Remember the Time (20 page)

“What did you have planned?” Kate asked, envisioning
a white-haired gentleman arriving with his Lincoln Town Car and walker.

“Why, nonstop sex, honey. And I’ll be an absolute
bear
if he doesn’t show up.” She grinned wickedly. “I’ve been looking forward to this all week.”

Kate recovered from the initial shock and then, in her usual fashion, bluntly asked, “How do you do it?”

Julia lifted her eyes to the ceiling in thought, then answered, “In my experience, about thirty-six different ways.”

“Come on, Julia. You know what I mean. Don’t you think about Jeffrey?”

“Of course I do, sweetie. But I’m alive and he’s dead. Can’t fuck a ghost.” Julia smiled into Kate’s sad eyes. “Now, you scoot. And say hello to that handsome neighbor of yours.”

Everyone else in town had decided to leave work early due to the impending storm, and it took Kate much longer than usual to get home. She impatiently sat in the long line of cars waiting to get through the last traffic light on her route. What was the holdup? Rolling down the window, she stuck her head out to see, but was blinded by the blowing snow. A group of young women from Mary Baldwin College walked by, laughing, holding their faces up to the snow. Now she understood. It was Friday and the students were leaving town for the weekend. She was truly out of touch with the real world.

Kate, and the rest of the commuters, inched along. Sitting through three red lights gave her too much time to think. The week had gone by quickly, and at the rate she and Julia were going, they wouldn’t be done for at least another five days. But Kate was enjoying the work so much, she hated for it to end. Maybe it was time to ease her way back into the shop. A couple of days a week, just to spell Cindy. Maybe.

And there was Mike. She had seen him only once after
that Monday that he drove her to Julia’s because she always arrived home after he and Matt had finished for the day. The progress they were making was astounding. Soon they’d be finished, too. This fact unsettled her more than she wanted to admit.

Green light at last. She nosed her car into the left turn and was soon making the right up the steep hill that was High Street. The tires lost traction halfway up the street that was now completely white with snow, and Kate gave up in frustration. She let the car roll back to the curb, got out, and walked the remaining two hundred feet to her house.

The fresh snow squeaked under her shoes, the only sound in the neighborhood. It was colder than she thought, and Kate was glad she didn’t have far to go. The wind buffeted her, and she leaned into it. The flakes of snow had turned hard and dry, a sure sign of major accumulation, and they stung her face as she turned up her walkway.

Matt’s car was gone, even though it was only two-thirty, and she guessed that Mike had sent him home. She assumed Mike had finished for the day as well. A gust of wind caught the door, slamming it behind her. Kate winced as the glass rattled, and she shrugged out of her coat.

“Well, hello there. I was just thinking about coming after you.” Mike stood at the head of the stairs, resting his weight on the banister.

“Well, hello there, yourself.” She smiled up at him, genuinely pleased to see that he was still there.

“Where’s your car?” he asked, coming down to stand in front of her. Snow glistened in her hair and eyelashes, her cheeks were flushed from the cold. As she answered him, he brushed away a few flakes from her forehead. It was an uncalculated gesture. He couldn’t help himself. She looked lovely. His hand dropped back to his side
and he said, “I’ll get out of your way. I was just leaving anyway.”

Mike reached around her to pull his jacket off the hall tree. He was inches from her. Kate tried to think of something to say to keep him there a few moments longer. She lamely said, “Julia says hello.”

He was putting the jacket on now. “Give her my regards.”

Come on, Kate. He’s practically out the door
.

“Any dinner plans?” she asked his back.

Mike hesitated, then turned. “Not really. Why?”

He wasn’t making this easy.

“I don’t know. I thought maybe between the two of us, we could come up with something. I could make a salad. Fry up a little Spam. Or whatever it is you do with that stuff …”

There it was. A small Fitzgerald smile.

“In other words, you want me to cook dinner for you,” Mike said.

“Well, thanks! Now that you mention it, I would.”

Mike rubbed his forehead and squinted at her. “I know I’m gonna be sorry I asked, but, how about my place?”

“Now why would you be sorry?” she asked innocently. “So. It’s settled? I’ll bring the salad, and you work your magic in the kitchen. I’ll even try to dig up the Scrabble board. It’s a good night for it, don’t you think?” She was positively beaming.

Mike peered at her. “Who are you? And what have you done with the real Kate Armstrong?”

She ignored him, and asked, “What time do you want me?”

A chuckle escaped his throat, and he shook his head, amused at her choice of words. “Anytime, Kate. Whenever you’re ready.”

“Okay, I’ll get out my cross-country skis and see you in a couple of hours.”

• • •

Mike had just peeled and diced the last potato when he heard Kate banging on his back door.

“Open up! I’m freezing my ass off out here.”

She trundled in, her arms loaded with a salad bowl and the promised Scrabble game. Rescuing the glass bowl as it began to slide off the box, he glanced outside and saw that a good two inches of snow had accumulated, and it was still coming down.

“You always did know how to make an entrance. Make yourself at home.”

She sniffed as she started peeling off layers of clothing, saying, “Smells good. What is it?”

“Beef stew. It’ll be ready in about half an hour.” He slid the potatoes into the pot, then began cutting the carrots.

Kate perched on a stool and pulled off her boots, watching him work. “Is there anything you can’t do?”

“Can’t program my VCR.” The carrots went into the stew, and he turned to her, still holding the wooden spoon.

Kate grinned. Was it just her? Or was there something incredibly endearing about a man who could clean the carburetor in his car, put a new roof on a house,
and
throw together a great dinner? She heard a buzzing noise. “What’s that?”

“The dryer.”

“You do your own laundry?”

“Well, hell, Kate. Who do you think’s gonna do it? The laundry fairy?”

She followed him down the basement stairs and watched as he pulled a load of jeans out of the dryer and began folding them. “Paul never did anything around the house.”

“He didn’t have to, did he?” Mike remarked.

“No, I guess not … Do you do everything?”

“Sheryl helps me out sometimes, but yeah. Basically, I do it all. I used to have someone come in a couple of times a month, but I’m gone so much it didn’t work out.” He gathered up the stack of jeans in his arms. “Make yourself useful. Turn out the light on the way up.” He paused at the top of the basement stairs. “And why are you acting like you didn’t know all this already?”

“I guess I never thought about it.” She trailed after him as he passed through the kitchen and entered the hallway.

“I learned how to survive on my own a long time ago, Kate.” He paused at the foot of the staircase that led to the second floor. “I’ll be back down in a minute. Why don’t you wait in the living room?”

Kate entered the room and was transported back in time. The strategically placed lamps gave off warm amber pools of light, reflecting off the oak and maple and walnut. She was drawn to the inglenook, where a fire crackled in the hearth, sending flickers of light across the tiles that surrounded the fireplace. A book lay facedown on the bench, and she sat and picked it up. It was a well-read volume of poetry by John Donne. As Kate paged through the book, she stopped to read the notations Mike had made in his precise hand.

She heard him walk into the room. “I’m impressed,” she said without turning. “Donne was an astonishing man.”

He sat on the step that led up to the inglenook and leaned against the bench, his back to her.

“Do you have a favorite?” she asked.

“A sonnet called ‘The Broken Heart.’ Do you know it?”

She thought for a moment. “Is there a line in it that goes something like, ‘what a trifle is a heart, if once it comes into love’s hands’?”

“Yes, that’s it.”

They sat in silence. Then Mike softly began the third verse. Kate closed her eyes and listened.

“ ‘What did become of my heart, when I first saw thee? I brought a heart into the room, but from the room, I carried none with me. If it had gone to thee, I know mine would have taught thine heart to show more pity unto me: but Love, alas, at one first blow did shiver it as glass.’ ”

The intimacy in his voice and the words he spoke were lovemaking in its purest form. A tiny spark in Kate’s belly was kindled into a flame that spread to her groin, taking her breath away. Unfair. It had been so long since she’d felt anything like this. Layers of emotion were piling up, one on top of the other, like the snow outside. Footprints that had been visible a few moments ago were now being blanketed with a soft cocoon. And Paul’s memory would soon be covered.

Mike heard the small gasp that escaped her lips. He felt himself grow hard and he stifled the moan that threatened to lay bare his feelings. He squeezed his eyes shut and let his head fall back against the pad on the bench.

Kate’s eyes opened and she gazed at the back of his head. She reached out. Her warm fingers traced the furrow that appeared in his forehead, then stroked his thick hair.

His voice was a strained whisper. “Kate, for God’s sake … This is torture for me. If this isn’t going anywhere, stop it now and give me back my heart.”

But she didn’t stop. Instead, she moved closer, her fingers lightly moving across the bridge of his nose, his eyebrows, down his jawline, until he couldn’t take it anymore. He reached up to end it. To push her hand away. But he opened his eyes and saw her looking down at him. Sad, smoky blue eyes.

His hand closed around hers, pulling her down to him.
Their lips met and butterflies swooped and whirled in his stomach. Had he ever felt like this before? Her hands held his face, the tip of her tongue tentatively fluttered between his lips—investigating, testing—before slipping inside him. God, this was sweet. Years of waiting for this. Years of telling himself it would never happen. He didn’t dare move, knowing it all had to come from her.

Kate felt herself falling headlong into a deep pit, unable to stop. This familiar ache, too strong to control anymore, made her whimper his name. She was terrified to go on, but afraid to stop. Her hands slid down his chest, resting momentarily on his belly, and then slipped down further, pressing against the denim bulge of his sex.

The fuse was lit. How could he hold off the explosion? It would be like trying to run away from a tornado. Impossible. Hot tears were dripping from her eyes onto his cheeks. They mingled with her fervent kisses as she drew him in deeper. He was barely aware of what he was doing, when he finally turned and grasped her wrists, pulling her off the bench, pulling her onto his lap. Her arms went around his neck, and her mouth found his again with a sob. He heard it somewhere in the furthest reaches of his brain, and it left its mark.

Cradling her head between his hands, he drew her away from him, kissing her closed eyes. “Kate, listen to me.” Her lashes parted, and he was staring at Fear. A fresh tear trickled down her cheek and he brushed it away with his thumb. “I’ve never had to force myself on a woman. I’m not going to start with you.” She was ashamed of her tears. Ashamed at what she’d done to him. He could see it in the cast of her eyes, and he said, “Dinner’s probably ready. Why don’t we eat.”

Kate contemplated him from across the kitchen table. She watched his lips as he talked; his eyes, now laughing,
as he related a story Sheryl had told him about one of their former classmates; his hands—calm—only moving to punctuate a comment. They were strong, capable hands. Work-hardened. The veins stood out prominently through the dark hair.

Had she not noticed the confident maleness of him in all these years? Had she simply been blinded by her adoration of Paul? Or had she just not wanted to acknowledge the fact that Mike was a sexual being? He had always been so much a part of her landscape. Always there—always loyal—no matter what she said or did to him. She remembered her teasing through the years and felt a blush rising to her cheeks.

“Why did you put up with it?”

The question came out of thin air, and Mike was nonplussed. He looked over his shoulder, then back at her. “You talking to me?” She nodded. “What exactly is the ‘it’ we’re talking about?”

“My flirting.”

“You mean, your prick-teasing,” he said dryly.

Kate gave him a dirty look. “Well, I guess that’s another way of putting it, if you want to be crude.”

“It’s the only way of putting it … and it was crude. You were shameless. The worst part about it was you never knew what you were doing to me.” Mike toyed with his fork. “I guess I was shameless, too. I put up with it because it was the only time I really felt alive.” The fork’s tines made four tiny dents in his napkin. “Your sass and Paul’s arrogance … I don’t know why, but I loved you both.” He leaned back in his chair, contemplating her. “Y’know, Paul once told me I didn’t stand a chance with you.” He grimaced. “It wasn’t one of our better moments.”

“When was that?” she asked.

“Doesn’t matter. Sometimes I still believe he was right. And I wonder if you’ll ever be able to look at me
and not see Paul.” His eyes held hers. “If you’ll ever remember the good times and maybe see me.”

He searched her face for an answer, saw a wistful smile flicker across her lips, and sadly thought that her response would be a resounding no.

They sat in silence, until Kate said, “Let’s go for a walk.”

“It’s still snowing.”

“I know.”

They bundled themselves against the elements and went out into the cold night. The street was deserted—pristine. The last car had left its tracks an hour ago, and the ruts had all but filled with sparkling white powder. They set off up the road, toward Gypsy Hill Park, in companionable silence. The wind had stopped, and the snow fell softly, deadening all sounds. When they came to the corner, and the streetlamp, Kate stopped and watched the flakes tumbling through the amber light. Mike watched her.