Remember the Time (6 page)

“Mike?”

“Yeah?”

“You’re the best friend I’ve ever had. You know that, don’t you?”

“See you tomorrow, Kate.”

He gently let the receiver drop into its cradle. On his back, in the dark, he brought his forearm above his head and closed his eyes. Somewhere in the recesses of his mind he could hear the first bass notes of a Temptations’ song. He drifted back to sleep dancing with a seventeen-year-old Kate in his arms, the refrain of “My Girl” echoing through his head.

K
ate knocked on the back door, then let herself into the small mud porch that in turn led to the kitchen. “Do I remember right? Did you ask me out to breakfast?”

Mike sat back from the table and put down the newspaper. “You do, and I did.”

“Oh, good,” she said in mock relief. “I was afraid I’d dreamed it. Do I smell coffee?”

As he poured her a cup, Mike asked, “How are you feeling this morning?”

She cupped her hands around the warm mug and with a touch of irony said, “I can’t be sure, not ever having experienced the feeling, but I think I’m a little hungover.”

Mike chuckled. “Yeah, that must’ve been someone who looked a lot like you whose head I held while she lost her cookies at the side of the road. Several times.”

“God, weren’t we stupid?”

“That we were,” he said, turning to the oven. “Take your coat off and stay awhile.”

“I thought you were taking me out to eat.”

“You’re out and you’re about to eat.”

“I see,” Kate said with a smile. She sat at the table and pushed the paper aside. Mike set a plate in front of her.
“Eggs Benedict! Jesus, Mike …” Kate put a forkful in her mouth and closed her eyes in bliss. “This is delicious. You’re gonna make some woman a terrific wife.”

“Having utterly failed at being a husband,” Mike stated, joining her.

“Allison wasn’t good enough for you.” Kate grinned. “What about that artist you were seeing? What was her name? Eleanor something-or-other …”

“Pleasant.”

“Yes, she seemed nice.”

“No. Pleasant was her last name.”

Kate thoughtfully chewed a bite of English muffin. “What happened?”

“She moved to Charleston. We still talk.” Trying to steer the conversation in another direction, he asked, “More coffee?”

“Just talk?” Kate kept on.

“If business throws us together we do more than talk. Okay?”

“I’m sure Sheryl said you were practically engaged,” Kate mused.

“Sheryl talks too much. Besides, I didn’t ask you over here to discuss my personal life, as fascinating as it may be.”

“Sorry. What
did
you want to talk about? I’ve forgotten.”

“Your house, Kate. It’s falling apart around you. I’m sure you’ve noticed.”

“I have. Reminds me a lot of me.” She grinned.

“Not funny,” Mike said, although he tended to agree with her. “Some morning you’re going to wake up with the sun in your eyes, and it won’t be coming through the window.”

Kate sipped her coffee, then said, “I can’t keep up with it, Mike.”

“Do you plan on staying there?”

“Where else would I go? I can’t sell it.”

“Why?” He looked at her hard.

Her eyes shifted to a point somewhere over his shoulder. “Well, I just can’t. That’s all.”

Mike knew enough to leave that one alone. “Look, Kate. Winter’s coming and the damage is just going to get worse. I’m about to make you an offer you can’t refuse.”

Her eyes found his again. “What’s that?”

“I’ll do the work for you. No charge. I’m going to be here for a couple of months and I’ve got Matt to help me. It’s a crime to let that place go the way you have. What do you say?”

“I say, what’s the catch?”

“No catch. I’ll go over the whole place. Do an evaluation. We’ll do the worst first.”

Kate chewed her bottom lip for a moment. “I can’t let you do all that for nothing. You know that. And I repeat, what’s the catch?”

Mike took a deep breath and pretended to think. “Okay, how’s this? I need some help cataloging the furnishings at Cobble Hill. They’re doing a major restoration, which means stripping the house and storing everything.”

Without hesitation, Kate said, “I can’t.”

“Oh, I think you can. It’s just a question of whether you will or won’t.” Mike watched her face take on that familiar stubborn set.

“Is this some plan that you and Sheryl cooked up? Get Kate back on her feet?”

“Well, I see it as a barter, plain and simple. I can really use your expertise. I can’t help the way you choose to look at it.”

She was wrestling with it.
Good
, Mike thought.
A small guilt trip can’t hurt the cause
.

Kate finally said, “I’ll think about it, okay?”

He nodded.

“I’ll let you know in a couple of days.”

“Fine.” Mike stood. “Did you have enough to eat?”

Kate handed him her plate. “Yes, thanks. It was wonderful.”

Mike set the dishes in the sink and, with his back to her, asked, “Do you have a couple of minutes?”

“Sure.”

“Good. I wanted to show you the bedroom. It’s finally finished and I think there’s a piece in there you’ll really appreciate.”

Mike had bought the gray-stuccoed Craftsman home three years ago. He’d paid next to nothing for the 1910 gem. Aside from a bad roof and years of neglect, it had survived the whims of renovation. All the interior woodwork was original and unpainted. The built-in sideboard in the dining room, the inglenook with its bench seat, the tiles around the fireplaces in the living room and master bedroom—all had been left untouched.

Mike had replicated the original forest-green roof and painted the exterior trim the same color. The covered front porch that ran the width of the house also had the same sloped green roof and a gabled entry. The stucco had cracked along the face of the porch and Mike had done the patch work himself. And then he’d tackled the interior. It had taken him nearly two years to finish it to his satisfaction. Furnishing it came next. Gustav Stickley, one of the founders of the American Arts and Crafts movement, could have walked into Mike’s house and felt at home. It was
that
authentic.

Kate followed him down the hallway and up the stairs, saying, “Don’t tell me you finally found that Stickley wardrobe you’d been hunting for?”

“Better.” He stood aside to let her enter.

“Better? How is that possible?”

He pushed the light switch and listened to her intake of breath. She quickly walked to a medium-sized oak wardrobe and ran her fingers along the inlay.

“A Crafters?” She bent down to inspect the brass
handles. “God, it’s beautiful.” Then she looked around the room, her eyes stopping to caress each piece of mission-style furniture.

Kate was enthralled by the bedroom. She’d been in it only one other time, when he’d first moved in, and she was stunned by the transformation. Kate walked the perimeter of the room, her hand lovingly stroking each piece, her eyes soothed by the warm light that reflected off the honey-colored furniture.

“Mike,” she said in hushed tones. “It’s perfect.”

“Almost,” he said, watching her.

She continued her exploration and, almost as an afterthought, asked, “Almost? What else could you possibly need?”

His heart beat faster, and he nearly told her then, but she looked over at him and smiled and he knew he couldn’t do it.

“It’s perfect,” she repeated.

“Glad you like it.”

Kate sat on the bed and leaned back on her arms, letting her feet dangle above the simple design of the small wool rug. “If I lived here, I’d never leave this room.”

The room suddenly got warmer and Mike propelled himself away from the wall he’d been leaning against. “I’ve got a spot I’m trying to fill in the den. Care to give me your opinion?”

“Sure.” Kate hopped off the bed. “Lead the way, bwana.”

“Y’know,” Mike was saying as they walked down the staircase, “I ran into Cindy a couple of weeks ago. She said the shop is doing pretty well.”

“Amazing, isn’t it? I don’t remember the last time I was in there.”

“Funny, she said exactly the same thing.” They had entered the room Mike used as his study. “Have you become the silent partner?”

“No comment.”

On her thirtieth birthday, Kate’s love of antiques and innate sense of style finally came together.

“Rise and shine, birthday girl,” Paul whispers in her ear
.

She mumbles something and burrows deeper under the comforter
.

“Come on, you lazy woman.”

“What time is it?”

“Time to get up.” He rips the covers off the bed, exposing a naked Kate to the brilliant October day
.

She groans and covers her face with her hand. “Have a heart, Paul. I was up till three.”

He stands next to the bed. “So was I.”

“But you didn’t drink a whole bottle of champagne by yourself.” She squints through her fingers at him. “And you’re still mad, aren’t you.”

“I guess I didn’t know they were holding auditions for the Solid Gold Dancers right here on Frazier Street.”

Kate groans, remembering the spectacle she’d made of herself at her birthday party. “Why didn’t you stop me?”

“You were a full three sheets to the wind. There wasn’t much I could do.”

“I’m sorry,” she says. “I didn’t mean to embarrass you.”

He finally sits next to her. Runs a hand down her thigh. “I’ve gotta admit, it was pretty sexy.”

She savors the feel of his fingers on her skin. “I did it for you,” she whispers
.

“Well.” He bends to kiss her shoulder. “I just wish you’d saved it for later. Good thing I got to you just as you were taking off your jacket.”

“Thank God for that,” she mutters. The velvet bolero she’d worn not only covered the lacy, sleeveless bodysuit with the lowcut back. It also covered her spine
.

“You don’t need to be ashamed of it, Kate.” Paul lifts her hair and places his lips on the nape of her neck. “It’s what
makes you real.” His finger slowly traces the scar that runs, like a pale zipper, down the length of her back
.

The scar has been a part of her existence since she was twelve years old, and she hates it. It was a product of surgery to correct a curvature of the spine. After the operation, she’d had to live in a body cast for nearly a year. She’d been subjected to ferocious teasing because of it. The only good thing about it, as far as Kate was concerned, was her perfect posture. Other than that, the scar meant nothing but humiliation. But Paul sees what she refuses to see—that it has made her strong
.

“I just don’t want the whole world to know about it. Is that all right with you?” She’s turned over, only to get caught in the gaze of his hazel eyes
.

He smiles. “Your secret’s safe with me. And if you don’t get up right now and get dressed, you won’t get your present until tomorrow.”

“Why tomorrow?”

“ ’Cause that’s when I’ll be done making love to you.”

“Is that a threat?” Her hand travels up his hard thigh until she can feel the start of his erection through his jeans. “Or a promise?”

Some twenty minutes later, as Kate lies listening to the slowing of her husband’s heartbeat, she hears voices and the slamming of a car door outside. She’s forgotten that Mike and his current girlfriend have stayed the night, not wanting to drive back to Richmond after the party. All Kate wants to do is spend the day in bed with Paul, a rare occurrence these days. “Shit,” she murmurs under her breath
.

“Not your usual reaction.” Paul slowly lifts himself away from her. “By the way, Mike’s already up.”

Kate closes her eyes in embarrassment. “I can’t face him.”

“He took it pretty well,” Paul says, yawning. “It’s Sandra, or Susan, or whatever her name is, that seemed a little bent out of shape. But what can you expect from a theology professor?”

Kate reaches for Paul’s arm. “I thought you were going to make love to me until tomorrow.” But he’s already pulling on his underwear
.

“Don’t you think you’d better say bye to Mike?”

Kate slowly sits up, her head pounding, and wonders how much time will pass before the next time she and Paul make love. “Can’t we just stay in here until they leave? This was so nice …”

His back to her, he zips up his pants. “What about your birthday present?”

She could say, “All I want is the old Paul back,” but realizes she doesn’t know who that might be. And so she says, “Tell him I’ll be down in a few minutes.”

An hour after Mike and Sharon drive away, Kate sits in her car, one of Paul’s ties covering her eyes in a makeshift blindfold. As Paul opens the door for her, she says, “I can’t believe you’re putting me through this with the massive hangover I’ve got.”

“I think you’ll find it was worth it,” Paul answers, taking her arm and helping her out of the car. He places something in her hand. It feels like a key. “Ready?”

She nods, and he removes the blindfold
.

They stand in front of a two-story town house on Frederick Street. The simple Victorian building has recently been painted a pale seafoam green with white trim. The realty sign has a
SOLD
sticker slapped across it. A painted wooden sign hangs from the porch. It reads:
Remember the Time.

She doesn’t know what to make of this and turns to Paul, a question in her eyes
.

“You’re now a member of the Staunton business community.” He faces her and puts his arms around her waist. “Happy birthday, baby,” he says, kissing her
.

The shop had done well. Well enough for her to hire full-time help during the baseball season, when she and Paul lived in San Francisco. Well enough for Cindy Peters, Kate’s assistant, to buy into the business and become Kate’s partner. And well enough for Cindy to hire part-time help, because Kate rarely showed up after Paul’s death.