Reconcilable Differences: A 'Having It All' Novel (19 page)

 “You’re sorry.” He looked as if he was on the verge
of tears himself, his jaw tight and working. He stood up abruptly. “Look. Let’s
get out of here. We can go to my place. I make a pretty mean cup of
chai
,” he said with forced
brightness. “Did you drive?”

She shook her head jerkily. “No, I took the bus.” Her
words were wooden, and she swiped at her helpless tears with an angry hand,
turning her face to the wall.

“Good.” He turned and went to take care of the bill while
she sat in stony silence, her eyes following him. Simon was drawn into a
friendly debate with Lali, who kept pushing his credit card away and laughing.
Finally, Simon acquiesced.

 “Good night, Lali.” Simon shook his head and
returned to the table, surreptitiously checking his phone again. “Let’s go.”

Kate wrinkled up her nose. “You seem preoccupied with
this situation. Maybe I’ll just head home.”

He frowned, lifted her coat up and held it while she
slipped it on, then pulled his own on. “No, please. I want to spend time with
you. It’s just, I’d like to be at home in case Rachel drops off Maddie.” He
cleared his throat.

Out the door, the cold wind whipped their clothing. He
wrapped one arm about her shoulders and held on tight, leading her half a block
away to where his car was parked.

They drove in silence, regrouping, remembering, pulling
themselves together.

His jingling cell phone jarred her nerves. He jumped and
seized it quickly. “’lo?” He stole a glance at Kate. She stared out the window,
expressionless, giving him space.

He voice was steely hard. “Yesss. Damn it, you can’t do
that Rachel! Where the hell have you been?”

She bit her lip and rubbed her hands on her pant legs,
picking up on his tension.

He listened a moment. “You should have talked to me
first. I felt like an idiot when the school called looking for her. What kind
of parents— ” He peered again at Kate, who glanced at him now in concern, her
brows knit, and he grimaced.

His face registered disbelief. “When are you bringing her
home?” He paused, listening. “We’ll talk later.”

He hung up his phone and seethed for several minutes, his
knuckles white on the steering wheel, before stealing another look at Kate.

She eyed him nervously. “Everything… alright?”

He nodded weakly, closing his eyes in a slow blink. “It
is now. She picked up Maddie from preschool Wednesday afternoon without telling
me her plans.” He shook his head, concentrating on the dark road. “She’s never
done that before. If anything, she usually brings Maddie back early.”

“I’m sorry. All this time… you must have been worried
sick.”

He nodded silently, his jaw clenched tight. “Maybe I’m
being paranoid, but lately… I don’t know. I’m worried that she’s suddenly taken
more of an interest in Maddie. I think she’s doing it as a power trip, to mess
with my head about custody, but… it sends a confusing message to Maddie, too.

The poor man. Kate reached out a hand and gently squeezed
his arm. Now she understood how Rachel’s erratic behavior posed a threat.

Once
at his house, he settled her on
the sofa and quickly built a fire in the fireplace, then slipped into the
kitchen to toss the leftovers in the fridge and make a pot of
chai
. The air filled with the
soft sounds of blues guitar. A few minutes later he carried the tray of tea
into the living room and set it down in front of her. The fire crackled nicely,
warming the room. He looked self-conscious, fidgeting. “Look, I’m sorry about
that…”

She smiled, waving away his concerns. “You have a nice
house,” she said, to put him at ease.

He poured two mugs of tea, the warm spicy cinnamon and
cardamom aromas filling the air.

“Thank you,” she said, taking the mug he handed to her.

He plopped himself down next to her on the sofa and
picked up his tea. “Thanks. It’s a good house. Pretty traditional though. Not
like your place. I still can’t get over that loft. It really suits you.”

“It’s me, but it’s also Alexa. I had to put up with a lot
of nagging before she gave up and let me throw my mix of antiques and moderns
and weird art together. It was my compromise. If it were up to her, it would be
as sleek and cold as a Bauhaus showroom.” She took a sip.

 “Were any of those paintings on the wall yours?”

She looked at him and away. “Ah. No. Mine’s more therapy
than art for public viewing.”

They sat in comfortable silence for a few minutes,
drinking their tea.

“I was wondering about your muffins.”

“Wha–? “You want the recipe?” She took a warming sip of
her
chai
, meeting his
eye playfully over the rim of her mug.

“Yes, actually. But that’s not the point. You said baking
was easier than shopping, but… I have the impression it was more strategic than
that.” He studied her reaction.

A slow smile spread across her face. He was smarter than
your average bear. “You got me. It’s well worth my trouble to bake muffins just
to fill the space with the scent of cinnamon, apples, vanilla and such. It does
wonders for reconciliation.”

He shook his head. “And here I was, thinking how
charmingly domestic you were, and you’re experimenting in human engineering.”

“It works.” She shuddered with silent laughter.

He leaned toward her, laying his arm along the sofa back
behind her shoulders and gave her a heated look, fluttering his eyebrows
suggestively, and wobbling his head. “Is it that you are liking your
chai
, lady?” he asked in a deep,
seductive voice with a fairly decent imitation of Lali’s accent.

She sat upright, mock indignation on her face, and a
laugh building deep in her belly. “You’ve used my own devious methods against
me!” They laughed together, and she relaxed into his arm and smiled up at him,
exhaling. How could she be afraid of him? She’d never known a gentler, kinder
man. “Very therapeutic.”

Their eyes met and held, and she felt her breath shorten
and her heart accelerate. She inhaled his warm, clean, masculine smell, blended
with exotic spices from India. The heat of his arm at her neck and his spicy
breath on her face mingled, and her mind filled with the embroidered images of
Indian maids and men in tangled embraces. The mix was intoxicating.

Earnest, he searched her face for clues. “I know I
shouldn’t do this, because of your guy…” He swallowed. “But if I kiss you
again, will you shout at me and storm out into the night?” Her nostrils flared,
an arrow of heat slicing through to her core. She was still afraid, but
tingling with anticipation, too.

“No,” she whispered. “Um. That’s… over.”

His eyes darkened to steel, gold stars reflecting the
crackling fire. He closed the short distance between them and touched his lips
gently to her mouth. It was electrifying. At first she didn’t move, but then
she responded, returning the press of his kiss. He pulled back slightly,
dipping his head. “I was unkind to you Kate. I was cruel. You didn’t deserve to
be treated that way.” He stroked her face gently, lifting her chin up so he
could gaze into her eyes.

Dark memories flashed in her mind, jumbled together,
slashing and tearing at her peace. Irrational. Stop. Just forget. “Simon, I— ”
She trembled again.

“Don’t fear me, Kate,” he whispered against her lips, “I
won’t hurt you again. Let me show you.” He kissed her eyes, her nose, her
cheeks and ears. He laced his fingers in her hair and drew it away from her
neck, planting kisses there.

A soft moan sounded deep in her throat and she dropped
her head back into his cupped hand, allowing him closer and he devoured her
softness.

“I want you, Kate. You have no idea how much I’ve wanted
you since I first saw you again.” He kissed her again and this time she surrendered
to his plundering tongue, allowing hers to dance and parry, and lost herself in
the soft wet interior of his mouth. They tumbled back onto the cushions of the
sofa and it seemed as though the years slipped away and they were as intimate
and hungry for each other as they had been in their optimistic and innocent
youth.

As his hands roamed over the contours of her body, she
was amazed that the chemistry they had known sixteen years ago was
undiminished. They may be different people now, mature, shaped by their
separate lives, but their bodies, ah, their bodies remembered. They were made
for each other.

He deftly unbuttoned her blouse and slipped a hand
inside, stroking his nails lightly over the silken rise of her breast.

She gasped. “Simon, please… ” She arched upward, meeting
his straining desire and he bent to kiss, and then lick, her collarbone, the
hollow of her throat, and the softly rising mounds of her breasts.

After that, she had no memory, only impressions of
frenzied tearing of clothes and tumbling among cushions onto the rug by the
hearth, where they abandoned themselves to their mutual passion. She could only
wonder what intriguing, metaphorical names the Kama Sutra had for the way their
bodies meshed, like two parts of a whole, limbs entwined, blood throbbing and
pulsing, joined. In due course, they found sleep tangled like sesame and rice
in their discarded clothing, drenched in perspiration, spent, the fire burning
low and warming their slick skin.

Some time in the middle of the night, there was a screech
and a thump on top of them, followed by a crash, awakening them with a start,
her heart thundering. “Wha– ?” Kate bolted upright, disoriented. “Where?”

Simon laughed. “It’s only Lucy, my cat. She hasn’t been
fed her supper tonight.” He dragged himself up and to the kitchen to feed her,
returning to find Kate shivering amongst the pond of discarded clothing and
strewn cushions, staring dazedly at the last glowing coals in the hearth.
“Let’s go upstairs and get comfortable. I’m too old for this.” He reached for
her hand and pulled up her lax form and she followed him up the stairs,
admiring the green-gold highlights the streetlight picked out along his lean
limbs and the smooth rise of his muscular shoulders and bare buttocks. He led
the way to his bedroom, where, softened by sleep, they made love again, slowly,
hypnotically, and deliciously, and fell asleep again, her head nestled against
his shoulder.

~*~

What
do you want from me?
Simon’s
voice emerged as a growl from between tightly clenched teeth.
What do you want from me?
His
face bore down on her, inflamed with rage, his eyes cold and hard as ice, lips
pulled back in a sneer. His words cut her like a knife, and Kate felt a sharp
searing pain rip through her, welling up from her deep dark hidden center. Hot
tears erupted and squeezed out from behind her closed lids onto her cheeks, and
an anguished sob wracked her body.

The force of it wrenched her upright, and sitting in the
bed, shaking, her throat tight with the pressure of unshed tears, she surfaced,
panic-stricken, from the nightmare that had returned after many years dormant.
It left her in a cold sweat, shaking, dizzy and nauseous. Grey pre-dawn light
filled the dim room like a gauze shroud.

Beside her, Simon mumbled and rolled over, his arm
reaching for her, and sliding off her rigid side, back down, slack onto the
rumpled sheets. He didn’t wake. She must have dreamt of sobbing aloud. His face
was serene in slumber, his short blond waves pushed this way and that, his lips
slack and sensual. He was such a beautiful man.

Waves of heat reverberated through her body, remembering
their night of passion.
How could
I do that?
This was Simon Sharpe.
How
could I resist?
This was Simon, after all. Her Simon.

Kate sat quietly, wiping her wet eyes, measuring her
breathing as she was taught to do, soothing herself, listening to his even
breathing, a comfort. After some minutes, her tears abated and she was able to
reflect calmly on the dream. It used to come more often, and during her
training and therapy, more and more often, with more detail as she revisited
her trauma.

It was only with Rose’s help, and careful recounting of
the details of the dream that they were, together, able to understand that Kate
had transferred suppressed memories of her high school rape to the painful,
stupid encounter with Simon years later. The convoluted twists and turns of the
human mind baffled her still.

Sleeping with Simon, making love to him again after all
these years, must have triggered those memories again. Thorough analysis and
careful reconstruction of the two, completely separate and unrelated events had
allowed Kate to pulls the strands apart and come to an understanding. With Rose’s
help, she was able to see how her pain and humiliation at Simon’s rejection and
his baffling anger and harshness when they were supposed to be making love—but
no, that was her fantasy. That night, that was only a fuck. A desperate one for
her, in her deluded attempt to win Simon back. For him it was— well, now she
understood a little better, a bitter and resentful one. A tortured one. A
tortured fuck.

Well if that wasn’t a good enough clue as to why the
encounter had allowed deeply suppressed memories to surface of that rape in her
last year of high school, then nothing was. A mirthless, silent laugh shook
her. At least she could see the irony in it now.

Rose said that it was common enough, for memories of a
traumatic event to be completely suppressed for years, sometimes forever. It
was the brain’s way of protecting itself from what it couldn’t understand,
couldn’t handle. She supposed that was true. For all her smarts and ambition as
a young woman, she had been remarkably naive, sheltered and immune to the harsh
realities of the world. Who knew that a high school graduation trip to Greece
could provide such a rude awakening for a small town girl. Too rude, apparently.
She’d shut it away. Until Simon, unwittingly, had unlocked the door.

Goosebumps rose up on her bare arms and back, and she
shivered. She lay back and pulled the covers over her naked body, laying apart
from him. She turned onto her side and stared at his sleeping face in the
shadows of his room, remembering that night, re-examining it in a new light.

Kate had been beyond thrilled at the invitation to the
party at his house—actually at his house—she was intoxicated and dizzy with
anticipation. It was his twenty-first birthday. Alexa had reluctantly agreed to
go with her, a comfort and a safety net. Other than crossing paths on campus,
she hadn’t seen him socially in almost two years, though she knew his every
move.
This
was
momentous.

Once there, she searched the house for him, prowling like
a hungry lioness. She was fixated on Simon, her longing eating her alive,
utterly obsessed.

Already slightly disoriented with drink, she could see
him sitting in a chair, staring back at her, the hunted, his body pulsing
nearer, farther, nearer, farther, the cinematographic effect of some psychotic
director’s vision, as though she focused the scope on her weapon, zeroing in on
her prey. Everything but him was lost to view, to focus, to comprehension. Him,
only him. She studied his features as they became magnified, exaggerated,
distorted by her thrall. Was he as perfect and beautiful as she believed? He
was brooding and dark and seemed mesmerized by her staring. They exchanged no
civilities. They’d both had plenty to drink. He stood up portentously, not
breaking eye contact, and she followed him—sensuality and seduction lost, into
his bedroom. Why was she here? She didn’t know the answer now. Maybe she was
already on the verge of a breakdown, and her encounter with Simon was just an
unfortunate coincidence.

She remembered, much later, that she and Alex had walked
a long, long way home, in the wee hours of the morning, the sky fading from
black to violet to blue, even as her ego disintegrated into a heap of fine grey
ash. Her life, after that night, was an enourmous gaping hole. A deep
depression set in, and that was the start of her slippery slide down the road
of a mental breakdown.

She shivered again, inching closer to him for warmth.
Sleepily, he rolled on his side and wrapped his arm around her, drawing her
closer, pulling her into the heat of his embrace. She nestled there, feeling
safe, for the moment. Part of her wanted to confide in him and share her
experience. Perhaps it would help him understand, and perhaps even forgive, her
erratic, bizarre behavior with regard to him and their relationship, both back
then, and now.

Eventually, with help, she’d come to understand that her
whole relationship with Simon was doomed. She’d used him as a crutch at a
vulnerable time, as an escape from what happened in Europe. That spring, her
self-esteem was at an all time low. Simon appeared as her knight in shining
armour. How could she ever see him in any other light? He was just a man– a
very young one. It wasn’t fair to him. And it wasn’t a real relationship
either. It could never be.