by Cimms, Karen
Tom picked up the phone from the nightstand, scrolled through several messages, and handed it to her.
Billy Donaldson: Pls tell me she’s not alone.
She’s not.
Billy Donaldson: You with her?
Yes.
Billy Donaldson: Tell her happy birthday & I love her & miss her.
Kate read the exchange several times, and not just because the words had become blurry. She handed Tom his phone. “You didn’t tell him that you would tell me.”
“Because I didn’t know if you would let me. I’m not going to lie to him, Kate.”
She stood to leave. “Tell him that you told me.”
He nodded. “Anything else?”
Tell him that I love him and miss him too, her heart whispered.
“No.”
“Okay. Good night, Kate. Happy birthday.”
She kissed Tom’s cheek and crossed the hall back to her room. But there was no point trying to sleep with coconut-flavored memories tugging at the corners of her mind.
Quietly, she slipped down the hall and into the kitchen. She filled a mug with water, dropped in a bag of Sleepytime tea, and popped it into the microwave. She slid the cake box from the bottom shelf of the refrigerator and cut herself a narrow sliver. When her tea was ready, she curled up on the couch in the darkened living room.
She lifted a forkful of cake and set it on her tongue. Closing her eyes, she let the sweetness transport her to another time, another place.
* * *
“What’re you doing?” Billy stood in the doorway, his voice thick and deep with sleep.
Kate looked up from the peach velvet sofa where she sat cross-legged, a takeout box in her lap. “Eating cake,” she mumbled, her mouth full of the decadent coconut cake left over from dinner.
He stretched languorously and sat in the club chair across from her, still half asleep.
He had called the day before from the road. He had two days off here in Charleston between concerts, and he’d begged her to come. It had been nearly impossible to get away, but Eileen, her neighbor and the kids’ surrogate grandma, agreed to babysit, armed with a list of baseball practices and dance classes. That left Kate free to fly to South Carolina for what was essentially a booty call. Billy had booked a suite at an inn in the historic district, and they’d gone to dinner at The Peninsula Grill, although she knew there was really only one thing he wanted to do.
“I rolled over and reached for you, but the bed was empty,” he said, watching her through eyes that were only halfway open. “I had to remember where the hell I was. I thought I’d only dreamed you were here.” He leaned forward and kissed her on the forehead. “I don’t like waking up not knowing where you are.”
“I wake up almost every morning not knowing where you are,” she pointed out a little too tartly.
“I know.” He put his feet on the eighteenth-century reproduction coffee table. “I love what I do, but I hate being away from you so much. And I hate sleeping alone.”
It was on the tip of her tongue to say she hoped that he was sleeping alone, but she swallowed the words along with the cake. The thought of anything different could suck the air right out of a room, even though he’d given her no reason to worry.
Move on, Kate.
“How can you sit on that naked?” She wrinkled her nose. “Don’t you wonder if someone else was sitting there naked before you?”
“For what I’m paying, they should clean the upholstery between guests.”
She took another forkful of cake, lifted her eyes heavenward, and moaned.
Billy pointed to the bedroom. “You should be in there making that face over me. I fly you all the way down here, put you up in an exorbitantly expensive hotel suite because I missed you and I’m horny and lonely, and when I wake up and reach for you, you’re in the living room eating cake.”
With a devilish look, she speared another forkful. “Want some?”
“No. I want you.” He trailed his hand up her bare thigh.
“That was obvious when you walked into the room a moment ago.” She pointed her fork at him. “You could hang your guitar on that thing.”
He grinned. “And it’s been that way since you stepped off the plane this morning, so come back to bed and let me show you how happy I am that you’re here.”
She wiggled the cake-laden fork in front of him.
“Come on,” she coaxed, her voice deep and husky. “You know you want it.”
“You know what I want.” He moved from the chair to the sofa beside her. She continued to hold the utensil aloft. He leaned closer and opened his mouth, his eyes fixed on her. She slid the fork into his mouth and waited until he swallowed.
“Hmm . . . that is good, but I know something that’s much better.”
He lifted the box from her lap and set it on the coffee table. Then he pried the fork out of her unwilling fingers and set it in the box. His mouth moved down her neck, planting tender kisses as he tugged open the belt of her silk robe. He pulled it down, and his tongue traced a path along the sweep of her shoulders. His hair tickled her breasts. His tongue flicked over her nipple.
She pulled him closer. Gently, he pushed her backward, hooking his hands behind her knees and moving her lower, his warm mouth still on her, his tongue still teasing.
“You think anyone’s ever been naked on this couch before?” he whispered between kisses.
She giggled.
When his lips brushed against her thighs, she shivered. He trailed his tongue against the backs of her knees and down to her ankles. The sweetness of the cake faded into the sweetness of the moment.
Illuminated by the dim light coming from the street below, he worked his way up her body back to where he’d started. She reached around the back of his head and slipped her hands through his hair, lost in the warmth of him. It felt like forever since they had been together this way. He kissed her over and over, nipping her lower lip and sucking on it.
When she had all but melted into the soft velvet, he sprang up, leaving her stunned and breathless.
“On second thought, this is good cake.” He grabbed the box and fork, then dropped into the chair.
She lay on the couch, her robe and her mouth hanging open.
He grinned with the final bite. Rolling his eyes upward, he emitted an ecstatic groan, his mouth still full. “You don’t know what you’re missing.”
She bolted upright. “You finished my cake!”
“I did,” he said, pulling her to her feet. “Now come back to bed and show me how much you love me.”
The empty box taunted her. “But my cake . . .”
He cupped her face in his big, warm hands. “I’ll buy you more cake. I’ll buy you a hundred coconut cakes. But tonight and tomorrow, you’re all mine.”
A few days later, Kate was back home and Billy was back on the road. The FedEx truck had come crunching up the long, narrow driveway with a special package for her—a coconut cake from The Peninsula Grill. The note was in Billy’s handwriting. He’d ordered the cake before he’d left Charleston.
“Eat your fill, babe, because when I get home, you’re all mine. Love, B.”
* * *
The memory was so vivid it could have happened ten days ago, rather than ten years ago. Kate finished her cake. This time when she climbed back into bed, sleep came quickly. She dreamed of making love beneath a sky filled with glowing starfish and then falling asleep in Billy’s arms.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Kate had been working at the resource center for a couple of weeks, and although she wasn’t used to being on her feet for long periods and it was often sweltering in the center’s kitchen, she really did love it. In addition to feeling useful, it gave her an excuse not to think about her life, which hovered anxiously in the background, nagging her to make decisions, no longer content to sit on a shelf and be ignored.
Since they only needed her four days a week, on her off days, she made simple quilts for the babies a
nd young children who lived in the nearby homeless shelter.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen such a dedicated volunteer,” Amy, the center’s director, said when Kate handed her the latest quilt. This one was made from fabric remnants she’d picked up at a quilt shop near Freeport. “Where do you find the time?”
Kate fidgeted in the doorway. “I don’t have a whole lot going on right now.” It wouldn’t sound very noble to admit her largesse was in part a diversionary tactic. Not that she was trying to sound noble. She could feel the telltale flush staining her cheeks.
“I didn’t mean to pry.” Amy brushed a hand over the soft pastel quilt and set it on her desk. “It’s just that you’ve been dedicating so much time to us since you started. I hope we’re not taking you away from your family.”
No, I did that all by myself. Kate gave Amy a wobbly smile and hooked a thumb in the direction of the kitchen. “I better get going. They’ll be wondering where I am.” She ducked into the hall and made a beeline for the back of the building.
There was a large group to feed that day, and they finished serving much later than usual. Samatar, the Somali cook, and the rest of the paid staff trundled off to a meeting. The other volunteer, Dorothy, who had to be well into her sixties, looked so bedraggled from the heat that Kate offered to finish by herself.
It wasn’t like she had anything better to do.
The boom box over the prep table was still pumping out Miriam Makeba, so despite the heat and her self-imposed ban on music, she found herself moving along to the iconic South African singer’s beat while she scrubbed baked-on barbecue sauce from a large roasting pan.
An occasional breeze floated in from the propped back door. Steam rose from the sink as she held the pan under hot water. Sweat trickled down her back and into her eyes. She set the pan on the rack, brushed a strand of damp hair from her face, picked up the next pan, and began to scrub. Between the music cranking, the dishwasher grinding, and the drone of running water, she didn’t hear the voices in the alley until a wild-eyed woman appeared in the doorway.
“Help me!” the stranger cried. A toddler was wailing in her arms. “It’s my husband. Please, I need to hide.”
The fear on their faces propelled Kate forward. She pointed toward the dining room. “That way. Go!”
The woman darted through the kitchen as Kate lunged for the door. A man’s voice reached her just as she kicked the wooden wedge from the door and slammed it shut.
“Sonja! Don’t you fucking run from me!”
She locked the metal door and dropped the heavy latch into place. Moments later, the pounding started.
“Sonja! Get the fuck out here!”
The door was solid. He couldn’t get through this way, but it wouldn’t take long for him to make his way to the front of the building, which was open. Kate raced into the dining room to find the young woman pacing, holding her child tightly in her arms. Her lower lip was split open, and a bruise was forming below her left eye. Blood trickled from her naked left earlobe. A large hoop earring dangled from her right ear.
“Come with me,” Kate said, fighting waves of nausea and panic. She led the girl into the hall. “The ladies room is on the right. Lock the door and stay there. I’ll come back when it’s safe.”
At the sound of the clicking lock, she raced up the hall and burst into Amy’s office. Amy, Samatar, and several others Kate didn’t know were gathered around the conference table.
“What’s wrong?” Amy said.
“I’ve got a young woman and a child locked in the restroom and an angry husband pounding on the kitchen door. She’s hurt. I don’t know how badly, but he’s probably—”
Through the office window, Kate could see a man storming toward the entrance.
She pointed. “That might be him.”
He was in his mid-twenties, of medium height and build, and wore a camouflage T-shirt, cargo shorts, and sneakers. The look on his face was one of pure rage.
Samatar was the first out of Amy’s office.
The man burst through the front door, stopped, and scanned the lobby.
“Can I help you?” Samatar was a large man, well over six feet tall and solidly built. Kate knew him as a sensitive, gentle soul who always wore a smile. This Samatar, however, was intimidating.
“I just want to collect my wife and kid, and I’ll be on my way,” the man snarled.
“I don’t think so.” Samatar moved toward him and called to a woman who had followed him out of Amy’s office. “Diane, call the police. Let’s see if they can get this settled.”
Before Diane could reach for the phone, Amy stepped forward. “On their way.”
Amy was tall and slim, and there was nothing fearful about her. Right now? She looked determined, fierce. Mama bear, Kate thought.
“Fuck that.” The man pointed at Samatar. “You tell that bitch I don’t give a shit what she does, but she better bring my kid back or she’ll be sorry.” He kicked over a play table, breaking the leg, then shoved open the front door just as a police cruiser pulled up outside.
While one of the officers detained him, Kate led the other officer down the hall. But when they got to the restroom, it was empty. The door from the kitchen to the alley was unlocked.
Kate’s heart sank. Why the hell would she run off?
“She’s gone,” the officer told his partner when he returned to the lobby. Kate trailed behind him, trying to make sense of why the girl would have left when help was just steps away.
“Then you have to let me go,” the husband said with a smirk.
“Not necessarily,” said the first officer. “Do you want to press charges for the damage to your property?” He pointed at the broken play table.
“I would,” Amy said, “but it hardly seems worth it.”
The husband snorted rudely.
“I would, however, like a trespass warning issued.”
The officer filled out his report, and escorted the husband out of the building with a warning not to return.
“I can’t believe she disappeared like that,” Kate said as the squad car pulled away. “Why would she do that?”
“Sadly, sometimes these women don’t realize they have options,” Amy said. “Battered partners often believe they deserve the treatment they get, or they just don’t know there’s a safe place for them to go.”
From where she stood, Kate could still see Sonja’s husband at the end of the block. His swagger made her want to vomit. “I feel like I failed her somehow, and I’m not even sure what happened.”
Amy slipped an arm around her shoulders. “You didn’t fail her. Maybe she’ll come back. Maybe she has a place to go and just needed the diversion to get away.” With a sad smile, she cocked her head. “You okay?”
Although Kate’s heart hadn’t returned to its normal rhythm yet, she was surprisingly okay. She nodded. “I’ve been through worse.”
A flicker of concern crossed Amy’s face, but she didn’t pry. “Samatar? Could you walk Kate to her car? I think she’s had enough for one day.”
“That’s okay,” Kate said. “I still have a few pans—”
“Absolutely not. And another thing: take a break tomorrow. I don’t want you getting burned out. It happens fast here. That’s how we lose our volunteers. Go to the beach. Go shopping. Do something fun.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Kate’s “something fun” turned out to be a trip to Ogunquit.
“Of course there are places for her to go,” Jeff said, as they strolled through the little garden behind the rectory. “The problem is these women don’t usually know about them. And even if they do, they’re either afraid to try and get away or don’t believe they deserve better.”
“I can’t believe someone would actually think it’s okay to be hurt and beaten.”
He gave her an odd look. “Think about it.”
“What?”
“You didn’t think you deserved better.”
Her spine stiffened. Sh
e hadn’t told Jeff what happened the night Billy raped her. He’d been drunk and strung out on crystal meth, and even though she might never forgive him, she refused to believe he’d meant to hurt her. “My husband never— It’s not the same.”
Jeff watched her carefully as if trying to decipher her thoughts. “I didn’t mean your husband,” he said softly. “I meant your parents.”
“My parents never beat me.”
“Emotional or mental abuse is abuse. It’s just harder to see.”
She plucked the head off a stem of dill, crushed it between her fingers, and inhaled, letting the familiar tang and the scent of freshly mown grass ease some of the tension that had settled between her shoulders.
“Maybe you’re right. It just kills me to think of another child being hurt, mentally or physically.” She thought of the little boy from yesterday but pictured Billy. The chicken salad sandwich Jeff had made for their lunch churned uncomfortably in her stomach. “How can a person make a conscious decision to hurt another? You understand human nature. Explain this to me, because I don’t get it.”
“I wish I could.” He paused to pluck a few dead blooms off a rose bush. “Maybe if we understood why people do what they do, we could help them.”
“Why help them? It’s their victims who need the help.” She was feeling most ungenerous.
“If we could help them stop, aren’t we also helping the victims?”
“I guess. But I’m more concerned with the victims.”
His smile spread, which was odd, given the subject matter.
“What?” she asked.
“You keep saying you don’t know what you want to do with your life. I think you do. Or at least, I think you know where you should begin looking to find your bliss.”
“Find my bliss? Among emotionally and physically battered women and children? What kind of psycho do you take me for?”
“One with a huge heart. You can be as sarcastic as you want, but I think you know exactly what I’m talking about.”
