Talk of the Town (28 page)

I love him. I won’t live without this ever again.

I love her.

The three simple words his mind imprinted with firmness and conviction penetrated David’s brain and his battered heart.

Blindly, he reached for Rebecca, cradling her in his arms, stroking her hair, watching her sleep like he’d done when she was ill.

He loved watching her. The way her hair fell across her high forehead and the way her lips parted the tiniest bit, like they did right before she kissed him.

Her lids drifted open, her eyes luminous in the moonlight. “Why are you smiling?” she whispered.

“Thinking of you.” He kissed the tip of her nose.

“That’s good,” she sighed, snuggling closer, her breasts pressed against his side. “Remember the first night we were together?”

“Yeah. Rough start. Spectacular finish.” He heard the huskiness in his voice.

She tilted her head back against his shoulder and looked up into his eyes. Hers were filled with anguish like they’d been then. “I’m so sorry I hurt your feelings that night.”

He couldn’t bear to see her sad. He kissed her eyelids closed. “You kissed it and made it all better.”

“I did, didn’t I,” she chuckled, then pressed her lips against his chest and rested her cheek there.

He could tell by her even breathing that she’d fallen back to sleep.

Every promise he’d ever made about his future alone cracked inside him, like an iceberg breaking apart under a brilliant sun.

He wished he could say the words to her. Maybe someday. For now, being happier than he’d ever been was enough.

Chapter 21

R
ebecca moved through the weekend in a daze of joy. If David’s armor was cracking, like hers had done, then they were both capable of letting go of the past. There was nothing stopping them from being together except their own fears and misplaced guilt. She’d help David understand they could have it all together.

On the phone, she gushed so much about David to Harry he demanded she stop or he’d have to go take a cold shower. Pauline was more eager to know everything Rebecca wasn’t too embarrassed to share. Long ago, Kate had given Rebecca her number and her address. Rebecca tried several times to reach Kate but only got her voice mail, so she left messages until the mailbox was full.

On Monday, Pauline told her Kate had phoned in sick.

An alarm bell went off in Rebecca’s head, sending an uncomfortable tremor through her new romantic daydream world.

“Did she say what was wrong?” Rebecca asked.

Pauline bit her lip. “No, darn it! I tried to find out, but I couldn’t get anything out of her. She had an important meeting scheduled with Mr. Sumner at eleven that I had to cancel. He’s meeting with all the key people individually because he’s been gone for weeks. You’re at five.”

“Me?”
David hadn’t left her condo until Saturday morning, and when they’d spoken on Sunday, he hadn’t said a word about a meeting. “Are you sure?”

“Sure. There’s a memo on your desk.” Pauline threw her a sweet, knowing smile. “Except yours is in a sealed envelope.” She waved a sheet of paper in front of Rebecca’s eyes. “I know you’re at five, because he gave me this master list in case anyone calls about their time.”

The thought of a love note from David sent her hurrying upstairs to her office. She tore it open and gazed, enchanted, at his small, neat writing.

Becky,

It occurred to me I might be able to bear all these meetings today if being with you is my reward. Business meeting at five. The rest of the evening belongs to us.

David

Reading the note again, it occurred to her that lately she was living in constant anticipation of seeing David. That thought led to another rush of delicious, fearless excitement.
Soon, very soon, maybe even today, David will see that anything is possible with us now.

She looked at her watch.
David time,
eight hours. She couldn’t wait.

But the little alarm bell of concern for Kate went off again. She glanced at her watch. Nine-thirty. Not too early to call.

By eleven-thirty, when she still hadn’t been able to reach Kate, she made her decision. Her worry had intensified to an icy-cold, huge knot in her stomach. Time to take action.

By noon, she stood in front of Kate’s town house. Built in the sixties, it was one of the oldest on the Kinzie Corridor along the Chicago River, splitting North Michigan Avenue from downtown.

Rebecca rang the doorbell and turned up the collar of her navy cashmere coat. She shivered in the damp, cold wind off the lake. It felt and looked like it could snow any minute.

When Kate didn’t answer, Rebecca rapped on the glass window of the door.

Nothing.

Beginning to panic, she punched the doorbell again and again. She needed to make sure Kate only had the flu or a cold or a million other things that had nothing to do with her former depression. Rebecca felt a sickening guilt bubble up through her chest. Had she ignored Kate by spending nearly every waking moment thinking about David? Had there been glaring neon signs to warn her that something was wrong with Kate and Rebecca had blithely overlooked them because she was too busy falling in love at the ripe age of forty-five?

Consumed by guilt and worry, with horrible, unspeakable visions racing through her mind, Rebecca banged on the door again. “Kate, I know you’re in there!” she shouted, hoping her voice would carry through the wood and glass and the white plantation shutters covering the window. “Open this door. I’m not leaving. Kate!”

She yelled until the back of her throat was dry, and when she called Kate’s name, it sounded strained and thinned.

The longer she pounded, the clearer and more unspeakable the images in her head became. Shaking, she reached into her leather tote for her cell phone. She was calling the police.

So slowly Rebecca at first thought she was imagining it, Kate opened the door. There were no lights outlining her, but even in the dim grayness, Rebecca clearly saw how tired Kate looked and how shrunken in the thick black fleece robe.

“Thank God you’re all right!” Rebecca rushed in before Kate could slam the door in her face.

The rooms were dark, gloomy, and cold. “I’m turning on some lights before I fall and kill myself in these heels.”

Groping along the wall, Rebecca found the switch. The ceiling light flooded the hall and threw enough illumination into the living room so she could see to turn on two lamps.

Once Rebecca turned on lights, she could see the town house was classy and efficient, like Kate. No frills. Not quite spartan, but close.

Rebecca wrapped her arms around herself for warmth. “Where’s the thermostat? It’s freezing in here.”

“Back in the hallway,” Kate said dully. She lifted her hand to point and then dropped it like she didn’t have the energy.

“When did you eat last? Not Thanksgiving at my place?” Rebecca couldn’t keep the horror out of her voice.

“No. On Saturday I had the leftovers you sent home with me.”

“Kate, this is Monday! Where’s the kitchen?”

“This way.” Kate walked away, and Rebecca followed her into a modern kitchen, obviously recently remodeled.

The refrigerator was empty except for a turkey drumstick and a slice of pumpkin pie, both dried out.

“Sit down, Kate. I’ll fix you a cup of tea.” She didn’t know if Kate even
liked
tea, but it had been Rebecca’s granny’s cure for everything. Often it actually helped.

While she waited for the water to boil, she sent a text message to Harry. Before the kettle whistled, he replied,
Have food. Will be there in fifty minutes.

She checked her watch and breathed a sigh of relief.

Afraid to push too hard, Rebecca let Kate sit in pensive silence, sipping her tea. She sat across from her at the chrome and glass table to watch every movement Kate made, in the hopes of getting some clue as to how to help.

The door chime made them both jump. It sparked interest in Kate’s blank eyes. “Reinforcements?” she asked dryly.

“Harry. I’ll be right back.” Rebecca rushed down the hall and flung open the door. “I’ve never been so glad to see you in my entire life,” she whispered with real feeling.

Harry, bundled up in a gray cashmere overcoat with a gray plaid Burberry scarf wrapped around his throat, walked in and in one long look swept the hall and living room.

“This place is nearly as sterile as my operating room. Where is she?”

“The kitchen. At the back.” Rebecca had to run a little to keep up with his long strides.

He studied Kate as he unwound his scarf and took off his coat. He placed them both neatly on the metal stool at the tiny bar. “Kate, when did you stop taking your medication?” Harry spoke loudly and firmly.

Kate looked up at him. “A month ago.”

The uncharacteristic confusion in Kate’s eyes was so painful to watch, Rebecca couldn’t hold back tears. They rolled, hot and salty, down her cheeks and onto her lips.

“Harry, I’ve been in remission for almost two years.” Kate sighed. “Six months ago the doctor suggested I could stop my medication.”

“Is this your second or third episode of depression?” All the time he was talking, Harry continued to unload containers of food from the two large bags he’d carried in with him.

“My second. Is this another episode?” She shook her head. “It’s different than the first. Then I couldn’t get out of bed for weeks. My doctors told me I should seek treatment if any problem lasted more than two weeks. It’s more likely I’ve been frightening myself into a stupor this weekend.”

Rebecca scrubbed her cheeks dry and again sat down across from Kate. “What’s frightening you?”

“My future.” Kate ran her fingers through her hair, and Rebecca felt encouraged by the little mini-spikes that sprang up. “I very much want my old life as a finance guru back. To feel fully alive again.”

“Here, eat. Doctor’s orders. You’ll feel stronger.”

The artistic way Harry had arranged the cold shrimp—drizzled with a thin cocktail sauce—cold asparagus, and perfectly prepared beef tenderloin covered lightly in béarnaise on the plate looked too tempting to resist.

When Kate picked up the first shrimp, Rebecca met Harry’s triumphant eyes.

“Thank you, Harry. I am starving.” Kate’s face looked less strained by the time she finished the beef tenderloin. She laid down her fork and looked up at them. “Do you know how old I am?”

“No. But if you let me do Botox on your forehead and around your eyes, I’ll take off ten years.”

Harry’s declaration brought a smile to Kate’s thin lips. “I am fifty-one years old. Some segments of society might think I’m a failure because I never married or had children. I never saw it that way. I fully enjoyed my life and my career.” The fresh fierceness in Kate’s voice gave Rebecca hope.

“You can again.” Rebecca leaned across the table, desperate to convince her. “You have this second chance to be right back at the top of your game.”

“Rebecca, don’t you see? That’s the crux of my fear.” She stared Rebecca in the eyes like she had in the cab months ago, when she’d warned her about the danger of challenging David. “I’m not brave like you. I’m afraid to fail again. There won’t be another chance for me if I can’t take the pressure and I break down.”

“Your depression has already been well treated with meds. Recurrences can be prevented for extremely long periods of time.”

Harry sounded so sure of himself, Rebecca felt reassured herself and nodded enthusiastically. “Think of all the new, exciting opportunities right around the corner for you. Right, Harry?”

“Kate, I personally feel you are one of the most intelligent people I know. Your television show will be a tremendous success. And if you’re as smart as I think, you will bring the two of us on as guests.” He lifted his chin in a movie star pose. “I, as the plastic surgeon chef extraordinaire. Rebecca doing what she does best. Being bright and lovely and charming us all with the latest gossip about the rich and famous.”

“Thank you, darling.” Rebecca blew him a kiss.

Kate sat up straighter. “That’s not a bad idea to do more than a strictly finance format.”

Taking her cue from Harry, Rebecca helped Kate brainstorm her new show, warming to the idea. “I told you, you’re the baby boomers’ finance guru! Why not open their minds to all the possibilities still in life? Second. Third. Fourth chances. How to make the most out of all of them. Finance. Cooking. Personal advice.”

I said advice. Not gossip.
Struck numb by her epiphany, Rebecca sat utterly still, not hearing what her friends were saying to each other.

Clearly, somewhere back in her subconscious the idea had been fermenting, and it had finally spewed out. If David liked the format they’d come up with for Kate, and if Rebecca was ever Kate’s guest, she wouldn’t want to promote gossip. It would be to promote a column like . . . “Ask Becky.” Or, now that she was more mature, “Ask Rebecca.”

“Sweet pea, did you hear me?”

She blinked up at him. “Sorry, what did you say?”

“We need to let David know Kate is fine and will be in the office tomorrow to discuss all her options.”

“Of course, I’ll tell him.” She sensed something magical would happen. It always did with David now. “I’m meeting with him in an hour.”

While David waited for Shannon to appear for their meeting, he stared out his office window, watching sunlight wash over Lake Michigan. He always thought of Rebecca as sunshine. Bringing him back to life.

Again he glanced at his watch. Only an hour until he saw her. There was an aching throb in his head. A part of him still held back. Afraid to take the final leap. Afraid to believe such happiness was within his grasp again.

He shouldn’t have written the note setting up their five-o’clock meeting. He should be putting some distance between them. Protecting himself from the emotions whipping through him whenever he thought of her.

Shannon knocked at the open door before walking in.

Glad for the diversion, he glanced around and noticed she looked especially pale and tense.

He sat down behind his desk, consciously trying to appear relaxed in an effort to make her feel at ease.