His eyes widened with pleasure and surprise when he tried a small spoonful. “No. Wow, is that ever good. What is it?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Leftover garlic roasted chicken, corn, potato and whatever chowder. I just threw it together.” She opened a cupboard beside his head and pulled out two bowls, setting them on the counter and fishing a ladle from a drawer to fill them. “There are some bread buns in there,” she gestured at another cupboard with the ladle, “Do you mind?” He didn’t seem fazed by her invitation to help. How refreshing, she thought, to find a man who really was comfortable in the kitchen. Jay, in particular, seemed to take it for granted that she’d feed him and serve him. It had always irked her, foreshadowing other problems down the road. Then she stopped herself. She wasn’t dating Simon, for goodness sake! Why was she comparing him to Jay, who was practically her fiancé? Almost. Sort of.
Why did that thought depress her?
After Kate piled the lunch things on the tray, she said, “If you can carry that, I’ll clear a space on the table”
He dug in with gusto once they sat. “This is really delicious soup,” he said. “And you didn’t use a recipe?”
“No. Soup is a kind of intuitive thing. I have a rough framework.” She took another spoonful and considered it, shrugging. “So what did you mean by Sharon wanting to protect you’?”
He frowned, thinking. He broke a bun open, hesitating. “She seems to think you’re a bit… uh… perhaps mercenary or something. I’m not sure. I’m reading between the lines.” He smiled across the table at her, his eyes laughing. “You’re not mercenary, are you?”
She didn’t know what to say, shaking her head in disbelief. Why would Sharon imply that about her? What had she ever done to her? But then, perhaps her theory was correct. Sharon might be simply fending off perceived competition. She smiled. “Hardly. I hope she doesn’t make my life too miserable while she moves in for the kill.”
His eyes widened in mock fear. “Help me, Kate.”
“Are you kidding? I’m keeping well clear of both of you. I know what’s good for me.” She was joking with him, but hoped he got the hidden message. She wasn’t about to compromise her career over a careless flirtation, or allow her attraction to him or her confused memories interfere with her calm, clear professional management of this case, or her orderly life for that matter. “You’re on your own, buddy.” She laughed. “More?”
He nodded eagerly and she took his bowl back to the kitchen to refill it and put the kettle on for tea. When she returned, she tried to steer the conversation away from their joint problem with Sharon. She’d find out soon enough what Sharon had planned. They were silent for a few moments while he ate his seconds. She was surprised how easy it was to be with him, all things considered. Even though there remained a gnawing tension in her gut, almost like stage fright, she couldn’t prevent herself from simply enjoying his warm, intelligent company. She leaned back, supporting her chin on one fist.
“Tell me more about Rachel. What went wrong?”
He looked up, his face shutting in a frown and she instantly regretted overstepping her bounds. Damn it, Kate! Always playing the mediator, never just a friend. A bowl of soup didn’t grant her access to his deepest secrets.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have… ”
“No.” He wiped his mouth with a napkin, shaking his head. “It’s okay.” He thought for a moment longer, pulling on his chin, mirroring her pose. She noticed his scratched finger for the first time, and cursed her psychotic cat.
He began to tell his story.
The brilliant legal mind, sexy body and intense, vibrant ambition that so excited him in grad school turned out to be his undoing. He fell head over heels in love with Rachel, convinced her to marry him right out of school, and then …
“I was so naïve. I don’t know what I expected.” There was no honeymoon. Just work, work, and more work. And when Rachel did play, she played hard. Like she was running from something, though it took him a few years to find out what it was. He felt that she never made the kind of commitment to their marriage that he had. She was aloof and emotionally alienating. There was always more time for her male colleagues than for him. He scowled, remembering. Kate had the impression that Rachel did more than just work with her colleagues.
He related how beautiful she had been. At least he’d thought so. “My ideal woman,” he said with scorn in his voice. But over the years, her vanity and shallowness grew. The diets, the implants, the dyed hair, the over-plucked brows, the collagen injections. All the expensive designer clothes and jewelry. She was perfect, he’d thought, and became, step by inexorable step, grotesque. “I only gradually came to understand how hopelessly insecure she is.”
“But she truly is a beautiful, elegant woman.”
“I guess, on the surface. I came to see her true nature, which was in fact monstrous. I couldn’t get close to her. She looked like a runway model, but she felt like a mannequin.” Kate felt so sorry for him, his face was tightly lined, and his gaze turned inward.
“Rachel resented Maddie’s existence the moment she got pregnant, which was an accident, of course. I had to literally beg her to keep the baby. She was horrified at the idea of being a mother. She… got worse.” He hesitated. “You see… Rachel’s family was… how can I say it.” He groped at the air for words, a deep sadness reflected in his eyes. “Her father was very powerful and distant, and emotionally abusive, toward her mom anyway. And her mother took refuge in her imagined illnesses, her valium and sleeping pills. She wasn’t there for Rachel either. Rachel grew up watching her cower and shrivel and grow fat. Rachel’s spent her life grasping at both the kind of power and freedom she imagined her father and her older brothers enjoyed, and at the same time trying to be beautiful and glamorous enough to deserve the love she so desperately needed. She’s never satisfied. Having Maddie seemed to push her over the edge. Her on-and-off anorexia developed into bulimia, her obsessions and fears grew, she pushed us away. She’s been hiding behind that façade for so long now, I don’t know if she’ll ever find her way out.” Simon’s eyes were distant, glassy. “I kept hoping… ”
Kate listened in silent horror. No wonder he was so devastated by their separation, and so frustrated by her neglect of Maddie. She felt tears burning at her eyelids and at the back of her throat. “Has she been in therapy?” Surely with therapy Rachel could have been saved, along with their family, if only something had been done earlier.
“This is not a woman to admit to weakness.” Simon’s smile was wry and deeply sad. “She handed Maddie over to my care the day she was born. I was thrilled to be a father.” She was back at work in a week, leaving him to work out the logistics of parenting and childcare. Kate could hardly bear to look in his eyes; they were liquid pools of pain and disappointment. He ended up taking the six-month parental leave his firm allowed, and then setting up a nanny at home.
“That was four years ago.”
“I’m sorry. It must have been very hard for you.”
“Not hard, in the sense that—it was a relatively normal life—just disappointing that I had to do it alone. The Rachel I thought I married just didn’t exist. I had dreamt of things being very different.” His voice faded. She wondered there was any fight left in him.
Kate took advantage of the lull in conversation to fetch the tea, and, remembering his sweet tooth, grabbed a bag of store-bought oatmeal cookies out of the cupboard. He dug into the cookies the way other people ate potato chips, by the handful, dipping them into his tea and continuing his story. Currently, Rachel was supposed to take Maddie every two weeks for the weekend. They were lucky if she came through once a month. That was why he’d lost his cool on Saturday night. Poor Maddie. Maybe she was young enough it wouldn’t matter much in the long run. Kate doubted that. Madison needed a mother, a real mother; every child did, no matter how wonderful her father was. Four. Five. Six, she counted the cookies he ate.
“And you never met anyone else?”
Seven. Eight.
Simon shrugged. “It’s only been two years. There hasn’t been time for dating. Besides, I’m still too angry and too… exhausted.” Simon ground his knuckles into his eye sockets, and she could see it was true. “And Maddie comes first. Always.” His face was set in determination.
He reached for another two cookies. “Okay, that’s nine already.” He froze with his hand in the bag, looking up with a guilty expression.
“You’re counting?”
Kate grinned at him, happy to distract him from his tragic tale. “I’m teasing, go ahead. But how do you stay slim if you eat sugar and carbs like that?” She figured he’d had enough serious reflection.
“I run, mainly. And a few odd sports when I get a chance, hockey, basketball, whatever.” He shrugged. “And I suppose I come by it naturally.” He bit into number ten with a grin.
“I’m sorry about your finger, by the way,” she said, indicating his bandage. “Oscar can be moody.”
He laughed. “My own fault. Don’t worry about it.”
Not long after, he apologized for spending the whole afternoon eating up her food and her time. “What is it about you? You make me want to tell you all my secrets?” he’d said, touching her chin with a fingertip, and left, extracting a promise that she’d keep him informed about Sharon’s maneuvers.
How had the day progressed in such a fashion? She’d begun the day determined to put more distance between them. Instead, he’d spent hours in her personal space, poured out his heart to her, and she’d come to feel more warmth and compassion toward him than ever. Each time they shared a meal, she reflected, she got deeper into trouble. Well, it was one thing to become friends. She’d just have to work harder to keep herself apart, both physically and emotionally.
CHAPTER NINE
Kate arrived at the community center to meet Alexa for their regular squash game, every Wednesday at four-thirty. It was hard to get away some days, but Kate managed. They had made it a priority years ago, when their busy schedules had caused them to drift apart, trying to kill two birds with one stone, stay fit and keep in touch. It was one of Kate’s favourite times. And over time she’d become quite a formidable squash player.
After checking in, she went to the locker room to change into her gear, watching for Alexa. She was often late, squashing their late afternoon squash appointment in between meetings and more meetings. Architecture didn’t seem to allow her to work a regular schedule. Alexa was a loyal friend, but unreliable.
While she dressed, Kate thought about how long she and Alex had been friends, since meeting in an Art History class when they were eighteen, and discovering they lived in the same dorm. Simon had reminded her of her youthful interest in Urban Planning, and she wondered if she would have ended up a consultant like Alexa, at her clients’ beck and call, living from deadline to deadline. Well, she shrugged, it was a moot point now.
Instead, she had found her calling in mediation. She was happy. And she was helping people in a way that was more direct and immediate than work as a planner would have been, and that, she’d learned, was important to her. All that bureaucracy would probably have driven her crazy, anyway. She locked up her things and made her way through the weight room to the squash courts. All the more reason not to risk screwing up her big opportunity for recognition, and blowing this important case study, by being weak and naive about Simon. She couldn’t afford to be off her game right now.
Sharon’s high-handed phone call this morning had infuriated her, but she knew there was some truth in her accusations. Though there was ostensibly nothing unseemly going on between herself and Simon, except getting reacquainted, there was a disturbing undertone, and she wasn’t sure what it meant. He made her nervous. She seemed to become so sentimental and flustered in his presence, and really had no idea whether it was being near him now, or remembering their time together then, that caused this reaction. She was angry with herself for such lack of control, but even more, for not knowing herself better. She’d worked so hard in counseling and training to learn to separate her objective mind from her emotions, this state of confusion felt like a major setback.
Having tossed her racquet, towel and water bottle inside the court, she was pacing around in the hallway, glancing at the large wall clock every few minutes. It was already ten minutes into their court time; something must have held up Alexa. The muffled sounds of squeaking shoes and shouts echoed from adjacent courts. She paced back and forth and fidgeted, frustrated to be missing her workout. She needed to let off steam.
“You look fit to be tied,” said a familiar tenor from behind her. She jumped and spun.
“Huh?” Speak of the devil. “You again!” Simon, of all people, was standing in the hall in gym gear, glistening with sweat, his dark blond hair clinging in damp tendrils to his neck and forehead.
“This is getting kind of woo-woo, huh?” he laughed. He had his arms folded across his chest, a squash racket tucked under his arm, and was soaked with perspiration down the front of his shirt. He had a bemused grin on his handsome face that made her insides lurch and her pulse flutter wildly. Or was it the long, lean muscles of his bare arms and legs?
“I’m here every week,” she said, shaking her head in disbelief. “Are you stalking me?” Oh, God. How could she say that?
“I’m not. Just subbing for a friend today.” Rivulets of sweat trickled down the sides of his face and he grabbed the towel from around his neck and mopped himself, messing up his hair even more. “Did your partner stand you up?” he asked languidly, looking her up and down, taking in her attire and apparent possession of the empty court beside them.
She was taken aback by the relaxed physicality of him. He was so tall and thin that a suit concealed his lanky strength. Looking at him now, she was reminded of the sinewy musculature of him. His long limbs were lean but strong, like a long distance runner’s. Liquid heat unfurled in her core, making her nipples contract, and arrowing downward. She crossed her arms over her chest, succeeding only in drawing his attention there. “Um. It looks like… maybe.” She couldn’t think of anything else to say, she was so unnerved by his half-dressed, sweaty presence. “Uh, Alexa’s often late,” she added awkwardly.
“Well, I just finished my game,” he drawled, “but I’d be happy to help you warm up while you wait.” He glanced at the empty court again.
“Oh. I don’t know… ” She was getting warmer by the minute. Did she want to play squash against him?
“If she shows up, fine. If not, we can play a game. I’m wiped, but… ” he shrugged.
Kate shrugged too. She couldn’t think of a gracious way to decline his offer. It seemed kindly meant, and she didn’t want to offend him. “Thank you,” she said. Why can’t I get away from him?
“I’ll just get a drink of water and be right back,” he said, and turned down the hall and strode away on those long, lean legs. She watched his butt for a moment, transfixed, then gave herself a mental shake and entered the court. She picked up her racket and bounced the ball in the air a few times before flicking it against the wall.
At last her phone dinged, and she read Alexa’s text: Sorry, sorry! I’ll explain later.
When he returned a few minutes later, he had toweled off and changed into a fresh snow white t-shirt. He looked even sexier, if that was possible. He stood close enough that she could smell the heady mix of fresh laundered cotton warmed by his body, mingled with the masculine musk of his sweat and a hint of soap.
“No Alexa yet?” he asked.
“Not coming. I guess she got sidetracked with work,” replied Kate, restless now. “Let’s get started.” They decide to launch right into a game. At first, they were courteous and volleyed agreeably bing, bonk, bing, bonk. She thought he was more tired than he admitted. Or does he think I’m such an amateur he can take me on in his exhausted state? I need a challenge. Neither of them had missed a single shot, so Kate decided to lever up the speed and aggressiveness of her play, to see what he would do. He
matched her shot for shot without apparent effort. Finally she scored a point, then he did, and so on. He smiled serenely while he played, saying nothing. He thinks he’s toying with me. What nerve! The intensity built minute by minute until Kate was playing more the way she was accustomed to; they were very evenly matched. She was getting hot. In more ways than one. Even the skin on her knees and shins prickled with sweat.
“I’m not sure why I put a clean shirt on,” he laughed when they stopped for a drink of water between sets. His t-shirt was soaked under his arms, and down the center of his back and chest already. She pulled her t-shirt off over her head and tossed it on the floor. Underneath she wore a stretchy yoga tank top, a bit revealing, but she couldn’t bear the heat. It was her serve. He seemed distracted, and watched her shot whizz by. She turned around with her eyebrows raised and a smirk on her face.
“Was that too fast for you? Or did you just stand there because you’re determined to be a gentleman and lose? That won’t be necessary, you know. You’ll lose anyway. Gracefully or otherwise.” She laughed, grabbed the ball and turned away before he could reply. “Here’s your second chance. Don’t screw it up.”
The ball smacked the front wall and headed in his direction with ferocious speed and precision. He lunged at the side wall snapping his wrist, but just couldn’t get near enough.
“No fair,” he whined. “You took your shirt off. That’s fighting dirty.” He smiled sheepishly when she looked at him, her eyes large and astonished.
“Oh, really. We’re using lame excuses now, are we?”
“Well… I am getting a bit worn out; I’ve been at this an hour and a half already,” he said.
“You must be getting old. That didn’t used to be a problem, as I recall,” she teased, then immediately smacked a hand over her mouth, her face suddenly burning hot. At his raised eyebrows, she mumbled, “Oh. My. God. Did I actually say that out loud?” How could I do such a stupid thing?
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