Meet Cate (14 page)

Cate and Calista were quiet as Mike pulled onto the interstate. He turned the radio up with his thumb and forefinger, hitting dials with his thumb until he stopped on Rascal Flatts.

Cal was seated in the spacious back seat. She looked out the window as scenery flew by, singing along. Her melodious voice followed the peaks of
Banjo
, holding the notes as if they were chocolate. Cate, in the front seat, tipped her head back, listening. Cal was so brave and full of life.

"Don't you start−" Mike stated in her direction, under his breath. He winced, imagining the playful punch that would follow. When none did, he glanced at Cate's profile. She was staring out the big window to her right.

"I'm saving it for later," she said quietly.

Calista picked that moment to shoot her head between the seats, "So−"

Cate turned to face her friend. "You've decided to stay?"

Cal laughed, "I wish I could. I forgot to warn you, Melissa said to tell you she's loaning you Mary Monday."

Cate's brain stopped for a minute, "Mary?"

"Her assistant."

"Oh, c'mon. What'll I do with her?"

"Melissa said she was great at organizing. Need anything organized?"

"
I'm
great at organizing," Cate sighed as Mike drove, concentrating on the busy highway. He drummed long fingers on the steering wheel in time to the stereo.

"Catie, it's not a bad thing to accept help."

"I know. I
know
. It's just−"

"You're a control freak−"

"Am not! Oh, you were−"

"Joking."

"I guess I don't know what to relinquish."

"Are there little jobs she could do to take the weight off? Like a sous chef," Calista explained, leaning forward. Cate tried to twist around, her seatbelt in place.

"Even if I gave her my social media, for example. We figure out a rhythm as far as what I need to do personally and what she can get away with updating for me−then she'll go back to Melissa and I'll have to start all over again with someone else."

"So ask her to show the someone else once you find her."

"That's more work than it's worth."

"What, asking her?"

"No, finding someone else. I feel like it's an arduous process. In order to trust someone, I've got to allow them into my−" Here, Cate stumbled.

"No, I get it. Into your personal space, where they could muck things up."

"Not so much personal but professional. Everything has my stamp on it. How do I trust someone I don't know well to help with that? If they mess it up or just take time getting used to it and don't do it−"

"You can say 'right'. I won't call you a control freak again."

The two women swapped smiles.

"You know what I mean?" Cate asked.

"Yes. But you do have to try. Just let your fans know you're trying out assistants, ask them to help you train them. If someone sees something they don't like, you can assess whether or not you like it. Then your fans are pro-active and you get to cut yourself some slack."

"You make it sound so easy."

"Cate, it is. Why are you having trust issues? Is this about Tom?"

"No!" Cate answered immediately.

"You don't even want to think about it?"

"Why does Tom have to do with everything?" Cate groaned, facing the window again.

"Because," Cal told her, gently, "he was your husband. He's still your friend. You love him and you worry about him."

"Those things are all true. What do they have to do with trust?"

"Because he's there, then he's gone. It's the dance of PTSD and you're stuck as his partner. It's bound to sap your trust."

"I guess that's true." Cate turned to look at her friend. "How'd you get to be so smart?"

"Hanging around with you."

Calista settled back against the plush seat. Mike's eyes met Cal's in the rearview, approval dancing in them.

As Mike approached the exit, Cate swung around in her seat. "I'm going to miss you so much!"

"I'm only a phone call away," Cal told her. She leaned forward again, placing her hand over Cate's on the front seat cushion, next to the headrest.

"It's not the same as having you in front of me."

"I know."

The two women exchanged an entire conversation of love with only their eyes as Mike crossed traffic. He turned into the airport, blissfully unaware.

The long, picturesque straightaway leading to the first parking garage usually filled Cate with anticipation. Today, she only felt dread and sadness. Calista was one of her very favorite people; she had such a good grasp on her own life. The way she made everything seem so easy and relatable comforted Cate. She was going to miss Calli.

They found parking on an upper level. Cate emerged from the car and opened Cal's door. Mike pulled bags from the trunk. Both women looked at one another with wistful smiles, he noticed. Cate turned toward the airport, taking two steps toward the cement half-wall. Cal joined her, looking down on the runway as long planes taxied back and forth. Cate imagined families sitting excitedly beyond the tall, rectangular windows of the airport, watching for their plane. Checking their bags one more time, smiling at their children who bounced up and down, asking questions repeatedly.

Mike closed the trunk with a solid thunk. He waited patiently until both women turned from the view and started toward him.

"Thanks for everything," Cal was saying.

"Thank
you
for everything," Cate replied.

"Next time you come to me."

"Deal!"

Arms around one another, Calista and Cate approached the glass stairwell that led to the terminal. Mike followed, gallantly carrying Cal's bags. At the bottom of the staircase, a wide cement sidewalk followed the path they'd driven by. It was lined with young trees and lush green plants. At the double doors, Cal found her airline and entered the airport in a whoosh of warm air.

"I don't know how much farther you can follow me."

"I just want to be sure you get off the ground safely."

"I'll make sure the pilot texts you first," Cal said, a twinkle in her eye.

The two women hugged fiercely.

"Mike−" Cal reached for him as he placed her bags down. "It was great to see you."

"It's always a pleasure. Come back soon."

"Maybe the next time Cate comes down, you'll come, too." Cal's words were lost in Mike's arm due to her height. He let her go and smiled.

Calista grabbed Cate in one more hug before picking up her bags and walking toward check-in. Cate stood for a few minutes, her back to Mike, watching Cal. He took one step forward and draped his arm around her shoulder casually. She looked up at him with a sad smile. From beyond security, Cal waved one more time then was gone.

Mike drove slowly back toward home, cruising at a tolerable speed. As they approached the state line, Cate's phone dinged quietly.

"The pilot?" Mike's eyes laughed.

Cate didn't answer, leaning over to retrieve her phone from the depths of the bag she carried.

"It's Nic. Tom's left therapy."

"Left?" Mike fought the urge to pull the car to the side of the highway, frustrated. Cate didn't need one more stress. Tom deserved to heal and there was only one way to get there. Mike felt this strongly, after years of listening to Cate.

"I'm calling him." She was busy dialing.

Mike drove toward the nearest exit while Cate spoke quietly into the phone. His eyes hunted for a coffee shop while he navigated the quiet, unfamiliar streets. Finding a Mom and Pop style bodega, Mike pulled in. He parked on the far side of the building near a row of pine trees and out of the way of foot traffic. Catching her eye and motioning toward the building, Mike gestured that he'd be right back. Cate nodded. Her concentration was on Nic. Before he left, Mike hit the button to roll her window down just a hint. He knew she loved the scent of pine and sometimes, the smallest kindness' were calming.

Mike returned with two large covered Styrofoam cups and a small brown paper bag decorated with a single grease stain. He juggled napkins against his chest as he opened the door and slid into the driver's seat.

Putting Cate's drink down, he pulled the lid off his and sniffed appreciatively before placing it in the cup holder next to Cate's. Opening the brown bag, he contemplated donut holes before pulling one out and popping it into his mouth. His eyes sought Cate. She wouldn't meet his gaze as she finished the call and disconnected.

Two hits−no, three−in one day would do her in.

"How's Nic?" Mike offered the bag to Cate, who shook her head.

"He's fine."

"Tom?"

"He's giving Nic excuses."

"He's no longer in therapy?"

"Missed his last two appointments and scheduled the next one well into next month."

"Why?"

"Could be money." Cate locked the phone's screen and tossed it toward her bag. "Could be discomfort, disinterest. Who knows?"

"Cate−"

"Don't start with me, Mike." Showing a minute's temper, Cate felt badly. "I just want to go home. Please."

"Cate, you can't avoid how you feel."

"I know."

"Drink your cocoa."

"I don't want cocoa!" She put her hands up toward her face, meaning to cover it. Mike sat still for a minute, staring straight ahead.

"Cate."

"What?" Her voice was small and sounded lost.

"You can't fix him."

"I
know."

"
Your only job here is to support him. You don't even have to do that."

"I do. I do have to do that. He's their
father
."

"You want them to support someone who's not always good for them?" Mike tried another tact.

Shocked, Cate stared. "Is that what you think?"

Mike looked at Cate. "I think he's a good man who's lost. I think he needs things you can't give him. And I think you need to be true to yourself first."

"That was a lot of words out of you."

"Cate, I love you."

Cate stared at Mike, then looked away, out the far window. She inhaled the pine, admiring the tall, dignified but friendly trees that always soothed her. "I know you do, Mike."

"I only want what's best for you and I'm tired of watching you hurt."

"I'm tired of watching my children hurt."

"I know. I'm sorry for that, too."

A lone tear slipped from Cate's eye and she swiped it away angrily with the back of her hand. "Everyone's pulling for him but him!"

"You can't force him to get where he needs to be."

"But−"

"You can't. You can't help someone who doesn't want to be helped."

"That's my least favorite piece of advice ever."

"It's true though."

"It's not true. I've helped him in the past−"

"And look where it's gotten you."

"He was so good for a while there. He was so...
present
."

"And that makes you−?"

"Sad," Cate said quietly. "I miss my friend."

Mike had no words.

Cate continued suddenly, "How much of this is my fault?" Her huge eyes beseeched Mike now.

"None of it." His furrowed eyebrows underlined the words. How could she think that?

"But what if I'd...if I'd been a better wife? Got him into therapy sooner? Supported him better? Seen it earlier?" Cate heard the emptiness in her words before she saw it reflected in Mike's eyes.

Mike just looked at her, "Do you really think you caused this?"

"His disease? No. I know I didn't cause that."

"What are you blaming yourself for then?" He sipped his coffee, content to sit and listen to her spin her wheels.

"I don't know..." Cate's finger poked at the lid of the Styrofoam cup he'd brought her.

"You want to feel in control. None of this is your fault."

"There's that word again−"

"Which word? Fault?"

"Control. I've heard it a few too many times recently."

"You're a woman with a lot at stake," Mike told her kindly. "It stands to reason you'd want to maintain some control."

"If you're being nice, why'd you say it?"

"Say what?"

"That I want to be in control."

Mike knew Cate was tired. He also knew that the stress of Tom's diagnosis weighed on her and caused her to grow foggy in the midst of the chronic stress it amplified. Simple, routine things often had to be explained twice to a normally spectacular brain. "Because blaming yourself is a childish way to maintain control."

"Childish! Childish?"

He should've known she'd hold onto that one word. "Childish as in young-thinking. I'm not insulting you."

"You
think
you're not."

"I'm not," Mike spoke calmly. He looked down briefly, using the tall cup to hide the smile that threatened. "You can't blame him, there's too much resentment. So you look for anything you've done wrong because blaming yourself is something you're used to."

"Oh, you're a psychiatrist now?"

"Am I wrong?" Mike spoke easily.

"I don't know, that's the thing," Cate's words spilled out in a jumble. She wasn't sure she wanted to trust anyone, even Mike, with her inner-most thoughts and possibly her fears. She felt worn, exhausted, and wasn't sure why. She'd just finished a vacation. She'd just left her already-missed friend at the airport. Cal's absence left a hole as great as the sun after a teasingly hopeful, delightful spring day. Cate found herself looking forward to an unprecedented weekend of sleeping late and resting if she couldn't find the nerve to invite Tom to go away with her. Or wouldn't find, she thought now.

Millie would have the house spotless again and Cate hadn't even thanked her for the last time. The fridge would be packed, waiting for Cate to play, making sweet brownies, lush frosting or crunchy granola-topped muffins. Merry would be hoping for a long walk in crunchy leaves, by the shore, with a stop to watch the waves crash onto the beach. Cate's office would be clean, her sheets fresh.

Cate felt a sense of gratitude blooming.

"This is wearing you out," Mike said, as if he were seeing her thoughts before him again. They were often in sync. It didn't even faze Cate anymore.

"Yes," she whispered, weary.

"You're free this weekend?"

"Apparently."

"We could go somewhere. Get away for a few days."

Cate stared at Mike, suddenly aware just how well he could read her.

He continued, "Do you want to?"

"Sure," she replied, in a daze.

"Good," he told her, starting the car. "Now drink your cocoa."