“I’m sorry. I didn’t have anyplace else to go. I wanted to talk to you, but you were with Mike, and I didn’t think he wanted to see me.”
Kate took his other hand. “Everyone’s worried about you.”
Matt looked at the ground. “I’ve caused a lot of trouble.”
“What are you talking about, Matt? None of this is your fault.”
“Then why do I feel like it is?”
The hurt in his voice made her heart contract, and she pulled him close and put her arms around him. “Oh, Matt … what is it about Paul that makes people think that way?”
He tried to stifle the tears that stung his eyes, but they came anyway.
Kate held him tighter. “Don’t let him do this to you. A week ago you didn’t know, and you had everything in your life to look forward to. Don’t let this make a difference. I’ve spent too many years under his spell. I’ve let him hurt me for too long. That was my own fault. I was the one who wasn’t willing to see the truth. We can’t let him hurt us anymore. He’s dead now.”
Matt’s body shook as he sobbed, “That’s what makes this so hard. I’m totally confused …” He wanted to go on, but couldn’t catch his breath.
Kate gently pushed him away. “Come on, Matt. I think you know that Dan is your father, despite the fact that Paul gave you life.” She squeezed his hand. “Matt? Am I right?”
Embarrassed by his tears, Matt turned his head and stood. He walked a few feet away from her. “That’s not it.”
“Then what?” Kate’s eyes followed him as he moved toward the beech tree.
“I idolized him. I guess I loved him. I know how much he hurt you. I think I hate him now.” His fist came up and sharply hit the tree trunk. “But, shit, Kate! A part of me still wants to love him. He was my father! And he was a piece of scum! And I still want him to have loved me.”
Kate stayed silent for a few seconds, then said, “Let’s get out of here, Matt.” She stood, brushing off her jeans. “Come to my house.” She put her hand on his shoulder and pulled him away from the tree. “Let’s go, Matt. Where’s your car?”
“I came on the bus.” He turned to look at her, his hazel eyes filled with fear at all these emotions. “I don’t want to see anyone else.”
“You don’t have to. I promise.” Their eyes locked and his likeness to Paul took her back in time.
“What?” he asked.
Kate wordlessly shook her head.
“Kate?”
“Come on, Matt. It’s cold,” she interrupted, going toward the car.
“Kate,” Matt said, catching up with her. “He must’ve loved you. He would’ve been crazy not to.”
“Thanks, Matt,” she said in a clipped tone, afraid of where his words were leading. “Get in the car, please.”
He complied, and as she settled in behind the wheel, he quietly stated, “I love you, Kate.”
“Oh, Matt!” She pressed her forehead against the steering wheel and whispered, “Please find someone to love who loves you back.”
“I saw you with Mike last night. I know you don’t care about me …”
Her head shot up. “I do care!”
“I know you don’t care about me that way,” he continued. “I’m not stupid, Kate. I saw how you were with Mike. I just wanted to tell you. That’s all. And I’ll never regret what happened between us.”
Her face flushed with embarrassment. “Please, Matt. I can’t talk about this anymore. Don’t bring it up again.” She turned the key in the ignition and they drove away.
A heavy silence hung between them, which Matt finally broke. “I don’t know if I can face Mike.” Kate sighed deeply. “I’m sorry, Kate. I know you don’t want to talk about it, but I need to know how he feels about me.”
“I explained what happened. He seemed to understand. The two of you are going to have to deal with this now.”
“You and Mike are okay, then?”
Kate glanced over at him, wondering what he wanted her to say. She finally answered, “Yes. I think we’re okay.” But as she spoke the words, she began to wonder if she’d be “okay” with anyone ever again.
CHAPTER
FORTY-EIGHT
Matt, wrung out emotionally, was asleep in the guest room. It wasn’t late, but a sudden urge to take a drink had sent Kate upstairs to the safety of her room. The den, the living room, the kitchen—all were too tightly linked to long lonely nights and alcohol-induced sleep. Kate sat on the bed, back against the headboard, a book open on her lap. She had read the same sentence three times, her thoughts erasing any memory of what the words were. The sentences blurred together, forming a gray mist that floated on the paper.
She hated to admit it, but it had been a relief to look out the front window and not see Mike’s truck. Their night together, and the closeness it had brought, was still too new to her. It was overwhelming. Her life had become so structured that she was like an inmate who had served twenty years and was suddenly free. She didn’t know how to deal with real life anymore. And the small amount of freedom she had felt after the visit to the cemetery was elusive. It had shown her what could be, and that was intimidating. What if she began to step out of the cage that had held her all these years and the door slammed shut in her face, leaving her to gaze out at the world alone again?
The doorbell brought her back and she looked at the clock. Nearly ten o’clock. She knew it was Mike and her heart beat a little faster, a paradoxical combination of apprehension and pleasure. High school all over again. She remembered the feeling well.
She opened the front door to a very weary Mike.
“Hey, darlin’.” His hands were in her hair as he kissed her. “Where’ve you been all day?”
“I had some business to take care of,” she answered, loving the feel of his fingers on her neck.
“Hope it went better than my day.”
His hands dropped away from her, but Kate caught one and tugged him inside. Moving close to him, she slid her hands up his back and pressed her lips in the vulnerable underside of his chin. His pulse sped up. The smell of winter air clung to him, and she forgot all her anxieties for a few moments as she closed her eyes and breathed him in.
“I could get used to this.” His voice brought her around.
“So could I.” The words came out of her mouth without hesitation, making them both smile.
“I hate to break this spell, but if you’ve got coffee, I’ll take it.”
A day that should have begun with Kate waking in his arms quickly degenerated into a day of arguments and tears with his sister. Mike and Sheryl spent the rest of the morning shouting at each other until they tired of the endless circle the words took them around. Mike’s anger fed off the promise of the morning and Sheryl’s fed off the fear for her son’s well-being. It was a no-win situation and Sheryl had finally put an end to it by walking out the back door. “I’m going to look for Matt.”
Mike followed, hurriedly shrugging into his jacket. “I’m coming.”
They’d driven all over town, intermittently squabbling and apologizing halfheartedly, as the tension of their fruitless search caught up with them. Several times, Mike passed through his own neighborhood hoping to catch Matt trying to get to Kate. It was then he’d noticed Kate’s car was gone for a good portion of the day.
As the afternoon wore on, Sheryl told him bits and pieces of the whole story. Mike remembered the time he’d taken Matt to that game in Philadelphia. He played the whole day back in his mind. It amazed him that even then, Paul had known Matt was his son and he hadn’t departed from his script. Mike hadn’t spotted anything different about him, and even with what he knew now, Mike still couldn’t find a flaw in Paul’s performance.
And while he was digesting that, Mike realized his own sister deserved an Academy Award for Best Actress. They had stopped at the Shoney’s on the east side of town for lunch. Mike had looked across the table at her and harshly asked, “How did you do it, Sheryl? How in hell did you live with
that lie every day of your life?”
“I had to,” she’d retorted. “I just did what I had to do, Mike. What? You’re so perfect you’ve never done anything you’re ashamed of?”
He’d snorted. “Nothing like this!”
She’d pursed her lips and her eyes narrowed slightly. “How about lusting after your best friend’s wife?” He’d turned away from her then, and Sheryl had continued to push it. “I’ve watched you throw away relationships with women because they somehow didn’t measure up to the Kate Armstrong standard. I’ve listened to you piss and moan about the way Paul treated her, but you know what? That was her choice. I told you before. We all made choices.”
“You’re right, Sheryl,” he’d snapped. “We all had something to hide. But a lot more people are hurting now. Maybe if you had come clean with this all those years ago, she would’ve finally left Paul. Maybe all our lives would’ve been a lot less lonely. Maybe Kate and I would’ve had a chance back then, and Allison would’ve never happened!”
“That’s bullshit, Mike, and you know it. You’re not thinking with your head right now.” She threw her napkin on the table. “Let’s get out of here. I’ve got more important things to worry about.”
They’d gone on with their search in weighted silence.
Kate handed Mike a mug of reheated coffee, then joined him at the table. He gazed at her thoughtfully over the rim of the cup, but didn’t ask the question that had been running through his mind since that conversation with Sheryl. Could it have worked back then? Would you have let him go easier, Kate? Would we be lovers now? Husband and wife? Maybe it was better not to know the answers.
Instead, he said, “We found Matt’s car out on Route 613.
No sign of him, though. Sheryl’s terrified.”
“And you?”
“There’s a bus stop a couple of blocks from where he left the MG. I figure he hopped on the bus and he’s been wandering around all day. He’ll find his way home eventually.”
“Are you still angry with him?” Kate asked.
“For running away?” Mike shook his head. “It’s been a long day, but I don’t blame him.”
Kate shifted in her chair. “What about the other … thing? Are you still angry about what happened between us?”
The room grew quiet. Homer’s soft snoring reached them from the den. Mike finally spoke. “I was going to say no. But I guess I’d be lying.”
“Have you forgiven me?”
“Didn’t I prove that last night? I love you, Kate.”
“And you don’t love Matt?”
He put down the coffee cup and looked at her. “Touché.” She gave him a slow smile, but her eyes held just a hint of sorrow. “Is there something you’re not telling me?” Mike asked.
“He’s very hurt, y’know.”
“I know. But how do you know?”
“If I tell you something, will you promise not to get mad?”
“No.” But he smiled at her.
Kate took a deep breath. “Matt’s here. He’s upstairs sleeping. He was here last night, too. And he doesn’t want to go home right now.”
“Let me at least tell Sheryl he’s all right. She won’t get any sleep tonight unless I do.”
Kate abruptly stood and turned to the sink. She picked up a sponge and began wiping the counter. “I’d think that sleepless nights wouldn’t be something new to her … if she had any kind of conscience.”
“Touché, again,” he whispered to himself. Then, aloud, Mike said, “Christmas is day after tomorrow. How the hell do we do that?”
Christmas. She’d completely forgotten. “I don’t know.”
She still had her back to him. He rose, circling her body with his arms, placing his hands on hers to still them. “Whatever you decide is okay with me.” Molding his body into Kate’s, he said, “Your place or mine?”
“Not tonight, Mike.”
He stiffened slightly and asked, “Why?”
“It’s been a long day for both of us.”
“That’s not good enough, Kate.” He turned her to face him. “I need you very much.”
She didn’t answer and he let her go. “I don’t know what to say or do to make your fear go away.” He paused. “I’ll leave the door unlocked.”
A vision of another night alone—of an unopened bottle of wine in the pantry—came to her. “Will you stay here with me? Talk to me until I fall asleep?”
“As much as I love talking with you, Kate, I need more right now.”
“I know that.”
Their eyes locked for an instant, and Mike finally broke the bond. “You know where I’ll be.” Walking away from her was the hardest thing he’d ever done.
CHAPTER
FORTY-NINE
There was a soft tapping noise in the hall. Kate looked up from her book. Thinking it was Homer scratching an itch, she went back to reading. But it came again.
“Kate?”
“What is it, Matt?”
“Can I come in?”
Sighing inwardly, she reached for her robe. “Just a sec.” Kate turned the key and opened the door.
Matt stood before her, sleepy-eyed and rumpled. He held a small plastic bag in one hand. “You lock the door?”
“Under certain circumstances. What are you doing up?” she asked.
“The doorbell woke me up. Thanks for covering for me.”
“I didn’t. He knows you’re here.”
“I know, but I heard what you said.”
Her lips thinned. “Did you hear everything?”
Matt nodded and looked down for a moment before holding out the bag.
She didn’t take it, and in a tight voice, asked, “What’s that?”
“I took it from the tower room the other night. I swear I haven’t looked inside. Please. Take it back.” He reached for her hand and placed the bag in her palm. “I forgot I had it. I shouldn’t have taken it. I’m sorry.”
Her fingers curled around the plastic, conforming to the objects inside. She remembered the bag well. Remembered the weight of it in her lap and the brittle state of her emotions when she’d held it for the first time. With a sudden clarity, Kate’s mind conjured up the image of the man who’d given it to her nearly three years ago, and she paled.
These are some of Paul’s things. They forgot to give them to you at the hospital.
The bag slipped out of her hand and fell to the floor with a dull thud. She had hidden it away—this final reminder of Paul’s death—in the secret compartment of the carved box, along with the memory of Mitchell Browder.
He saved my life, Kate. He saved me and then he died …
Matt was crouched, picking up the bag. Something had rolled a few inches out of the sack, and he reached for it. His hand collided with Kate’s. She picked up the rock and studied it with a baffled expression on her face. “It’s a desert rose,” Matt said, standing.
“A desert rose …” Kate repeated, still staring at the translucent pink stone.
The rose was for you. He wanted you to have it.
Kate slowly turned away and went back into her bedroom, closing the door on a puzzled Matt.
As she sat on the bed, a thought came to her that gradually relaxed her clenched jaw. Something that almost resembled a smile came to her lips. He thought about me that last day. If he’d spared a moment in his self-centered life to want to give her this desert rose, what else—who else—had he thought about?
Kate hadn’t kept in touch with Mitchell Browder. She hadn’t wanted to. He was too vivid a reminder of that nightmarish day in March. He had called her several times in the months after Paul’s death, but the calls had been too hard for her. Her own sorrow was enough. But his guilt at being alive made him call repeatedly. He was sure she’d blamed him for Paul’s death, and his apologies were terrible and pain-filled. She had been polite. Distant. He finally gave up.
Mitch played baseball that year, but his heart had gone out of the game, and he gave that up, too. The rumor
of his nervous breakdown had reached her, but by then she was too busy trying to get through her own fragmented life.
Where was he from? Some little town in Oklahoma. Kate thought hard, but couldn’t come up with it. It was a person’s name. What was it? Enid? Norman? She got up from the bed. The only place to look would be a Giants’ program, and that would be in the tower room. Her hand was on the knob of her bedroom door when it came to her. Guthrie.
Information had two Browders listed, neither of which was Mitchell. Kate dialed the first number, hoping to find his parents. She got lucky.
And as Kate waited for someone to pick up the phone at Mitch Browder’s Tulsa home, she wondered just what it was she wanted to ask him. She only knew she had to talk to him about that last day. A drowsy male voice answered. “Mitch?”
“Yeah?”
“Mitch, this is Kate Armstrong. I’m sorry if I woke you.” There was silence, and for a moment she thought he’d gone back to sleep.
“I wasn’t sleeping,” he finally said.
Kate hesitated now. His words were a little slurred, and she realized that what she thought was sleepiness was actually the effects of alcohol. She also realized something else. He might not want to talk to her. “Is this a bad time, Mitch?”
He snorted. “One time’s as bad as another. Wha’d’you want, Kate?”
The words she’d intended to say were forgotten. “I wanted to say I’m sorry for the way I treated you after the accident.” She could hear the clink of ice on a glass as he took a drink.
“S’okay. Don’t give it another thought,” he said with polite sarcasm. “So, how’ve ya been, Kate? How’s your life going?” Another pause. Another sip.
She knew this rhythm all too well. “It’s been hard, Mitch, but I think I’m finally getting over losing Paul.”
“Well, thas just great, Kate. Jus’ great …” The liquor accentuated his low drawl. “Ya wanna know how I’m doin’? Wanna know how mah life’s been?”
“Mitch, I can call back tomorrow …”
“Wha’ for? Naw, Kate … I wanna talk to you now.” The hostile tone collapsed into self-pity. “My life is shit, Kate. Pam left me. Jus’ took Kristy and left. Army died an’ I couldn’t play ball anymore, an’ now I don’t have nothin’.” A sob bubbled out of his throat.
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