Remember the Time (45 page)

“No way, Kate.”

But she was already walking away from him. Her voice drifted back to him. “I’ll just be a few minutes.”

“Damn it, Kate!”

She stopped on the front porch and turned to face him. “Just let me do this.”

The implacable tone of her voice, and the stubborn set of her mouth that Mike knew well, made him stand still and throw up his hands in surrender.

When she came outside fifteen minutes later, Kate didn’t say a word. She simply took Mike’s hand and walked back across the street with him.

Mike’s phone call had brought Matt to the house, where the three of them now sat around the kitchen table drinking coffee. Kate had tuned out the two men several minutes before. She sat perfectly still, hands cupped around the mug in front of her, her mind drifting from image to image—sensation to sensation.

Smoke-blackened ceilings. The brown splotches of wallpaper in her bedroom where heat had seared through the connecting wall. Water stains already forming on the hardwood floors. A cold dampness invading the upper floor. A feeling that the house had never wanted her there in the first place, and had now gotten rid of her completely.

She shivered and heard Mike’s voice talking to her. Her eyes met his.

“Where’d you go, Katie?”

She smiled slightly and tried to shake off her melancholy. “I was just thinking that there’s nothing left of Paul anymore. All the tangible evidence burned with the tower.” A lone tear spilled down her right cheek. “I don’t have anything of his anymore and that makes me sad. It’s as if he never existed and that can’t be right.”

Mike’s face fell, and she quickly went on, wanting to explain. Wanting to stop any hurt she may have inadvertently caused him with her words. “Oh, sweetheart … no.” She took his hand. “What I mean is, that no matter
what my life was like with Paul, it was
my life with Paul
. I shouldn’t have to forget him completely, should I?”

Matt’s voice was tentative, but his words possessed a strength Kate and Mike couldn’t ignore. “I’m what’s left of Paul. Can I be your memory of him?”

F
rom the window seat, Kate watched the sun rise over the Blue Ridge. The light bathed her in warmth. She closed her eyes and lifted her face to it. An early spring had descended on the valley and, for the first time in years, Kate felt a tremendous joy in the warm temperatures and the yellows of daffodils and forsythia in bloom.

She opened her eyes at the sound of a soft snore and looked around at a sleeping Mike. Homer lay next to him and answered with a snore of his own. Kate stifled a laugh and turned back to the window. The sun glinted off the For Sale sign in her front yard, momentarily blinding her.

For Sale
. It was a frightening, liberating concept. The sign had been up a few days, but it still startled her when she saw it. Paul’s mother had been a little more than startled when Kate phoned her with the news.

Kate sat at Mike’s kitchen table, her knuckles white as she’d gripped the telephone receiver. To her credit, she hadn’t slammed it down in Margaret Armstrong’s shell-like ear. Instead, she’d calmly placed the phone in its
cradle and then shouted every expletive she could think of.

Mike had been standing quietly in the doorway, and after Kate let loose, said, “Went
that
well, did it?”

Kate let go of the phone and turned. “She acted as if I’d taken out a full-page ad in the
Richmond Times
announcing I’m going into hooking, for God’s sake!” Mike grinned and Kate said, “It’s not funny! She’s saying stuff like, how
could
you sell the memory of Paul?… the house he grew up in … the family home! And when I asked her if she wanted to buy it from me, she couldn’t come up with excuses not to fast enough. They want me to keep it, but not one of them’s ever offered to help with the upkeep.”

“It’s your house, Kate. You can do whatever you want with it,” Mike said softly, but Kate was rolling.

“And
then
she says, in that holier-than-thou voice, ‘And where will you live, Kate? Above that little shop of yours?’ ” She slammed her hand down on the table.
“God!”

“You didn’t tell her, did you,” Mike stated.

Kate blushed and mumbled, “I couldn’t do it. I’m sorry.”

Mike shrugged and pushed away from the doorframe, but she could see he was hurt. “Aw, Mike … imagine what she’d say if I’d told her I was living with you.”

“You could’ve told her we’re married.”

“But we’re not”

“But we will be.”

They looked at each other. A slow smile came over Mike’s face and Kate felt an intense starburst of desire. He reached for her arm and drew her out of the chair. His hands circled her waist and she was suddenly sitting on the table. Just before he pulled her jeans off, he leaned close and whispered, “Did you at least tell her about the dedication?”

His voice was so seductive that the question didn’t register for a few seconds, at which time she breathlessly
answered, “It was my lead.” At which time Mike said, “Imagine what she’ll say when she finds out about Matt.”

Kate pushed open the window and took in the dewy scent that promised a perfect day. Her house, with its restored tower and fresh coat of white paint, shimmered in the morning light. The thought of selling had drifted through her mind the night of the fire. Matt’s imploring question clinched it for her.
Can I be your memory of him?
It echoed back to her for days.

Mike and Matt had worked long, hard hours putting the house back together for her. Mike hadn’t said, “I told you so,” when the fire investigation concluded that an animal—probably a mouse—had chewed through the old insulation on the wires, eventually causing the fire. Kate remembered Mike’s cautionary offer to check out the tower room, and her refusal. When he saw the report, he’d simply nodded and gone back to the list of supplies he and Matt were compiling.

It had been Kate who finally said, “It’s my fault. For not letting you into the tower. I’ll never hide anything from you again.” She also remembered Mike’s smile as she added, “This roommate thing? Can we make it permanent?”

Since that time, nearly three months ago, Matt had left for Florida and spring training. He had made the two of them promise to come down to watch him play after the gym dedication. He’d also made them vow not to get married till the fall, when he could be a member of the wedding.

“Ring bearer?” Mike had teased.

“Hey, you know I’m
the
best man,” Matt had parried.

Mike had glanced at Kate, who’d responded, “Not in this case.”

Reluctantly rising from the window seat, Kate
stretched and turned back to the bed to find Mike watching her with a sleepy smile. “Come back to bed, Katie.” She allowed him to wrap his body around her and, as his arms crossed over her breasts, she took his hands and held them tightly. “By tomorrow it’ll all be over with,” he whispered. “By tomorrow our lives will finally be our own.”

Their unspoken thoughts merged.
And Paul will finally be laid to rest
.

K
ate, head bent, leaned against the bathroom sink, the heels of her hands digging into the counter. She took another deep breath and saw reflected her pale, nervous face framed by the institutional beige of the toilet stalls. A wave of nausea made her swallow hard and she closed her eyes and shook her head to clear it. One of her earrings—a gold shamrock with a small emerald center—fell into the sink with a soft clink. Kate’s heart stopped for a moment, until she realized the drain was covered with a stainless steel grid. With shaking fingers she picked up the gift from Mike and clipped it on again just as the bathroom door burst open, followed by the high-pitched voices of two girls in the middle of an argument.

When the teenagers rounded the corner and saw Kate, their mouths closed simultaneously and they regarded her with the universal suspicion all fifteen-year-olds employ against adults. Kate tried to smile—couldn’t—and quickly walked past them. As she reached the door, she silently said, “You can do this,” and then pushed her way out of the new gymnasium’s ladies’ room.

She slowly made her way down the hall, her shoes
echoing on the virgin linoleum. Her feet already hurt. Kate couldn’t remember the last time she’d worn heels. Or a dress. But it had been long enough that she’d had to go out and buy something for this evening. The few semiformal dresses that had been relegated to the back bedroom’s cedar closet literally hung on her.

It had been as if the saleswoman in the boutique had seen her coming, and Kate still cringed at the 350 dollars she’d forked over. It was the first dress she tried on. The saleswoman made a huge fuss over her, exclaiming how the color was “
the
thing for your hair,” but Kate didn’t need any prompting. The emerald-green sheath, with its kick pleat and scoop neck, had been perfect. It had been one of Kate’s good days, and she’d liked what she’d seen in the mirror.

She wanted to feel sexy again. Wanted to look like a woman a man might desire. Wanted them all to know she was indeed alive even though her husband had died. But most of all, Kate wanted Mike to look at her the way he had all those years ago in San Francisco on the night of his architecture award. She had taken his breath away then, and it wasn’t hard to recall the feeling of power the moment had given her. Tonight, as she’d walked into the living room where he’d waited, Kate hadn’t been disappointed.

Now, trying to find her way through the maze that would lead her to the main room of the gym, she cursed the tight skirt and the two-inch heels that forced her to take six-inch steps. Kate had a mental image of the look on Margaret Armstrong’s face as she took the podium to read her dedication speech. It would be a look that confirmed all Mrs. Armstrong’s convictions about Kate. If she were a character in a cartoon strip, a bubble would hover over that perfectly coiffed head, enclosing the words:
Paul! She’s selling
the family home! Dressing like a ten-dollar whore! Living with your best friend. My darling, I’m so glad you’re not alive to see this!
The possibilities for melodrama were endless.

But Kate would’ve given her right arm to witness the exact moment when Margaret learned her perfect son had hidden a grandchild from her. Despite Kate’s loss of faith in Sheryl, she felt sorry for her.

Kate slowed to a stop in front of the double doors to the gym. The music that filtered through sounded suspiciously like a sappy Carpenters song, and Kate grimaced. Wasn’t this bad enough without including some of the worst music of the seventies? Could disco be far behind?

Kate placed her palm against the brass plate, took a calming breath, and pushed open the door. The voice of Karen Carpenter assailed her. If she ever needed a drink, it was now. No such luck on school grounds. She knew the goblets on the banquet tables were filled with water, and the two punch bowls held a sickly sweet concoction of something red.

Donna Estes had gone all out. The tables were covered with linen in the school colors. Centerpieces of daffodils in vases tied with royal blue ribbon carried on the theme. The table servers were seniors coerced into working for extra credit. Kate stood at the door and watched them plunk salad plates on the table with all the panache of truck-stop workers. She saw a huge pink bubble emerge from the lips of a bored blonde, who silently spoke volumes.
I’d rather be anywhere but here on Friday night
. It made Kate smile for the first time that evening.

Her eyes searched the cavernous room for Mike, but he had already spotted her and was frantically sending coded signals for Kate to rescue him from a former classmate. Kate made a beeline toward him and, as she reached the two men, took Mike’s arm and said,
“Excuse us, Pete, but I’m starving.” Nothing was further from the truth, but the statement propelled Mike into action, and he shrugged at the slightly balding former football player and let Kate lead him to their table.

Seating Kate, he leaned down to whisper, “If you ever need to know anything about annuities, Pete’s your man.” He noticed the slightly glazed look in Kate’s eyes and he quickly sat next to her. “You okay?”

Kate had seen the names on the place cards, and was about to suggest they move to another table as rapidly as possible, but it was too late. The entire Armstrong family, looking like the royalty they thought they were, led by a beaming Donna Estes, were making their way through the crowd and toward the table Kate and Mike occupied.

“God, Mike … how am I going to get through this?”

Mike leaned toward Kate, his eyes demanding she look at him. When he had her attention, he said, “They are part of the past, and the past isn’t going to hurt you anymore.”

She looked at him gratefully. “Kiss me, Mike.”

The corners of his eyes crinkled in pleasure at her small rebellion and he brought his hand up to cup the back of her neck. Drawing her in, his lips met hers in a meltingly soft kiss. When he released her, he stood and turned to confront the stunned faces of the mother, sister, and brother-in-law of his best friend.