Remember the Time (16 page)

Paul Armstrong had already made the cover of
Time.
Twice
.

“How come that Hoover woman didn’t come with you?”

“Regina.” Mike corrects her
.

“All right, Regina. I knew it had something to do with vacuum cleaners. Why didn’t she come?” she asks again
.

Mike stifles a laugh, then says, “Katie, hush. Let’s dance.”

She moves closer to him, and always one to get the last word in, whispers, “I’m very proud of you.”

They let themselves into the condo a little past midnight, Kate carrying her shoes. Paul is waiting up for them in the living room, as they knew he would. It takes him a couple of hours to wind down after a game. Mike is unknotting his bow tie, unfastening the top button of his shirt, as Paul rises to greet him
.

“Pretty sharp, buddy,” Paul says, giving his hand a quick pump
.

Paul glances at his wife, but makes no comment. Mike frowns at Kate, and she gives her head a small shake
.

“How was the game tonight?’ she asks
.

“We won, four to two. I hit a home run, batted in a couple of runs.”

“And the world goes on.” Kate smiles wanly. “If you guys will excuse me, I’m beat. I’ll see you in the morning, Mike. And thanks for the wonderful evening. Congratulations, again.” And she is gone
.

The two men sit talking for twenty minutes before Paul yawns
.

“I’d better hit the sack. I’ll be better company tomorrow.” He pauses at the master bedroom door. “What time does your flight leave?”

“Pretty early. Nine-fifteen.”

“I’ll try to get up. If I don’t, it was great seeing ya.”

“Same here,” Mike answers, with the odd feeling that neither of them really means it
.

The door closes behind Paul. Mike stays on the couch for a few more minutes, then wearily gets up and goes into the kitchen for a glass of water. Paul’s angry voice can be heard clearly through the walls, rooting Mike in place
.

“Why the hell weren’t you at the game tonight?”

He can’t hear Kate’s reply
.

“Yeah, I got your message. And what the hell is that? Leaving a goddamn message, for chrissakes!”

“Lower your voice.” Kate’s voice is suddenly clear. She must have been standing at the connecting wall. “I couldn’t reach you. You were on the field.”

“You’re supposed to be at the game, Kate.”

“It was an important night for Mike. I’m glad I went.”

“Fuck Mike! You belong at the games.”

“I go to every game, Paul
. Every game!
Missing one isn’t the end of the world.”

“I need you there!”

“I’ll be there tomorrow night. And the night after that. And then you’ll be on the road again. Why don’t you need me there?”

Paul doesn’t answer. There is a thudding noise and a sudden, ominous silence. Mike has reached the kitchen door in a split second, but he hears Kate’s voice again
.

“Are you happy now?” She’s crying. “That was my favorite piece.”

Mike breathes deeply, as he realizes the sound was some object knocked over—broken. Not Kate
.

“I’m sorry.”

She makes an unintelligible sound
.

Not wanting to listen anymore, yet unable to stop himself, Mike leans against the doorjamb and closes his eyes. Was this how it always was with them? God, he hoped not. Couldn’t be. Why the hell did she put up with it?

“Kate, I’m sorry,” Paul says again. “I haven’t seen you in nine days. I thought we’d be alone.” There is a pause. “Come on, baby … I love you. You know that.”

Mike strains to hear Kate’s words, but none come. It’s quiet for a very long time and Mike understands the silence when it’s broken by a small moan. His question has been answered
.

He takes off his shoes and creeps to the guest room to spend a lonely, restless night
.

Mike is up very early, and is surprised to find Kate in the kitchen, drinking coffee. “Morning.” Mike kisses her cheek. “What are you doing up?”

“I didn’t want to miss you.”

He doesn’t fail to catch the wistful tone of her voice
.

“We’re friends, Katie, so I have to tell you … I heard the fight last night. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” She meets his eyes. “Really. Hey, we’re married. We argue.”

“I’m sorry if I was the cause of this.”

“Don’t be.” She gives him a small smile. “I had a great time. It was very special.”

They talk quietly through breakfast and then it’s time for him to leave. As they wait for his cab, he says, “I guess I’m not gonna get to say good-bye to Paul.”

“He usually sleeps till about eleven.”

Mike nods
.

“I miss the old days, Mike.”

“We hada lot of fun. But we still do, Katie.”

She doesn’t say anything
.

“You’ll be home in a couple of months. We’ll get together for a marathon weekend of Trivial Pursuit.”

Her eyes fill with tears. “I love you, Mike.”

He takes her in his arms and rocks her. “I love you, too, darlin’. Don’t get lost in all this.” The buzzer rings, signaling his ride. “Have a little faith. Lots of good things to come. I know it.”

Hidden scars. Hidden betrayals. Hidden pain. They’d all been concealing something. The damage had been
done. But at least his love was out in the open at last. It was a start.

Mike went into the kitchen to wait. When the sound of running water stopped, and he knew Kate was done showering, Mike poured her another cup of coffee.

K
ate shuffled barefoot into the kitchen, tightening the belt on her terry-cloth bathrobe. “Still here, huh?” she said wearily, eyeing Mike.

“Still here,” he answered. “What do you want for breakfast?”

“Aspirin. Lots of aspirin.”

“Think you can handle some toast?”

“No.” As she sat in the nearest chair, the towel she’d wrapped around her head began slipping. She tried to catch it, and the sudden movement made her groan. The towel landed on the floor. “Would you get that for me? I don’t think I can bend over and live.”

Mike obliged and then went to pop two pieces of bread in the toaster.

“Where’s Matt?” she asked.

“I sent him home. I didn’t think his youthful eyes could take the sight of you today.”

“And the hits just keep on comin’.” Kate reached for the aspirin bottle and began struggling with the safety cap.

Mike’s fingers closed around her hand. “Here, let me.” With minimal effort, he opened the bottle. “How many?”

She cupped her hand and said, “Just pour. I’ll say when.”

In minutes, a plate of buttered toast appeared in front of her, along with a cup of coffee.

“You’re a man of many talents,” she said, just a touch of sarcasm in her voice.

“More than you know.” He straddled the chair across from her, and watched as she gazed at the toast as if it were a small alien that had somehow landed in her kitchen. “Oh, you
are
in bad shape when you let a line like that get past you.”

“Do you want snappy repartee or do you want me to eat this toast?”

“Eat.”

Kate choked down most of one piece before speaking again. “Y’know, that was a fairly high school thing, Sheryl talking to me like that.”

“Used to work in high school.”

“Did it really?” Kate asked in disbelief.

“Oh, yeah. You wouldn’t believe the perks of having an older sister, especially when you’re a sophomore and your sister is a senior.”

“Well! This is a side to you I know nothing about. Mike Fitzgerald, teenage gigolo.”

His smile spoke volumes.

She was intrigued. “Who was your first?”

“You don’t know her. She was in Sheryl’s class.”

“Ah, an older woman,” Kate stated. “Where?”

“Why are you so interested?”

“Keeps my mind off the pounding in my head. Come on. Where?”

Teasing her, he looked up at the ceiling as if deliberating whether or not to tell. He finally said, “The supply closet in the journalism room.”

“What? Oh, that’s disgusting!”

“Hey, it was carpeted!”

“I don’t believe you.”

“You never saw that little commemorative plaque in there? It’s right next to the filing cabinet.”

“What, the one that says Michael J. Fitzgerald is full of shit?”

His eyes widened in mock indignation. “Have I ever lied to you?”

Kate looked into his kind, gray eyes. They smiled at her and she suddenly understood how that unnamed girl felt all those years ago. It was not the reaction she’d expected, and Kate struggled to halt the flush that was coming over her. Grabbing the coffee cup with both hands, she brought it to her lips and hid there.

“Well,” Mike said, standing. “I think you can get through the rest of the day without me. They’re calling for rain the next few days, so I think Matt and I are going to move indoors.”

“Fine,” she said from behind the cup. “Thanks, Mike. I mean it.”

“I know you do.” He had started for the hallway, and Kate put the cup down in its saucer with hands that trembled. “Oh—and Kate?” His voice was close—just behind her. “Don’t let it get this bad again. If you can’t sleep, or want to talk, just call me.” He picked up her damp, heavy hair and held it.

“I tried last night. You weren’t there.”

He wouldn’t let her make him feel guilty. “I waited as long as I could, Kate.” He still held her hair and brought his head even with hers. “There are some things I can’t do without.”

His words, almost a challenge, were a whisper on her neck and she shivered. Her eyes closed. He let her hair fall back into place and walked out.

Kate drifted through the day, unable to shake off her hangover. She couldn’t read. Her eyes hurt too much. Watching TV made her head ache. In the end, she put a couple of classical CD’s on and simply sat. But that
brought on thoughts of Mike and what he couldn’t do without, and she wondered who he was doing it with. It was only three o’clock, but the combined forces of lust and envy told her it was time to go to bed. She was asleep in minutes and didn’t wake until she heard the doorbell ring.

The room was dark and she honestly didn’t know what day it was, or whether it was early morning or late night. The doorbell chimed again as she snapped on the hall light and went downstairs.

“Oh, man. I’m sorry. Did I wake you up?” Matt stood on the porch, holding a short rope that was attached to Homer.

“It’s okay. What time is it?”

“About seven, I guess.” He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, uncomfortable that he’d interrupted her. “I just drove by to see if Mike wanted to go to a movie, and I found Homer down the street.” He held out the makeshift leash to Kate.

She took it from Matt. Thanking him, she turned to close the door, when Matt’s hand shot out, holding it open.

“Uh, would you like to go? To the movies?”

“I don’t think so, but thanks for asking.”

He moved in closer, leaning an arm on the doorframe. “Come on. My treat. I’ll even spring for some popcorn.”

“Really, Matt. No.” His persistence flattered her. There was something vaguely familiar about it. “This just isn’t the best time.” Kate looked up at him, and he smiled slowly. It was a knowing smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes, transforming him from the nineteen-year-old boy he was, to an adult male.

“So, there’ll be a better time?”

She was mesmerized by his eyes, and he knew it. This realization moved her to action and she stepped back. “Yes, some other time. Thanks for bringing Homer back.”

Kate closed the door and breathed in deeply. She quickly decided it was the hangover that left her susceptible to his obvious charm. This was Sheryl’s little boy?

Turning her attention to the dog, she said, “I’ve got to get that fence fixed.”

Getting up at ten in the morning, followed by a four-hour “nap,” was not conducive to sleeping. Kate finally succumbed to the lure of a Johannisberg Riesling that had been cooling in the refrigerator.

Lately, the first glass left her languid—wanting. It had become the hardest time of the night for her. As she tipped back the glass, her hair brushed the nape of her neck, and she remembered Mike’s hands on her hair earlier that day. She also remembered willing him to touch her, but his fingers hadn’t strayed to her skin.

The second glass dulled her senses enough to forget, and the third finally put her back to sleep.

She’d set the alarm for eight, and when it went off, the first thing she did was pick up the glass and bottle and carry them into the kitchen. The glass went in the dishwasher, the bottle back in the refrigerator. He wouldn’t know. She’d keep it out of sight from now on.

T
he rain continued into Sunday. The house seemed very empty without Mike’s and Matt’s heavy footsteps and masculine voices. She’d always hated Sundays. It was a holdover from her childhood. Sunday had meant dresses, and church, and a quiet lunch, and an afternoon that stretched out endlessly to a quiet dinner, and early to bed for school the next day. Even though none of these little rituals followed Kate into adulthood, the feeling had never left her.

A phone call from Donna Estes had further darkened her mood, and not even the weekly call to her mother helped Kate’s spirits. She’d gone to the front window to see if Mike’s truck was parked in its usual spot. It wasn’t, and she frowned, watching the rain come down.

She still stood there when a car pulled up behind hers, and Matt jumped out and ran to the porch. Kate stepped behind the curtain as he knocked on the door. She wanted to hide, but knew her car gave away the fact she was home.

Kate reluctantly opened the door.

“I’m here to kidnap you,” Matt stated.