"You're getting no argument here. The guy's a loser in all departments."
"If he has a job, he didn't mention it. And if he's had it for more than three months, it will be a first. I'm not worrying about him. No judge in the world would give Max to him."
But she did worry about it. Who knew what some woman-hating judge would decide? She lay awake nights worrying about it. Nothing was certain. She couldn't even begin to contemplate what life would be worth without Max.
"There are times, though,” she said pensively, “when I think how nice it would be if he just disappeared. You know? Just shriveled up and blew away in a cloud of dust and was never heard of again? Poof!” She sighed. “And when I win the Lottery..."
Bree leaned both hands on the counter and turned. “Don't you dare feel guilty for thinking those thoughts. You got a world-class dud in Huey Foster. Fortunately, all men aren't like that. We'll get you into circulation before you know it."
Kate held up a hand like a stop sign. “No. No you won't. I'm not interested in meeting guys."
"Sure you are. Paula's having a cook out this weekend and I thought maybe you and Adam—"
"What part of ‘N-O’ isn't clear? I said I'm not interested in guys. No cookouts."
Bree looked startled. “Are you serious? How are you ever going to get back to normal if you hole up?"
"Dating is minefield, these days, Bree. I'm not going to get involved again."
"Oh, come on. It's just the old gang. No dates. You know everyone."
"I-am-not-interested-in—"
"I heard you. I just can't believe my ears. I never thought of you as a coward. You're copping out."
"You got it."
Bree eyed Kate critically. “Huey really did a number on you, didn't he? Where's your fight?"
"It's called saving myself. I'm a single parent."
"It's called being a nun without benefit of a veil. And it's not like you."
"In case you hadn't noticed, my life has changed significantly since I was into the dating scene. Instead of a tiny purse with nothing in it but a hair brush and lip gloss, I now carry a bag the size of Birmingham that says I'm a mother. Extra tissues to wipe a sticky face,” Kate ticked things off on her fingers. “Sanitary gel to clean crud from grimy hands, a pad and pencil for an emergency game of tic tac toe in church or the doctor's office, money because I never know when I'll need it. And a hand-held electronic Game Boy. There are times when life could not go on without that Game Boy!"
"Yes, but ... Kate, you've had a bad two years. Admit it. You were floundering in Winnetka by yourself. And then, your dad died so suddenly with that heart attack, and within a month your mother—That would have been enough, but before you could get back your equilibrium, your job dissolved and there was no pay check. Your boss. Another jerk. You have a real affinity for attaching yourself to selfish, ignorant men, you know that?"
"Recession. Cutting back, he called it."
"Whatever. It left you hanging by a thread. You've got a chance now to regain some of what you lost. Meet some decent men. Live like real people for a change. Without the threat of having the electricity turned off every month. Relax a little. Let yourself have some fun. You have to have free time, once in a while."
"Hardly ever. And I don't plan on getting married again."
"Did I ask you to marry anyone? Just see some guys occasionally. Are you swearing off men entirely?"
’”I've nothing against men in general. They're okay, but I've come to believe other women are the anchor we draw on for strength."
"As a philosophy that stinks."
Kate slid her bare feet into sandals and headed for the door. “I love you, Bree, but shut up. I'm just not in the market for a man now. Maybe never. I don't know. But not now. I have enough on my plate."
Bree threw up her hands in an acknowledgment of defeat. “Nobody's going to understand, but I'll fend them off as best as I can. Everyone's been looking forward to your homecoming."
With Max already on his way down the steps, ball cap jammed on his head, adjusting the bill as he went, Kate turned. “By the way, do you know if anyone else has a key to the house?"
"To your house? Why would anyone else have a key?"
"I just thought maybe Mom gave someone a key to check the house when she was gone, or something. You don't know of anyone, right?
"No. I've not heard of a floating key to your house. Because it's on the National Registry as an authentically restored old house, your folks have always been pretty careful about security. Isn't there an alarm?"
Kate shook her head and frowned.
"Why?” Bree asked, honing in Kate's question. “Why do you ask?"
"Oh, no reason. There was a...” What? What could she tell Bree that Max saw? What could she tell her about the mirror? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Even Bree, who would do anything, be anything, for her would think she'd wigged out. “It's okay. Just thought I'd ask."
"Maybe you ought to have the locks changed."
"Maybe. Thanks for dinner. I'll talk to you in a few days.” With a wave, she ran down the stairs after Max.
That night the dream returned.
Three
Starr Bright ‘Wart Hogs!'
This distinctive purple plant often has odd bug-like warts on shoulders that resemble small insects. Vini-colored Paphiopedilum Hybrid, sometimes known as lady slipper.
Dirty, muddy water filled her nose, her ears, her mouth. Water everywhere. Pressing her down. Crushing. Strangling. Pummeling. The air was being sucked out of her lungs. Had to breathe. Leah! LEAH ... Swirling silt all but hid the car, settling now to the bottom of the river.
Her vision wavered, shifted. Don't panic. Don't panic! But, which way was up? Her arms flailed. Her lungs were bursting. Leah. She had to get Leah! Kicking hard she floundered her way toward the shadow of the car, fighting the shifting current. There! It tilted on its side, gave a small bounce and stopped dead as she struggled closer.
Leah's face came into view against the glass, the water rising around her.
Her eyes huge with fright, mouth open in a silent scream. In the murky water Leah's gaze met Kate's in a terrified plea. Her own mouth wide in horror, Kate's arm seemed to move in slow motion, stretching toward the car. And then, in the instant before her hand could touch the door, a powerful surge of water carried her away, flinging her upward. Upward. Away from the car. Away from Leah. Awa-a-y—
* * * *
Kate awakened with a breathless start, heart pounding painfully, ears ringing. She gulped air through her open mouth, breathing in wheezy gusts, trying to slow the horrible beating of her heart. She stared through the darkness, willing her heart to slow down, promising herself she was safe. So real ... Oh God, her chest ached. The water ... Always it was the same. Always Leah. And Kate was never in time.
She flung back the sheet, swung her legs to the side of the bed and sat for a minute trying to orient herself to the bed, the room, the night. No river. No flood waters carrying her downstream. No guilt. She said it again. No guilt. Over the years the words had become a litany.
It had been months since she'd had the dream. She'd hoped it was gone forever. Hoped that a year of counseling and four years of college, and then Huey and now, blessedly, Max, would eventually eradicate the memory and her fear of the dark hours. Apparently it wasn't to be so.
Kate covered her face with her hands. Would she never be rid of the dreams? Would they go on forever? Logic was useless. It made no difference that in muddy water it would have been impossible to see much of anything, let along Leah's frightened eyes imploring her to do something. Dreams had a life of their own. Especially this one. She clenched her teeth against their chattering and got up on shaky legs to go into the bathroom and get a glass of water. Her mouth still tasted of thick, nasty river water.
Ten years of being terrified of bridges, afraid to go to sleep, afraid of dreams. Ten years of thinking that if it happened again, this time—this time—she'd manage
to save Leah.
She looked at the clock. 4:34 AM. Her eyes were gritty and her eyeballs hurt. No point in trying to go back to sleep, it wouldn't work. And if it did, she might have the same dream all over again.
On bare feet she padded down the hall toward her workroom.
* * * *
Kate stood with her hands in the back pockets of her bibs and watched through the fence as the batter swung at the teed-up ball. Behind her a single section of bleachers was crowded with screaming parents. The ground beneath her Nikes was worn to the bare earth by the feet of running children. A mound of miniature baseball gear lay to her left. Max was catching.
In the outfield one child sat, cross-legged on the ground, his chin propped on one fist. Another had his back to the rest of the field, apparently examining each blade of grass. A third watched a chicken hawk swoop low and then lift into the breeze.
Smack! A low, fast-rolling ball streaked across the infield and bounced through the legs of the scrambling short stop. Slowing some, the ball rolled into the back of the outfielder examining grass and deflected off at a right angle. The bird-watcher's attention was jerked back to the game when everyone began yelling at him. Four runs scored while Max stood helplessly at the plate.
Kate pulled her hair back in a scrunchy, tugging it tighter and higher on her head, and smoothed a stray curl behind an ear. She was torn between laughter and pity.
Cass walked out to the boy in center field, standing dejected with his head down, his arms hanging. She couldn't hear what was said, but the child lifted his chin and nodded, finally turning to run after the ball.
Cass. He looked good. The boy she remembered was still visible in the man, but he'd added a few pounds of muscle and a few inches of height, and overall he looked very good. Tight, well-washed jeans and a loose shirt with the arms torn out did nothing to detract from a well-built, fit-looking body. She felt a twitch of an inward smile. There was no denying the man did something for a pair of jeans. The butt-hugging Levis had her stomach dropping like a sinking elevator. Once they'd been good friends. Once they could have been more than friends. Maybe. A long time ago. Now, she doubted if he'd even recognize her.
Max stood at the plate, mitt on his left hand, catcher's mask in the other, a padded protector wrapped around his chest, and ball cap on his head backwards. Garbed in so much paraphernalia, the seven-year-old himself was hard to see. While beginning to shed equipment he talked animatedly with a little girl, slightly taller than himself. She wore a long, smooth, honey-colored ponytail pulled through the opening at the back of her cap. Max's face guard came off, and then shin guards, and finally the chest protector.
"Okay,” Cass called, walking toward home plate. “Good practice guys. See you Wednesday afternoon. Same time. And, everybody ... Practice your catching at home!"
Max came running up, flushed and sweaty, with a grin that threatened to split his face.
"Mom! There's this guy on the team ... He can burp through his ears!"
"Through his ... How does he do that?"
"I don't know, but man is it neat! Our team's the Wart Hogs and we know how to kick butt!” Max was hopping up and down as he walked backwards toward the car. “And the coach is great. He's got a new Jeep Grand Cherokee Laredo. Did you see it? It's cool. And I made a friend. Did you see her? Her name is Stacey. Man, can she hit! Oh!” He stopped so fast Kate almost ran into him. “Can we get my dog now? Right now?"
"That's next on the agenda. Stop on the way home and pick up Babe. It is Babe. You haven't changed your mind?"
"Nope. Boy, is Babe ever going to like the toys we got him this morning. And his bed can stay in my room. Right?"
Kate had a fairly good idea that the dog's bed might go unused in Max's bedroom, but that was okay. Maybe if he had a dog to sleep with, he'd stop sucking his thumb again, a habit renewed since first Huey left and then his grandma and grandpa died.
"I agreed that you could share a bedroom, yes. But we'd better fix him up a bed downstairs, too. He'll want to be wherever we are."
Max talked nonstop all the way to the Dixon sisters’ house. The coach was wonderful. The coach was super. The coach said this. The coach said that. He liked the coach. And, it developed, Stacey was his daughter. That was why she could hit so good. Her dad was the coach. Kate was grateful that her initial response to the man had nothing to do with his handling of the boys on his team. He couldn't be all bad if Max liked him this much.
Tiny, sixty-some-year-old Ruby June answered the door in an outfit that almost made Kate's eyes pop. She had on short shorts that were at least six sizes too big and were pinned to her blouse with oversize safety pins to hold them up. She looked like nothing so much as one of the benevolent dwarfs who befriended Dorothy in Oz. Her sister wore orange velvet slacks and a tank top. They tried hard not to cry when Max walked out the door proudly leading Babe.
Max was not entirely insensitive. “I'll bring him back to visit. Real soon. I promise.” And when they got into the car, “He must be a good dog for them to love him that much. Right, Mom?"
Kate assured him he was right. Babe must be a good dog. Under her breath, she prayed Babe would be a good dog.
Getting Babe settled took some time, but Kate finally left him running circles around Max who lay on the floor, weak with laughter. Smiling she went down the hall to her bedroom, slipped out of her sandals and started for the stairs and on down to the kitchen.
Downstairs, a door opened and closed. Kate stopped in mid-stride on the top step and looked down. The front door was in full view. There was no one there. Her stomach did a quick two-step. The back of the house was open. For someone to get in, there would have been no need to open and close a door. So what had she heard?
Slowly she started down the stairs. One of the Junes maybe? Bree? “Hello?"
No answer.
Cautiously she crept from one room to the other, peering in to each as she came to it. The orchid room, empty. The den, with its shelves of home videos, empty. The kitchen, neat and tidy, with the afternoon sun streaming in a window, empty. The screened porch with a scattering of ferns and orchids hanging in the hot, still air, empty.
Kate hooked the screen door, feeling a trifle foolish. Locking the barn after the horse was gone, she thought. That's what her dad would have said. But she did it anyway. It gave her a sense of security, false or otherwise.
Finally she trudged back up the stairs, mentally shaking her head at what she insisted to herself must be an overworked imagination. There was still an hour before Max would be hungry and she needed to think of food. She could work with her paints.
At the door to her workroom she stopped and turned. She heard ... She heard someone calling her. Max was still giggling in his bedroom with Babe barking in shrill, playful, little yips. Not him. But there were no other sounds. Not even the sound of the refrigerator kicking in reached the upstairs hallway. Ah, she was definitely hearing things this afternoon. First the front door and now someone calling her. Maybe she needed more sleep.
The bright silk on the frame in the workroom caught her eye and she went in to check what she'd done that morning. The painting of a series of creamy white Phalaenopsis with delicate green leaves intertwined on a deep blue background was just as stunning as she remembered it. And, happily, the resist she'd used for outlining was perfect. No bleeding of color from the flower through to the background of blue.
The Phals she'd used as models for the original drawing sat on the windowsill in the late afternoon light. Funny, she'd never noticed that they had an odor before, almost like—gardenias. But this variety of Phals did not have an odor. No odor at all. Especially not anything like gardenias. A shivery chill slithered up her back. Gardenias, the scent Leah loved. How odd. Really weird. She shrugged as the smell faded. Think orchids, not gardenias. This is now, not then.
She grunted, a dismissive little sound, and concentrated again on the flowers.
The Phals had been in bloom now for almost two months a
nd might begin to fade at any time, so she had to work fast. She had photographs for any touch-up work necessary later, but for the first draft she preferred working with the live flower. She bent over the frame. There was one orchid she wasn't totally pleased with: the throat was a delicate yellow with magenta spots. Straightening upright again, Kate tapped her lip thoughtfully with one finger. A touch more red, maybe. A matter of a few moments. But—
There it was again. She stood, frozen into immobility while her mind raced at warp speed. There was an odd familiarity to the voice, a voice she hadn't heard, truly heard, in ten years. She felt it before she recognized it. The husky timbre shivering across her skin, and her body knew an instant before it registered on her brain. Leah. Leah! Katey-did. Katey-did, did, did. Yes, she did.
There was a heaviness in the room. An odd kind of thick feel to the air as if some sort of turbulence was about to happen. An invisible storm hovering. Waiting...
Katey-did. Shock flooded through her and Kate slammed her eyes closed. She covered her ears. No. It couldn't be. Leah was dead. Had been dead for ten years. She pressed her palms tighter against the insidious whisper. Katey-did.
Turning, she rushed from the room and fled down the stairs. The scent of gardenias followed her like it was tied with a string. Her breath came in dog-like pants, short and shallow. Her heart thudded almost painfully as she stopped flush up against the sink in the kitchen, looking out at the sunny yard lying placid and green in the sunshine. Not a breath of air moved. The afternoon was stifling hot and airless, yet while she looked the slatted yard swing began to sway slowly back and forth, for all the world as if someone sat there and by pushing one foot, was moving the swing in a lazy arc.
The hair on the back of her neck prickled. Sweat broke out on her upper lip. Her hands gripped the counter. No one else had ever called her Katey-did. No one! Kate's eyes focused on the swing as if by concentrating hard enough she could stop the movement.
Despite knowing it was madness, could not possibly be happening, she remembered that Leah had always loved that swing. It had been her habit to sit there in the late afternoon shade and do her nails, making sure there was no nick or chip to mar the perfect manicure. Everyone else in the house would be working at something—homework, beginning dinner, polishing the already spotless old Ford—and Leah would be adjusting the cushions on the swing, a glass of something cold by her side. NO! Kate's brain seemed to freeze. NO! Leave me alone!
Dancing Ladies Page 4
