Rick answered seriously.
"Hi," Cate almost squealed. "You're free?"
"For now."
"Dinner?"
Rick momentarily bit down on any comebacks their friendship called for. "Eight o'clock."
He left her with that. Cate's head reeled.
Chapter Seventy Five
When Rick left, after dinner, the moon was out. A slim band encircled it, offering the promise of snow. Clouds obscured any stars, making the evening seem suddenly dangerous.
His presence never failed to warm her. Rick had spoken comfortably, catching Cate up on his busy life as a civilian cop and teasing her about how he was younger than herself. As he'd spoken, he'd gestured with the bottle of beer he held, standing in the kitchen, his legs spread in a wide stance.
"You're just a babe, I know," she'd answered, pouring coffee after a hearty dinner of thick steak and crispy, homemade french fries.
Now Rick's tail lights eased into the night as Cate stood on the porch for a minute, wrapped in a loose blanket of scratchy wool and thick socks of the same material. She scented the air, waiting for Merry, shuffling her feet to keep warm. Cate felt content. Her belly was full, she was pleasantly tired, and she'd enjoyed a good night catching up with a better friend.
Cate smiled to herself as she once more pictured Rick loping off her porch and striding to his Charger without much of a backward glance.
Merry tucked her tail under her, giving Cate her signal the night was over. The big dog jolted back to Cate and catapulted up the wooden porch stairs, breezing by Cate and pausing by the door. Pulling the warm wrap tighter around herself, Cate gave the moon one last look and turned to go inside.
Chapter Seventy Six
Cate felt mellow. She was entering a time of great indulgence, of great understanding−which often happened after she took two lone minutes to care sweetly for herself.
Cate sent Calista a gorgeous bouquet of thank you flowers in bright reds and fiery oranges.
She called her favorite uncle, Uncle Tony. He was traveling through Europe currently. Cate only wanted to hear his voice. Tony was a helicopter pilot and sent her beautiful photos of
all his world travels, as seen through his artist's eyes. A traditional lamp post dotted with snow flakes in Italy. The crispy baguette sticking out of someone's tall bag at a cafe table in Paris, passerby caught in the distance beyond it. The Grecian coastline, an Irish pub.
And always, for her, the water. Cate had a stunning collection of Uncle Tony's sea shots framed in the dining room. It had started casually when Tony had visited Australia and sent Cate a photo breathtaking enough to be a postcard. The tradition continued throughout the world to the most recent: a view from cliffs overlooking the powerful Pacific. When Tony saw the first few framed in beautiful custom dark-wood frames, he had smiled a secretive smile. Cate knew Tony felt included then, twenty-something years after he'd met and married Cate's beautiful Aunt, Cate's mother's sister.
Her uncle was a jovial man with broad shoulders and a thick head of dark hair. His smile was infectious, his laugh made her feel protected and included. When Tony wasn't abroad, his home base was the middle of the country with her beautiful Aunt Vivian. Their home was one of Cate's very favorite places to visit.
Finished returning phone calls and texts from what felt like every other delighted and loyal friend she had, Cate felt, she sat back, satisfied.
She automatically ran through her schedule, relaxing. Cate would work for the next few weeks, filming for the upcoming holiday and planning ideas for the new year. She'd come home late on that last Tuesday night, as they didn't tape Thanksgiving day or the day before. Instead, they chose to give their faithful crew an extended holiday weekend.
By that Wednesday night, Cate's cozy home would be full of festivity, her annual Open House in full swing with Nic playing live. Al would invite her bubbly girlfriends, who usually ended up dreamily listening to Nic and his band. Tom would arrive early and stay late. Mike would swing by.
That was only the beginning of an impressive, and sometime celebrity, guest list Cate could invite but chose not to. She felt Thanksgiving was for close friends and family. Others who were without were always welcome for a meal and sent home with plates piled with leftovers.
Cate's team was always included, from Ralph to Melissa, even Jessica, and everyone in between. She remembered John, her publisher; and his family; Jon, her builder, and his team. Millie and her girls were front and center, included as family. Folks brought their people and the mood would ring warm and high. It was a beautiful way to start the holiday season, and Cate looked forward to it every year.
By the time the last round of coffee was served in dainty china cups, it was almost Thanksgiving. Cate would be up again at six a.m., bleary-eyed but grateful, to cook the juicy bird as her children slept in. For one beautiful day, the world was as it should be, always and forever, with two little bundles asleep, coated in blankets, the smells of sautéing celery and onion floating toward their little twitching noses on the second floor.
Cate closed her address book, a beautiful, lavender journal she'd re-purposed to hold the many names she wanted close. Out of habit, Cate placed the matching lavender ribbon on the second page, marking Al & Nic's formal information. Lovingly, she replaced the thick book and stood.
The busy holiday season was one of her very favorite times of year. Before long, she knew, another sultry summer would roll through, with endless clear, humid days that stretched leisurely before her. Cate would have nothing to do but spend lazy days at the beach, the surf pounding magnificently, her skin salty and warm from the sun, the sand hot below her tan feet−it was her other favorite time of year. Smiling, Cate sheepishly acknowledged to herself that there wasn't a season she didn't enjoy.
Chapter Seventy Seven
The days flew past as they often did in Cate's life. She felt an air of weariness creeping in and settling behind her eyes, as if they were scratchy, held open by sheer willpower. The need to take care of herself rose again. Cate worked on, powered by absolute necessity and a fulfilling love for all she did. The dream of the holidays stretched on Cate's horizon, a beautiful agony.
After Thanksgiving, she'd take one week, as promised, to travel North with Alex and Nic. Early the following Monday, she'd be back in the studio to tape the live Christmas and New Years' shows. She'd go home days before Christmas, ready for a long rest of one or maybe two weeks.
In the new year, she'd be back to work again. Cate adored her life. It was perfect for her.
Thanksgiving week, then, spirits were high. Rising early each work day, Cate stood in awe of the sun's light. Stealing only a few minutes, she soaked it up from the balcony outside her bedroom. There was something stupendous and empowering about greeting the day outside, appreciating things that weren't things. They weren't hers, they were a fresh gift every day. And they delighted Cate.
That Tuesday, Cate rose and went to work, content. She had one more day of taping two shows. She had some short, wrap-up meetings and she wanted to check in with Melissa before tomorrow's extravagant party. Cate had a modest list of important things for her new assistant, Skye, to be completed before year's end, but no rush.
Cate smiled at that. Skye would have them done efficiently before the month's end and refuse the effusive raise a grateful Cate offered. It was becoming a joke between the two women, who had quickly become close friends. Cate figured Skye would accept the offer only after Cate casually raised it to something imaginary or just shy of her limit, like her son, who seemed to admire Skye's beauty and gentle ways.
Ending the work day felt warm and peaceful, much like the last day of school before a holiday vacation when she was very young. The atmosphere was one of celebration, the air light with joviality and esteem. It was contagious.
Cate packed her briefcase with files regarding the upcoming season, grateful she'd already shopped for her non-profit's Christmas. Her statistics proved December the most generous month of the year. Cate anxiously anticipated it, eagerly adding fresh donors annually. Digging through the last of her desk, only half listening to laughter and the buzz from the halls, Cate almost didn't hear Skye walk in.
The tall, slender, earthen beauty placed a heap of pink memo slips under Cate's nose. She planted one long, graceful finger in the center of them. Harnessing the pile was akin to restricting energy in the midst of a tornado. A homemade tornado Cate was creating.
Cate only groaned comically. She glanced through the messages quickly, fanning them out neatly. Only one required immediate attention, every other one was holiday wishes or work that would wait until she returned.
It was a big one, though. Tom was asking her to call.
Chapter Seventy Eight
"He wants me to call? Not text?" Cate asked aloud as she seized the crinkly pink paper. She hiked her leather bag over one petite shoulder and lifting her briefcase from her plush chair. "I'll get him on the train," she told Skye, who only nodded.
Waving, Cate moved breezily through the busy office, acknowledging friendly calls and festive greetings as she left the building via a quiet side entrance. Walking rapidly to the nearby train station, Cate pondered the sudden interest from Tom. Was he bailing again? She willed herself not to worry, quickening her pace.
Seated on the lonesome train, with almost a full car to herself, Cate dialed the phone then hung up. Peering out the window into the darkness, she took a deep breath, steeled herself, then listened as the call connected.
His number had once been so familiar. It was odd how things changed. Time seemed to take care of all experience, she thought as Tom answered.
"You're alright?" Cate asked quickly.
Used to the question, Tom answered it patiently.
"I am," he replied, his voice familiar and calm. Cate breathed a sigh of relief. She could tell his mood in the first word and she knew this one to be a sincere happiness, a deep contentment. Automatically, she searched for the root, wanting reassurance. It probably had to do with seeing their children tomorrow but she'd take it, whatever the cause.
She felt her shoulders relax, the boulder that had moved onto her heart recede.
"What's up?" she asked now.
"I wanted to check what time tomorrow," Tom said, unfailingly polite.
"Anytime after nine."
"Can I bring anything?"
Cate thought. Finally, she answered, "There's nothing I need."
"Okay," he replied, after a beat. "See you then."
Chapter Seventy Nine
Tom wasn't one to warn verbally when a conversation was coming. Instead he hovered by Cate in her kitchen early the next morning.
She waited, patient and tense all at one time. When he finally spoke, she heard something she hadn't in a long time. Not finding the words to describe it, Cate only listened. It was only then that she realized the word she was searching for: hope. Tom sounded hopeful.
Tom had a lot of words for Cate, pacing earnestly as he talked. As he finished telling her everything he had to say, Tom slowed. Leaning one elbow on the granite island, he watched her chop fierce-smelling onions. Tears dripped slowly from her eyes. Cate's makeup was gone, her eyes now betraying youth and innocence. She sniffled repeatedly.
"Is it me?" he asked.
"Onions." She pointed and Tom chuckled softly.
"I'm still hoping to sort myself out," he finished.
"I'm not sure what you want from me−if anything." Cate walked to the butler's pantry, looking for more onions. Her voice lifted toward him as she entered the slim room. "I don't want to be a part of your regrets."
"The only thing I want from you is a co-parent I can get along with," Tom answered. "If I have regrets then they're mine. I'll own that. Nobody will pay for my mistakes, whatever they may be. I also want you as my friend. You're easy to talk to and understanding. I trust you with all my feelings."
He was at the French doors, looking toward his own house, when Cate returned. "We both need to learn together if we're even going to be friends," Tom continued. He shook his head. "There's so much we need to learn."
