Lifelines: Kate's Story (29 page)

She
flashed on a graphic memory of an isolated campsite west of Port Angeles,
moonlight over the ocean and Jennifer asleep in her bunk. Kate and David in the
double bed only a few feet from their daughter, a door closed between them,
thin walls passing the sound of Jennifer’s breath. Kate had bitten her lip to
force silence as David slid inside her and she welcomed his hard sex with a
moan choked in her throat.

She
walked ahead of Mac, her hands rammed into her pockets. Something glinted in
the sand and she bent to reach for it. A piece of abalone shell, its rich
mother of pearl bathed in sunlight.

Mac’s
hand touched her shoulder. “All right?”

“I
don’t know.”

Socrates,
three steps behind Mac, stared at her accusingly.

“Mac,
it’s twenty-six years since I was single.”

“And?”

What
the hell was she trying to explain? “I assumed David and I would go on forever.
It’s crazy to feel angry, but it pisses me off that I feel so self-conscious.”

What
in God’s name was she talking about? Was she insane? Look away from his eyes.
Now! Step back before he touches you again. Keep this up and you’ll be naked
without knowing if you want it.

“Kate
...”

“Shouldn’t
we go back to the boat? What time is it? We should pro—”

“I
don’t know my lines either, Kate.”

This
kiss brushed fleetingly over her lips. In fantasy, she felt her body stretch
against his, her lips open and his turn hard. In reality, she stepped back from
the kiss as it ended.

“Socrates,”
she murmured.

“We’ll
go back to the boat,” he replied, which made no more sense than her reference
to the dog. Silence as he lifted Socrates into the dinghy.

“Get
in and I’ll push it out. You don’t want to get wet.”

He
wore sailor’s boots. She hadn’t seen him change, didn’t know when he’d shed
work boots and pulled on the soft sided yellow waterproof footgear. It felt
odd, sitting in the boat while he launched her and Socrates. He’d been looking
after her all day, giving her a hand to climb on board, putting away groceries,
making lunch, keeping her feet dry. Male nurturing.

So
he filled a basic need of hers. Just don’t make it into something more. He’s
damaged by a broken marriage and you haven’t figured out how to be a widow. Two
pieces of human flotsam tossed on a reckless current. And he’s not a lifeline,
just a man who works down the street. Stick to your goals, Kate. Play with
clay, counsel Rachel, find Dad.

At
El Niño
, Mac held the dinghy while she climbed the boarding ladder. Then
he lifted Socrates up onto the deck, and the dog waddled to the side of the
deck and flopped into a grunting sleep. Kate stepped down into the cockpit and
pulled off the sweater she’d worn ashore.

Mac
surged up onto the deck. If she reached out a hand, she could touch his leg.

Jesus,
Kate! Stop it!

He
combed a lock of dark hair back from his forehead with one hand, and she
swallowed hard before she spoke.

“Mac,
could we try that kiss again?”

She
woke in his arms, her body damp where it touched his. His lips parted with
small puffs of breath as she studied his face. A man’s face, character sculpted
in creases and angles. She stroked his hair and felt a tight curl twist around
her fingers. Close up, she saw white strands among the warm brown.

S
he
closed her eyes and focused on sensation. His cheek against her shoulder,
bristles pleasantly abrasive. A slow pulse in her belly, reminding her.

God,
she’d missed sex.

Her
first time had been the night of her high school graduation. She’d attended the
dance with her boyfriend, John, and they did it afterwards in the back of his
car, a red Chevette hatchback with the back seat down and a blanket over the
hard metal. She’d been so nervous her teeth chattered.

Then
David, intellectual, frighteningly mature, ten years older than her. David had
been smooth, seductive temptation, but most of all, he’d been safe.

Mac...

She
hadn’t been with a new man in over twenty years. Sex with David had always
followed the pattern established in the beginning of their relationship. David
seductive, Kate seduced, even the orgasms decorous. She’d known sex could be
more varied, more
passionate
... but after twenty years of satisfied
sighs, how did a woman introduce moans into a relationship?

Had
David watched her get naked with Mac? Had he heard her sounds, traced the
impatient route of her hands over Mac’s fevered body? She closed her eyes on
the uncomfortable question and let sleep return.

Sometime
later, the world completely black, she woke again.

“Hi.”
Mac’s voice wore the huskiness of recent sleep.

When
she turned her head, his lips found hers. She felt glad of the darkness.

He
shifted to slip his arm around her. “We fell asleep.”

“Hmm.”
She cursed her awkwardness. They’d had sex; everything would be different now.

“What
do we talk about now?”

“I
don’t know.” She’d been ... wild. Unfaithful to David?

Mac
stroked her shoulder. “Do we talk about Socrates, who must be desperate for a
bathroom break? Do I tell you how good this feels? Or is there something else I
should know to say?”

Why
had she let this happen on a boat, anchored by an island where she couldn’t get
away afterwards? “Socrates usually sleeps until seven. What time is it?”

He
shifted, presumably to look at his watch. “Two-thirty.”

“Can
we talk about food?”

He
laughed and they kissed and her tension eased. They fumbled their way out of
the bed and stood in the tiny galley, naked, and assembled peanut butter and
honey sandwiches. They ate the sticky sandwiches with large glasses of milk,
and then washed their glasses and knives.

“Do
you want to head back now,” asked Mac, “or wait for dawn? We’ll need to go
early. I’ve got tradesmen coming at eight.”

She’d
been certain she was trapped until morning, and had wondered what happened
next. Did they have sex again? Did they dress and talk in the dark? She felt
ridiculously like an uncertain virgin the morning after, and she felt urges:
she wanted him to make some sort of declaration; yet knew the last thing she
needed was a relationship with a man five years her junior. These thoughts grew
from her own discomfort in the role of sexually active widow. She needed a
handle on how to merge sexually active into the rest of her life ... or she
needed to swear off right now.

“Help
me out here, Kate.”

“I’m
sorry. I ... can we sail back in the dark?”

“There’s
a moon, and I’ve got radar.”

“I’d
like to go now. I feel off balance.”

“Kate...?”

“What?”
A counselor should be able to handle this more smoothly.

He
cleared his throat. “What happens next is up to you. If you want to forget what
happened ... or if you ... whatever you want.”

“Can
you forget last night?”

“No,
but if it’s what you want, I’ll pretend.”

She
felt sharply aware of their nakedness. “Mac, I don’t know what I want.”

“You
feel you’ve been unfaithful to your husband?”

“Maybe.”
Had David watched? “I don’t know what to feel.”

“Look,
Kate—“” He touched her hair.

“I
think we should get dressed.” A few hours ago they’d torn at each other’s
clothes, and she could smell sex in the cabin and on their bodies.

“We’ll
need a light. For our clothes.”

“Then
turn it on, for heaven’s sake.”

She
felt his arm move, then his face and his naked chest bloomed in front of her.
She stepped back against something sharp.

“This
is crazy,” she muttered.

“Yeah.”

A
gentleman would look away, but Mac stared—first at her face, then her body. A
gentleman? Was she nuts? They had frantic sex only hours ago, and his broad,
hard body ... as she stared, his penis responded.

“We
shouldn’t ... I shouldn’t ...” she muttered.

“I
don’t plan on having regrets.”

“Well...”
She swallowed, half laughed. “I guess I don’t either.” So she’d had sex. So
what? There was no law against it, despite her feelings of guilt and panic.

“Any
time you’re interested, Kate, I’d be more than happy to ...”

She
did laugh then, but the sound might turn into hysteria if she wasn’t careful.
“Not now, but when I’ve had a chance to ... would you come to dinner tonight?”

He
closed the distance between them. His lips made no demands, and she let her
hand rest on his chest and felt the warm security of his solid heartbeats. The
kiss calmed her, and she grew comfortable with their nakedness, and the
knowledge that he’d been her lover.

“I
guess I shouldn’t talk about my wife—my ex-wife.”

She
placed her fingers over his warm lips. “Let’s not have forbidden subjects. Your
wife is with us, and so is David. I’m still in love with David; he’ll be with
me all the rest of my life. Your wife...” She needed a name, and Kate felt her
own unwillingness to ask. Hypocrite. She acknowledged David as a presence
between them, but only pretended to give Mac’s wife the same rights.

“Kate,
what’s between you and me—I want you to know it isn’t about her.”

“Mac,
everything’s connected. It’s about your wife and it’s about David. It’s about
us, too, whatever we are.”

They
began the search for clothes. Mac handed Kate her blouse, which was missing
three front buttons, said, “I’m sorry about the buttons.”

“I’m
not. I felt like a teenager. Anyway, my sweater will cover it.”

Dressed
now, Mac opened the hatch and began stowing cushions. He said, “I made promises
to her. I can’t be with her now, but I want to keep as many of my promises as I
can. To be sure she’s all right.”

Kate
handed him another cushion. “You haven’t made any promises to me.”

“That’s
not what I mean. I don’t know how to deal with her now.”

“Mac,
if we’re lovers, I can’t advise you. I couldn’t be objective. You should keep
on with your marriage counseling.”

“I’m
not looking for counseling. I don’t need something from the book.” He shoved
the last cushion in and slammed the hatch closed, and she realized he wanted
something from her, something personal. She felt her own unwillingness to
explore the abrupt discomfort between them.

He
said, “I don’t want to save the marriage. It’s over.”

“Counseling
can help with the breakup.” She’d just told him she didn’t want forbidden
topics between them, but she’d lied, because everything in her recoiled from listening
to him talk about his wife. He wanted her to listen as a friend, and she
realized with horror that she was hiding behind the counselor mask ... and
couldn’t stop herself. “Mac, you need to deal with her, and she needs to deal
with you. Instead of you both wandering off with the baggage of the
relationship, work through the separation issues in counseling.”

She
could see he didn’t like the idea.

“If
you were the counselor. The guy we’re going to—”

She
touched his arm. “It can’t be me.”

“No,
not now.”

“Even
before, we were friends. I could never counsel either you or her
professionally. It’s against the rules.”

“Rules?”
He smiled slightly. “Doing right matters to you, doesn’t it? I like that about
you, Kate. A lot.”

J
ennifer
Taylor prowled her parents’ living room, her course erratic from too much of
her father’s best whiskey and a pot of strong coffee. She was dead, her life in
ruins, and she had to wait for her mother to come home and care.

She
couldn’t remember most of the drive from Seattle to Madrona Bay, just the part
where she stopped her dad’s Mercedes—now hers—behind Kate’s Subaru in the
drive.

If
there was one thing in life Jennifer could count on, it was her mother. No
matter that she’d been bitchy with Kate for months. When Jennifer came, needing
mother, Kate would be there with soft, welcoming arms. Kate would know what to
do, even if it was the same advice she gave her clients, and Socrates would
snuffle at their ankles as they hugged. Then Jennifer would cry, and Kate would
soothe her. Then Jennifer would give up every bit of her fear and shame and
terror. She would give it all to her mother.

Everything
will be all right. Mother’s here. Everything will be all right now.

But
after asking her to come home on the phone yesterday, Kate didn’t rush out of
the house to greet her daughter. Worse, Jennifer found the door locked, and she
stood, twisting the knob uselessly, not taking in the obvious.

Her
mother wasn’t home. But her car stood in the drive. Kate had to be here, right
here. Jennifer circled the house, her mind unable to give up the image she’d
held since she picked up her keys in Seattle. Mom, waiting for me to come home.