The Consequences (25 page)

CHAPTER 42

“T
hey took him down for tests about two hours ago,” Robert said, his voice echoing slightly as if he was standing in a corridor. “I keep asking them for results or a progress report, but the nurses on duty can't tell me anything.”

Kathy lay on the bed and stared at the ceiling. “And how did he look?”

“Terrible. Kathy, when I first saw him, I thought he was dead.”

She could hear the genuine fear in his voice. Although Robert would probably never admit it, she knew he had come to regard Jimmy Moran as a father figure. Kathy liked the older man, but was also wary of the influence he had on Robert and had little time for his attitude toward women. Jimmy was of the generation that regarded women as objects to be conquered, bedded, and then chained to a kitchen sink. “He's tough, Robert; you know that. He's going to pull through.”

There was a pause, and she could hear the ambient sound change, the echo of the corridor dying away.

“I'm sorry for ruining your Christmas,” he said suddenly.

“It was ruined a long time before Jimmy got sick.”

“Yes.” His voice hissed and popped across the line.

“If you'd stayed at home today, we would probably have ended up fighting,” she said eventually.

“Probably,” he agreed.

“Maybe this time apart has been . . . useful. Allows us both to get a little perspective.” Lying in the darkened bedroom, listening to the muted rumble from the TV below had been vaguely comforting. She hadn't realized just how on edge she'd been until she lay back on the bed and felt the rigid bar of pain across her shoulders that had been building throughout the day begin to ease.

“Yes, yes, you're right.”

“Time to think,” she added.

“I've been doing nothing but think,” he said.

“We'll talk when you get home. Maybe we'll have a little dinner together, just the two of us, and talk.”

“That would be nice. . . . Yes, it's been a long time since we sat down and talked. It'll be just like the old days.”

Kathy sat up on the bed and looked out into the street. Heavy banks of gray-black clouds had been rolling in all afternoon, and it had started to snow again. The world outside was white and still. “Do you think you're going to make it home tonight?” she asked.

“I'd like to wait and see how Jimmy is. I don't want to leave him on his own.”

Kathy frowned. That didn't sound right; Jimmy was one of the most sociable and gregarious men she knew. “Why is he alone? I thought Angela or Frances would be there. They're not snowed in, are they?”

“Maybe, but that's not the reason they're staying away. They've both refused to come. Turns out Jimmy told them too many lies over too many years; that's finally caught up with him,” Robert said.

Kathy nodded. She'd always known that eventually Jimmy Moran would have to pay for a lifetime of sailing far too close to the wind with his relationships and too-close friendships with women. And his treatment of his wife and his mistress was shameful . . . not unlike Robert's, in fact, she couldn't help but add.

“I'd like to stay for a while longer . . . if that's okay?”

“Of course it's okay. It's snowing heavily here. It's probably better if you stay there, rather than getting back on the road. The hospital staff isn't going to kick you out.”

“Maybe I'll try to nap on one of the empty beds.”

Kathy heard a sudden, high-pitched blipping sound, and then Robert swore. “Shit, I'm down to one bar,” he said quickly.

“Is there a phone in the room?” she asked immediately.

She heard movement and then a click, as if he'd turned on a light. “Here it is. . . .”

She copied down the number onto the notepad beside the bedroom phone.

“Look, I'd better go and save what's left of the battery. You've got the number; call me anytime. I'll be here for the next couple of hours at least, and if I do decide to stay here, I'll give you a call.”

“Give Jimmy my love,” Kathy said and hung up.

She sat for a little while longer and watched it snow. Then she opened the presents Robert had given her. The necklace and scarf were lovely, though the silver necklace with the teardrop pendant was remarkably similar to one he had bought her a couple of years ago. The flowers were beautiful, but it was the card that was magnificent. Robert had taken the time to do a series of doodles, the kind he had done when he was first courting her. They were funny caricatures of him and the children trying to get the tree through the front door, of Robert and Kathy trying in vain to talk to the kids while they watched television, and one of Julia holding court while everyone, including her husband, Ben, was sleeping. A warm feeling rushed through Kathy. This was one of the things that had made her initially fall in love with him: his humor. In between the pictures was a handwritten gift certificate for a weekend in Martha's Vineyard. Kathy smiled. Maybe they could begin again.

Then she realized that she hadn't given him his present. Opening the closet, she reached behind her long dresses and took out the large rectangular box, now wrapped in several sheets of colorful Christmas paper. Inside was a pigskin briefcase, with his initials
RW
embossed in gold onto the front. There was a Christmas card attached to the box. She'd written it before she'd discovered the affair and thought for a moment about removing it. In the card she had added a little note about how much in love she was, and thanking him for everything he had done for them all over the past year. She decided to leave it. His card to her had taken time. She couldn't just punish him for his mistakes; she had to give him credit for the effort. He seemed to be trying.

She carried the box into his office and laid it on the table alongside his computer. She glanced at the machine and, for a single moment, thought about turning it on to check his e-mails, but then she turned away, feeling disgusted with herself.

 

She was dozing in the family room with the TV off and the fire burned down to embers when Robert returned. Although it was not yet midnight, the children had gone to bed, and his absence had cast a pall over the day. The phone had rung twice, and she'd jumped on each occasion. Recognizing Julia's number on the caller ID, she'd allowed her two calls to go to the answering machine. But there had been no message. Kathy was definitely not in the mood to speak to her sister; it would invariably end in an argument. She thought about calling Sheila or Maureen, just to chat, but in the end called neither of them. She wanted the time to think and plan for the future, but found she couldn't do that either. Her thoughts were chaotic, and she found herself quickly shifting between anger at Robert's behavior and sympathy for his current situation, coupled with her own doubts and self-loathing. Surely there was something she could have done to prevent this from happening?

The flare of headlights against the living room window alerted her to his return, and she had the hall door open before he had climbed out of the car. And if he'd looked tired and overextended before he left, now he looked positively pitiful. His shoulders were rounded as if he carried the weight of the world on them, his eyes half-closed. When he came into the house, she wanted to gather him into her arms and hold him close, tell him that everything was going to be okay, but the look on his face was so off-putting, so forbidding that she backed away, and she knew, even before he opened his mouth and said, “He's dead,” that Jimmy Moran was gone.

Robert climbed the stairs and closed the study door behind him without saying another word. She heard the double thump as his shoes hit the floor, then silence.

Kathy Walker closed the hall door, locked up, and turned off the lights. She was feeling weary, stiff, and aching, almost as if she were coming down with the flu.

Climbing the stairs, she stopped outside Robert's door, head tilted to one side, and listened for several long moments before she cracked the door open and peered inside. Robert was slumped in the chair and, although he was asleep, his brow was furrowed and his eyes were twitching furiously behind closed lids. In that moment, her heart broke for him. He shouldn't be here, sitting in an uncomfortable chair, still in the clothes he'd been wearing all day. He should be in bed, beside her, and she should be holding him, comforting him.

She went to the hall closet, found a heavy blanket, carried it into his room, and tucked it in around him. He moaned in his sleep, but didn't awaken.

Before she left the room, she looked back and came to the decision that they could—they would—put all this behind them; they would work to rebuild their marriage and relationship.

They would start again.

CHAPTER 43

T
hursday, 26th December

 

 

 

“Thank you for the briefcase . . . and the card,” Robert said, accepting the cup of coffee from Kathy's hand.

“I thought it was about time you got a new one; that old case is the same age as Brendan, and beginning to look it.” She noted that he'd put her Christmas card on top of the computer screen.

Robert turned to look at the fine-grained pigskin case on the table. “I'll take good care of it,” he promised.

“How are you doing?” she asked, looking around the study. As if it mirrored his mental state, the once-neat room was in disarray: There were clothes piled over the back of the chairs, the blanket she'd covered him with was tossed on the floor, and there were papers and files everywhere.

“I've been looking for addresses,” Robert said, turning back to the computer and nodding at the screen. Kathy noted that he had Outlook open to the Contacts page. “Angela said she was too distraught to get involved in the funeral arrangements,” Robert said bitterly, “though she didn't sound that upset when I called her yesterday and told her Jimmy was dead. There was a party going on in the background.”

“It is Christmas, Robert,” Kathy gently reminded him.

“And I'm not getting any sense out of Frances. The last time I spoke to her, I thought she was drunk or stoned. She didn't seem upset either by the fact that the father of her child was dead.”

“Their relationship had more or less foundered though, hadn't it?”

“I think he loved her more than she loved him,” Robert continued. “She lost interest in him when she realized that he was never going to make her a star.”

“He spent a long time lying to her, making her promises that he could never keep.”

“I know that!” Robert snapped. “I'm sorry,” he said immediately. “But I would have thought that his death would change things.”

“Doesn't change how you feel about a person,” Kathy said. “Just because someone dies, that doesn't make him or her a better person.”

“No . . . no, I suppose you're right. But he was always a friend to me, and I liked him, liked him a lot . . . despite his faults.”

“I know that.”

“Anyway, the upshot of it is that I'm trying to coordinate with Angela, and she's doling out information in dribs and drabs. I finally found an address and a phone number for Michael—Mikey—Moran, his oldest brother. He's living in Vancouver.” He looked at his watch. “Still too early to call, I think.”

“Do you know what sort of relationship they had?”

Robert shook his head. “Not really. Distant, but friendly, I think.” He suddenly turned away from the computer. “Once I get him, I can plan the funeral arrangements, and then I'll start getting in touch with people in the industry. I'll write a press release, I think.” He looked up at Kathy. “I'm sorry. I guess I'm not going to be much use to anyone today.”

“Do what you have to do,” Kathy said. “But try to get some rest. You look exhausted.”

“I am,” he admitted. “I'll take a nap later. What are you going to do?” He smiled. “Go to Julia's?”

“Over my dead body,” she said, and then colored, realizing what she'd said. “I'm sorry. That was callous.”

“Yes, but funny. You know, if you don't go to Julia's, she's more than likely to turn up at the door.”

“She'd be picking a bad day for an argument,” Kathy said grimly.

 

“Kathy? How wonderful to hear from you!”

“Maureen . . . Merry Christmas,” Kathy said carefully.

“Is everything all right?” Maureen asked immediately, obviously picking up on something in Kathy's reserved tone.

“Not really,” Kathy said carefully. “Jimmy Moran died yesterday.”

There was a long silence, then Maureen sighed and said, “Poor Jimmy. My God,” she said suddenly. “He was a lot younger than I am. What happened?”

Kathy stood at the kitchen window and watched Brendan and Theresa build a lopsided snowman in the backyard. Overhead, the sky was cloudless, the brilliant sunlight catching painfully bright reflections off every surface, but massing in the distance she could see enormous blue-black clouds boiling up out of the north. There would be more snow later.

“Kathy?” Maureen said, breaking into the long silence.

“Sorry,” she said quickly. “It was a heart attack. Robert got a call yesterday, early afternoon, from the hospital. He went in, of course. He was with him to the end.”

“And how is Robert taking it?”

“Badly,” Kathy said simply.

“I never understood that relationship. Jimmy usually drove away younger talent. I think he was a little fearful of it, envious too, but he and Robert just . . . connected.”

“I just wanted to let you know about Jimmy,” said Kathy.

“I've known him for more than twenty-five years, I think,” Maureen said softly. “There were times when I even liked him. We got along because I was the one woman who would never sleep with him, he said. He was so charming,” she added with a sigh. “He was also the most wonderful and outrageous liar. That made him the perfect producer,” she added with a small laugh. “When's the funeral?”

“I don't know yet. Robert's trying to make the arrangements. Apparently, even in death, neither Angela nor Frances wants anything to do with him. They wouldn't even come in to the hospital.”

“I'm not surprised.”

“Robert's trying to contact Jimmy's brothers. . . .”

“I didn't know he had family,” Maureen exclaimed.

“Three brothers, New York, Canada, and Australia, as far as I can make out. Robert's not making a lot of sense this morning. He's physically and emotionally fried.”

“He came over on Christmas Eve and told me about your encounter with Stephanie. How are you?” Maureen asked softly.

“I'm okay,” Kathy said quickly.

“Truthfully,” Maureen persisted.

“I'm feeling a little fried myself.”

“Hardly surprising. You know, if you want someone to talk to, someone who's been there and has gone through what you're going through right now, all you have to do is give me a call.”

“I know. Thank you.” There were tears in Kathy's eyes now, fragmenting the backyard into rainbows of bitter light. Then she said suddenly, “What are you doing this afternoon? Are you free?”

“I am,” Maureen said, sounding surprised.

“We didn't really have Christmas dinner yesterday; Robert got the call before I could serve it. Would you come over? My sister Sheila's coming too—you remember Sheila? I could call her and ask her to pick you up, so you wouldn't have to drive. Say yes, please!”

“Yes, please,” Maureen said without hesitation.

“Good. Thank you. I'd just really like some company,” she admitted. “Someone to talk to. Robert is busy at the moment organizing Jimmy's funeral, and I think he might just crash later. It'll just be the three of us.”

“I'll be there,” Maureen promised.

“I'll have Sheila get you about three.”

“I'll be ready.”