Milestones

by Hensley, Alta

  “We were good. Once.”

  “Well,” Jack said, kissing her hand. “That’s a start.”

  Chapter 3

  Jack knelt next to the fireplace and stacked more wood on top of the glowing embers.

  “I’m going to go shower. Do you mind? Am I dismissed?”

  Jack stood and turned to her. “What did I say about the sarcasm?”

  Kate turned away, pride not allowing her to acknowledge he was right. If they were going to have a serious discussion, no matter the outcome, she needed to start acting her age. Jack took her chin between his fingers and turned her to look at him.

  “Kathryn?”

  “You’re right. I’ll work on it.”

  “Thank you. Now you can go.” The half smile was an attempt at levity. It worked—kind of.

  Damn him! Kate wanted to remain angry, she wanted to remain aloof and she wanted to provoke him so badly that he’d give up and leave. It had been his MO for so long that she knew if she kept at it, he’d leave in due time, confirming what she already knew: he couldn’t be bothered.

  Jack sat in the chair opposite the one Kate had occupied, and looked around the log cabin they had purchased for practically nothing six years ago, when a second home was a dream for the future and not right then. It was a deal they couldn’t pass up, and they both fell in love with the place. Jack loved what Kate had done with the house, on what little money they had left over after the sale. With her background in art and design, she had made the most with what they had. She found a fantastic table, that used occupy the front entrance to a mission, or something. He didn’t see the beauty in it at first, but with all things tasteful and beautiful, Kate showed him the potential. In time he grew smart enough to see this, and trust her. He probably never bothered to tell her that. The chairs around the table, hand picked by her, each with a special meaning, reflected all that was his wife: practical, eclectic, sentimental.

  The one on the end, the wood chair painted in a red gloss: that one was one of two left out of an old set belonging to Kate’s parents. She grew up around a large table with worn wooden chairs, but it was the warmth around that table that held the memories for Kate. She painted one in a glossy red, the other in a glossy blue.

  The iron one with the heart-shaped back and the paisley cushion—that one she found at a flea market in Napa during a rare weekend away together. Each chair held a story, and he’d forgotten most of them. He was sorry now he hadn’t paid more attention.

  The rest of the house bore examples of her ingenuity and sense of style. Twin worn leather chairs, one of which he sat on now, Kate found at a garage sale.

  These were made and sold in the seventies, honey, she said, when furniture was made to last. And she was right. The yellow-brown leather was worn to a soft patina, and the previous owners had done all that hard work for her, giving Kate, the one with the eye for such things, a gift that would last their lifetime. The antique sleigh bed in their bedroom was another find. Kate only brought happiness to his life, and she never ceased to amaze him. When did he stop seeing, acknowledging, and rewarding that with his love and attention? Could this mess he’d made be fixed?

  Jack grabbed three pieces of kindling and threw them into the fire. “Dammit!”

  Kathryn Bates was a force to be reckoned with. She had been shot: a random act of violence that plagued cities throughout the country. Jack Barrington was earning his props in the DA’s office, and he was the assistant prosecutor on a murder case when he found Kate bleeding on the lawn near the law school. He couldn’t get her to lie still, he couldn’t get her to cooperate with the EMT’s who rushed to the scene after his call, and he couldn’t get her to cooperate with the doctors trying to save her after a staph infection threatened to do what a simple bullet could not.

  Jack thought she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. And tough? He’d never met a tougher woman. No witnesses came forward after the shooting, but Jack searched until he found one.

  He won her heart that night in the pool game. And he never looked back.

  Jack Barrington was the prosecutor on her case, once the shooter was caught. Kathryn Bates-Barrington testified in the man’s defense and it was her testimony that got the jury to come back with a ‘not-guilty-by-reason-of-temporary-insanity’ verdict. The verdict came down three weeks after they were married.

  Kate scrubbed her skin, trying to rid herself of the aura that was Jack Barrington. He clung to her like a blanket, worn and welcome, yet she grew not to depend on its warmth. It was threadbare at times, forcing her to work for the warmth. She was tired. She wanted a new blanket.

  The steam rose and coated the bathroom in jasmine mist, the amber glass tiles she chose because they reminded her of Jack’s eyes, gleaming with moisture. He had no idea she chose this tile because of him. She wondered now if telling him that, and other things, would have changed anything. Like, how much she loved the smell of him, lying next to her after he’d worked in the yard, tended the fire, or cooked a meal over the barbecue. The masculine sweat-smell mingled with the wood smoke, and how their languid lovemaking made her feel so alive, so much like a woman. In those nights when the snow fell so quietly, the moonlight reflecting the purity of it as a coat of white rested on the branches of the trees, she wondered if Jack felt the same sense of calm and otherworldliness that only his love and the snow gleaming in the trees could conjure.

  “Dammit!” she hissed.

  Jack opened the bedroom door, and he did it with caution, in case she was still naked. His rights to her were dubious and quite fluid at the moment, and he didn’t want to do anything to make the situation worse. He could hear the shower running, and a curse escape her lips. Her influence was all over the house, but none more than here in this room and the bathroom. The one change she insisted they make when they bought this house was to install a bathroom in the master, creating a master suite. She had been right, of course. He remembered her coming to his office with catalogs, tile samples, pictures of fixtures… and he remembered waving her off, because whatever he did was more important. And when the bathroom was completed, he remembered how furious he had been. She was so proud, having done it all herself, except for the plumbing.

  The bathroom was beautiful. And he had been furious.

  And for the life of him, he could not remember why.

  He turned the handle on the door, expecting resistance. And when he got none, he opened the door and walked in.

  A claw-footed tub set into a windowed alcove was the focal point of the bathroom. To the right was the oversized shower with a half-wall to keep the water where it belonged. Jack watched her now, her head back, her eyes closed as the hot water sluiced through her hair, the tension still evident on her flawless face. The amber-brown glass tiles shimmered as the large showerhead rained water over his wife’s body. She raised her arms over her head as the hot water consumed her. He longed to strip down and join her, ease the tension out of her body with caresses and promises. Her breasts—not too big, and not too small—were still taut. Her waist dipped inward, and her hips flared out, framing a round bottom that Jack personally considered her best physical feature. Her mind, of course, was what he admired most. A pain stabbed his heart at the realization that this was something he’d never said to her—that he thought she was bright, funny, and compassionate; that he loved her caustic wit, and it kept him smiling for almost ten years.

  Jack wanted an October wedding, and he loved Halloween. Kate balked at an October 31 anniversary. After all, it was a day, and night, for their kids. Jack talked her into having the wedding the day before. Kate loved fall. A fall wedding. Halloween-themed anniversaries. She loved the idea. October-something, he’d answer to queries about their wedding anniversary. He only did that when Kate was listening. But he knew the date—of course he knew. It had been the greatest day of his life.

  Almost ten years. He wondered if she remembered.

  Kate turned her back to the cascading water. She did not se
em surprised to see him standing there.

  He smiled and leaned against the sink. “You’re beautiful.”

  “How long have you been standing there?”

  “Long enough to realize I didn’t say those words to you often enough.”

  Kate softened at his praise. He sold himself short. He did tell her she was beautiful, often, back when they were. She never tired of hearing it. She never tired of knowing how much she pleased him. And he pleased her, once-upon-a-time. Very much.

  “You shouldn’t be in here.”

  “I’m still your husband, Kate.”

  She massaged shampoo into her long hair, and the smell of cucumber and mint filled the air. Part of her wanted to give him a show and then shut him down. The other part was self-conscious. Her body at thirty-two was not what it was at twenty, when he fell in love with her. To begin, she hated her stomach. It was round, and no matter how many crunches she did, it stayed round. Jack always told her he loved her little bump, and he took great exception when she called negative attention to it. The scar, faded but ever-present, curved around her side from front to back. In happier times, Jack would run his finger over it and then trace the raised skin with tender lips. Yes, she missed that kind of attention. She wondered, after the divorce was final, if she’d find it again with a man she could love as much as she’d loved Jack.

  Jack watched the graceful way she moved as she cared for herself. The belly bump, something she would have paid good money to rid herself of, was still there, and he still loved it. His eyes focused on the scar that ran across her side. The bullet missed all vital organs, tearing only through skin and some muscle. She had been lucky—until the infection set in. He loved the scar, too. It was part of her. A badge of distinction among many badges she carried. The reddish-brown triangle that covered her most intimate part had been trimmed short, and he became hard as his eyes traveled from that area down her taut legs to her feet.

  “I don’t feel like being on display for you. You understand that, don’t you?”

  His head snapped up and met her eyes, her words invading his dream state, as she turned off the water and stepped out of the shower. Kate reached for a towel but he grabbed it before she could, and opened it wide for her to step into. She hesitated.

  “C’mon, sweetheart. I won’t bite.” His eyes held gentleness and warmth that she hadn’t seen in a long while.

  Kate allowed him to envelope her in the big towel, then he pulled her close, holding the towel together at her neck. He rested his forehead against hers.

  “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

  Kate closed her eyes as tears threatened to spill over. She felt small and vulnerable, and it was a position of weakness she that didn’t make her feel comfortable.

  “Let me dress,” she said, her voice breaking. “Please.”

  “Let me do it. Let me hold you.”

  She weakened, for that is how she saw it. What would it cost her to let him back in, to let him dress her, to let him hold her as he requested? She had prepared herself for this divorce. Through careful work she had hardened herself to him so she could go through with it. She believed with her whole heart he would want the same, and so she never left room for his resistance. Why did he do this? She didn’t ask for a lot in the divorce. She didn’t ask for anything, really, except this house. Was that why he was here? Did he love this house so much that he would come here, play on her emotions, weaken her, and then negotiate his way to keeping it? Deep down she didn’t believe that, but standing in front of him, so close to letting herself love him again, she allowed that idea come closer to the surface. If she worked hard enough, she would come to believe that this was all one big manipulation. Yet, manipulation wasn’t his forte; neglect was.

  “I need space, Jack,” she said. “Please. Let me dress.”

  “Okay.” He stepped away from her. “Sure. Whatever you want.” He left the bathroom without looking back. Only then did she let go. Kate fell to her knees and sobbed.

  ****

  Jack poured the coffee as soon as he heard her come out of the bedroom. He broke off a row of dark chocolate and rested it across the mouth of the cup. Kate sat on the large club chair next to the fire, and her eyes lit up when she saw what he had done. She loved dipping the chocolate into her coffee, and biting into the softness before it melted and broke off into her cup. It was like a game. He enjoyed watching her play it, the look of bliss that came over her face when she bit into the chocolate, and how she enjoyed that last drop of coffee, with chocolate melted at the bottom of the cup. He knew how seldom she allowed herself such indulgences.

  Kate took the cup from him and she set it down on the table next to the chair. She stared into the fire and tried not to cry, to lash out, to throw herself at his feet and beg him to let it all go.

  “Why are you doing this?”

  “Good manners would dictate a simple thank you.”

  “That’s not what I mean.”

  Jack resumed his spot on the hearth in front of her. “I don’t want this divorce. And I don’t think you do, either.”

  “It’s not about want. I need for this to end.” She tried to get up, but he held her firm.

  “I’m not going to let you run from this, or from me. Do you understand that?”

  “You don’t get to issue orders. You don’t get to tell me what to do ever again.”

  “When have I ever told you what to do?” Jack held her in the chair under a strong grip. “You sound like a petulant child, Kate. I have some things to say to you and I expect you to have the good manners to hear me out. Do I need to give you a lesson in manners, Kathryn?”

  Her stomach did another jiggety-jig, and a steady flock of butterflies settled in—something her Aunt Ida on her mother’s side called schpilkus. Her face grew hot. His tone, the look on his face, said it all: He was going to have this out with her, and she’d do well to listen. She did not wish to have any kind of a lesson from him—especially with such a determined look on his face. While he had always been a take-charge kind of guy, this Jack was a man she did not recognize. Maybe he had been here all along, and she didn’t see it, didn’t pay attention.

  Huh. This thought gave her pause. His eyes bored into her. Paired with the earlier threat of a spanking, of all things, this new Jack forced her into temporary compliance, her wish to test him no longer part of the plan. She shook her head in answer to his question.

  Jack’s face softened. “Good.” He loosened his grip on her hands but still held them. They were cold, and he held them between his.

  “What do you want from me, Jack? What more would you like me to give you, and not get anything in return?”

  “Forgiveness. I want a chance to make it all up to you. I got too involved in making the kind of life I wanted for us, but I lost sight of the us part.”

  “That you did.”

  “I took you for granted, and I’m sorry for that. I’m so sorry for that.”

  “All I wanted was you,” Kate said, tears welling in her eyes. “Was I too demanding?”

  He shook his head. “No. God no.” He looked at the table where she’d laid her coffee. “Would you drink this, please? I made it for you.”

  She offered a smile, first at the cup, then at him. “What will I give up if I do?”

  “Your anger, maybe a little pride.”

  Kate picked up the mug, dipped the chocolate row in the coffee and took a bite, then followed quickly with a sip of the still-hot brew, allowing the two flavors to come together inside her mouth.

  “How is it?” he asked.

  She nodded. “It’s a start, Jack. Thank you.”

  He smiled. “You’re welcome.”

  “What the hell are you thinking?” he asked her when he found out she would be testifying FOR the man who shot her.

  “He lost both parents in a car accident two weeks before starting law school, Jack. He’d been groomed all his life for the law. The pressur
e he’s been under since he was a child has been enormous. Wouldn’t he do better with some help, instead of prison? Where’s your compassion?”

  “Ask me that when I’m booted out of the DA’s office for losing my second case in a row, and we’re eating beans and franks, baby. Maybe I’ll find compassion then. Christ!”

  Kate arranged for the man to go into therapy once he’d been exonerated. Three years later, Jack Barrington gave the magna cum laude graduate a job with his firm. Two years later he made partner.

  His name was Douglas Arthur Strutts.

  Chapter 4

  Kate sat on the porch as Jack chopped logs for the fire. With precision and a steady rhythm, he set each log on its end and swung the axe, hitting it just so. One piece fell to the left, and the other fell to the right. Over and over he did this, until two large piles of wood sat on either side of a large stump. His flannel shirt was open, revealing strong shoulders and arms that flexed with every swing of the axe. Mid-swing he looked up and caught her watching him. He straightened and smiled.

  “Come here.”

  Despite Kate’s desire to not give in to him on anything, she stood and came down the steps. Jack swung the axe into a piece of wood and placed his hands on his hips. When she got close, he took her upper arm and guided her down onto a tree stump covered in wood chips.

  “Did I ever tell you how much I loved coming up here with you?”

  She laughed. “You could have fooled me. The only time you ever came was to fish with clients.”

  “Those were the times I dreaded, sharing what we had here with strangers. We couldn’t afford the country club, and this was all I had to offer. But every time I brought someone here, I felt like they were coming into my bedroom. I hated it, Kate.” He looked up as a red-tailed hawk passed over his head. “Remember the first week we spent here, after we closed escrow?” he continued. “I was cutting wood, remember?” He paused to catch his breath. “We’d just had this tree cut down, and I was cutting up the wood for the winter.”