A soft smile came to her lips. She kissed his chest and said, “Merry Christmas, sugar.”
The barking nagged at him in his sleep. It was a never-ending series of sharp yelps, punctuated with long howls. The sound finally woke him and Mike sat up jostling Kate into semiconsciousness. He listened for less than a second, then shook Kate’s shoulder. “Katie?” When she didn’t respond, his voice grew loud with worry. “Kate! Wake up. Where’s Homer?”
“Huh?”
Mike quickly went to the window and threw it open. Homer’s barking filled the room. “Did you feed him tonight?” Mike asked. He had turned to Kate, when something caught his eye, and he spun back to the window and the black night. “Oh, Christ … Kate! Wake up!” Mike clambered over her, trying to reach the telephone.
The fear in his voice brought her fully awake, and she found herself crushed to the mattress. “What? What’s wrong?”
But he was already talking into the phone. “Fire at number eighteen Frazier Street …”
His terse words shot her full of adrenaline, and Kate pushed him aside. She tumbled from the bed and ran to the window. She refused to register what she saw.
Pale yellow flames licked at the tower room’s window, and Kate watched, as if seeing a film of something familiar. Yet it had to be fiction. It had nothing to do with her. It was someone else’s nightmare.
Mike was suddenly behind her, his tense voice telling her to get dressed, when the tower window exploded and sent a fiery crystal shower into the night. She screamed and stepped back. His fingers tightened painfully around her upper arms and he propelled her toward the chair that held her clothes.
“Get dressed!” he roared. “I’m gonna go get Homer!”
And he was gone, leaving her to fumble blindly with buttons and zippers as her eyes streamed with terrified tears. Kate heard the first siren as she ran down the staircase.
In the gray light of dawn, with the acrid smell of smoke and wet, burned wood filling her nostrils, Kate sat on the curb. Her hand gripped the leash that tethered Homer to her. She watched as the last fire truck reeled in its hose. Watched as Mike shook hands with one of the firemen. Kate had stopped crying some time ago, but her eyes burned as if the fire had somehow spread through her body.
Neighbors, who had dressed hastily and looked like refugees in their slippers and overcoats, stood in small clumps, whispering. Relieved the fire hadn’t spread to their own homes, they now took an active interest in the real-life drama they were witnessing. Kate wanted to go back inside. She wanted to hide from them and their furtive looks. Wanted to go back to Mike’s bed and pull the covers over her head. But she stayed and stared straight ahead, waiting for Mike to come back across the street.
The tower was gone, along with everything it had held. In its place was a dark, ragged hole that extended into the roof. The firemen had covered it with tarps, but the ugliness of it stayed with her. Tom Dennison, a former schoolmate and volunteer firefighter, had said she’d been lucky. The fire hadn’t done any major damage to the second floor because it had moved up. Staring at the smoldering roof as he’d talked, Kate hardly thought “lucky” was the word she would’ve used.
“We’re so sorry. Do you know how it started?”
The voice startled her, and Kate’s head snapped to the left. An older couple who lived two doors up the street stood side by side. They weren’t looking at Kate, but at her house.
“No, I don’t,” she replied.
“Lucky you got out,” the man said as he eyed the muddy mess that had once been her front yard.
Kate began to say she hadn’t been inside when the fire started, but thought better of trying to explain where she’d been at three in the morning. Instead, she said, “Yes … lucky.”
They didn’t catch the slight sarcasm in her tone, and they finally looked down at her and smiled vaguely. The woman said, “Bad time of the year for this sort of thing.”
Kate gazed at her for a moment and bit her tongue to keep from asking if there was ever a good time. “Thanks for your concern,” she said as she stood. “If you’ll excuse me?” And she walked across the street toward Mike, Homer following behind her.
“I want to go inside,” she stated.
“Why don’t you wait?”
“I don’t want to wait,” Kate said impatiently.
Mike sighed. “Okay, let’s go.”
Kate handed him the leash. “No. I want to go in alone.”
“No way, Kate.”
But she was already walking away from him. Her voice drifted back to him. “I’ll just be a few minutes.”
“Damn it, Kate!”
She stopped on the front porch and turned to face him. “Just let me do this.”
The implacable tone of her voice, and the stubborn set of her mouth that Mike knew well, made him stand still and throw up his hands in surrender.
When she came outside fifteen minutes later, Kate didn’t say a word. She simply took Mike’s hand and walked back across the street with him.
Mike’s phone call had brought Matt to the house, where the three of them now sat around the kitchen table drinking coffee. Kate had tuned out the two men several minutes before. She sat perfectly still, hands cupped around the mug in front of her, her mind drifting from image to image—sensation to sensation.
Smoke-blackened ceilings. The brown splotches of wallpaper in her bedroom where heat had seared through the connecting wall. Water stains already forming on the hardwood floors. A cold dampness invading the upper floor. A feeling that the house had never wanted her there in the first place, and had now gotten rid of her completely.
She shivered and heard Mike’s voice talking to her. Her eyes met his.
“Where’d you go, Katie?”
She smiled slightly and tried to shake off her melancholy. “I was just thinking that there’s nothing left of Paul anymore. All the tangible evidence burned with the tower.” A lone tear spilled down her right cheek. “I don’t have anything of his anymore and that makes me sad. It’s as if he never existed and that can’t be right.”
Mike’s face fell, and she quickly went on, wanting to explain. Wanting to stop any hurt she may have inadvertently caused him with her words. “Oh, sweetheart … no.” She took his hand. “What I mean is, that no matter what my life was like with Paul, it was my life with Paul. I shouldn’t have to forget him completely, should I?”
Matt’s voice was tentative, but his words possessed a strength Kate and Mike couldn’t ignore. “I’m what’s left of Paul. Can I be your memory of him?”
RESTORATION
CHAPTER
FIFTY-FOUR
From the window seat, Kate watched the sun rise over the Blue Ridge. The light bathed her in warmth. She closed her eyes and lifted her face to it. An early spring had descended on the valley and, for the first time in years, Kate felt a tremendous joy in the warm temperatures and the yellows of daffodils and forsythia in bloom.
She opened her eyes at the sound of a soft snore and looked around at a sleeping Mike. Homer lay next to him and answered with a snore of his own. Kate stifled a laugh and turned back to the window. The sun glinted off the For Sale sign in her front yard, momentarily blinding her.
For Sale. It was a frightening, liberating concept. The sign had been up a few days, but it still startled her when she saw it. Paul’s mother had been a little more than startled when Kate phoned her with the news.
Kate sat at Mike’s kitchen table, her knuckles white as she’d gripped the telephone receiver. To her credit, she hadn’t slammed it down in Margaret Armstrong’s shell-like ear. Instead, she’d calmly placed the phone in its cradle and then shouted every expletive she could think of.
Mike had been standing quietly in the doorway, and after Kate let loose, said, “Went that well, did it?”
Kate let go of the phone and turned. “She acted as if I’d taken out a full-page ad in the Richmond Times announcing I’m going into hooking, for God’s sake!” Mike grinned and
Kate said, “It’s not funny! She’s saying stuff like, how could you sell the memory of Paul?… the house he grew up in … the family home! And when I asked her if she wanted to buy it from me, she couldn’t come up with excuses not to fast enough. They want me to keep it, but not one of them’s ever offered to help with the upkeep.”
“It’s your house, Kate. You can do whatever you want with it,” Mike said softly, but Kate was rolling.
“And then she says, in that holier-than-thou voice, ‘And where will you live, Kate? Above that little shop of yours?’ ” She slammed her hand down on the table. “God!”
“You didn’t tell her, did you,” Mike stated.
Kate blushed and mumbled, “I couldn’t do it. I’m sorry.”
Mike shrugged and pushed away from the doorframe, but she could see he was hurt. “Aw, Mike … imagine what she’d say if I’d told her I was living with you.”
“You could’ve told her we’re married.”
“But we’re not”
“But we will be.”
They looked at each other. A slow smile came over Mike’s face and Kate felt an intense starburst of desire. He reached for her arm and drew her out of the chair. His hands circled her waist and she was suddenly sitting on the table. Just before he pulled her jeans off, he leaned close and whispered, “Did you at least tell her about the dedication?”
His voice was so seductive that the question didn’t register for a few seconds, at which time she breathlessly answered, “It was my lead.” At which time Mike said, “Imagine what she’ll say when she finds out about Matt.”
Kate pushed open the window and took in the dewy scent that promised a perfect day. Her house, with its restored tower and fresh coat of white paint, shimmered in the morning light. The thought of selling had drifted through her mind the night of the fire. Matt’s imploring question clinched it for her. Can I be your memory of him? It echoed back to her for days.
Mike and Matt had worked long, hard hours putting the house back together for her. Mike hadn’t said, “I told you so,” when the fire investigation concluded that an animal—probably a mouse—had chewed through the old insulation on the wires, eventually causing the fire. Kate remembered Mike’s cautionary offer to check out the tower room, and her refusal. When he saw the report, he’d simply nodded and gone back to the list of supplies he and Matt were compiling.
It had been Kate who finally said, “It’s my fault. For not letting you into the tower. I’ll never hide anything from you again.” She also remembered Mike’s smile as she added, “This roommate thing? Can we make it permanent?”
Since that time, nearly three months ago, Matt had left for Florida and spring training. He had made the two of them promise to come down to watch him play after the gym dedication. He’d also made them vow not to get married till the fall, when he could be a member of the wedding.
“Ring bearer?” Mike had teased.
“Hey, you know I’m the best man,” Matt had parried.
Mike had glanced at Kate, who’d responded, “Not in this case.”
Reluctantly rising from the window seat, Kate stretched and turned back to the bed to find Mike watching her with a sleepy smile. “Come back to bed, Katie.” She allowed him to wrap his body around her and, as his arms crossed over her breasts, she took his hands and held them tightly. “By tomorrow it’ll all be over with,” he whispered. “By tomorrow our lives will finally be our own.”
Their unspoken thoughts merged. And Paul will finally be laid to rest.
CHAPTER
FIFTY-FIVE
Kate, head bent, leaned against the bathroom sink, the heels of her hands digging into the counter. She took another deep breath and saw reflected her pale, nervous face framed by the institutional beige of the toilet stalls. A wave of nausea made her swallow hard and she closed her eyes and shook her head to clear it. One of her earrings—a gold shamrock with a small emerald center—fell into the sink with a soft clink. Kate’s heart stopped for a moment, until she realized the drain was covered with a stainless steel grid. With shaking fingers she picked up the gift from Mike and clipped it on again just as the bathroom door burst open, followed by the high-pitched voices of two girls in the middle of an argument.
When the teenagers rounded the corner and saw Kate, their mouths closed simultaneously and they regarded her with the universal suspicion all fifteen-year-olds employ against adults. Kate tried to smile—couldn’t—and quickly walked past them. As she reached the door, she silently said, “You can do this,” and then pushed her way out of the new gymnasium’s ladies’ room.
She slowly made her way down the hall, her shoes echoing on the virgin linoleum. Her feet already hurt. Kate couldn’t remember the last time she’d worn heels. Or a dress. But it had been long enough that she’d had to go out and buy something for this evening. The few semiformal dresses that had been relegated to the back bedroom’s cedar closet literally hung on her.
It had been as if the saleswoman in the boutique had seen her coming, and Kate still cringed at the 350 dollars she’d forked over. It was the first dress she tried on. The saleswoman made a huge fuss over her, exclaiming how the color was “the thing for your hair,” but Kate didn’t need any prompting. The emerald-green sheath, with its kick pleat and scoop neck, had been perfect. It had been one of Kate’s good days, and she’d liked what she’d seen in the mirror.
She wanted to feel sexy again. Wanted to look like a woman a man might desire. Wanted them all to know she was indeed alive even though her husband had died. But most of all, Kate wanted Mike to look at her the way he had all those years ago in San Francisco on the night of his architecture award. She had taken his breath away then, and it wasn’t hard to recall the feeling of power the moment had given her. Tonight, as she’d walked into the living room where he’d waited, Kate hadn’t been disappointed.
Now, trying to find her way through the maze that would lead her to the main room of the gym, she cursed the tight skirt and the two-inch heels that forced her to take six-inch steps. Kate had a mental image of the look on Margaret Armstrong’s face as she took the podium to read her dedication speech. It would be a look that confirmed all Mrs. Armstrong’s convictions about Kate. If she were a character in a cartoon strip, a bubble would hover over that perfectly coiffed head, enclosing the words: Paul! She’s selling the family home! Dressing like a ten-dollar whore! Living with your best friend. My darling, I’m so glad you’re not alive to see this! The possibilities for melodrama were endless.
But Kate would’ve given her right arm to witness the exact moment when Margaret learned her perfect son had hidden a grandchild from her. Despite Kate’s loss of faith in Sheryl, she felt sorry for her.
Kate slowed to a stop in front of the double doors to the gym. The music that filtered through sounded suspiciously like a sappy Carpenters song, and Kate grimaced. Wasn’t this bad enough without including some of the worst music of the seventies? Could disco be far behind?
Kate placed her palm against the brass plate, took a calming breath, and pushed open the door. The voice of Karen Carpenter assailed her. If she ever needed a drink, it was now. No such luck on school grounds. She knew the goblets on the banquet tables were filled with water, and the two punch bowls held a sickly sweet concoction of something red.
Donna Estes had gone all out. The tables were covered with linen in the school colors. Centerpieces of daffodils in vases tied with royal blue ribbon carried on the theme. The table servers were seniors coerced into working for extra credit. Kate stood at the door and watched them plunk salad plates on the table with all the panache of truck-stop workers. She saw a huge pink bubble emerge from the lips of a bored blonde, who silently spoke volumes. I’d rather be anywhere but here on Friday night. It made Kate smile for the first time that evening.
Her eyes searched the cavernous room for Mike, but he had already spotted her and was frantically sending coded signals for Kate to rescue him from a former classmate. Kate made a beeli
ne toward him and, as she reached the two men, took Mike’s arm and said, “Excuse us, Pete, but I’m starving.” Nothing was further from the truth, but the statement propelled Mike into action, and he shrugged at the slightly balding former football player and let Kate lead him to their table.
Seating Kate, he leaned down to whisper, “If you ever need to know anything about annuities, Pete’s your man.” He noticed the slightly glazed look in Kate’s eyes and he quickly sat next to her. “You okay?”
Kate had seen the names on the place cards, and was about to suggest they move to another table as rapidly as possible, but it was too late. The entire Armstrong family, looking like the royalty they thought they were, led by a beaming Donna Estes, were making their way through the crowd and toward the table Kate and Mike occupied.
“God, Mike … how am I going to get through this?”
Mike leaned toward Kate, his eyes demanding she look at him. When he had her attention, he said, “They are part of the past, and the past isn’t going to hurt you anymore.”
She looked at him gratefully. “Kiss me, Mike.”
The corners of his eyes crinkled in pleasure at her small rebellion and he brought his hand up to cup the back of her neck. Drawing her in, his lips met hers in a meltingly soft kiss. When he released her, he stood and turned to confront the stunned faces of the mother, sister, and brother-in-law of his best friend.
Smiling broadly, Mike said, “It’s been a long time, Mrs. Armstrong. Patricia. Gordon.” He reached across the table and heartily shook Gordon Swope’s instinctively offered hand. Donna Estes hovered behind the family and Mike nodded at her. “Nice work, Donna.”
The irony in his words soared over Donna’s head, and she beamed at him, nearly forgetting the scene she had just witnessed.
No one had spoken a word to Kate yet. Mike waited till the Armstrong clan was seated, then said, “And you all remember my fiancée, Kate?”
Remember the Time Page 35
