by Karen Cimms
Pete didn’t reappear until it was time to go back on. She did her best to avoid looking at him, but whenever he caught her eye, he’d smile and wink. Billy had been right; Pete was a dick.
“So what was your favorite part?” Billy asked as they waited for a table at the deli across from the Winter Garden Sunday evening. That morning he’d surprised Kate with tickets to Cats. The entire weekend was costing him a small fortune, but when the lights went down and the overture began, the look on her face convinced him it was worth every cent.
“I loved it all,” she gushed. “But if I had to pick my favorite, it would be ‘Growltiger’s Last Stand.’”
“Not ‘Memories’?”
“I love that, too, but when they started singing opera, I felt it.” She placed her hand on her heart. “I have no idea what they said, but it touched me. It’s how I feel sometimes when you play, especially the acoustic. It’s so beautiful, I could cry. Don’t you ever feel that way?”
“I don’t know that I’ve ever heard a piece that made me cry.” He thought for a moment, then laughed. “Although, to be honest, bagpipes make me want to bawl my eyes out. Guess it’s my Scottish blood.”
Smiling coyly at Billy, the hostess motioned for them to follow her to a two-top in the back.
“So, you like opera?” he asked after they were seated.
Kate picked up her menu and shrugged. “After hearing that, I’d be willing to give it a shot. It would have to be something romantic, though, and Italian.” She crinkled her nose. “I don’t know that I could get all teary about a German opera like Die Fledermaus, especially if it’s about a real mouse.”
He tried not to laugh. “Pretty sure that’s a comedy. And die fledermaus is a bat.”
She shuddered. “Even worse. So what was your favorite part?”
Watching you, he wanted to say. He’d found himself spending more time glancing down at Kate’s face than he had watching the show, and finding her way more captivating. Could he possibly get any cheesier?
“Oh, I think it was all pretty good.”
She flipped her hair over her shoulder, and he imagined the weight of it dragging across his chest. He wanted to lean forward and kiss every freckle from one cheek to the other, then get lost in her gray-green eyes. He wanted to skip dinner and go back to the hotel. Instead, he fumbled with his menu and asked what she was going to have.
“Chopped liver with onion and a giant pickle.”
“Jeez, I hope that comes with a side of Listerine,” he muttered.
Her face fell. “Do you want me to get something else?”
“No, that’s OK. I’ll just eat onions, too, and hope for the best.”
Later, as they walked back to the hotel, holding hands and taking in the lights and the sounds of the city, he asked if she’d ever want to live there.
“As much as New York has to offer, I’d rather just visit. I like the peace and quiet of the country. I like to see the stars. What about you?”
“The big city’s pretty exciting. It might be fun for a while. I guess it would be difficult with kids, though.”
“So now you’re having kids?” She poked him gently in the ribs. “You weren’t even sure you wanted to fall in love.”
He guided her over to a store window, out of the path of the other pedestrians. “A guy can change his mind, can’t he?” Then he leaned down and kissed her.
“Hmm. Liver.”
Billy hadn’t even left yet, and Kate was already missing him. They’d returned to New Brunswick around midnight. He carried her suitcase up to her room. She then insisted on walking him back down to the lobby where they kissed for so long her lips were swollen and her face burned from the scruff of his beard.
“I don’t want you to go,” she said finally.
“I don’t want to go without you.”
“It’s such a long time.” She studied his face. “You’re gonna meet someone else and forget about me. Probably some snow bunny.”
“I won’t. No one could make me forget you.”
A heavy weight settled on her chest.
“I’ll call you every night, I promise. Every night before the gig.”
“I’d rather you call me every night after the gig, from your lonely hotel room.”
“I’ll do that then, if you don’t think it will bother your roommates. I’ll call whenever you want. Just tell me when.” He twirled a long strand of her hair through his fingers. “I’ll see you in two weeks. You take the train into the city Friday, and I’ll pick you up at the station. Then we’ll drive out to Long Island.”
“What about Christmas?”
“I’m booked up in Stowe, but I’ll be back the Tuesday after Christmas, and then Tewksbury on Friday and Asbury Park for New Year’s Eve.” He cradled the back of her head in his hand, then kissed her so hard her knees turned to rubber. “I want you with me for New Year’s.” The words brushed softly against her ear.
It hadn’t been too difficult to fool her parents this time, but they thought she was doing charity work. They would never let her go away with Billy overnight. “I hate lying again, but I’ll think of something. In the meantime, come see me when you get back. That Thursday, come meet my parents.”
“I don’t know, Katie.” He rested his forehead against the top of her head. “Maybe that’s not a good idea.”
Her heart sank. “Don’t you want to see me?”
“Of course I do, but your parents seem pretty strict. I’m not your average boyfriend material.”
“Am I your girlfriend?”
He gave her the half-smile that made her tingle. “Oh baby, you are most definitely my girlfriend.”
“Then please. It’ll be fine.”
He didn’t look convinced, but he agreed. She had no idea if her parents would like him, or even accept him. But as long as she did, wasn’t that all that mattered?
Chapter Ten
Christmas vacation dragged, especially since it would be another week before she would see Billy again. To pass the time, Kate had baked dozens of cookies. She made trays for the volunteer firefighters and the rescue squad. She made a bûche de Noël from scratch, with chocolate fudge icing that looked like bark and meringue mushrooms dusted with cocoa powder. When she got sick of baking, she took long walks. She even helped decorate the Presbyterian church in the town square after she saw the minister and his wife struggling to unload boxes from their Jeep.
She couldn’t remember ever having this much energy, but whenever she stopped moving, she physically ached for Billy.
On Christmas Eve, she and her parents went to midnight Mass, after which they’d gathered in the family room, where she was permitted to open one present. It was the same each year, a Christmas nightgown or pajamas. This year it was a flannel nightgown that looked like every other flannel nightgown she’d ever received: a half-circle of lace around the yoke, buttons on the cuffs, and buttons in the back. It would cover her from the tips of her ears to the tips of her toes.
She wondered what Billy would say if he saw it. No matter. That wouldn’t happen.
To try and stir things up, make it a little more fun this year, she surprised her parents with pajamas of their own. For her mother, bright pink flannel covered with dancing lobsters wearing Santa hats—a tribute to their summers in Maine. And for her father, a pair of forest green flannels printed with red Christmas balls.
“Oh my,” her mother said as she opened the box. Her father said nothing.
Kate giggled. “Aren’t they great? I saw them at the mall, and since you always get me PJs for Christmas, this year I thought we’d all wear them.” She scrambled to her feet. “Go put them on. I’ll set up the camera so we can get a picture in front of the tree.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” her mother said. “I’m not sure they’ll fit.” She looked at the tag under the collar. “These are a six. I’m only a four.”
“Can’t you at least try them?”
“If your mother says they’re too big, th
en they’re too big.”
She tried not to let the hurt feelings show. “What about you, Daddy? Can you put yours on?”
He made a face. “These really aren’t my style. It’s a lovely gesture, though. Thank you.”
She looked from her father to her mother. “I’m not asking you to wear them to a faculty meeting. I just thought it would be fun.”
“Your father’s right. It’s a lovely sentiment. Thank you.” Her mother put the lid on the box and the conversation, then picked up a plate of neatly arranged cookies.
“Cookie?”
Swallowing her disappointment, Kate shook her head and stood. “No, thank you. I think I’ll just go to bed.”
After kissing her parents goodnight and hanging up her stocking on the highly polished marble fireplace in the front parlor, she headed upstairs, feeling lonelier than ever. She slipped out of her plaid jumper and tights and pulled her new nightgown from the box. But instead of putting it on, she tossed it on the bed and then locked her bedroom door.
Standing in front of the full-length mirror, she stared at her reflection. She reached back and unhooked her bra, then she slipped out of her panties. She’d never really looked at herself like this before, although she’d always been critical of her perceived misfortunes: her legs were too thin, her breasts too small, her neck too long.
But when she looked at the girl in the mirror, she didn’t see any of those things. A woman looked back at her. She saw what Billy saw, and she wasn’t disappointed. Pulling her hair up on top of her head, she turned to one side, then the other. She was proud of her body. And if someone like Billy, who had girls throwing themselves at him nightly, saw something special in her, then maybe it was true.
She climbed into bed, thinking of Billy, unable to sleep. She rolled onto her side. It was a little past one. Picking up the phone, she dialed the long distance number he’d given her. A tiny thrill went through her when she heard his voice.
“You’re still awake?”
“Hey, babe. We finished up a couple hours ago. I was just about to go to bed.”
“I’m already in bed. I miss you.”
“I miss you, too. I wish you were here, right now, in my bed.” His voice dropped an octave. “Do you know what I’d do if you were here?”
She twisted the cord around her finger. “No. Tell me.”
He chuckled. It was low and throaty. “I think you know exactly what I’d do to you.”
“Tell me.”
It was quiet for a few seconds. “You promise to do exactly what I tell you?”
“Uh-huh.”
“What’re you wearing?”
“Nothing.”
“Then we’re off to a good start.”
Christmas at home was quiet. After the wrapping paper had been carefully folded and put away, and the opened gifts arranged neatly under the tree, Kate and her parents gathered in the front parlor. They sat in their respective places, each reading one of their Christmas gifts. Kate stared at the pages of Beloved. Her father was reading The Closing of the American Mind, a book her mother had given him—a perfect choice, she thought with a small grunt. When he glanced up over the top of his book, she cleared her throat and went back to staring at the same page, flipping it for effect.
Her mother was reading a leather-bound volume of The Wings of the Dove Kate had picked up in New York.
“This is a beautiful book, Kate.” She ran her hand over the gold embossing. “Where did you say you found it?”
“I didn’t.” Kate hesitated. “Actually, there’s a little bookstore in New Brunswick. Lots of oddities, some rare books. I saw it, and I knew you’d love it.”
“Yes, I do.” Her mother gave her a bland smile. “Funny thing is, there’s a bookmark inside from Argosy’s Old and Rare Books in New York.”
Kate tried not to fidget under the sudden scrutiny. She drew her legs up under her. “Maybe that’s where it was before I got it. It’s an old book, Mom. It’s been around.”
“Perhaps.”
“That’s probably what happened.” She buried her face back in her book. She was a terrible liar. If they pushed her, she’d probably cave and admit to getting it in New York. But then she would need an excuse for having gone there. She would just say that she took the train into the city to see Joey and—
“Kate?”
“Huh?”
“Please don’t say ‘huh.’” Her mother closed the book and set it on the table next to her chair.
“Sorry. I didn’t hear you.”
“I asked you to set the table.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She scrambled to her feet, grateful for an excuse to escape. She removed her grandmother’s china and the family silver from the butler’s pantry and took down three crystal goblets and two wine glasses. Then she arranged the place settings the way she had been taught. The candles in the silver candelabra would be lit just before they sat down to their traditional goose. She hated goose. Even the smell of it roasting in the oven was nauseating. Her dinner would consist of salad, green beans almandine, and a scoop of duchess potatoes. That was her tradition. It made no sense to her why, if one-third of the family refused to eat the meal, it remained a tradition. But it was also a tradition, it seemed, not to discuss changing traditions.
As they ate, nondescript Christmas music played in the background, accented by the tinkle of heavy silver on fine bone china.
Kate steered a green bean through her potatoes. She cleared her throat. “I have a friend coming to visit Thursday. I hope that’s okay.”
“Oh?” Her mother looked up. “Who might that be?”
“His name is Billy.” Just saying his name made her smile.
“Is this the young man who’s been calling every day?” her father asked.
“Yes. I want him to meet you, and I’d love for you to get to know him.”
Her mother placed a forkful of potatoes in her mouth and chewed.
Kate waited. How long does it take to chew fancy mashed potatoes?
“How do you know this boy?” her father asked.
“He’s not exactly a boy.”
“Oh?” Her mother’s brows shot up. Kate winced. Wrong answer. “How old is this young man then? He is a young man, isn’t he?”
“Yes, of course. He’s in his early twenties.”
“How early?” asked her father.
“Um, twenty-one.” Billy was almost twenty-four.
Her parents exchanged glances. Raising the heavy linen napkin from her lap, her mother dabbed at the corner of her mouth. “Is this a boy—sorry—a young man you met at school?”
“Kind of. Toni and I went to this, um, restaurant one night, and I met him there. He’s very nice. I think you’ll like him.” She looked from her mother to her father. They were unreadable. “He’s very talented. He’s a musician.”
Her father coughed. “A musician? What kind of musician?”
“The kind who plays music. What do you mean, what kind of musician?”
“No, dear,” her mother said as if speaking to a five-year-old. “What type of instrument does he play?”
“Oh. Pretty much everything—piano, mandolin, guitar, anything with strings.”
Her mother took a sip of her wine. Her father sliced through a piece of dark meat. Kate waited, impatient.
“Well? Can he come for dinner?”
“Of course, that should be fine,” said her mother.
“Thank you,” she answered, with just a little too much attitude.
“Excuse me?” Her father seemed somewhat taken back.
“I’m sorry.” She gave them both her sweetest smile. “I’m just nervous. I want you to like him.”
“I’m sure we will,” her mother said, already sounding bored. “If you like him, what’s not to like?”
Chapter Eleven
After trying on just about every outfit in her closet, Kate settled on a long-sleeved Laura Ashley dress sprinkled with tiny flowers, paired with dark tig
hts, and flats. She needed to look as demure as possible. If her parents caught a glimpse of what she’d been wearing lately, they’d lock her in her room. She stared at her reflection in the mirror. Other than having her two front teeth, she didn’t look much different than she had in kindergarten.
To kill time until Billy arrived, she went downstairs and began setting the table, pulling out the linens and the good china.
Her mother stopped her.
“I don’t think that’s necessary. We don’t want your friend to feel uncomfortable.”
“Why would he feel uncomfortable?”
“I don’t know. Perhaps he’s not used to the finer things.”
“Why would you say that?” She didn’t have a clue if Billy was used to finer things or not, but for her mother to assume he wasn’t was just wrong. Her mother smiled her typical smile, the one that said “I’m not discussing this, so don’t waste your breath.”
“Fine. What would you like me to use?”
She handed Kate the everyday dishes.
“Paper napkins, too?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. We don’t have paper napkins.”
Kate had wanted to make dinner, but her mother insisted on handling it. That was probably a good thing, as the less time she spent around her mother, the less likely she would say something to get herself in trouble. Her father was less of a problem, since he spent the day in his study.
As dinnertime neared, Kate waited anxiously at the window, spotting Billy’s van just a few minutes past four. He climbed out and looked up at the house—a three-story, Italianate Victorian with a mansard roof. For a second, she feared he might get back in and drive away. She rushed to the front door and yanked it open, barely able to contain herself as he came up the walk.
Billy grinned when he saw her, and she wondered how he could possibly be even more beautiful than the last time she’d seen him. He’d shaved his beard and mustache, and his hair was pulled back into a neat ponytail. Of course, that exposed the two small gold hoops in his left ear. He was wearing his leather jacket and a gray sweater, jeans, and cowboy boots that made him even taller. He carried a large bouquet of red roses and a box wrapped in Christmas paper.
