• • •
He had not gone home angry; just dismayed that the promise of Kate in his arms had vanished so quickly. Mike knew that sometime soon—if not tonight, then maybe tomorrow—his phone would ring and it would be Kate apologizing in her own way. And they would go on. But where were they going?
He was sitting up in bed when his prediction came true. He picked up on the second ring. Kate’s voice—a little slurred, a lot dreamy—sent his blood pressure up.
“Mikey?… I remembered one of the good times.”
“I’m glad, Kate,” he said, not wanting to hear another “Paul was perfect” story.
“You don’t understand …”
Her voice faded away for a moment, and he asked, “Kate? You there?”
“I’m here.” She paused. “Remember your graduation day?”
“Yeah—I do,” he said, his voice almost sad.
“When I remembered, all I saw was you …”
She fumbled the receiver. He could hear the hard plastic thudding against something. And then she found the cradle, and was gone.
Mike wearily rubbed his eyes, disheartened to hear the evidence of her drinking—afraid he was the cause. Her words didn’t penetrate till a few minutes later. The phrase “all I saw was you” suddenly became his mantra.
Graduation day. God, they had been so young. Twenty-two? Twenty-three? Kate, still fiery. Still Kate Moran in his eyes, although she and Paul had been married for a little over a year. Oh, yes. He remembered.
At that moment, he doesn’t think there can be anything in the world more entrancing than Kate Moran Armstrong standing barefoot in the red dust of Virginia, wearing a white raw silk dress, the sun playing hide-and-seek in her auburn hair. She is still laughing gleefully, and as she turns to close the car door, the breeze blows the skirt of her dress against the back of her legs, vividly emphasizing the fact that she is wearing nothing but that dress.
Mike bends to ostensibly roll down his trouser legs, when actually, he is trying to hide his erection. He quickly puts on his shirt, letting the tail hang out. When he looks up from his hands doing up the buttons, she is walking toward him, shoes in hand. Her hips sway in that sensual motion that seems to come naturally to women when they walk barefoot. This doesn’t feel safe and he wishes Paul were there with them.
“Well?” she is saying, still smiling.
Mike doesn’t know what she’s referring to, and he cocks his head, glad he is still wearing the sunglasses that hide his gaze.
“The picnic. Where are we going to have it?”
“Maybe we should just go on to Richmond,” he says, not at all sure that’s what he really wants.
“Oh, no … you promised me a picnic. We have a cooler full of chicken and potato salad and beer. I’m not letting you off the hook.”
How can he say no? But as he watches her walk back to the rental car, he wonders how he can’t.
They drive until Mike spots a neglected baseball diamond, the backstop made up of weathered boards, the field overgrown with dandelions. There is one double-tiered wooden bleacher, the wood gray with exposure to the elements.
Signaling with his arm, he pulls on to the dirt road and comes to a stop near what was once first base. Kate is already out of her car, and he notes with relief that she has at some point slipped on her panties.
“I can’t seem to get away from this damned game,” she says.
And although her words are light, her voice isn’t. It’s the first time he’s heard a note of dissatisfaction from Kate.
They spread the moth-eaten wool blanket somewhere between the pitcher’s mound and second base. They eat and talk. The subjects innocuous, and always about him. His new job. His new home. His family.
Tired of it, he finally asks, “Are you happy?”
“The food is good, the weather’s beautiful, the company is you … Sure. I’m happy.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
She smiles at him. Says, “I know.” And goes back to listing the virtues of living in one of Richmond’s historic districts.
Mike looks at Kate, who is now stretched out on her stomach, head cradled in her arms, eyes closed. He lets his vision drift down the length of her, finishing with her pale, shapely calves and dusty feet. Her heels have just a hint of roughness to them. She doesn’t like wearing shoes once the temperature reaches the seventies.
He wants to kiss the back of her knee, run his fingers down the muscle of her calf, take her toes into his mouth one by one. He wonders what she’d say if he told her that. Wonders if Paul truly appreciates what he has in Kate.
Mike realizes she is speaking to him.
“You’re awfully quiet. Penny for your thoughts.”
Feeling like a voyeur who’s been caught, he answers, “I was just thinking maybe we’d better get going. You’re getting a little pink.”
“Am I?”
She lifts herself onto an elbow and cranes her neck to see the back of her legs, giving him a breathtaking view of shadowy cleavage.
He abruptly stands. “Let’s go, Kate.”
She looks up at him, obviously puzzled by his change in attitude. “What’s wrong?”
He wants to tell her there and then. Get it over with. But he is so afraid of losing her friendship, that he can’t bring himself to do it. The thought of never having Kate to look at or talk with is worse than the ache he constantly feels when he is near her.
“Nothing’s wrong. It’s been a long day and I’m a little tired.” He holds his hand out to her. “Come on, darlin’. Time’s a-wastin’.”
• • •
He stared at his reflection in the mirror of the armoire across the room and saw a desperate, lonely man who didn’t look anything like Mike Fitzgerald. Time was, indeed, a-wastin’.
Everything he’d done in his life—all the awards, the buildings he’d saved, the good he felt he’d done—suddenly meant nothing. He’d been holding his breath for twenty-one years, waiting for someone to tell him it was all right to let it go. They had all tried—Allison the hardest. But he was still alone.
He wanted to finally give it away. He wanted to breathe into Kate the full extent of himself. He knew that she was the only woman who could take it from him. With Kate he was himself. Or the “self” he used to be. Who was this man in the mirror?
There was no one else for him except Kate. But it was becoming obvious that even the few small steps it would take for Kate to come to him was too long and too arduous a journey for her.
Mike closed his eyes and tried to picture his life without her, because he knew that’s the way it would have to be. No more phone calls. No more I love you’s; want you’s. No more. He didn’t want to be her savior. Their relationship had to be real; equal. Adult. Or it couldn’t be anything at all.
Somewhere, somehow, he had to find the strength to pull himself out of her orbit and get on with his life, no matter how much it hurt them both. It would be better that way. The big question was how?
How do you leave behind a lifetime of memories? How easy would it be to forget she lived across the street, for Christ’s sake?
Sleep didn’t come that night, and Mike was up at sunrise, throwing necessary items into a small suitcase. If nothing else, he wouldn’t have to see her for a few days. Maybe the drive would help him think more clearly.
The portable phone squeezed in the crook of his shoulder, Mike barked orders to Matt as he finished packing.
“She’s still working at Cobble Hill,” he was saying. “But I want you to check up on her a couple of times while I’m gone. The furnace is iffy at the best of times, and it’s supposed to snow again by the weekend.”
“No problem,” Matt said, keeping the grin out of his voice.
“I’ll be at the Williamsburg Ramada. Tell your mom.”
“Yeah, I will.”
“I should be back Friday at the latest. If things go smoothly, maybe Thursday. But don’t count on it.”
Turning off
the phone, clutching it in his hand, Mike stared at the suitcase and sighed deeply. He resisted the temptation to call Kate to say good-bye. And he realized that the first step toward detaching himself from her would be to finish the work on the house as quickly as possible.
Decisively shutting the bag, he zipped it up, took one more look around the room, and walked out.
Heading down Highway 64, he heard her words: All I saw was you …
Yes, Kate, he thought. All I’ve ever seen was you, too. It’s time to take off the blinders.
He’d missed her call by ten minutes.
CHAPTER
TWENTY-FOUR
Kate sat in Julia’s living room absently rubbing her ankle. The swelling was down but it still ached, a reminder of her last evening with Mike.
She and Julia had been discussing where to go for lunch the next day, when Julia stopped mid-sentence, let out a low whistle, and said, “Whoa, sugar! Is that him?”
Kate’s eyes followed Julia’s, watching Matt come up the walkway. “Yes, that’s Matt,” she answered, rising from the couch.
“Michael’s nephew. Lordy! Does it run in the family?”
“Down, girl. He’s not even twenty years old.”
“Who the hell cares?” The doorbell rang and Julia stood, smoothing nonexistent wrinkles from her skirt. “This is one gorgeous piece of male flesh.”
Kate smiled, especially thankful for Julia’s humor the past two days. With Mike gone, all the really bad feelings came back to haunt her. She suddenly felt more alone. He had been stealthily filling up a place in her, and what empty space remained seemed to echo without him. Late at night, unable to sleep even with the wine, she’d get off the couch and go to the front window. The sight of Mike’s dark house frustrated her. It never had before. Introductions out of the way, Kate watched with amusement as Matt turned his charm on Julia Parrish, and Julia—not to be outdone—poured another layer on top of his.
“If you two don’t mind, I’d like to get home in time for Letterman.” As she spoke, Matt’s eyes lazily settled on her, and she shivered slightly. Where had that come from?
“Jumper cables are in the car. Be ready to go in a sec,” he said. Matt strolled back down the driveway, highly aware of the two pairs of eyes on him.
“How do you stand it, Kate? This Adonis and Michael in your house at the same time? I’d be like a cat in heat.”
“Julia, is that all you ever think about?”
Julia grinned her wicked grin, and answered, “Why sure, honey. Doesn’t everybody?”
Kate rolled her eyes. “I’ll put in a good word for you. See you tomorrow.”
Kate turned on the ignition and the engine turned over and caught. She gave Matt the thumbs-up sign. He disconnected the cables and closed the hoods before walking to Kate’s car.
“Thanks, Matt. You’re a lifesaver.”
“No problem.” He leaned the heels of his hands against the roof of the car, and ducked his head down to talk to her. “Are you doing anything tonight?”
“Getting a new battery.”
“After that.”
She found it disconcerting looking at his waistline. Even more disconcerting looking at his face. She finally turned her eyes to his left ear. “No plans. Why?”
“How about that movie you promised me?”
There was no way to get out of this, and she said, “Only if we go dutch.”
His face lit up. “Great! I’ll pick you up around seven.”
“Great,” Kate muttered under her breath.
• • •
Kate discovered her cinematic choices were limited to either the latest Sly Stallone or Steven Seagal movie.
Matt looked up at the marquee, then at Kate. “Do you have a preference?” he asked.
“No. All overinflated testosterone glands look the same to me.”
“We don’t have to stay.”
“Well, truth be told, these aren’t my idea of great filmmaking.” She could see disappointment flooding through him. “Tell you what. Why don’t we go somewhere for coffee and dessert? That way we can talk.”
“Great!”
He opened the passenger door for her with a flourish. She folded herself into the tiny front seat of the old MG he drove, wondering why someone six feet two and probably growing would buy such a small car. The roof cleared the top of his head by only half an inch.
“Where to?” he asked, shifting into first.
Seated at a linen-covered table in McCormick’s, Matt ordered apple pie à la mode and a Coke, while Kate opted for tiramisu and coffee with brandy. She stared into the flames of the massive fireplace and wondered what in the world she was doing there with him. And what on earth would they talk about?
Kate had noted that he’d gotten “dressed up” for their date. He still wore jeans, but his white band-collared shirt was tucked in, although the top button was undone. Over that he’d put on a loose-fitting gray wool blazer. His cowboy boots matched the jacket. He looked very cool and very masculine and much older than his years. Great, her ironic inner voice muttered.
He was sitting back in the heavy antique armchair, looking at her. “Did I tell you you look great?”
Kate, trying to play down the date aspect of the evening, had simply put on a pair of forest-green denim pants and an oversized gray and green turtleneck sweater. She wondered what he’d say if she’d really made an effort to look “great.”
“Thanks, Matt.” She refrained from returning the compliment. Searching for a topic of conversation, she said, “So, tell me about Savannah. What did you do there all summer?”
“Not much.”
Kate could see the question had made him uncomfortable but, for the life of her, couldn’t understand why. “Oh, come on, Matt. You must’ve done something.”
He shifted in his chair.
“Did you enjoy being with your dad?”
“Oh, yeah. That was great.” He nodded.
Why was everything “great”? And who did he remind her of? It was driving her crazy.
“Well, what else did you do?”
His face colored slightly, and she thought she understood now. Teasing him, she said, “I get it. You found yourself a girlfriend, or twelve, down there. Is that it?”
The waiter arrived with their order. As soon as he was out of earshot, Matt answered, “Well, as a matter of fact, I did meet a couple of girls.”
“Broke a few hearts, did you?” Kate smiled, sipping her brandy-laced coffee.
“Nothing to write home about.” He paused to take a bite of the warm pie. “I prefer women.”
Change the subject, Kate.
“Your mom said you were working down there. What kind of work did you do?”
Her fork sank into the delectable rum-soaked sponge cake and cheese.
“I’m not supposed to tell you.”
She still held on to the fork, but it stayed on her plate, the first bite ready and waiting for her. “What do you mean, you’re not supposed to tell me?”
He shrugged, attacking his pie once more. Her mind raced. What wouldn’t they want her to know? Did he work in a funeral parlor? No, he wouldn’t have that tan. Insurance salesman? Short-order cook? Male stripper? No, it had to be something outdoors. What could be so awful that Mike and Sheryl didn’t want her to know? Oil rigs? Maybe. They knew how Kate felt about offshore drilling.
She put the fork in her mouth, watching him eat like there was no tomorrow. Pushing the plate away, Matt sat back once again and combed the fingers of his left hand through his hair, not once, but three times. And then she knew. Kate had seen that gesture all her life. Comb—comb—comb—slap on the cap.
“You play baseball, don’t you?” she said, her voice a mixture of accusation, wonder, and horror.
She’d said the words loudly enough for several heads in the restaurant to turn, and Matt sank down in his chair. He had been spared the sight of Kate’s anger up till now. She had always saved her outbursts for Mike and Sheryl. Bu
t now he received her wrath full force, and Matt didn’t know how to deal with it.
“I don’t believe this! How long were you going to keep up this little charade?” He tried to answer, but she wouldn’t let him. Matt flinched as she slammed her fork down on the table. “The thought of the three of you conspiring not to tell me something like this!” Kate’s hands were shaking, and Matt reached out to calm her, but she snatched her hand away from him. “Don’t touch me!”
The diners who hadn’t already been curious enough to see what the commotion was, now turned their way. Their waiter was making his way to the table. Matt could see the look of distress on his face, and he quickly shook his head at him. The man stopped mid-stride and dubiously withdrew.
“Why would you do this to me?” she asked.
Matt’s voice was just above a whisper. “I shouldn’t have said anything, Kate. I’m really sorry.”
“Sorry?” She picked up her coffee cup with trembling hands, drained it, and signaled the hovering waiter. He reached their table in two strides. “Bring me a double brandy. Now!” she spat at him. Then she turned back to Matt. “Baseball took my husband away from me! I never wanted to think about it again. I have enough reminders in my life without you.” The brandy snifter magically appeared in front of her, and she took a deep swallow. “Your mother and Mike should have kept you a deep, dark secret. Christ, I wish I’d never met you.”
Her words were like a slap across the face, and Matt reacted accordingly. “Look, I can’t help it if baseball is what I’m good at. It’s what I do, okay? Besides, you’re not the only one who was affected by your husband’s death. Paul Armstrong was my idol. He’s the reason I’m in the game.”
“Excuse me, but don’t tell me about what a big fan you were! I lost my husband, for Christ’s sake! I’m sick to death of people telling me how much they loved him. They didn’t even know him! I was the one who lived with him … I loved him.” Another quarter of the brandy disappeared.
Matt leaned forward. “Did you know he sent me something of his every Christmas?”
“What?”
Matt nodded. “Yeah. Every Christmas since I was nine years old. Uncle Mike always delivered whatever it was, and it always came with a letter.” Kate reluctantly looked into his eyes and saw unshed tears. “Christmas was always more special for me because of those letters. He encouraged me and made me feel like I could do anything. Paul Armstrong was like an angel sitting on my shoulder. So don’t tell me about missing him.”
Remember the Time Page 17
