Remember the Time (29 page)

“I was drunk—drugged.”

But Mike had stood now and anger erupted out of
him, sulfurous and hot. “Let me get this straight. You fucked my nephew?”

She stared at him, horrified at his words. “No! That’s not what happened!”

“Then what
did
happen, Kate?”

How could she tell him? The truth was bad enough. How in the world could she say the words, when even she wasn’t sure.

“Mike, I was half out of my mind!”

“But with the other half you fucked Matt?”

“Please,” she entreated him. “Please stop saying that! It’s not true!”

“I can’t think of any other way to put it.”

Wringing her hands, she tearfully said, “You don’t understand how it was, Mike.”

He came toward her. “You’re right. I don’t understand. After all these years of wanting you. Loving you. I don’t understand. And I don’t think I want to.” Her face was bathed in tears, and as she reached a hand up to wipe them away, he caught her wrist. “Don’t. This is the first time in a long time that tears look good on you.”

Bowing her head, she quietly said, “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“
You told me you loved me
. I’ve waited all my life to hear you say that.” He flung her arm away. “And now it doesn’t mean shit.”

But she went on. “I never wanted to hurt you, Mike. You said you’d remember. You said you’d believe me …” She couldn’t bring herself to tell him the reality of that night.

“Tell me something, Kate,” he said harshly. “Was it his youth you wanted? Or did he remind you of Paul?” Her silence told him all he needed to know. “I could’ve given you so much more. My love was yours for the taking. But you told me you weren’t ready for it. Have you ever told me the truth, Kate?”

“I’m telling you the truth now! I’ve never lied to you,
Mike. Never! I told you I love you and that’s the truth, too.”

“You don’t know the meaning of the word ‘love.’ When you figure it out, come and tell me, because I think I just forgot what it means myself.”

He walked out of the room.

K
ate’s first impulse was to run after him, throw her arms around him, tell him it would be all right if he could just understand.

What stopped her was a memory so strong that nine years faded away, and she instinctively knew that the last thing Mike wanted was a show of affection from her, however real it may be. Betrayal, and the almost irreversible loss of trust it caused, called for a shutdown. A time to lie quietly and lick wounds. A time to think and regain hope. A time to forgive, because you never forgot.

“A little more to the left …”

“Didn’t I just do that twenty minutes ago?” Paul says from underneath the eight-foot Fraser fir. “C’mon, Kate. I don’t care if it’s straight anymore. I’m growing moss down here!”

“Mom, what do you think?”

Kate’s mother looks up from the string of lights she is trying to untangle. “It looks fine to me. What do you think, Jim?” There is no answer, and Mary Moran glances behind her. “Jim! Are you asleep?”

Kate’s father comes awake with a snort. The box of ornaments he’s been holding falls to the floor and lands with an unhealthy tinkling sound
.

Kate swallows a giggle, as her father says, “What now?”

“The tree. Does it look straight?”

“Since when do we do Christmas by committee?”

Mary Moran rolls her eyes at her daughter, and Kate says, “You can come up for air, Paul. It’ll do.”

She is brushing fir needles out of his hair when the phone rings
.

Kate’s mother moves to get up. “I’ll get it.”

“No—let me,” Kate says, rushing to the kitchen. “It might be Mike.”

Mary Moran looks at her son-in-law. “Mike Fitzgerald?”

Paul nods, concentrating on stringing the first set of lights around the plump tree
.

“Will he be coming home for Christmas?”

“Yeah. He usually stays with us a couple of days if his mom is visiting Sheryl in Maryland. Then he spends Christmas with them.”

“That’s a lot of driving,” she comments
.

“Kate wouldn’t have it any other way.” Paul looks up as Kate enters the living room. “When’s he coming?”

“It wasn’t Mike.”

Paul turns his attention to the tree once more. “Well, don’t keep me in suspense. Who was it?”

“Wrong number, I guess. There wasn’t anybody on the line.”

“Probably the phone company taking a bathroom break,” Paul comments
.

What Kate has left unsaid is that since they’ve returned from San Francisco—since October—these hang-up calls have increased in frequency from once or twice a month to almost daily. And they never seem to happen to Paul. She’s chosen to ignore their implications for the sake of harmony, but with Christmas just a week away it’s becoming more and more difficult
.

Kate turns to her father and teasingly says, “Daddy? Do you want some coffee?”

“No. You can keep me awake with your sparkling wit, Katie.”

Her smile turns to a slight frown when the phone rings again. “Paul, you get it this time.” She takes the lights from him. “Dad can help me with this.”

As Paul leaves the room, her mother says, “I didn’t know Mike Fitzgerald was coming.”

“Well, I hope he’s coming. We’re still waiting to hear.”

“Is he married yet?”

“No. He’s too busy proving that there are still a lot of fish in the sea.” Kate steps back from the tree to check her work. “Why?”

Just then Paul comes back. “That was Mike. He’ll be here day after tomorrow.”

Kate’s face lights up. “Good!” Walking past Paul, she gives him a peck on the cheek. “This calls for some music.”

A Christmas tape comes on and Kate’s throaty voice fills the room as she sings along with “Winter Wonderland.”

It’s early but her parents have gone to bed, saying they were tired. Kate suspects they want to leave the three friends alone in the den
.

She and Mike are working their way through their first bottle of wine, and an endless argument about who was the better writer, Steinbeck (Kate) or Faulkner (Mike). Paul, who had suffered through both in high school, simply sits back drinking his rum and Coke and keeping score. Mike has just pulled ahead with his last point when the telephone rings. Paul raises himself out of the comfortable wing chair. No one notices that he opts to pick it up in the kitchen
.

Kate is busy saying, “You can’t possibly compare
The Grapes of Wrath
to any of Faulkner’s stuff! Steinbeck spoke to a whole nation. If you’re not from the South, Faulkner’s almost unreadable.”

“In your opinion,” Mike answers, holding out his wineglass
.

Kate upends the bottle and pours Mike the last of the wine. “I have a right to my opinion.”

“The rules say I do, too.”

“Not when your opinion is wrong.” She grins, standing. “I’ll go get another bottle.”

It surprises her to hear Paul’s voice. It surprises her even more to realize she hadn’t noticed him leave the room
.

His tone is annoyed. His voice is low. But she hears his words clearly
.

“Look, you can’t
keep calling me here.”

Kate stands still
.

“God damn it, it’s Christmas! I’ve got family and friends here.”

She has stopped breathing
.

“No. You listen. I don’t want you calling me again.”

Kate tries to slow her heartbeat
.

“No. I fucking well mean it, Liz. Not now—not ever.” He hangs up
.

Stifling a sob, Kate takes a few steps back down the hall. There is nowhere to hide but the bathroom, and she quickly takes refuge there. A few minutes pass before she hears Paul’s footsteps pass the door and go back into the den
.

Kate follows him moments later, a fresh bottle in her hand, a smile on her face. Paul excuses himself twenty minutes later. Kate allows him to kiss her good-night. She gives him a five-minute head start, and then tells Mike to keep the wine flowing; that she’ll be right back
.

She quietly closes the bedroom door and leans back against it. Paul, wearing only his Jockey shorts, has just gone into his nightly push-up routine
.

“Who was on the phone, Paul?”

He doesn’t slow down, answering, “My mom.”

“When did she change her name to Liz?”

That makes him stop mid-push and he slowly gets to his knees
.

“Don’t even think about lying to me again, Paul.”

With absolutely no sense of shame, he says, “She’s a fan who got the wrong idea when I said hi to her at a game.”

Kate stares at him in disbelief. “And how did she happen to get our unlisted telephone number?”

Paul’s jaw tightens. He stands, but he has no easy answer for her, and the something inside Kate that wants to be wrong shrivels
.

“Let me get this straight, Paul. You gave one of your sluts our phone number, somehow expecting her not to call, and me not to find out?” God, he was so handsome, standing there half-naked. The thought of Paul pounding his hard body into another woman sends a shiver of pain through Kate, and her agony comes out in her words. “You promised me, Paul. You said you’d never do this to me again.”

His eyes, so soft, reflect her anguish
.

Pleading with him, she quietly asks, “What am I doing wrong? Just tell me and I’ll fix it. I want you to love me again.”

“Kate, I do love you. It’s just … I get lonely on the road.”

“Then why won’t you let me go with you? We can afford it! Why?” Her voice hardens. “Answer me, damn it!”

But he continues gazing at her
.

Enraged, she says, “Is it because I’d cramp your style?” A sudden realization hits her. “God, Paul! How many have there been?” Her stomach convulses. Bile rises in her throat and she has to stop herself from being sick. “You—are—disgusting.”

“Kate, I’m sorry.”

“You don’t know sorry yet.” Her voice lowers to a hiss. “While my parents are here you can sleep in this room, but not in our bed. After they leave, you can move into the guest room. I’ll act like nothing’s wrong. Don’t take that to mean all’s well. By the end of this winter you’ll wish you’d kept your pants zipped, ’cause the only time you’ll get to take your cock out is to piss.”

Shocked at her words, he says, “Come on, Kate! You don’t mean that.”

A small snort of mirthless laughter escapes her lips. “I have to get back downstairs. Mike’s waiting.”

When she comes to bed, Kate can just make out the outline of Paul’s form on the oversized armchair near the window. He seems to be asleep
.

She wearily crawls into her side of the bed, exhausted from keeping up the pretense of happiness; anesthetized by the wine. It’s going to be a very long week
.

She closes her eyes and tries to banish the images of Paul’s unfaithfulness that keep scrolling past her vision. But his measured breathing is a constant reminder, and she resorts to her childhood trick
. Stop it,
her mind repeats over and over
.

Don’t think. Stop it …

Kate dozes on and off for most of the night. At one point, when she thinks she feels Paul move next to her, her inner voice says
, I’m dreaming,
and she goes back to sleep. It is a while later that his hand touches the curve of her waist. Not fully asleep, she flinches away from him. He becomes more persistent—his hand making slow circles down the small of her back, possessively cupping her buttocks. She moves again
.

“Let me just hold you, Katie. I can make it better.”

That’s when she sits up. “Get away from me, Paul. Nothing you can do is going to make it better. Not for a long time.” Scooting up against the headboard, she pulls the covers up around her. “I want you to get out of the bed.”

He gets up without another word
.

Paul’s exile lasts nearly two weeks. Christmas has been a farce played out for the benefit of her parents. Once they are safely on the plane that will take them back to Tempe, Kate reenters their home, goes directly to their bedroom, and removes his pillow, underwear, and bathrobe to the guest room
.

Paul never does understand her need for distance from him. His advances would have been sweet, playful sexual forays had Paul and Kate been living in happier times. But, as things stand, Kate sees them only as prurient reminders of what he’s done
.

Kate doesn’t know how she’ll get through the New Year’s party she’s planned, and on December 27, she cancels it, to the very vocal dismay of all their friends. Kate is also disappointed. It has always been her night to shine
.

Mike is probably the most surprised at the change in the natural order of the universe, and he says so. “Wait a sec, Kate
.
Do you mean to tell me I have to come up with my own form of entertainment on December thirty-first? I won’t know how to act.”

“Things change, Mike,” she tells him, and she wonders if he knows, when he says, “Not really, darlin’.”

Kate is already dressed for bed when Paul knocks on the door. She sits up a little taller and puts the book she’s been trying to read across her lap
.

“Come in.”

It takes a moment for the door to open. What she sees makes her smile shyly, and causes her heart to melt
.

Paul is standing in the doorway, barefoot, dressed in his tuxedo, a boyish grin on his face. He holds a bottle of Perrier-Jouet champagne in one hand, two glasses in the other
.

“I know things aren’t good between us right now, but I couldn’t stand the thought of New Year’s Eve without you, baby.” He takes a step inside. “Let’s at least drink a toast to the good times.”