by Cimms, Karen
She stood at the end of the driveway, watching long after the black truck was out of sight.
“Fair winds and following seas, my boy,” she whispered. If it was possible, she felt even lonelier than when she’d first arrived.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Summer faded into fall. Harold would be leaving for Boston soon.
“For now,” Kate said when he asked if she was going to stay. “I’m good at avoiding things.”
“I see that. Although for the life of me, I don’t know what you’re hiding from anymore. You take care of yourself well. Sure as hell don’t hesitate to give me a hard time.”
“Give you a hard time? That’s your specialty, old man.”
He snorted, and she knew enough not to argue with him or she’d be late for work. There was no winning an argument with Harold. Better to move on to a more difficult topic, for her at least.
She swallowed back the lump forming in her throat, and asked when he would be leaving.
“The sixth. Jeff has a wedding at Sacred Heart the fifth, so he’s coming up Friday. We’ll head back to Ogunquit on Sunday. I’ll leave from there for Boston.”
“It’ll be too quiet without you.”
“You still got that goddamn hippie racing up and down the street on that crotch rocket,” he snarled.
“That’s not the same, and you know it.”
“Yeah, well.” He shuffled his feet uncomfortably. “You better get going, or there won’t be anybody to feed those tired, poor huddled masses of freeloaders.”
She climbed into her car. “I know you don’t mean that.”
“From your lips to God’s ears,” he called over his shoulder.
There were more than the usual amount of huddled masses at the shelter that afternoon, and by the time Kate had finished up in the kitchen, her feet were killing her. A new nail salon had opened in Falmouth and thoughts of soaking her feet in a warm, jetted spa and then a foot rub was all she could think about. It had been ages since she’d treated herself to a pedicure; she was due.
“Did you pick a polish?” the nail tech asked.
“Crap.” Her tired feet were already ankle deep in heaven. No way was she getting up now. “I’m sorry. What’s popular now?”
“Chocolates, purples, all kinds of grays, emerald, navy.”
Kate lifted her tanned feet from the bubbly water and wiggled her toes. None of those colors sounded appealing. “How about a strawberry pink?”
The girl shrugged and went in search of an old standby color while Kate rested her eyes.
As the nail tech began to remove the old polish, someone climbed into the chair across from her. Kate opened her eyes and smiled. She was adjusting the massage option on her chair when the woman spoke.
“Have you been here before?”
Kate shook her head.
“Me neither. Just thought I’d check it out. I usually go to a place in Portland, but I had a coupon.”
Kate tried a different speed on the chair, but when it felt as though it would hurl her right onto the floor, she gave up. As long as her feet were happy, that’s all that mattered.
“Do you have a coupon?”
“Me?” Kate asked. “No.”
“I might have another. I got mine out of the paper the other day. I have this one, though.” She pulled Sunday’s Boston Tribune from her purse and began paging through it.
“That’s okay.”
“Are you sure? I don’t mind looking.”
“Really, I’m good. But thanks.”
“Okay, but if I find it . . .”
The woman mumbled softly as she flipped through her newspaper, rattling the pages. Kate thumbed through a magazine, finding it difficult to concentrate. When the woman had finally settled in and the only sound was the tinkle of some new-agey music and the hum of the pedicure spas, Kate risked a glance. A familiar pair of blue-gray eyes stared back at her.
“Oh my god.” She craned her neck and leaned forward, nearly dropping her magazine into the water.
The woman lowered the paper. “Are you all right?”
Kate waved off the nail tech and pulled her feet from the soapy water.
“Your newspaper,” she said, her voice barely audible. “I need to see your newspaper.”
The woman clutched it to her chest. “There’s not another coupon. I looked.”
“It’s not that. Please? I’ll pay you. I need your newspaper.”
The woman looked at Kate as if she’d gone mad. She glanced around for reinforcements and, finding none, handed Kate the paper, reminding her that she hadn’t finished it, against the increasingly likely event that Kate might make a mad dash for the door, leaving her shoes and purse behind but stealing the woman’s days-old newspaper.
Kate stared at photo, unable to move.
The woman leaned over to see what had caught her attention and sighed. “I’m not into that loud, grungy music, but I have to admit, he’s gorgeous. My daughter just loves him.”
Kate’s hands began to shake.
“So does mine,” she whispered.
There he was on the front of the entertainment section of The Boston Tribune, above the fold, five columns wide in full color. He looked good. A little tired, maybe. His forehead was lined, and some well-trimmed scruff ran along his jaw. An early beard, perhaps. His hair, still long and multiple shades of gold and light brown, hung past his shoulders. Dressed in black, he leaned back into an ornate velvet armchair, his hands folded in his lap, looking up at the photographer. He wasn’t smiling. He looked pensive, perhaps even sad—much too serious for someone finally on the cusp of his dream come true.
‘Without you’ propels rock veteran into top spot on pop charts
By Gillian Wood
One of the biggest new stars on the pop horizon is no newcomer. He’s a grandfather with more than 25 years under his low-slung leather belt, and he’s played with some of the biggest names to ever strap on a Fender.
With a hit single that debuted last week at number one on the charts, Billy McDonald is finally getting his due. His new album, “Wasted Time,” comes out next week. A U.S. tour that starts in late October is already selling out concert venues across the country.
“Wasted Time” is a complete reversal for McDonald, whose blistering lead work can be found on numerous albums, from hard rock to big city blues. McDonald was front man for Pernicious Anemia for several years before trying unsuccessfully to break out on his own again in 2005.
“Without You,” the first hit off the new CD, is a heart-wrenching piano ballad penned by McDonald, a classically trained pianist as well as a dynamic guitar player. The rest of the album is a mix of love letters with a rock ’n’ roll flavor as well as the type of searing, angry rhythms that kept McDonald number one on every record producer’s list as one of the top studio musicians for the past 20-some years.
In 1991, McDonald won a Grammy for his recording of rock-a-bye lullabies titled “Rockin’ My Baby,” but his solo career never took off.
Word is that “Wasted Time” is dedicated to Kate Donaldson, McDonald’s wife of 24 years. Ever mindful of his privacy, he refused to talk about that or anything about his personal life during our discussion. In fact, before he consented to the interview, we were warned that all questions were to remain focused on the music and McDonald’s career and that no personal questions would be entertained. True enough, when a question was deemed too personal, his manager threatened to pull the plug.
We caught up with McDonald in New York City. In spite of the sweltering temperatures of the Big Apple, he seemed unfazed in black, his shoulder-length blond mane loose and sporting a few days’ scruff. McDonald remains, after all these years, one of the best-looking enigmas in rock.
BT: “Wasted Time” is a real departure for you, compared to the heavy metal and grunge rock you’ve dedicated yourself to over the years. Why the change?
BM: This past year has been a difficult one for me personally, and I found myself reeval
uating what I was doing with my life. Music is and always will be what I do, but I needed to be able to express myself on my own terms. I think I’ve done that.
BT: Is that where the title song comes from? Have you been wasting your time?
BM: Yes and no. I don’t believe that any experience is wasted. Everything life throws your way can be a valuable opportunity to learn, grow, and change if you must. I realized it was time for some changes. Were there things I should have done differently? Absolutely, but I learned from them all.
BT: I understand the album is dedicated to your wife, Katie. At least half of the songs on “Wasted Time” are heartbreak or love songs. Is there a message in there somewhere?
BM: I won’t discuss my wife. However, the songs are real to me, regardless of what messages someone may or may not see in them or choose to read into them.
BT: Your “Wasted Time” tour starts in October. You’ve been touring throughout your entire career, but this will be the first major tour featuring all your own music. Would you say this is the best thing that’s ever happened to you?
BM: No, I’ve experienced much better things in my life. I just didn’t always realize it at the time.
McDonald wouldn’t elaborate, and with that cryptic statement, the interview was over.
The 48-year-old rocker has remained a mystery throughout much of his career. His family has rarely been in the public eye, although his wife did make headlines last year when she was the target of a madman’s bullets. Eight people died at a New Jersey municipal meeting she was covering as a reporter for a northern New Jersey newspaper, although she remained physically unscathed. Donaldson has not been seen publicly since the incident, and several sources close to the McDonald camp confirm that the couple separated late last year.
Another industry insider has said that McDonald’s career suffered at his own hands, given that he is difficult to work with and has a violent temper as well as a problem with drugs and alcohol. Public records show that McDonald was arrested last year for aggravated assault and served 90 days in county jail earlier this year after pleading guilty in a plea agreement in county court in Andrewsville, N.J. Part of that time was split between jail and rehab.
Regardless of his past, McDonald appears to be on top of his game with this latest effort. If he continues to produce work of this caliber, this is likely just the beginning—again.
It was like reading about someone she used to know. He had gone to jail and rehab, written at least a dozen songs, recorded an album, and scheduled an upcoming tour—all since she’d been gone. He’d achieved all he’d ever wanted now that she was out of the picture.
No wonder he dedicated the album to her. He should have called it “Good Riddance.”
She shoved her feet back into the bubbling water. It was time she faced facts. Billy was moving on with his life.
It was time for her to do the same.
Chapter Thirty-Three
The sky was clear and cloudless as the first stains of pink unspooled across Broad Cove. The early October air was still. The night birds were long gone and the chickadees, grosbeaks, and nuthatches not yet awake. Now and then a truck or car from the main road interrupted the silence, but overall, the peace and solitude of the morning was almost spiritual.
Days like these held such promise.
From her chair on the upper deck, Kate surveyed the remnants of the garden in the dawning light. Most of the flowers were past their prime, but a few roses remained, stubbornly unaware their time had come. The stands of rosa rugosas lining the fence were dotted with bright red rose hips. A handful of deep-pink blooms clung to the branches. Should she cut herself a final bouquet? Better to let them linger. The weather would turn soon. Might as well enjoy that last bit of color as long as she could.
Today promised to be glorious. The temperature was expected to rise into the eighties. There was a slight chance of rain later, but for now, it was perfect. With the early sun already warming her bare legs, Kate sipped her coffee and watched the seagulls dive over the mud flat ahead of the rising tide.
She was on her second cup of coffee when she heard Harold’s ride-on lawnmower start up. As the whir of the engine drew closer, she rose from the rocker, rubbing at the slat marks on the backs of her thighs, and dashed to the bedroom for her robe. It wouldn’t be long before he was yelling to her from outside the kitchen window. The clock on her nightstand said it wasn’t much past eight. Good thing she was an early riser.
“Up for a boat ride this afternoon?” Harold asked after she opened the front door. “Taking it out of the water tomorrow. This is the last day for a ride.”
“You don’t have to ask me twice.” It was a day made for being on the water.
He tapped his forehead in a salute. “We’ll meet you at your dock about eleven thirty. We have to be back by four.” With a nod, he was off, but not before making a few neat passes up and down the side yard.
She took a quick shower and dried her hair. It reached just below her jaw now, and she wore it in a bob with bangs. She drew on a little eyeliner and a touch of mascara and slipped into a pair of capris and a long-sleeved T-shirt. After she was dressed, she made a quick trip to Hannaford’s for some fried chicken, potato salad, and a bottle of wine. If Harold and Jeff were kind enough to include her in one last ride, the least she could do was feed them.
When she returned, she packed the food and wine into a small cooler with a few bottles of water and two wine glasses. Jeff didn’t drink when they were boating, but Harold was never one to turn down a nice chardonnay. She tossed a heavy sweater into her tote along with a can of bug repellent.
After locking up the house, she hoisted the canvas bag over her shoulder, grabbed the cooler, and picked her way down the steep path to her dock. Charlie raced up and down, trying to hurry her along.
Most of the leaves retained their summer green, but several trees were burnished with autumn reds and golds. In spite of fall’s less-than-full onslaught, a lack of rain had caused some of the trees to go straight from green to brown, their leaves already littering the path. Vines sporting berries of red or yellow wrapped around the trunks between splashes of purple from wild asters.
She reached her dock just as Jeff was firing up the motor on Harold’s Bayliner. Tomorrow it would be taken out of the water and stored alongside his house. The canoes, kayaks, and Zodiac had already been put away until spring. Jeff navigated away from his father’s dock and steered toward Kate.
Even more excited at the prospect of a ride than she, Charlie raced up and down the dock, barking.
“Calm down, you nut ball!” He obediently sat beside her, but seconds later, his tail was wagging furiously again and his body along with it. Before she could stop him, he dove into the water. She yelled, but it was pointless. He paddled around happily and swam out to meet the boat. As Jeff pulled up, Charlie climbed ashore, raced up the dock, and bounded into the boat. For an encore, he shook himself happily, spraying seawater over the three of them.
Kate grabbed his collar and yanked him down beside her.
“Always happy to see someone excited to sail,” Harold said, excusing the dog’s poor behavior.
Kate swiped her arm over her face. “I’m sorry. We haven’t even made it out of the cove, and we’re all wet. Charlie, sit.” She pointed to a spot in the middle of the boat, and the wet dog obligingly sat, blinking back at her innocently.
She grabbed a cushion and took a seat in the bow. Harold sat across from her, and Jeff moved back to man the wheel.
“What have you got there?” Harold eyed the cooler curiously.
“Fried chicken, potato salad, some fruit, some wine for me and you, and for Jeff, water.”
“Fried chicken, you say?”
“In case we want to stop for a little picnic.”
Harold winked as he pulled the wine glasses from her bag, then reached into the cooler and poured the wine. He tossed a bottle of water over his shoulder. Jeff caught it one-handed.
&
nbsp; “Can’t wait until noon, Dad?”
“It’s noon somewhere, right Kate?”
The afternoon passed quickly. They ate their picnic on a small island, and while Harold stretched out for a siesta, Kate and Jeff walked along the beach. Charlie raced ahead, chasing seagulls and diving into the water after whatever caught his eye.
“Have you really thought this through?” Jeff asked when she told him she was thinking about filing for divorce. “How would you feel if the shoe were on the other foot? If he did that without talking to you first?”
“Furious—but that would be different.”
“How so?”
“Because he didn’t go through what I did, not to mention I never cheated on him.”
“Didn’t he kind of go through what you did?”
“How could he ‘kind of’ go through it? That doesn’t even make sense.”
“I don’t know. You said he was by your side when your friend died. He slipped into an active crime scene after the shooting, searching for you, terrified that you might have been shot or killed. Do you think that had an effect on him?”
Warming up either from the walk or the scrutiny, she pushed her sleeves up her arms. “Since when do priests play devil’s advocate?”
“Who better?” he asked with a wry, crooked smile.
She picked up a deep-pink speckled rock, examined it, and slipped it into her pocket. “I think it’s ridiculous the way you men stick together even when you don’t know each other.”
“I’m just saying, don’t file for a divorce before you talk to him. What’s the rush? You’ve waited this long. Why now?”
“Because it’s time. Actually, it’s past time. I know we Catholics aren’t supposed to believe in divorce. Are you trying to talk me out of it because that’s what you’re supposed to say?”
The look he gave her was pure disappointment. “I think you know me better than that. Do you really think I’d advise you to stay in a bad situation because the rules tell me to?”
She shrugged. “So you’ve never advised someone to stay in a failed marriage because it’s a sin to get a divorce?”
