Lifelines: Kate's Story (4 page)

Kate
searched for words to fill the empty space. “You must miss it. I remember how
much you liked bridge.”

“It
doesn’t matter.”

Foursomes
around the kitchen table Saturday nights. Kate in her mother’s place, ineptly
bidding her hand while Evelyn prepared food and her father pointed out
strategies, as if his seven-year-old daughter could remember every card played.

“I
thought I’d come up next Friday.” Words to fill the silence.

“Does
it have to be Friday?”

Kate
preferred Fridays for her visits to Evelyn. She had the morning off, but the
visit was bound by her need to return to the office by one.

“Is
there a problem with Friday? Are you going out?”

“Where
would I go?”

“I
can put it off if there’s a problem.”

“It’s
a long time, a week. I wish you’d come sooner.”

“I
could come Monday, take you out to lunch.” Since David’s death, she hadn’t
worked Mondays. Until now,
Madrona Legacy
had taken up the extra day.

“My
legs bother me far too much to go out.”

“I’ll
bring lunch. I’ll come about eleven-thirty Monday.”

“I’ll
cook lunch.” Evelyn sounded outraged.

“I
won’t be able to stay long. I have a one-thirty client.”

Damn
you, Kate, no lies!

“If
you don’t want to come, it doesn’t matter.”

“I’ll
see you Monday, Mom.”

“You
don’t have to—”

“Bye,
Mom. I love you.”

She
hung up quickly, her stomach clenched with nausea. For years she’d tried to
make her mother happy, to repair a years-old wrong she couldn’t understand.
Despite her psychology degree, it wasn’t until David came into her life that
she was able to distance herself from her mother’s neediness.

She
needed David to give her balance, because Evelyn could still tie her stomach in
knots with a dozen words:
You ruined my life. Because of you, Han sent us
both away.

At
sixteen, she hadn’t understood. At forty-nine, Kate knew Evelyn would never
explain.

Suddenly,
the phone on the wall rang.

She
had no energy for another conversation with her mother, not tonight, but her
hand grasped the receiver against her will.

“Mrs.
Taylor?” A mature woman’s voice, hesitant.

Breathe,
Kate. Strange voices don’t mean disaster.

“It’s
Louise Callahan.”

“Yes?”

“I’m
your mother’s neighbor.”

“Oh.”
The house nearest the back door, two stories, green shutters and vinyl siding.
“Yes, of course. What can I do for you, Mrs. Callahan?”

“It’s
about your mother. I don’t like to interfere, but I’m worried.”

“Yes?”
Pretend you’re in a counseling session. Don’t speak. Just wait.

For
Christ’s sake, spit it out. Just say it, so I don’t have to spend my life
tethered to the end of the kitchen counter by the telephone cord.

After
this call, she was going to get the remote phone from David’s office and start
using it. She’d been avoiding his remote for six months, but this was
ridiculous.

“It’s
my boarder. The man who lives downstairs?”

There’d
been men from the moment they left Anchorage. Trust her mother to acquire a new
boyfriend without leaving the house.

“Mrs.
Callahan—may I call you Louise?”

“Oh,
yes. You’ll think I’m interfering. At first I felt happy for Evelyn. She’s
suffered so much, and Noel Wilson seems a very nice man. But today I went down
for the rent check, and I saw it. I mean, it’s not my business, but it was
right there.”

It?
Condoms?

“Louise,
I don’t think you’re interfering.” Another lie. She couldn’t seem to escape
falsehoods. “Tell me what you saw.”

“A
check.”

“You
checked?”

“Her
check, made out to Noel. She gave him money.”

“If
my mother wants to loan—”

“Ten
thousand dollars ... Mrs. Taylor—”

“It’s
Kate. Did you—you did say ten thousand dollars?”

“I
know she’s loaned him money before, but this—I had to tell you.”

All
those men. Kate often wondered what they saw in a woman who couldn’t love her
own daughter. Was it money?

“Kate?”

“Sorry,
I—thank you, Louise. It couldn’t have been easy to call me. I appreciate your
concern.”

Ten
thousand dollars ...

It’s
her money. Let her do what she wants with it.

Was
ten thousand dollars enough to buy love? Could Evelyn afford ten thousand
dollars? Kate’s mother refused to consider new clothes, wouldn’t go out to dinner.
Could it be because she needed every cent to buy artificial love from men?

This
couldn’t wait until Monday. Noel Wilson would deposit the check Monday; Kate
needed to act before the banks opened again.

Socrates
watched from the doorway to David’s office.

David,
your dog doesn’t like me.

Kate,
you’re delusional.

I’m
delusional? You hide in history, leaving me chaperoned by your damned dog...
and now you’re gone forever. Jennifer and your prejudiced dog both blame me for
your death, and I don’t have the strength for my mother.

Of
all the people in the world to be left alone with—her mother.

E
velyn
Stewardson stared at the telephone on her kitchen table. She yearned to call
Kate back, to talk until Kate assured her she
wanted
to come Monday, to
see her mother.

Kate
... so like her father. Obstinate. Cold.

Evelyn
opened her cigarette box and lifted out one cigarette. Lighter, spark,
cigarette between lips. She sucked in the smoke and felt the familiar bite in
her lungs. Kate would complain about the smoke Monday, would try to make her
mother feel guilty.

If
it weren’t for Kate, Evelyn would still be with Han.

Through
her kitchen curtains, she saw the light appear in the basement window next
door. She stubbed her cigarette out, then discovered another smoldering butt in
the ashtray and stubbed it out too. She admired the way the sleeve of her
flowered caftan trailed from her arm, then eased herself onto aching feet and
turned off her kitchen light before she touched the curtains.

She
couldn’t see if Noel’s door was open or not. She fumbled her slippers off,
pulled on the shoes Kate bought her for Christmas. As if she needed Velcro
fasteners, she thought angrily.

At
the back door, she lifted the white sweater Kate gave her for her last birthday.
The sweater would hide the caftan, but without it the cold would bite.

She
eased open her back door and stepped onto the porch. Kate said Evelyn should
use a cane, but she refused to hobble through life with a cane attached like an
embryonic wheelchair. She absolutely did
not
need a cane. She held the
rail with one hand, gathered the folds of her caftan in the other, and stepped
carefully down two steps, then onto the gravel path. She felt the caftan brush
her calves when she dropped it, and she walked carefully out onto the lawn.

Night
blanketed everything but the lights from next door. From his usual chair on the
patio, Noel should be able to see her. She would be unconscious of him,
gracefully moving ... examining her garden, enjoying the scent...

No,
too cold in January, the flowers dead. She must be
planning
the garden,
dreaming of floral scents on the summer breeze.

She
stepped to the edge of the garden and carefully averted her eyes from
his
basement
suite. She heard a sound. A cigarette lighter, she decided.

“Good
evening, Evelyn.”

She
gasped, just as she’d planned, then turned and said breathlessly, “Noel! I
thought I was alone.”

His
shadow grew as he rose from the lawn chair. She’d always liked tall men. “Will
you join me?” he asked in his gentle voice. “I’m lonely tonight. I’d love your
company.”

Her
laugh sounded breathless, she decided, like a young girl’s. “Are you sure you
wouldn’t rather be alone?”

“I’d
rather be with you,” he said gallantly, and she smiled her pleasure. He walked
like a young man. When he reached her, he touched her arm. “I’ve been sitting
here, wishing you’d come out to share the evening with me.”

With
his hand guiding her like a film hero’s, she walked with no limp and let him
urge her into a chair. He took a cigarette package from his pocket, tailor
made, not home rolls like hers. She watched as he lit his lighter for her, his
face earnest as she puffed until the coals glowed at the end of her cigarette.

“Eve,
share some of your wisdom with me. I don’t know what to do.”

She
wondered if he would sense her sympathy if she put her hand on his arm, or if
he might think she intended some intimacy.

“What’s
wrong?” She hoped the words sounded sympathetic and wise. He believed her wise
and warm, so she tried to make her words match.

J
ennifer
Taylor paced the room. Nine o’clock and Alain had
promised
to come by
eight. Too late now for the slow, romantic dancing she’d planned.

She
burst into the bathroom, slammed the door closed, then glared at her image in
the mirror. She’d begun at five with a perfumed bubble bath. Then she’d creamed
herself all over and painted fingernails and toenails.

She
picked up a lip brush now and carefully repaired the color on her lower lip.
She mustn’t let herself bite her lips tonight. She tilted her head back and
examined the line of her throat. Was Wendy beautiful, or ordinary? Jennifer had
driven to the school where Alain’s wife taught today, had parked outside and
waited over an hour to see Wendy, but although the doors opened again and
again, no wheelchair appeared.

Jennifer
backed away from the mirror and stepped up on the edge of the bathtub where she
could see her own silk-clad legs. She had good legs and a smooth, young throat.
The top two buttons of her bodice revealed feminine curves enhanced by
expensive black lace. She turned her head until black hair slid over her
shoulders.

Alain
loved her long hair.

She
trailed her finger down between the open lapels of her bodice. The dress was
worth every dollar, worth lying to her mother about the car. Alain would
notice, and after being late he would feel guilty. After all, tomorrow was her
birthday.

Finally,
she heard his car through the open window.

She
picked up her handbag and slipped out her door and down the stairs in time to
shake her head at Sandra, who’d already gripped the doorknob. When Sandra
shrugged and melted away, Jennifer waited for Alain to knock again.

She
wanted him to worry. He was so late, she might have left already. After all,
there were other men. When she finally opened the door, she feigned surprise
well enough she could see the confusion in his eyes.

“Alain,
I thought you weren’t coming.”

R
achel
Hardesty nestled in the corner of the sofa, her notebook computer balanced on
crossed legs. The kindling in the fireplace lay ready, but whenever she tried
to light the fire, it fizzled out. She’d put on Richard’s wool socks and she
could have turned the heat up, but she wanted the January chill to remind her
husband he should have installed a gas fireplace. Except for that wood-burning
hole in the wall, this room looked perfect: the soft ivory carpet, the
turquoise and ivory sofa Richard had bought under protest, and those
five-hundred-dollar brass lamps.

Almost
midnight. Where the hell was he?

The
intricacies of consumer contracts had become confusingly complex over the last
three hours. Repudiation ... the book balanced on the arm of her sofa referred to
it in the familiar terms one uses for
the freeway.
Why had her father
never explained repudiation?

A
truck outside.

Panic
tightened her chest. Should she push computer and books aside to meet Richard
at the door, or let him find her focused on her law project, oblivious to his
arrival?