Remember the Time (8 page)

Feeling displaced made her cling to Paul, because he was the only stability she could find, and Kate slowly gave her life over to him. She unconsciously began relying on him for everything. It made her feel safe, this perfect world filled only with Paul and his career.
His
condo.
His
house.
His
friends. Even the puppy he bought for her became his. And truth be told, it was the way Kate had wanted—needed—it.

Nineteen eighty-four was the year her father retired for the second time and her parents moved to Arizona. It was the year Paul’s father died, and Paul’s mother moved to Charlottesville, leaving them the house in Staunton. It was the year Kate discovered she couldn’t have children. And if all that hadn’t been bad enough, it was the year Paul started lying to her. She didn’t discover that until later. But once she had, a small part of the old Kate resurfaced. The Kate whose strength had diminished began speaking out a little more with each of Paul’s deceptions, until the time came that she presented an ultimatum. A few months later, Paul was gone, and that old Kate disappeared again.

Since his death, every day was an unknown. She began stripping her life of everything that could possibly upset her balance, until she’d ended up with the bare bones of an existence. Her calendar ran her life. And now, the thought of fixing the house, with all its upheavals—with Mike and Matt storming the castle walls—scared the hell out of her.

Kate left the cemetery unnerved because her visit with Paul hadn’t calmed her. It always had before.

K
ate sat at the kitchen table paging through a catalog. She could hear Mike’s footsteps above her, as he moved around the guest room checking it with his usual thoroughness. He’d already been there an hour and still wasn’t finished with the top floor. Sighing, she raised her eyes to the ceiling and nervously tapped her fingernails on the mug of coffee that had now grown cold.

A few minutes later, notebook in hand, Mike entered the kitchen. “I’m going up on the roof now. I want to check it before it starts raining.”

Kate glanced out the window. The sky was a threatening deep gray. She didn’t like the idea of Mike on the steeply sloping roof, even on a good day. “Be careful, please.”

He grinned. “Worried about my very nice ass?”

“No. Mine,” she said. “If you fall off, I’m the one your family will sue.”

“Oh, well, wouldn’t want anything to happen to
your
very nice ass,” he said, walking past her and out the back door.

Kate stood and walked to the sink to pour out the coffee. She watched Mike stride across the backyard toward the garage. The wind had picked up and the
heavy flannel shirt he wore unbuttoned over his T-shirt billowed behind him. He disappeared into the small building and came out a few seconds later carrying a ladder. Homer had joined him, trotting by his side, and then they both vanished around the side of the house.

With another sigh, Kate turned and leaned against the counter. With Mike popping in and out she was unable to concentrate on the book she’d begun reading the night before. She didn’t feel right about just sitting in front of the television like a sofa spud while Mike was working. Desperate for something to do, she decided to cook.

Kate’s culinary skills ranked somewhere just above high school home ec class. She had only two “specialties.” One was a killer spaghetti and meatballs recipe she’d cajoled from her aunt. The other was corned beef and cabbage. Even Kate couldn’t screw those up. She heavily supported the local restaurants, and her freezer was stocked with every imaginable prepackaged frozen-food product.

Since she didn’t have any corned beef on hand, she pulled a package of hamburger out of the freezer. Setting the microwave on defrost, Kate gathered the rest of the supplies she needed for the spaghetti sauce. Then, putting a cassette tape into the boom box she kept in the kitchen, Kate went about her task to the sounds of Bruce Hornsby.

“Smells good.”

She hadn’t heard him come in and his voice startled her. Kate turned from the pot she was stirring. Mike stood in the doorway, mopping his face with the tail of his shirt.

“You’re wet,” she said unnecessarily.

“Happens when it rains.”

Kate handed him a kitchen towel and for the first time noticed the smell of wet earth coming through the open window.

As he dried off his hair, Mike said, “Is that Kate’s famous spaghetti sauce?”

She went back to the stove. “It’s the only thing I’m famous for.”

“I wouldn’t say that.”

He was behind her, peering over her shoulder. Kate brought up the wooden spoon, blew on the thick sauce, and offered Mike a taste. He was so close she could detect the faint aroma of the sandalwood shaving soap he used.

“Ummm. Good stuff.”

“There’s plenty. Want to have dinner?” she asked, before she could think about it.

His eyes widened slightly. “I’d like that.” And knowing Kate’s weakness for good wines, he added, “I have a couple of bottles of a really nice Chianti a client gave me.”

Kate nodded, suddenly ill at ease.

Mike noticed, and quickly said, “Well, I’ll get back to work. I need to check the attic. I’ll finish up outside when it quits raining.”

“The attic?”

“The attic, the tower. I need to check for leaks.”

“No!” She realized she’d said it a little too emphatically, and tempered her voice. “I mean, why don’t you check down here first?”

“It’s raining now, Kate. It’s a perfect time to check the rafters.”

Thinking hard, she answered, “I’m not sure where the key is to the tower room. I’ll have to look for it.”

“Fine.” He looked at her, wondering what was in that room she didn’t want him to see. “I’ll start in the attic.” He gave her a smile. “And thanks for the dinner invite. I could use the company.”

Back on the second floor, Mike walked past the four steps that led up to the tower, but his curiosity got the better of him and he backtracked. Checking to be sure
Kate hadn’t followed him, he climbed the stairs, keeping to the left to silence any telltale squeaks. Turning the doorknob, he found she was telling the truth. It was locked. He went down on one knee and peered through the keyhole, but all he could see was the window on the opposite side of the room. Whatever she was hiding would have to remain hidden. He wasn’t going to force her to open it.

In the hallway again, Mike reached for the rope attached to the folding stepladder that allowed entry into the attic space. The trapdoor opened with a metallic groan, and a shower of dust fell on his head. Shaking it off, he pulled down the ladder and began climbing. A sneeze shook him as he entered the dark attic.

He played the small beam from his pocket flashlight around the cavernous space until he located a bare bulb fixture, but when he tugged on the chain nothing happened. Cursing, he lowered himself down the ladder once more.

Standing at the top of the stairs, he shouted down, “Kate!” No answer was forthcoming, so he continued down. “Kate?”

Mike popped his head into the empty kitchen. Shrugging, he walked toward the pantry, hoping that was where she kept her spare lightbulbs. He got lucky. Picking out two sixty-watt bulbs, he reached out to turn off the light when he noticed a key hanging near the switch. It was an old-fashioned brass skeleton key and he knew which lock it opened, but he left it there.

As he was walking down the hallway, he heard the back door close. “Kate?” She appeared in the kitchen doorway. “I took a couple of lightbulbs out of the pantry.”

“Fine.”

“Did you find that key?”

She shook her head. “I really don’t know where it is,
Mike.” Her lie caused her to look away from him. “Just forget about the tower. I’m sure it’s fine.”

“You’re the boss.”

Once in the attic again, he screwed in the bulb. The weak light pooled in the center of the attic, unable to penetrate the blackness that lingered in the corners. The floor creaked under his weight as he walked the narrow path left between boxes and suitcases and trunks. There were no real windows in the attic. The two vents on either end of the space, if viewed from the outside, resembled small gothic windows covered with a tracery pattern. From the inside, the tracery allowed air into the attic, and small pinpoints of light on a sunny day. Today, they were nearly invisible.

His tiny flashlight wasn’t going to do the trick. Mike made his way back to the attic’s opening and called down to Kate. She finally heard him after his third shout and was soon standing at the foot of the ladder.

“You bellowed?”

“Sorry to drag you up here, but I need a good flashlight.”

“It’s in the kitchen. Be right back.”

He sat down to wait, dangling his legs through the trapdoor. His eyes settled on a stack of boxes. They were marked taxes in thick black felt pen, followed by the year. He was surprised to see the dates going back as far as 1984. These were the boxes he and Paul had put in the tower room years ago. Had she moved everything out of that room? By herself?

Her voice brought him back. She was climbing the ladder. Mike reached between his legs and took the flashlight from her. “I’ll try not to bother you again.”

“No bother. Find anything interesting?”

“No,” he said, standing. “Not even a bat.”

She still stood on the ladder, her head and shoulders above the floor now. Mike had disappeared into the
shadows. The flashlight’s beam moved over the rafters. She heard him grunt.

“What?”

“There’s a small leak over here.” The light moved to the floor. “No damage, though.”

He continued his search while Kate rested her chin on her arms. He found one more wet spot near the front of the house.

“You got lucky,” he said. “Looks like the outside needs the most work.” Stooping, he traced the electrical wiring with the light. “What time’s dinner?” he asked, continuing along the side of the room. He discovered mouse droppings and a little fraying around the insulation of one of the wires that ran along the floor. He made a mental note to wrap them. “You have a mouse. Want me to set out traps?”

“No. Live and let live. How’s six o’clock?”

“Great,” he said, straightening up. “You move all this stuff by yourself?”

His casual question caught her off guard, and she answered without thinking. “Well, yeah, who else?”

Hunkering down in front of her, he said, “Katie, I know you know where the key is. If you value what’s in there, why not let me take a look? Make sure there aren’t any problems.”

Stiffening, she pushed away from the frame of the trapdoor and disappeared.

Mike closed his eyes in frustration. “Come on, Kate. I promise I’ll only check the roof and wiring.”

“No,” she stated like a three-year-old.

He heard her footsteps fading away down the hallway, and then a door closing firmly.

Kate flung herself onto the overstuffed chair, crossed her arms over her chest, and stared out the window of the guest room. The rain was falling steadily now, creating a
hypnotic pattering sound. It was a sound she’d forever associate with aching muscles and an overwhelming feeling of loneliness.

The day of Paul’s funeral is overcast, but the rain that threatens holds off for the memorial service, which has turned into a standing-room-only media circus. Kate sits at the far end of the front pew, eyes lowered to her hands folded in her lap. To her left sits her mother-in-law. Margaret A rmstrong sniffles into a lace handkerchief, while her daughter and son-in-law, sitting to her immediate left, stare straight ahead. Kate already feels the family moving away from her. She no longer matters.

Mike sits directly behind Kate, his hand resting on her shoulder. She longs for the reassuring bulk of her father, but complications from the flu have landed him in the hospital with pneumonia, making travel from Tempe impossible
.

The baseball faction is well represented. Spring training has come to a halt so that teammates can attend the service. The townspeople of Staunton have shown up in droves, and about one hundred people stand outside the chapel, waiting to pay their respects. The newspaper, magazine, and television reporters haven’t been allowed inside the chapel, and so spend their time trying to catch snippets of something newsworthy as more and more mourners try to enter the stone building
.

The whispering inside the chapel swirls around her, building to a crescendo of voices, creaking pews, and the organ music she’s always hated. Kate, shell-shocked and dry-eyed, stares at the coffin, unable to comprehend the fact that her husband is lying inside
.

Suddenly, the room grows quiet, and the priest begins the service. Kate, lulled by his voice, loses herself in the dolorous tones. Her vision blurs as she gazes at the flowers draped over the casket. She doesn’t hear a word he, or the other speakers, have said. She is surprised when Mike shakes her shoulder and whispers her name into her ear
.

Standing, she moves away from the pew, and the whispering
begins again. Smoothing the front of her skirt, she wavers, and Mike quickly stands and takes her arm. They walk down the side aisle, the rest of the family following, toward a room at the back of the chapel where they will wait until it is time for the private graveside service
.