Kiss Me, Tate (Love in Rustic Woods)

by Karen Cantwell

  After work, she was either at the high school helping Ms. Steffler or in her garage making the final arrangements for moving the sets to the stage.

  She’d managed to corner Tate long enough to arrange another visit between their two fathers. “So, is your brother back?” she asked him. “Did they finally talk ?”

  “Not yet. He’s making arrangements to be away from work for a while, and he’ll come a couple of days before the play opens so he can see Willow perform.”

  “Can I do anything to help?”

  He just shook his head. It seemed he’d gone moody again.

  When she brought Daddy by the house to see Mr. Kilbourn, Tate was nowhere to be found.

  Just a few days before opening night of Kiss Me, Kate, Mr. Kilbourn’s nurse called the Nature Center looking for Tate. He wasn’t answering his cell phone, and to reach Tate before he left work. “His father wants papaya,” the nurse said. “He’s pretty adamant that he’d been promised papaya.”

  Bunny could hear frustration in her voice.

  Ordinarily, Bunny would have written the message down and put it on Tate’s desk, but she decided this was a way she could help. Everyone wanted help, she thought, they just felt guilty taking it when it was offered. She’d skip the offering part and get right on with the helping.

  At five o’clock she drove straight to her favorite grocery store for fresh produce. They had ripe papayas just as she expected they would. She bought three of them, along with a bouquet of daisies.

  The nurse seemed surprised when Bunny showed up at the door, but smiled when she held up the bag of fruit.

  Bunny searched through cupboards in the kitchen until she found an elegant emerald green vase that was just perfect for the daisies. It was covered in dust and cobwebs, but nothing some soap, water, and a little elbow grease couldn’t handle.

  Pleased with her find, she made her way to the back room. “Hi there, Mr. Kilbourn,” she said. “I brought you flowers and papayas, just as the doctor ordered.”

  Tate’s father looked pretty much the same as the last time she’d seen him, although he wasn’t wearing the oxygen tubing. His bed was partially raised. The man frowned at her. “Flowers?” he asked. “I didn’t ask for flowers.”

  “I know, but I thought they’d brighten up your room.” She set the vase on his chest of drawers. “See, aren’t they nice?”

  His frown relaxed slightly. “Where’d you find that old vase?”

  “Way in the back of the cupboard over your stove. I think it’s gorgeous. Green is my favorite color.”

  “Alice’s too,” he said. “That vase belonged to her grandmother.”

  “Alice was your wife?”

  He nodded.

  The nurse walked in with plateful of sliced papaya. She handed him the plate, raised the bed some more, and fluffed the pillow for him before leaving.

  “I’d like to see a picture of her,” Bunny said.

  “Of Alice?”

  “Yes. Do you have one?”

  She watched him as he struggled to pick up a slice of the juicy fruit with his frail, shaky hands. “Let me help you,” she said reaching toward him.

  “I don’t need any help! I’m dying, but I’m not an invalid yet.” He gave up on the papaya and pointed out the door. “Closet. In the hallway,” he said. “You want pictures, there’s albums full.”

  “Should I get them?”

  He bugged out his eyes at her. “You’re the one that said you wanted to see a damn picture. You wanna see one or not?”

  He was right, the closet was full of photo albums stacked on the floor. She counted fifteen of them labeled with dates on the spine, going all the way back to 1956.

  She took three from the top and returned to Mr. Kilbourn’s room, taking the seat next to his bed. Mr. Kilbourn had finally managed to eat some of the papaya and was wiping juice from his chin.

  Bunny opened the album dated 1969 to 1971.

  “Scoot a little this way so I can see,” Mr. Kilbourn said.

  She didn’t realize that he had planned on looking at the photos with her. The hospital bed was quite a bit higher than her chair, so she stood so they could easily look together.

  “There,” he said, pointing a thin finger. “That’s Alice.”

  Bunny looked closer and smiled. Tate had his mother’s same dark eyes and brown, wavy hair. In the slightly faded color photograph, a young Alice Kilbourn stood smiling in a flowery bikini, both of her arms wrapped around a child on either side of her. They were on a sandy beach and waves crashed in the background. “Is that May and Samuel?” she asked.

  “Uh-huh. That’s them. May and Sammy. Alice called him Sammy, I didn’t. Makes a boy soft to call ‘em baby names, but you can’t ever tell Alice what to do.”

  Bunny noticed that he referred to her in the present tense. She turned the page and looked at more pictures of them on the beach. Tate’s mother wore a broad and happy smile in each one.

  Mr. Kilbourn pointed to a picture near her thumb in the far right corner. “She liked to make goofy faces.”

  Bunny laughed. “She was funny?”

  “She thought she was.”

  “Did you?”

  He frowned again. “Did I what?”

  “Think she was funny?”

  He shrugged. “She could make me laugh. She was a good woman. She didn’t deserve me, that’s for sure.”

  Bunny heard a door open and Tate’s voice call out. “Hello? Bunny?”

  “I’m back here!” She flipped another page, scanning the pictures, glad to get a glimpse of Tate’s family.

  When he appeared in the doorway, she lifted her gaze from the page to look at him and smile.

  He didn’t return the smile. “What are you doing here?”

  “I brought your dad some papaya. They couldn’t reach you so—”

  “What are you doing with those?” His eyes were focused on the photo albums.

  “I asked to see a picture of your mother.”

  “The papaya was good,” Mr. Kilbourn said. “You should find out where she gets it. She must shop at a better grocery store than you do.”

  “Can I talk to you outside?” Tate’s voice had that same rigid tone as the day he’d been chopping the tree.

  “Sure. Is everything okay?” She set the photo albums down on the chair and followed Tate down the hall and onto the front stoop. He wasn’t kidding when he said outside.

  “Boy, you walk fast,” she started to quip. When she caught up with him though, and he closed the door behind her, she stopped kidding around. He was angry. “What’s wrong?” she asked.

  “I didn’t ask you to come here today, and I sure as hell didn’t ask you to start snooping around in my life.”

  “Snooping around in your life? I just asked to see a picture. He told me to get the albums out, which, by the way, he seemed to be enjoying. You make it sound like some covert conspiracy.”

  “There’s a lot you don’t know about my family.”

  “I’d like to know more.”

  “This isn’t the kind of thing where you can just sprinkle your magic Bunny dust over and make it all better.”

  “Are you mad at me or your father? Because it sounds like—”

  “I’m not mad, I just want you to go. I’m not a talker, I’m not going to share my feelings with you, and I’m not going to share my life with you, okay?”

  Bunny felt the ground sway beneath her feet. Her lungs hurt as if someone had knocked the wind out of her. Even the many hateful words her ex-husband had flung at her over the years didn’t hurt her as badly as Tate’s words just now.

  Unable to utter another syllable, she turned and walked to her car, thankful she hadn’t left her keys in Mr. Kilbourn’s room.

  She couldn’t bear to look Tate in the face again.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  TATE HAD BEEN ABLE TO avoid Bunny at work, but, as he stood in front of the mirror tying his tie on opening night, he worried that running into her was ine
vitable. Steffler had reserved seats at the front for family members of the cast and crew. He could have opted to sit in the rear of the auditorium with Morton next to his handicapped seat, but Samuel had offered to sit there, and of course, Tate wanted to be as close to the stage as possible to see Willow.

  He was so proud of her. He reminded himself that tonight was about Willow, not about Bunny or his irrational outburst.

  Willow was growing up too fast. Tonight she’d sing and act on stage in front of an auditorium full of strangers. When he dropped her off at the school just an hour earlier, she’d been so calm and collected. Not nervous in the least.

  In a few days she’d be attending her first prom. He felt like he’d blink, and she’d be graduating and leaving him for college.

  Damn. He wasn’t getting this tie knot right. He wore one so rarely anymore.

  He found May in his kitchen sipping a glass of wine. “Can you fix this for me? I’m hopeless.”

  “I’ve been saying that about you for a long time now,” she joked, setting the glass down and working the knot with her fingers. “Mort keeps asking about a woman named Bunny. He wants to know if she’ll be at the play tonight. Who’s he talking about?”

  Tate tried to say her name without emotion. “Bunny Bergen.”

  She narrowed one eye, but kept fiddling with the knot. “Charlie’s mom.”

  “Right. Her dad and Mort were friends. He comes by and visits with Mort now.”

  “Well, I’m not sure about a grown woman who allows herself to be called Bunny, but you and her: you’re a little more than friends?”

  He looked over May’s head to avoid letting her read his eyes. “No.”

  “I’m sensing a yes under that no.”

  “Are you done with the tie and the interrogation?”

  “Touchy, touchy, touchy.” She finished, patted the knot, and then slapped his cheek.

  “What’s that for?”

  “I knew something was up with you. It’s this woman, isn’t it?”

  “Something is up with me? Yeah, Morton is up with me. In case you haven’t noticed, he’s been a handful. And it’s a busy time at work. And this play.”

  “Blah, blah, blah,” she said. “There’s always an excuse.”

  Tate looked at his watch. “Samuel will be here any minute. I need to get my camera.”

  She grinned and picked up her wine glass again. “I’ll be looking for her. Is she pretty?”

  “Drop it, May. Just drop it.”

  “You have been so cranky lately, little brother. I think you need to get laid.”

  “Not the conversation I want to have with my sister.”

  Tate grabbed his camera from his dresser top just as the doorbell rang.

  A young girl in a white shirt and black pants handed Tate and May program booklets and pointed them through the double doors into the theater auditorium. Samuel followed them, pushing Morton in his wheelchair.

  Tate didn’t want to see Bunny, but found himself looking for her anyway. He spotted the reserved seats near the center front. “Down there,” he said to May. “That’s where we’re supposed to sit.”

  Samuel was already positioning Morton’s chair into the handicapped spot on the aisle. “I’ll stay here.”

  “Is Doug here?” Morton asked, coughing just a little.

  Doug would be with Bunny. Tate was forced to look for them. He did a quick, nervous scan. “Uh, no, Mort,” he said. “Not yet.”

  “Tell Doug where I am, when you see him. And Bunny too. Tell ‘em I want to say hi.”

  Tate tried to control his irritation. He couldn’t believe that when Morton finally chose to get chummy with someone, it was the one person Tate was ashamed see again. “Will do, Mort. May and I are going to take our seats down front.”

  White sheets of paper with names in black block print were taped to each reserved seat. When he found his name and May’s, Tate did a quick glance over the other chairs in search of Bunny’s name. He spotted it three rows down. She and her father had earned front row seats.

  They sat and May began talking about Samuel and Morton. She’d been stunned, not only by their father’s sudden willingness to see Samuel, but also to allow him into his life again. Tate didn’t have the guts to admit to May that Bunny and her father probably deserved the credit for Morton’s change of heart.

  He winced, remembering his rant about magic Bunny dust. She’d looked as if he’d driven a blade through her gut. The reality was that she had brought magic into their lives. Into his life. He was fool, and he knew it. A stupid, stupid fool.

  Something about seeing Morton and Bunny with those photo albums had set him off. Morton had been willing to share them to Bunny, someone he barely knew, but not share them with his own son.

  Tate had poured over those photographs a million times or more growing up, hoping in some small way to feel closer to his mother, but not once did Morton ever join him. If he’d ever had a chance with Bunny, he’d killed it that day.

  May poked Tate in the arm. “Did you hear me?” she scolded him.

  “No. I’m sorry.” He tried to concentrate on May.

  “Did Willow show you the prom dress?”

  “Oh. Yeah.” He nodded, slapping the program on his knee. “She did. Pretty.”

  “Pretty? Bloody stunning is what it is. Willow is going to knock Charlie’s socks off.”

  The seats were filling quickly with people. Tate looked at his watch. The lights would be dimming any minute now. He turned in his seat to see how Samuel was doing, only to catch sight of Olga, Abigail, and George in the center aisle. George waved, but Olga and Abigail weren’t so nice. Their glares were venomous. Okay, so Bunny had told them he was an ass. He had that coming.

  When he turned back around, he saw her. She’d fixed her hair up into a pretty bun and a few stray wisps fell onto her nearly bare shoulders. He remembered running a finger along those soft, white shoulders not so long ago. He ached to kiss them now.

  Their eyes caught for just a moment, but then she pulled her green shawl over her shoulders and turned to take her seat.

  Doug waved. “Hey, Tate!” Where’s your pop?”

  Tate motioned toward the back where his father sat. Doug gave a thumbs-up, and waved to Morton.

  The lights dimmed, the orchestra began to play, and Tate sucked in a deep breath.

  Willow had the voice of an angel. He was completely captivated every time she was on stage. Several times he thought he’d cry. She inherited her beauty and talent from her mother, and he felt that somehow, Jill was there, watching her and smiling.

  When Willow wasn’t on stage, his gaze wandered. From where he sat, he could see Bunny’s profile. He could watch her smile and laugh.

  She disappeared during intermission, which was a relief, but Olga found and pulled him aside.

  “Where I come from,” she said, looking up at him through her round-framed glasses, “someone like me would put a curse on someone like you.” She poked his chest for emphasis.

  He didn’t have a response.

  “Ack,” she went on, “not really. We are not so much for the curses, but you,” she pointed a stern finger at him, “you are an idiot and deserve to be cursed.”

  That Olga, always afraid to speak her mind. He excused himself from the verbal whipping to get a drink of water from the fountain. A voice startled him as he drank.

  “Tate Kilbourn.”

  He wiped water from his mouth and turned around to see Colt’s friend, Barbara Marr, staring at him. Her curly hair looked a little wild.

  Knowing she was Bunny’s friend as well, he suspected another lecture was forthcoming. “Hi?”

  “Did you know that I shot Bunny in the foot?”

  Good Lord, this woman was fruitier than the rumors reported.

  “No.”

  “You should,” Barb said. “You should know that. Do you know why I shot her in the foot?”

  “Are you serious?”

  “To save her lif
e. I didn’t save her life so you could stomp all over her heart, I’ll tell you that right now.” She shoved a piece of paper into Tate’s hand. “That’s my phone number. If you have half a brain, you’ll make it right with her, and I want to help. Colt says you’re a good guy, and I trust him, otherwise, I wouldn’t be offering.”

  Tate shook his head. “Okay.”

  The lights blinked off and on, signaling everyone to return to their seats for the second half.

  “Your daughter is very talented, by the way,” Barb said smiling, finally.

  “I’ll tell her you said so.”

  “And for God’s sake,” she said, walking away, “ask Bunny about her foot.”

  He returned to his seat next to May feeling shell-shocked. He looked at the paper in his hands and then at Bunny.

  May whispered in his ear. “I’ve been watching you watching her. I haven’t seen that look in your eye since Jill.”

  The lights dimmed and the orchestra played again.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  THE LATE AFTERNOON SUN WARMED Bunny’s face and she was glad for that, but it didn’t calm the butterflies that flapped like crazy in her stomach.

  According to Charlie, Tate had invited her over to take pictures of the couple before they left for dinner and the prom.

  She still wasn’t sure. “That’s what he said?” she’d asked Charlie. “’Invite her?’”

  “Yes, Mom.”

  “He specifically used the word invite?”

  “Mom! Just come!”

  She considered calling Tate herself to confirm, but the trauma of his blow-up was still fresh in her mind. She’d just go, take a couple of quick pictures of Charlie and Willow, say thank you, and leave. She could do that with grace. At least, she hoped she could.

  Her flip-flops slapped against her heels as she walked up the sidewalk that led to the courtyard at the front of Tate’s house. The scent of blooming hyacinth tickled her nose just before she heard Willow’s sweet laughter.

  Tate’s back greeted her as she entered the courtyard. He focused his camera on the gorgeous couple. Charlie could have modeled the black tuxedo and bowtie for a magazine; he looked so handsome. The peach-colored rose boutonnière on his lapel matched Willow’s strapless, floor-length gown. The simplicity of the tulle on the dress and the tiny beadwork on the bodice illuminated Willow’s beauty. Her hair reminded Bunny of the glamour styles from the 1940’s. It hung all on one side, falling like a dark, rich waterfall over her right shoulder. The girl’s beauty took her breath away. She could only imagine how Charlie felt.