Meet Cate (7 page)

There was cake. There were chocolate chip cookies. And there were peach and strawberry-rhubarb pies. Cate had planned for the weekend and for extra to send home with her cherubs when they left her again.

Now she sat back, relaxed and contented, with her children and the pup surrounding her. The sound of Nic's acoustic guitar filled the open space, lifting and rolling over the banister to the second story. It rang out gently, breaking on the ceiling three stories above.

In the kitchen, Alex loaded the dishwasher. Merry sat patiently at her feet, hoping for any scrap. Al's pretty blonde hair danced about her shoulders as she worked, effortlessly moving to the beat she'd grown up with.

The sound was soft and intoxicating, unlike Nic's usually haunting melodies. This piece, he told them, was a movie soundtrack he was working on. Cate had to agree it fit. The rhythm and harmony rose and fell with her breath. She felt relaxed, leaning back against the plump couch cushions, warm inside the music.

Now that she had listened to each of her grown children, she felt secure enough to move forward with Tom. Maybe he'd call, maybe she'd reach out, Cate didn't know. She did trust that she'd know what she wanted to do when the time came. He needed support; he deserved his family.

And Cate would see that he had at least those two things. If it killed her, she thought idly, her eyes sweeping lovingly over her children.

"Thanks, honey," Cate lifted her voice toward Al. Including Nic, she added, "Mike's taking us all to dinner."

"I don't think I could eat anything ever again," Nic groaned, looking up briefly.

"Where?" Al called.

"
La Mia Famiglia Mangia
."

"
Ooh
, fancy." She grinned and Nic smiled a little.

"He hasn't seen you guys in awhile−"

"Mmm−" Alex bit her lip to keep from laughing. Her face bubbled with merriment.

"Alex-
andra
!" Cate said sharply. She was trying not to laugh herself.

"Moth-
er
!"

"Oh, hush," was all Cate could think of. "Do you have something to wear?"

"There's always your closet, right? Still in the same place?"

"Don't you stop." Cate pointed a finger at Nic. He nodded, his eyes meeting hers, his fingers moving up and down the frets, his mind in another world. The two girls tripped upstairs to try on clothes in Cate's generous wardrobe, chatting and giggling.

The restaurant was out of the way, about a half-hour drive from Cate's house. It was warm and atmospheric, smelling of good olive oil and crusty bread. A pretty hostess with a warm smile seated the group in an alcove. She left them to their weighty menus. Cate squeezed in against the wall, Mike to her left, Al to her right, her skirt swirling as she lowered herself to the chair. Nic sat down last, across from her.

Their waitress, a dark, petite young woman, introduced herself and took their order. She left the table then, returning with a thick loaf of fresh bread and a bowl of warm, fragrant oil for dipping.

"That's great," Nic stated. The delicious smells wafting through the restaurant had apparently made him hungry again after all. "What are you all having?"

Al rolled her eyes. Cate just smiled, sopping up her children as they dove toward the basket. She missed their smiles, their hearts and their voices daily. She was so proud of their accomplishments though, and who they'd each become.

"Mussels?" Mike asked Nic, who nodded, mouth full.

Al and Cate nodded, too. Drinks were served and they lifted their glasses in a toast. "To us−"

"−Salute, benedizioni, amare."
Health, blessings, love
.

Cate was in the kitchen.
Her bare feet were tapping along to Carrie Underwood's
Something In The Water
. Her low voice was trying to hit the high notes but cresting like an ear-piercing screech. Cate didn't care.

Crisp bacon roasted in the oven with spicy hash browns sharing their warmth. Lemony Portuguese rolls cooled next to the grill. Cate was pouring orange juice as Mike walked into the room, having found the front door open.

"You're here every day now," she stopped long enough to tell him.

"I like when you're happy," he stuttered grumpily, barely awake. "Coffee?" Cate gestured toward the French press with the pitcher she held. Before Mike could answer, she went back to her first love, singing.

When a Judds song clicked on, Cate's low voice found its home.
Mama, He's Crazy
filled the kitchen as Cate tapped the volume up, her voice hugging the harmonies.

Mike fell onto a stool, holding the coffee mug to his lips as it were a life preserver.

Nic walked into the room, his face and hair rumpled.

"Sounds good, smells good." He swiped one of the orange juices. Offering Mike a nod, Nic fell onto the tall barstool next to him, half-awake.

Al swept into the room, blissful, aware of every eye that hit her. Cate smiled to herself as she took in her beautiful daughter. Her children were both in pajamas, Mike wore faded jeans and a black t-shirt. His hair fell over his face as he leaned down, exhausted.

"Y'all are like a bunch of half-dead college students," Cate stopped singing long enough to proclaim. She'd be exhausted when the weekend was over too. But she'd only give into it once she soaked every minute out of it.

"He's got to stand up to him," Rob was saying passionately.

"It won't do any good," Cate replied forcibly.

"It
will
do good! He's got to know how he feels!"

Drums crashed and cymbals sounded. A rhythmic beat, pierced by electric guitar. Bass joined in, humming low.

"The rain, it slowly soothes..." Lyrics rang out.

Rob was serious. Six feet tall, with shoulder-length, curly, dark-as-night hair, and serious eyes that were more intent than usual, Nic's lead singer sipped water and stood, listening.

"Tom needs to know how Nic feels," Rob repeated.

"It won't help the situation."

"Why?"

"Rob, it's not something you're used to. Tom has a disease," Cate said, shooting for a kind tone. "He's incapable of hearing this."

"There can't be lies."

"There's no such thing as honesty now."

"But why−" Rob paused. "You're right. I don't get it."

"It's an impossible situation."

"Nic shouldn't be treated this way."

"I know."

"I should get back." Looking around for the water he'd put down, and offering Cate a shy smile, Rob stepped toward the staircase.

"Hey−"

He turned, "Yeah?"

"Thanks. It helps to be understood."

Rob's eyes lit up for a brief second as a smile crossed his beautiful face. He nodded, then he was gone.

Cate loved Nic's bandmates as if they were family. She especially appreciated Rob seeking her out and asking after Tom, as he always did. Cate didn't want anyone to think ill of her former husband. However, she wanted−no, she
needed
support.

"He walked in front of me, being careful not to walk next to me," she'd told Rob, who'd sneered. Cate continued, "We went to dinner, and he physically moved away, not wanting to sit next to me or even touch me." She'd demonstrated then, moving her legs away and twisting her torso, making a face as if there was something disgusting waiting to rub on her jeans.

Mike had walked in then. The look on both men's faces fed Cate's heart sincerely. She had needed someone,
anyone
, to tell her she wasn't insane. She hadn't realized how much. This disease was tearing her apart.

When Rob left the room, Mike said quietly, "You don't talk about it."

"I can't."

"Why?" He leaned one elbow on the nearby counter and talked to Cate's back.

"It's too hard." Words piled out of Cate's mouth now. She trusted Mike but he'd opened a long-closed, steel door. "There's too much doubt. What if the way he's acting is normal? What if he's right? What if he's right about me?"

The silence in the kitchen was palpable, and she didn't dare breathe for a minute. What she couldn't see was Mike's expression.

"He's not right," he said simply.

Cate let her breathe out on a sob.

Cate, Melissa and Sylvia were lunching in a restaurant off-set.

"Do you remember the launch party for
Cate Cooks
?" Sylvia asked Cate, as the band ran through a lazy cover of
What You Mean To Me
. It was still early, and therefore quiet.

Cate nodded.

"'Member how you thought it wouldn't ever get any better?"

Cate nodded again.

"And now you get mobbed at the grocery store?"

Cate snorted. "I don't get mobbed at the grocery store."

"You don't?"

"I hope the day never comes when I can't go food shopping," Cate said, seriously, a fat pickle halfway to her lips. "Wait−"

"You do, don't you?" Melissa asked.

"I send Millie," Cate answered soberly.

"John wants you in a pre-launch meeting in California−" Sylvia changed the subject.

"Now?"

"Before the publisher starts promos, they want pictures, a taped piece, signatures."

"It can't be done here? I have shows lined up until December."

"Get someone to fill in," Sylvia told Melissa.

The producer's fork stabbed at the greens on her plate. Spearing a fat tomato, she seemed satisfied. "We'll audition guest hosts, do some things without you. You'll only be gone a few days."

"We could tape two a day before I leave," Cate thought out loud. "I could fly out over a long weekend."

"The California people want you as soon as possible." Sylvia lifted a Diet Coke to her lips, the matter decided in her mind.

"When do they want me?"

"Two days."

A Jake brake rolled out its long squeal as she slowly came to. Gentle, hopeful light eased its way through the slight opening between thick curtain lengths. Cate took a minute to listen to the sounds that were new to her. A train blew only a short whistle, sounding for less time than it took her garbled brain to understand what she was hearing.

Cate lay under a thick comforter, a clean, fresh sheet between her and it. She blinked, trying to adjust to the time difference, and the jet lag she was sure she felt. She was groggy, her eyes wanting to close, her brain not wanting to awaken.

Another Jake brake rolled by. Rousing herself finally, recognizing the sound as belonging to a heavy truck on the highway outside her window, Cate elbowed her way to a sitting position.

The publisher had sent a plane (of course). Sixty-three minutes into the flight, with many apologies to Cate, the pilot had ordered an emergency landing. There was nothing Cate could do but wait for the concern to be checked and fixed.

As a storm rolled in, out of the pilot's control, John had booked several suites at a local hotel under his own name. He'd scurried to find a limo so the group could travel safely and quietly from the airport to the hotel before word leaked that Cate's party was in town. Fueled by a financial desire, John knew it would be wise to use Cate's surprise visit−but he also had to consider his interest in getting her to LA, as well as demonstrate respect for her needing to get back to Manhattan to tape
The Show
.

Late last night, he'd decided to take Cate out for a family-style breakfast this morning, showcasing her ability to relate. Then he'd quickly roll off to the plane and finish this trip. He called her room now to tell her.

"I'm awake," Cate assured John.

"Are you sure?" the older man teased. Cate enjoyed John. He sat in on her life like a father figure, offering gentle advice (when asked) that never led her astray. He'd been in publishing for fourty years. He knew everyone and, Cate often felt, everything. She admired him and she appreciated him.

Adaptable, Cate leaned back against a set of thick pillows, listening to John speak, one ear idly focused on another Jake brake.

"Do you want me to send a coffee service to your room?" John asked now.

Cate pictured him: the tall, silver-haired, broad-shouldered man who was always impeccably dressed. She imagined him in satin pajamas covered with an elegant bathrobe, neatly tied. Her imagination added fussy slippers. He'd have made the bed already, she decided, and be sitting, legs crossed, at the table on the over-sized balcony overlooking the outdoor pool. There would be an espresso cup in front of him, which he'd lift with one pinky extended.

She wasn't far off. John had left the bed for housekeeping, and shut the door so he didn't have to see it. He'd dressed in clean, faded jeans and a cable-knit sweater over a soft-blue button-down. His espresso sat cooling before him as he looked out over the pool, a phone to one ear. He held a  monogrammed pen in his right hand. Papers sat on the glass-topped table before him in a neat pile. His briefcase lay open on the chair next to him.

"When and where should we meet?"

"The lobby in one hour," John responded.

"How long before the plane leaves?"

"This afternoon at one."

"Good. I want to shop," Cate answered, delighted to have an excuse to explore wherever she was. She stretched luxuriously and sighed happily.