Remember the Time (9 page)

Kate walks to the back of the cozy, paneled room and sits in an armchair, its comfort lost on her. The black suit she wears accentuates her pale beauty. Her auburn hair falls in glistening waves around the collar. She wears a brimmed hat with a veil that she now lifts back. Mike is at her side with a cup of coffee and she takes it from him without a word. He sits on the arm of the chair and she is grateful for his presence
.

She gazes at the bookshelf across the room. Tears leak out of the corners of her eyes, and she tries to blink them away
.

Mike puts his arms around her, and she suddenly says in a quiet, choked voice, “I can’t go through with this, Mike.”

“I’m right here, Katie. Not much longer.”

“I can’t do it,” she whispers again, then she buries her face in his jacket
.

At the graveside, Mike holds on to her arm for the short prayer, and then drives her home. Paul’s family has already left for Charlottesville, leaving Kate alone in the house once again
.

Mike sees Kate to the door. “Do you want me to come in? I can stay with you tonight.”

She shakes her head. “I’m going to go lie down. I’m really tired.” Then, realizing that not only has she lost her husband, but Mike has lost his friend, she puts her arms around him. “How will we ever be the same?” she asks, her voice trembling
.

“Come on, darlin’. We’ll be okay,” he says, accepting her embrace. “You know where I am if you need me.”

She pulls away and quickly steps into the house
.

She has slept the whole afternoon and well into the evening, when she is awakened by the sound of rain pounding against the window. Disoriented, she sits up in the guest bed and switches on the lamp. She is still wearing the black suit, and begins peeling it off. She balls it up and shoves it into a wastebasket
.
Wearing only her panties and bra, she walks down the hallway to the master bedroom. Kate hesitates before opening the door, but once inside she strides purposefully to the closet and finds a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt
.

And then she goes up to the tower room and begins moving out every box—every piece of junk—that is in it. It takes her well over an hour, but soon she has everything piled beneath the attic trapdoor. Another hour and she has it all in the attic. Her muscles scream for relief, but she doesn’t stop
.

She goes from room to room, carrying a large box, removing everything that is Paul’s. When the box is filled, she carries it to the tower room, unpacks it, and starts all over again. Sometime around midnight, she finishes
.

Kate is standing in the center of the room. All his clothing has been carefully folded and placed in a small trunk. His uniforms take up the five drawers in the chest. His equipment is organized on a metal shelf unit. Shoes sit in a row along one wall. All the little things—jewelry, shaving items, cologne, soap—have been arranged in a carved walnut box that rests atop the chest of drawers. His awards are hung on the wall, in any empty space she can find
.

Turning off the light, she closes the door and locks it. She hangs the key in the pantry before going into the den. Not bothering to turn on the light, Kate lowers herself onto the couch, fully exhausted. She falls asleep seconds later and doesn’t wake up till the phone rings at eleven o’clock the next morning. Rain drums against the house, and as she gets up to answer the call, her legs nearly fly out from under her. Her thighs ache. Her back and arms are stiff and painful
.

The caller is a teary Sheryl, apologizing for not being at the funeral. It had been impossible for her to come. Kate listens to Mike’s sister ramble on about the divorce, and how she was just finishing up massage school, and Matt’s SAT’s were yesterday, and they just couldn’t get away, and she was so sorry
.

Kate is tired and in pain, and she simply says, “It’s all right, Sheryl. I know you cared.”

“I just wish I had been there for you,” the other woman says, a fresh spate of tears audible over the wire
.

Kate hangs up and wearily makes the climb to the second floor and the bathroom. The hot shower takes away some of the pain in her muscles, but not the ache in her heart
.

Mike stood outside the guest room door, unsure of what to do. She’d been in there for nearly two hours. He’d finished the downstairs a few minutes ago and just as he was about to knock he’d heard her sniffling. He continued to stand there, his arms raised, and a small grimace crossed his face when he heard her blow her nose. Deciding that disturbing her was the best thing to do, he finally rapped on the door. “Kate? Just wanted to let you know I’m done.” He put his car to the door, waiting for a response. He heard her walk to the door, but she didn’t open it.

“Okay. Thanks, Mike. See you at six.”

He hesitated, wanting—no, needing—to comfort her. Instead, he drew in his breath, and said, “Yeah. Six. I’ll be the guy with the two bottles of wine in his hands and the smile on his face.”

T
hey had eaten in the kitchen and had consumed most of the first bottle of Chianti. Mike, wary of Kate’s mood, kept the conversation centered on the house and the work to be done. She didn’t hide her consternation well when he told her they could start on Monday, just two days away.

As Kate rinsed off the plates and put them in the dishwasher, Mike wondered if he was supposed to get up and leave. It was early, but he still had that second bottle of wine and he desperately missed the long talks he and Kate used to have. When Paul was still alive, Mike would drive up for a weekend visit during the winter months. Paul took full advantage of the fact that he didn’t have to work the night shift, and would go to bed early, leaving Kate and Mike chatting till the wee hours. A few times Mike had even brought his girlfriend of the moment. She invariably got bored with the subjects of antiques and old houses and wouldn’t bother to hide a yawn once either Kate or Mike would say, “Hey, remember the time …?” Annoyed, the woman would eventually find her way to the guest bedroom, while Kate and Mike sipped wine and reminisced.

Now, remembering was too hard for Kate, but Mike’s need for her was even more excruciating. For too many
years Paul rightfully stood between Mike and his love for Kate. And Mike respected that, even though it had been Paul who had thrown away the rule book the two boys had developed in the course of their friendship. They had both seen Kate and had both understood she could shatter the stone their book was written on. Mike’s loyalty to Paul couldn’t be budged in the old days. When it became Paul and Kate, his loyalties weren’t divided. Not at first. But when he began seeing the changes that Paul’s lifestyle had made in Kate, there was no doubt in his mind who needed his friendship more.

Paul was gone now. And Mike, who would have gone though his entire life never showing her how he felt, now wanted her to know. And the only way he knew how was to slowly, carefully peel away the layers that were Kate’s pain, until he reached the smooth plane of her heart that wasn’t scarred.

“Now what, Kate?” he asked.

“Now,” she said, wiping off her hands. “We finish that other bottle of wine.”

He didn’t realize he’d been holding his breath, and he let it out slowly.

Kate sat on the sofa, her back against the arm, her legs stretched out in front of her, while Mike settled into the armchair. The only light in the den came through the intricate glass pieces of a Tiffany lamp that sat on the table behind the couch. Her prized possession. Paul had given it to her on their sixth anniversary.

It had been much too extravagant. She had teased him about it, saying, “Either I was very, very good or you’ve been very, very bad.” She had later discovered that she’d been right on both counts, but by then it was spring, the road trip long forgotten, and he’d sworn he couldn’t even remember the woman’s name. Nothing
unusual—nothing ninety percent of the other baseball wives hadn’t lived through and survived.

Mike, a small smile on his face, watched Kate reach up and trace the iris design.

“It’s still a beauty,” he said, remembering the frantic call he’d gotten from Paul. “I need something really special,” he’d said. “A guilt gift,” Mike later said, after Paul had spilled his guts about the affair. Mike made the suggestion, and when Paul balked at the price, Mike had asked, “She’s worth it, isn’t she?”—secretly pleased that he could stick it to Paul just a little bit. He’d found the Iris lamp on one of his trips to New York and had it delivered to Paul in time for their anniversary, and Paul had paid the $12,000 tab with relief.

“I’ve been dying to know … where did you ever find it?” she asked.

His eyebrows lifted in surprise. “How did you know?”

“Oh, come on, Mike. Where would Paul have even begun to look for something like this? It’s got Michael Fitzgerald written all over it, and I thank you.” One corner of her mouth lifted as she added, “We both know why he agreed to buy it, and it had nothing to do with our anniversary, so you can tell me.”

“Sotheby’s,” he finally said. “What else do you know, Katie?”

She shrugged, taking a sip of the dark wine. “You’d be surprised.”

“So surprise me.” He got up to refill her glass.

“Well, I know you’re trying to get me drunk.”

He laughed as he sat back down. “Katie, darlin’, I happen to know it takes a whole lot more than a bottle of Chianti to get you drunk.”

Her smile was sly.

“What else?” he pressed.

“Ummm, let’s see …” She paused as if in deep thought. “I know that the women you date think you’re incapable of making a commitment.”

“Who’ve you been talking to?”

“I think the last one was the one who cornered me in your kitchen during that Fourth of July barbecue last year. That dark-haired woman. Summer? Spring?”

“Autumn,” Mike answered curtly.

“Right! God, I can’t believe you went out with someone named Autumn. Anyway, it was Autumn this time, and she says—”

“What do you mean, ‘this time’?”

“Just what I said. She wasn’t the first.
Anyway
 … she says, what does a woman have to do to get Mike Fitzgerald to commit? And I said, wait till hell freezes over. She didn’t seem to appreciate my standard reply.”

“I can see you’re enjoying this, but what would you say if I told you I’d already made the big commitment?”

Kate was thrown off balance, and instead of even pretending to be happy for him, she challenged him. “Who to?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” he stated. “Christ, how did we get on this subject?” Mike stood and walked to the bookcase, as the lighthearted mood evaporated.

Rain pattered against the window. For a moment it was the only sound in the room.

Kate broke the silence. “Mike? Are you very lonely?”

He turned to stare at her. “Yes, I am. Aren’t you?”

Her hand came up to cover her eyes, and in a husky voice she said, “Yes, I think I am.”

Kneeling next to the couch, he took the glass of wine from her right hand, and drew her other hand away from her face. “Come here, darlin’.” He folded her into his chest. “Kate, nobody should be alone if they don’t want to be. But you’ve shut everybody out. I know you loved Paul and I know you always will, but you’ve got to make room for other people in your life.”

She listened to his comforting voice and felt his heartbeat. “Here’s what else I know,” she said against his arm. “You’re a very nice man, Mike Fitzergald.”

He closed his eyes, wanting to hold her like this for the rest of his natural life, but he pushed her away. “Here’s something you don’t know. I came over here tonight to talk to you about the dedication.”

She brushed a knuckle under her eye. “I take it back. You’re not a very nice man.”

Mike sat cross-legged on the rug in front of her. “Sheryl talked to Donna Estes. The committee is planning a tribute to Paul. You need to be there to unveil the plaque they’re going to install on the new gym. It’s going to be named after him.”

“Oh, Christ … will this never end?”

“Maybe you can make it end, Kate. What you say at the dedication could finally put this all to rest.”

She tipped back the glass, and drained it. “When is the damned thing?”

“March eleventh,” he answered quietly.

“God in heaven, why are they doing this to me?” she wailed.

“Kate, I’ll be there with you. We’ll get through it. And it will be over and done with.”
And maybe we can all get on with our lives, with Saint Paul put to rest
.

Kate was hugging her legs, rocking to and fro, her head buried in her knees. In a muffled voice, she said, “I can’t think about this now. I don’t know yet. Please tell Donna for me.” She lifted her head to look at him. “Please?”

Mike shook his head. “Not this time, Kate.”

Saying no to Kate was one of the hardest things he’d ever had to do. He’d watched as she’d gone from vital Kate Moran to needy Kate Armstrong to “Paul’s wife,” with nothing left that resembled the girl he’d grown up with. He didn’t want to watch anymore.

“It’s time to take control of your life again, Kate. You just got done telling me you’re lonely.” Mike stood up. “You’re the only one who can do something about that.”

Kate stared at him openmouthed. Never one to back
down from a challenge, Kate reached across the couch and jerked the phone off the table. “What’s Donna’s number?”

Reaching under the end table, he withdrew the
Reader’s Digest
–sized phone book and tossed it in her lap. “Look it up.” He strode to the door. He could hear Kate paging through the book, cursing him under her breath. “Thanks for dinner, Kate.” And he was in the hallway.

As she dialed Donna’s number, Kate shouted at him, “Who is this woman you’ve committed yourself to? Because you can’t call that two-minute marriage to Allison a commitment!”

Mike couldn’t stop himself from shouting back, “It’s you, Kate! Just you!”

The front door slammed.