Paul didn’t care that it was there, just that it was part of Kate and that it had hurt her. On their first night together, it took much coaxing on his part, but he finally got her to turn over. It was an angry-looking mark, nearly two inches wide. “Katie,” he’d said. “You must’ve been incredibly brave to go through this. If I had known you then, I would’ve told you how proud I was of you.” And then he’d kissed the length of her spine, bringing tears to her eyes.
Kate lay in her bed thinking about the blind trust she’d placed in Paul. Even when he gave her cause to lose faith in him, she never wavered. She became like a dog, beaten by its master only to wag its tail in acceptance the next time it was stroked. As hard as she tried to break the habit, Paul always came back to stroke her. And she always accepted him, because her doubt in her decision to marry Paul—that maybe she was still a fraud—brought with it guilt and, ultimately, refutation.
The little betrayals never meant as much as his love for her. Of this, she was certain. But that much trust had taken so much out of her. After his death, it was hard keeping the faith. God had let her down. So had Paul. But Kate saw where her loyalties lay and she preferred to blame God. It was easier than admitting she’d made an enormous error in judgment.
And now, she didn’t want to put her trust—her Self—in anyone’s hands again. Kate knew it wasn’t Paul’s memory she was trying to preserve, but her own. Mike had just scared the hell out of her. Why was the truth so much harder to believe? She wanted to go back to that safe place called Denial.
Coming to a decision, she reached over, turned on the lamp by the bed, and picked up the phone.
CHAPTER
FOURTEEN
Mike was still awake when the phone rang. He quickly picked it up, hoping to hear Kate’s voice, but it was his sister.
His disappointment was obvious, and Sheryl said, “Don’t tell me you’re sitting there pining away over Kate again? Jesus, Mike. You’re a grown man. Ante up or fold.”
“Thanks, Sheryl. I can always count on your understanding nature. And for your information, I laid my cards out on the table tonight and got the crap beat out of me.”
Sheryl was stunned. “You actually told her how you feel? My hat’s off to you, Mikey. I take it she didn’t leap into your bed?”
“I hope to God Matt’s not sitting in the room listening to this conversation.”
“No, he’s out with some friends. Your secret is safe with me. Hang on.” He could hear the teakettle whistling, and the sound of silverware against china. “Okay, I’m back. Tell me the whole sad story. No, wait. Let me guess. She doesn’t want to sully the memory of Paul Armstrong, the savior of Staunton.”
Annoyed that his sister could reduce his agony to a few sharp words, no matter that she was probably right, Mike asked, “Why do you find this so fucking amusing?”
“What I find amusing is Kate’s loyalty to that guy. Yeah, he was good-looking and bright and a great baseball player. But he was a shit.”
“That’s a little strong, isn’t it? He really did love her,” Mike said in programmed defense of his friend.
“Okay, I’ll amend that. He was a lovable shit. Look what he put her through.”
Not sure how much his sister knew, Mike was careful with his reply. “The bad investments weren’t totally his fault. That so-called financial manager had a lot to do with that.”
There was a moment of silence on Sheryl’s end, then she said, “All that woman had left when he died was the house, the rest of that year’s contract money, and the dog. I think he knew what was happening. Thank God the shop was in her name.” There was a clicking noise on the line. “Hold on. I’ve got another call coming in.” Mike didn’t have to wait long.
“Mike? I’ve got Kate waiting. Do you want me to tell her I’m on with you?”
“No,” he replied, wishing he could tap into their conversation. “And be nice.”
“Have a little faith in me, Mike!” Sheryl said and hung up.
“Where have I heard that before?” Mike asked himself as he dropped the receiver into its cradle.
Mike sat back and his eyes focused on the leather and oak morris chair across from him. He could almost see Paul sitting forward at the edge of the seat, saying, “Have a little faith in me, man.”
It was late winter, 1994, and Mike was still living in Richmond. Already irritated that Kate hadn’t come with Paul this time, Mike snorted. “I work hard for my money.”
“What, like I don’t?”
Mike rolled his eyes. “You play a game, and you get paid.”
Paul grinned. “Yeah, I’m a lucky guy. So, how about it? Think you can come up with twenty thousand?”
“Oh, I can come up with it. I’m just not gonna give it to your pal to buy some junk stock. And if you used your brain, you wouldn’t do it, either.”
“You’re being more than your usual retentive self today. What’s your problem?”
Mike’s problem was that he’d been counting on seeing Kate one more time before the Armstrongs headed west for spring training. It had become a tradition since Paul had entered the majors. Every year, the three of them had gotten together the week before Paul had to report. When Paul showed up on Mike’s doorstep alone, the first question out of Mike’s mouth had been, “Where’s Kate?” Paul told him she hadn’t been feeling well, and for him to go on alone. It didn’t sound like Kate. The letdown was like getting your mouth set for prime rib and finding out the last piece had just been ordered by the guy at the next table. Nothing sounded good after that.
“You’re my problem,” Mike answered. “Does Kate know about this latest ‘sure thing’?”
“I mentioned it to her.”
“Did you mention you’ve already sunk fifty grand into that black hole of a country club?”
The muscle in Paul’s left jaw tightened. “I know you’d like it if it were the other way around, but Kate’s my wife. I decide what she needs to know. Besides, you had a wife of your own. Remember?”
“This isn’t about me and Allison.” Mike didn’t see any sense in stopping now. The conversation had veered out of control. “Do you think Kate needs to know about the women you’ve been fucking on the road?”
“She knows. She got over it. How come you haven’t?”
“Bullshit, she knows!” Mike exploded. “The only one she knows about is the first one. And that’s ’cause she guessed and you had to come clean!”
“I don’t have to explain it to you, pal. That’s just life on the road.”
“What a convenient excuse,” Mike said sarcastically.
“Okay, so she doesn’t know. So what? It’s not hurting her, is it?”
“You’re a class A prick. You know that, Armstrong? If I had thought for one minute you’d end up treating her like dirt, I would’ve done my best to make her mine.”
“You didn’t stand a chance.”
The venom of Paul’s statement caused Mike to sit back abruptly. He stared at the man he suddenly didn’t know and tried to get a handle on his fury.
Finally, he asked. “Why do you do it? Kate’s the best thing that ever happened to you.”
“Look, she didn’t exactly hold up her end of the bargain.”
“What are you talking about?” And then the light dawned. “Are you trying to tell me that because she couldn’t have kids—couldn’t give you a son—that you feel it’s your right to do whatever the hell you please? Oh, that’s rich! She didn’t do it on purpose, y’know. She didn’t plot to marry you knowing she couldn’t have children and then spring it on you a few years down the road.” Mike remembered the agony she’d gone through. She had been terrified of telling Paul what the doctor’s final words on the subject had been, and so she’d called Mike. And he had told her that Paul would understand.
Paul stood and now walked toward the window. “It’s not just that. She’s not the woman I married. She’s changed.”
“Sure she’s changed. So have you. She’s doing everythi
ng she can to hold on to you.”
“Well, she’s suffocating me, Mike.”
Mike drew a deep breath. “You want out?”
Paul shook his head. “No, we’ve been together too long. I still love her, Mike.”
“Then what? You want Kate, and you want everyone else who’s willing to spread their legs for the great Paul Armstrong? Is that it?” When Paul didn’t answer, Mike’s eyes narrowed and he shook his head in disgust. “The Prince Charming of Baseball. What a joke.”
Paul turned away from the window and fixed his eyes on his friend. “You’re pathetic. I don’t need this shit from you. You want to apologize, you know where I’ll be … pal.”
Mike was on the phone with Kate the moment Paul walked out the door. “Paul said you were sick. How are you feeling?”
“I’m surviving, but I’m really tired.”
Her voice was hoarse and he could tell she’d been crying.
“What’s really wrong, Katie?”
“Just a cold. That’s all.”
But he knew what it was. “You told him, didn’t you.”
“It was awful, Mike.” Her voice broke and a sob escaped, but she held herself in check. “I tried to be calm. But he kept denying there were other women.” Her voice rose. “He just kept lying to me! Even when I pointed out the evidence, he acted like I was some kind of lunatic, imagining it all.”
“You knew he would, Katie. We talked about that.”
“I know,” she said softly.
“What about the money?”
“I tried to follow the script you and I worked out, Mike. I really did. I told him that I needed to be included in all financial decisions from now on, but he said his advisor would take care of it.”
Mike winced, not knowing what to tell her anymore. If she got angry enough—fed up enough—would she finally leave Paul? “What did you say?” Silence. “Kate?”
She answered so softly he had to jam the phone against his ear to hear her.
“I told him that if he couldn’t be honest with me, I couldn’t live with him.”
Mike stayed silent, afraid his voice would give away the soaring hope he felt. Christ, she could probably hear his heart pounding.
“I told him to go to Phoenix without me.”
She began sobbing. He had to say something. “Katie, please … stop crying. Tell me what Paul said.”
“He … he yelled at me. Said he didn’t know who I was anymore.” Silence. Then, “And I screamed back at him that I didn’t know who I was anymore, either.”
“I know it was a hard thing to do, but it was time.”
“I know,” she whispered. “Did he … did he say anything to you?”
“No.”
“Nothing at all?”
Mike cradled his forehead in his hand and closed his eyes. “He said he still loves you.”
Paul had flown to Phoenix alone and spent his first ten days there trying to convince her to join him. In the end, Kate had relented. She’d called Mike and, almost apologetically, told him of her decision. “I have to go, Mike,” she’d said, as if seeking his approval. “He wants to try to work things out. I need to see his eyes … to see if he really means it, y’know?”
“Stay tough, Kate,” Mike had said, his heart breaking. “I’ll see you in October.” He’d paused. The vapor of a decision had now become a solid, and Paul’s words came back to him. “You didn’t stand a chance.”
His last words to her before she left for Phoenix were, “Tell Paul I’m … No. Just tell him I’ll call.”
But he never made that call. And he saw Kate much sooner than October, because Paul was dead two weeks later.
Mike’s fist came down onto the arm of the couch, making an unsatisfying thud. What the hell did faith mean to him anymore? Guilt was the new watchword. His own guilt was the reason he more than understood what Kate was going through—and why he’d been so patient with her. But it had to end. He knew he could never take back the words he’d said to Paul. He wanted to move ahead. And he wanted Kate to make that journey with him.
When the phone rang again that evening, he knew it was Sheryl, ready to pick up their conversation where they’d left off. He wasn’t in the mood and he let it ring until the machine picked it up.
“I know you’re there, Mike.” She waited. “Okay, so don’t pick up. I just want to let you know you owe me one. Kate called to tell me she wanted out of your contract, and I convinced her that whatever had happened between the two of you, she still needed to get that damned house fixed. Believe me, it took some doing. So, in case you had any doubt, you guys are still on for Monday. Say thank you, little brother.”
CHAPTER
FIFTEEN
Kate had just finished drying her hair when she heard a loud metallic clattering outside, accompanied by Homer’s barking. She hurried to the bedroom and peered out the window. Then she swore to herself. She’d gotten up early in hopes of getting out of the house before Mike arrived. She even had a note written and ready to pin to the front door, telling him she’d be gone for the day. Too late.
By the time Kate put on what little makeup she wore, her anxiety level had risen considerably. When Mike rang the doorbell, her unease at seeing him again caused her heart to pound and she felt herself grow hot with embarrassment. He rang the bell again as she was coming down the stairs, and she heard him shout, “Kate? It’s just me. Open up.”
He stood on the porch looking nearly as uncomfortable as she felt. Kate stood aside to let him in. “You’re early.”
“Sorry. Habit.”
They stood in the hallway for a few seconds and Mike finally said, “Just wanted to put my thermos in the kitchen.” He held up the metal container as if to prove he had a valid excuse for being in the house.
“Be my guest,” she said, waving him on. She was a few steps behind him, when she asked, “Where’s Matt?”
“He’s on his way.”
Mike set the thermos on the counter and turned to face her. “Why are we acting like strangers?” She shrugged, her unease still evident. “I’m sorry if what I said last night made you uncomfortable, but I had to let you know how I feel.”
“Not now, Mike. Please.”
“Right,” Mike said shortly. “Not now.” He brushed past her. As he stepped outside, Matt was pulling up to the curb.
Kate was trying to form an apology, but she hung back in the doorway to watch Mike trot down the steps to meet his nephew. The two stood talking with their heads bent together. Matt’s short hair, the color of walnut shells, contrasted with Mike’s. The younger man, with his faded jeans slung low on his lean hips, subconsciously aped his uncle’s gestures. She could see the similarity of their builds and, whether from genes or hard work, they were both in great shape. Kate surprised herself by noticing.
Matt lifted his head for a moment and scanned the roof before pushing up the sleeves on the jersey he wore. His forearms were strong and tanned. Kate was still staring at him when she realized Mike was speaking to her. She stepped out of the protection of the entry.
“Kate, this is Matt.”
She held out her hand to the handsome young man.
“It’s nice to finally meet you, Mrs. Armstrong.”
“Kate. Please.”
She looked up into his face and was startled by a pair of eyes the color of dry pine bark—not quite brown, not quite gray. The clear irises were rimmed in black, further setting off their hazel color. His mouth was smiling the patented Fitzgerald smile. She felt as if she’d known him forever, and she smiled back.
Matt was still holding her hand, when she said, “Well, I’ll let you guys get to work.”
He quickly released her, and watched appreciatively as she made her way back up the cement walk. “Nice,” he stated.
Mike, misreading his nephew’s comment, answered, “Yeah, she’s a great lady.”
Matt bent to pick up the toolbox. “Man, she’s one hot lady.”
Mike looked up from his noteb
ook, startled.
“Don’t tell me you never noticed,” Matt said, grinning.
Mike casually shrugged. “We grew up together,” he said by way of explanation.
“So. What?”
“So.” Mike turned and walked toward the ladder he’d left on the lawn. “I guess I think of her as a sister.” He wondered if Matt was buying this.
“Hey, if it were me, I’d be thinking second cousin twice-removed.”
Mike headed off in the direction of the backyard. “I’m not paying you to think.”
Matt made a face, and followed his uncle.
CHAPTER
SIXTEEN
The work had been going well. On Thursday, as Kate left the house for a lunch date with Sheryl, she circled the house until she found the ladder and Mike.
“I’m leaving,” she called up to him. “Is there anything you need while I’m out?”
“Just your smile, darlin’,” he shouted down.
“That Irish charm will take you only so far in life, Michael Fitzgerald.”
He grinned as she turned and headed for her car, raising her arm in a wave. Mike went back to replacing the fish-scale shingles in the cornice.
“Hey! Uncle Mike?” Matt’s shout reached him from the other side of the house. “Can you come here a minute?”
Mike looked up at Matt, who had been working on the eaves under the tower and now stood next to the window. “What? You find some rot?”
“No. Something a lot more interesting. Come on up.”
Kate leafed through the June 1989 issue of House and Garden as she sat in Sheryl’s living room, which doubled as her waiting room when she had clients. She heard voices coming down the hall. One sounded suspiciously like Donna Estes’s, and she quickly put down the magazine and jumped up to make a run for the bathroom. She wasn’t fast enough, and looked into the pert face of the ex-head-cheerleader.
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