Remember the Time (33 page)

She could remember Paul’s anticipation when he knew that not only was Mike coming for a visit, but that he was bringing his latest girlfriend. He’d delighted in giving Mike a complete appraisal that always ended with, “But she’s no Kate, huh, bud?”

This sudden memory startled Kate. She’d always taken the words as a compliment from her husband, but now saw them for what they were. A dig at Mike. So, Paul had known all along how Mike felt about her.

Pain stabbed at her at this small revelation. Pain for her. Pain for Mike. Funny how we remember what we want.

And now, in the quiet of her bathroom with only the occasional drip of the faucet to punctuate her thoughts, Kate realized it wasn’t hard to figure out when she’d stopped responding to Paul. The knowledge of what she assumed was his first affair, and the later unraveling of all the lies he’d woven together, brought about a slow loss of trust. Her inability to conceive, his reaction to that, proved the center couldn’t hold. She’d wanted the old Paul back, and the harder she’d tried, the worse it had gotten. They began making love—if that’s what it could be called—in the dark. It had become anonymous, with Kate trying to recapture the old days, and Paul simply using her available body. Her own pleasure had gone by the wayside.

She remembered too many nights of Paul taking her with no preliminaries, his body then rolling off her, his falling asleep while she lay in the dark, hurt and scared. Sometimes she would cry. Most of the time she’d get up, go to the kitchen, and lose herself in a bottle of wine.

The worst part was they never talked about it. Their friends wouldn’t have guessed they had no marriage; that they were playing their roles to perfection. Only Mike had known some of the truth. He had always been there for her, but she chose not to burden him with it. They were all friends. The rift it would have caused between them would have been too traumatic. Besides, it’d been too shameful—too embarrassing—to even bring up.

Kate brought the washcloth to her face and cried for the death of her marriage, for the loss of all those years that should have been sweet. And then she cried out of fear. Afraid she’d never be able to respond to Mike’s love the way she wanted.

S
he’d always read it in mystery novels, but never really believed it until just now. Something woke her out of a deep sleep. Her eyes simply opened, as if she’d only just closed them moments before.

Kate lay very still on the couch and listened. Homer softly snored in his cedar bed. The TV screen emitted a blue glow, but no sound thanks to the mute button. As her eyes adjusted to the unnatural light, she could see nothing was unusual in the den.

Sleep started to overtake her again when she heard it: a faint clicking noise. Kate frowned and sat up. She tried to place the familiar sound, but it had stopped. She sat motionless, waiting. And just as she thought she’d imagined it, there it was once more.

Kate was off the couch and at the door in a second. She peered into the hallway. A faint light from the kitchen made her heart pound, and she grabbed the first weapon she came across. Hugging the wall and the heavy crystal vase, she made her way down the hall, and when the clicking began again, she realized it was the electric starter on her gas stove.

Kate’s mouth fell open in disbelief when she reached the kitchen doorway.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

The spoon Matt had been stirring a cup of cocoa with flew across the room and landed in the sink with a tinny clatter as he spun around.

Kate advanced into the kitchen, slammed the crystal vase onto the table, and shouted, “You scared the shit out of me!” At that point Homer started barking, and she turned on the hapless dog and screamed, “Shut up! Where were you when I needed you, you stupid animal?”

“Kate, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—What are you doing?”

“Calling the police,” she replied as she began dialing.

Matt was in front of her in three quick strides, and he yanked the receiver out of her hand. “Don’t do it. Please.”

“You break into my home, I call the cops.”

“Kate, be reasonable. I need to talk to you.” Her intractable face told him he’d better make it good. “Look, would I do this if it wasn’t really important?”

“Matt, you’re driving me crazy,” Kate said, and she sank into a chair. “What do you want from me?”

“I want you to answer a question for me.”

“One question?”

“Yeah. And if the answer doesn’t convince you to listen to everything else I need to say, then I’ll leave.”

“Fine.” Kate crossed her arms over her chest and waited.

Matt sat across from her, and said, “Remember those baby pictures I showed you?” She sighed and nodded. “Remember what you said when I asked who would’ve sent them to Paul?”

“Yes, Matt,” she replied wearily. “I said Mike sent them.”

“Because?”

“Because … Paul was Mike’s best friend. He’d want him to see photos of you.”

“That’s what my mom said when I asked her.”

An odd sense of relief flooded through Kate, and she angrily asked, “Then why are you bothering me with this?”

“There’s something I still don’t get,” Matt said, afraid to ask the question. Knowing he had to. “Who told you the photos are of Paul?”

“He did.” And as Kate said the words, she paled.

“He lied to you,” Matt said quietly. “And my mom lied to me, Kate. What docs that mean?”

Hundreds of thoughts crowded into her head, all vying for attention. And then Matt voiced one of them.

“What if Paul’s my father, Kate.”

“No …” She quickly stood and turned away from him. But he was in front of her, and took her arm, forcing her to look at him. His eyes were bright with unshed tears. “Could I be Paul Armstrong’s son?”

“NO!” She put her hands over her ears, trying to shut out his voice, but all that did was let the words echo through her brain. And then someone mercifully pulled the shades down, and her vision went from gray to black.

Kate had to beg Matt to leave. He’d wanted to stay with her. He’d wanted to talk. She wanted someone to tell her it was all a bad dream. She wanted to scream at Paul until the pain she felt in her heart was transferred to some other, less vulnerable, organ. She needed Mike to hold her and tell her she’d live through this. And, oh Christ, she needed a drink.

When she finally convinced Matt to go, Kate was crying. She felt as if she’d never be able to stop. The hours before dawn went by, and still Kate sat on the couch, tears stopping and starting like a drip system on a timer. She fell asleep and when she woke it was just becoming light outside. And when she remembered what the night had brought, she began sobbing again.

Kate reached for the phone. Mike would know what to say. He’d know what to do. She wanted him to talk to her and hold her in his arms. She needed to hear him call
her “Katie, darlin’ ” in his leprechaun voice. And then she remembered Mike’s words.

It’s about me and Matt … I need to deal with that
.

God, how would he deal with this? Me and Paul’s son.

“Can’t call him,” she whispered.

By that afternoon Kate was past anger and well into denial. Dan Keller was Matt’s father. Of course he was. Sheryl had married Dan—when was it?—in the fall of 1974. October. She always remembered because they’d been married on her birthday. And Matt had been born in April of the next year.

Dan had been there for Matt’s birth. Sheryl never tired of telling the talc of being in labor for thirty-eight hours. How could Paul be his father? It was a crazy idea and she couldn’t believe she’d let herself get caught up in it.

But what about the photos, Kate?

Well, there had to be a reasonable explanation. Maybe she was remembering it all wrong. Maybe Paul never told her they were of him. Possibly she was thinking of some other photos. She seemed to recall his mother sending some once. Those must be the ones she was thinking of. So Mike must’ve sent the photos of Matt to Paul. Just as she’d suspected all along. She’d have to ask him.

Paul and Sheryl? It was unthinkable. Sheryl was already engaged to Dan. And Kate to Paul. It wasn’t only unthinkable. It was laughable. She and Sheryl hadn’t exactly been close back then, but they were friends now. And Matt was getting too wrapped up in the Paul Armstrong mystique.

In the end, Kate chose to trust Paul one more time. And when Matt called and asked to meet with her again, she said yes. She’d set him straight.

With Matt sitting across from her at the kitchen table, Kate patiently explained why it was impossible for Paul to be his father.

“It’s not impossible, Kate.”

“Look, Matt. I know every kid goes through the ‘maybe I’m adopted’ phase, but you’re wrong about this.”

“What about my birthday?”

“What about it?”

“I was born eight months after my mom and dad were married.”

“So you were a little early.”

“I don’t look anything like my dad.”

Kate was nodding. “That doesn’t mean anything. Look at your mother and Mike. They have completely different coloring. You happen to look like Sheryl.”

The next words out of his mouth came hard. “I know you don’t want to believe this, Kate. But I think it’s very possible.” And then he told her about the interview.

She listened with growing annoyance. When he finished, she said, “I’m going to tell you something that really isn’t any of your business, but I want to clear this up once and for all. I was a virgin when I married Paul. Back then I asked Mike if Paul had ever been with anyone else. And he said, ‘No, he’s never slept with anyone.’ Mike would never lie to me.”

Matt couldn’t believe how naïve a thirty-eight-year-old woman could be, and his voice expressed that as he said, “Those were his exact words? ‘He’s never slept with anyone’? Well, I hate to tell you this, Kate, but I’ve had sex with a lot of girls I never slept with.”

Kate’s tight-lipped response was, “No, you’re wrong. If you don’t believe me, then you need to talk to your mother.”

“I’m planning on it. But I wanted to talk to you one more time. I thought you needed to know.” He pushed a plastic bag he’d brought in with him across the table. “Look at this, then call me. I won’t say anything to Mom until I hear from you.”

Her hands began to shake and she placed them palm-down on the table to steady them. In a frightened voice, she said, “Don’t you understand? I don’t
want
to know.”

“But I need to know, Kate.”

“Why?” she whispered. “What difference could it possibly make now, after all these years?”

In a voice much older than his years, he said, “Because, as overrated as it seems to be around here, I think I deserve to know the truth.” And then he left.

Kate sat looking at the bag, afraid of what it contained. It lay on the table where he’d left it—a small white time bomb waiting to detonate.

Minutes passed and then she carefully pulled it toward her and opened it. The label on the videotape confirmed what she’d already guessed. It was a baseball game, and for more reasons than one, she didn’t want to watch it. Kate hadn’t seen a game since Paul had died. Why should she start now?

She held the box in trembling hands until morbid curiosity forced her to her feet and into the den. She slipped the tape into the VCR and touched the play button, and sat down to watch.

Silent, unnoticed tears leaked from her eyes as she saw Matt playing ball in a style she’d always considered inimitable. Like father, like son. Isn’t that what they always said? Was a batting average in the genes? Was a swing inherited? Did he play second base because he worshiped Paul, or was it in his DNA?

Kate hit the rewind button and watched the video for the third time, fast-forwarding’ only through the innings Matt wasn’t up to bat. The game had been aired by one of Savannah’s local stations and Dan Keller had taped it.

The proud father
, she thought grimly, and then this act of stunning betrayal hit her with tornadic force. Was God
really that capricious that Paul would be given a son after all she’d been through?

Sheryl’s son. Sheryl and Paul’s son. Paul’s son!

“WHY?” she screamed, ripping the tape out of the machine and throwing it across the room. “Why did you do this to me?”

Was she talking to God or Paul? Did it matter anymore?

“What possible reason could you have for putting me through this?” she railed at the four walls. “This is too much! I can’t handle this …” Sinking to her knees, she pounded her fists against the coffee table. “Oh, God! I can’t take any more!”

Her sobs became deeper. Her breathing became ragged as she fought for control.

“It’s—too—much …”

M
att had walked out of Kate’s house hoping she would call him back. He couldn’t wait much longer. The anger and hurt he felt had reached critical mass and was about to explode out of him.

And then, just as he’d gotten to his car, he’d heard Mike’s voice calling. His uncle stood at the corner of his house.

“Matt! I need to talk to you,” he’d shouted.

But Matt hadn’t responded. Instead, he’d panicked. He was in the MG and driving away as Mike ran to the sidewalk. When he’d looked in the rearview mirror his uncle was in the middle of the street, staring at Matt’s retreat.

Matt held open the refrigerator door and searched for the makings of a sandwich. His mother was with a late appointment which meant dinner wouldn’t be for another hour at least. Anticipating Kate’s call made him nervous and antsy. He’d stayed close to the house the rest of the afternoon. He’d wanted to be able to pick up the phone. Didn’t want the answering machine taking any messages from Kate.

He needn’t have worried.

The first inkling he had of something wrong was the sound of the front door opening, but not closing. Before he could put the jar of mayonnaise down on the counter, he heard something that made his blood freeze.

Sheryl had just oiled up her hands and was passing them along Judy Stewart’s shoulders when Kate burst through the door. Her hair fell wildly around her tear-streaked face. Reddened eyes glowing with venom rooted Sheryl to the floor. Sheryl’s first thought was,
She’s drunk. Over the edge
.