Lifelines: Kate's Story (9 page)

Socrates
lurched onto all fours, his head rocking on that thick neck.

“They’re
both gone, and you’re thinking I picked David as a mate because of his fatherly
qualities. I loved him and he loved me and I pulled my weight. Damn it, I’m
sick of losing people I love.”

Get
somebody back.

Her
heart thumped raggedly against her breastbone. Dad would be seventy years old,
or dead. But he’d been a healthy man who didn’t smoke or drink. Seventy wasn’t
old for a tough man who kept fit.

“I’m
going to find him.”

Socrates
turned and headed for the house.

Your
fault, her mother whispered. If you hadn’t been so careless, I’d have a
husband; you’d have a father. Your fault.

Shut
up, mother. I’m sick of your nonsense.

She
would start with her mother. She needed to talk about the ten-thousand-dollar
check. She would make a surprise visit tomorrow, and when Evelyn turned balky
about interference over the check, Kate would ask about her father. She’d stare
her mother in the eye and demand information.

Meanwhile,
she had a promise to keep to Sarah. She had a play to attend tonight.

O
n
his final tour around the construction site with a flashlight, Mac picked up
seven nails and dropped them in his nail pouch, then carried a collection of
lumber scraps to the pile at the end of the roughed-out driveway.
Tomorrow—Sunday—he would come back and knock the concrete forms off.

He
climbed a hump of earth and swept the site with his light. Concrete forms
cradled jellied cement, while piled lumber waited for the cement to cure. He
scanned for anything out of place, an excuse to occupy his hands and his mind.

If
Denny hadn’t left early, Mac would suggest they stop for a beer, but Denny had
a wife and new baby, and Mac had no stomach for holding down a solitary
barstool while he watched strangers raise a glass.

Chances
were, if he went into Madrona Bay and hit the pub, he’d find someone he knew.
Small town, Saturday evening, but anyone he ran into would ask about Rachel. So
he would head for the construction shed instead, stop at a grocery store en
route, buy a microwave dinner and a paperback book to read.

He
dropped his tool belt into the box of his pickup bed, locked the box, climbed
into the truck and sat on the cell phone he’d thrown on the bench seat earlier.
He pulled it out from under himself and realized from the darkened display that
it had been off all day. His thumb hovered over the switch.

If
Rachel called, he wasn’t ready to talk yet.

He
sure the hell didn’t want another scene with Rachel. He couldn’t forget the
feel of her arms under his hands as he shook her, the fury in his veins. His
anger against Rachel seemed to grow ever-stronger, as if each thought of the
dead baby lit another flame in fury’s fire. When a man felt the way Mac did
right now, going home to his wife fell into the category of a stupid risk.

He
shoved the truck into gear and cut it in a tight circle, then drove onto Taylor
Road. He looked up the hill when he passed the house and saw light streaming
from downstairs windows to bathe the winter lawn. He’d been inside Kate’s
house, and now he pictured her in the kitchen with her white cupboards, white
appliances, white oak trim. Kate and Mac, both alone. The difference was, he
would shiver his way through the night in the damned construction shed, while
she slept in comfort in her own home.

No,
the real difference was that, unlike Kate, he could go home to Rachel if he
chose.

He’d
better find a sleeping bag or he’d freeze his ass off again tonight.

K
ate stood
on her mother’s porch on Bellingham’s Kleanza Crescent, waiting for her mother
to answer the doorbell. If she rang a second time, Evelyn would arrive at the
door with harried irritation pursing her mouth. The rail behind Kate’s hips
felt insecure. She turned and gripped it, felt the wood move. Evelyn needed to
get someone in to repair the rail. The house needed paint, too; the
fifteen-year-old white paint had grown dirty beige with rain, dust, and wind.

Kate
flashed on a vivid memory of painting Evelyn’s house while four-year-old
Jennifer played Barbie on the grass. When David drove up, Jennifer scrambled to
the sound of the car. Kate was three steps from the top of the ladder when
Jennifer dashed into her father’s arms. He swung her up and around, his face
creased in a smile that disappeared when he looked up.

“Careful,
Kate. Don’t fall.”

Despite
his worry, it was David who died too soon, on the floor of his study.

As
Kate reached for Evelyn’s doorbell again, she heard shuffling sounds, then the
lock. She filled her lungs carefully as the door opened six inches and Evelyn
peered out. She’d survived last night’s play, had even laughed with Sarah at a
couple of the funny parts. She was determined to do as good a job surviving
this visit to her mother.

Talk
about the money first, then Dad.

“Kate?
What are you doing here?”

“Hi,
Mom. I was out driving. I thought I’d drop by.” At least it wasn’t a lie,
unless you counted deceit by omission.

“You
said Monday.” The crack narrowed. “Today’s Sunday.”

“I
thought I’d surprise you.”

“You’d
better come in.”

Kate
stepped forward and found herself crowded between her mother and the door. Her
throat contracted at the familiar smell of stale cigarette smoke. Evelyn turned
and reached for the back of the easy chair nearest the door.

“You’re
not using your cane.”

“I
hang onto things.” Evelyn shot Kate a resentful glare. “I know exactly where
everything is in this house.”

“You
fell twice last September.”

“That’s
beside the point.”

Jesus,
mother. That’s exactly the point.

“Why
not hang onto me, mom?”

Evelyn
expelled a burst of air Kate interpreted as irritation before she accepted her
daughter’s outstretched arm. As they walked together into the kitchen, Kate
glanced at the living room sofa and wished she could suggest they sit here in
the living room, but Evelyn avoided using her own living room, and Kate would
be doing enough to irritate her mother today.

“I
can’t make supper for you,” said Evelyn. “You said tomorrow, for lunch. I don’t
have energy to cook a big meal.”

“I
don’t expect food. I just dropped in to talk for a few minutes.”

Evelyn
released Kate’s arm and gripped the kitchen counter on her way to the table.
Perched over her chair, she rested one hand on the table and pointed the other
at an empty chair by the window. “Sit there.”

Kate
felt her muscles tense. “I’ll make coffee. Would you like a cup?”

“Oh,
yes, that would be lovely.”

Kate
felt her own tension ease as Evelyn sank into her accustomed chair and began to
rearrange the cigarette container, lighter, and ashtray on the table. Kate
stepped to the cupboard and deliberately slowed her breathing.

She
filled and plugged in the kettle. Evelyn refused to own a coffee machine, and
bought the cheapest brand of instant coffee. While the kettle made sounds, Kate
opened a cupboard to search for cups. She found an unmatched assortment,
cracked and stained.

“Where
are the mugs I gave you for Christmas?”

“Oh,
honey, I don’t want to break them. They’re so pretty.”

“I
gave you the mugs to use. Why don’t we use them now? Where are they?”

“Oh,
honey ...” Evelyn made a familiar click with her tongue. The kettle creaked and
began to hum. How could kettles hum without moving parts?

Evelyn
said, “Don’t be difficult, Kate.”

“Am
I being difficult?” Either her mother didn’t know where she’d put the mugs, or
she’d given or thrown them away.

“Not
that mug, Kate. I don’t like the brown one.”

“OK.”
Kate returned the brown, chose instead the pale blue. “How have you been, Mom?”

Evelyn
made a clicking sound with her mouth. “Fine. Just fine.”

The
kettle hummed more loudly, maybe noisy air bubbles inside. Kate crossed the
kitchen and pulled out a chair at ninety degrees to her mother—not the one
she’d been instructed to use.

“Have
you played any bridge lately, Mom?”

“They
all take it so seriously, it’s no fun any more.” Evelyn placed a cigarette in
her mouth, then picked up a lighter and flicked it three times before it
flared.

“Remember
how we used to play every Saturday night?” Kate laced her fingers in her lap.
“Remember the Robertsons when we lived in Indonesia, she always bid three no
trump, and he would overcall her bid? And the Tanners in Brazil—”

“That
awful woman.”

“What
woman? You mean Joy Tanner?”

“She
made up to your father whenever I left the table.”

“Did
she?” Kate remembered Mrs. Tanner’s curly red hair, a too-loud laugh. The image
of Joy Tanner making up to Dad wouldn’t form, but another memory stabbed
sharply under her breastbone. “I used to sit in Dad’s lap and he’d explain his
hand and make me memorize the cards as they were played.”

“I
don’t remember,” Evelyn muttered.

Kate’s
eyes skittered away from her mother’s pursed mouth. Every scrap of maturity
slipped away and she wanted out of this room, away from this woman. The
familiar sensation wouldn’t yield to her years as a counselor.

“The
kettle,” she said, and fled the chair for the counter. Not quite boiling, but
she stared at the steam and finally pulled the plug when she couldn’t wait any
longer. She needed the hot mug to hold onto, steaming liquid to stare into. A
prop.

She
should have started with the money, saved the family memories for later.

“Kate,
the kettle has to boil.”

“It
reached a boil just as I pulled the plug,” she lied as she placed a steaming
mug in front of her mother.

“It’s
too hot.” Evelyn struggled to her feet. “I’ll put it in the fridge for five
minutes.”

“You
want to put your coffee in the fridge? I’ll do it.” She grabbed Evelyn’s mug,
yanked the fridge door open, set her mother’s coffee beside what looked like a
round container of Chinese take-out.

“Did
you have Chinese food last night for supper? Was it good?”

“I
hate Chinese food. It tastes like cooked garbage.”

“What’s
in the container, then?”

“Are
you checking up on me?”

Jesus!

“I’m
making conversation, Mom.”

She
picked up her own cup and sat at the table, her coffee cradled between her
palms. She felt the urgent need to fill silence and forced herself to let it
go. You’re forty-nine years old, Kate. She’s a seventy-year-old woman who never
leaves the house. She can’t hurt you. Get back to the agenda. First the money,
then Dad.

“Mom,
I got a phone call yesterday that worried me.”

Evelyn’s
gaze slid away.

“Someone
said you’d loaned a large sum of money to one of your neighbors. Is that true?”

“Who
told you that?”

“Who
isn’t the point. I have to be sure no one’s taking advantage of you. Did you
loan ten thousand dollars to a neighbor?”

Evelyn
picked up her cigarette case and fumbled out a home rolled cigarette, put it to
her mouth and flicked a disposable lighter. “I’m going to hire the boy who
delivers papers to come work in my garden. I want roses and tulips.”

The
temptation to accept the change of subject almost overwhelmed Kate.

“Mom,
your house needs painting, your dishes are cracked and stained. You don’t look
after yourself, and if it’s true you’ve loaned somebody ten thousand
dollars—well, I’m worried. Did you loan the money?”

“This
is none of your business. That person who told you—who? Louise Callahan? Always
looking out her window, thinking I don’t see. It’s my own business what I do
with my money. Don’t worry, there’ll be some left for you.”

Kate
felt as if she’d been slapped. “You think I’m after your money? Is that what
you’re saying?”

“My
coffee’s ready. It’s time to get it from the fridge.”

Impossible
woman.

“I
can’t ignore this, mom.” She had an inspiration and thrust Evelyn’s often-heard
words back. “I wouldn’t be a good daughter if I didn’t make sure you’re not
being taken advantage of.”

“Nobody
takes advantage of me. I’m very careful.”

“We’ll
see,” said Kate. She hadn’t actually achieved a victory, but it couldn’t be
complete defeat when she emerged with her mind more or less intact. She opened
the fridge and delivered the chilled coffee. “Jennifer’s birthday was
yesterday.”

“Oh.”

Kate
watched her mother set a half-burned cigarette on the ashtray.

“There’s
something else, mom.”

The
click of Evelyn’s tongue preceded an explosion of breath. “I appreciate your
concern, but I’m fine. Leave me alone.”