Lifelines: Kate's Story (45 page)

“Better
dig out his name and address for the sheriff.” Sam looked at his watch.

“What
about the building? When can I get in? I’m starting a new job Tuesday. I need
tools out of here, and re-bar.”

“I’ll
let you know when.”

M
ac
couldn’t make sense of the fire, and from the looks of him, Socrates agreed. It
wasn’t as if the kid he’d fired would benefit if Mac’s place burned down.
Revenge? Mac didn’t understand revenge as a motive; it ate up the vengeful and
returned nothing.

“I
don’t believe the kid did it.”

Socrates
agreed, but if it wasn’t the kid, when who?

R
achel
spent Sunday listening to Madrona Bay’s local radio station. She didn’t know
what else to do. She wasn’t stupid enough to make an anonymous call to the
police or fire department.

Eventually,
someone would find Richard.

The
item finally appeared on the five o’clock news:

Arson
is suspected in last night’s fire at a local construction company. The
company’s owner sustained minor injuries. Police and fire department officials
are investigating.

Minor
injuries! How could that be?

Arson,
the radio said. They already suspected arson. Had she made a mistake? Left
something behind? If Richard wasn’t dead, why hadn’t he called her? Did he know
she’d set the fire? Did the police know?

No,
of course not. If the police knew, they would come to the house. They’d ask
questions. If they did come, she had all the answers. She’d worked everything
out, and she hadn’t left anything behind.

Minor
injuries ... arson ... local construction company. The police probably suspected
the competition, perhaps a rival contractor.

Richard
was alive.

If
there were another fire ... they’d be even more certain it was a competitor or a
rival, wouldn’t they? But she couldn’t do another fire, because she’d taken the
padlock; Richard would have replaced it by now.

In
any case, after a fire he probably wouldn’t sleep there again.

Where
would he go? He didn’t like hotels; he’d told her so every time she suggested
taking a trip to Hawaii or Cancun.

He
might go to Denny’s house. Or maybe to the woman’s he’d talked about. But, damn
him, he hadn’t told her the woman’s name.

There
weren’t many places Richard could meet a woman. He worked with men, and he didn’t
go to bars. Had the woman hired him to build that house out in the Crocker
Subdivision? She supposed he’d told her, but she couldn’t remember if he was
building the house for a man, a woman, or a family.

If
he wasn’t with the woman, he’d be at the job. Work was all he lived for. She
grabbed her purse, had the door open before she stopped herself. If he was
there at the new house, either alone or with the woman, she couldn’t let her
car be seen in the area.

She
waited until six in the evening, when she knew Denny would be home. While she
waited, she got out Kate’s communication handouts and planned her words. Then,
just before she called, she did the breathing exercise Kate had taught her.
Breathe in ... one, two, three. Out now, slowly, and count.

Unfortunately,
Jocelyn answered the phone.

“Hello,
Jocelyn. How’s your lovely baby?”

She
listened to enough of the answer for politeness, then said, “I hate to bother
you when you’re so busy with the baby. Could I just have a word with Denny?”

She
hated having to be nice to people. And why should she? No one did anything for
Rachel except break promises. First her father, then Richard. All lies.

Denny
sounded uncomfortable when he got to the phone.

Rachel
reminded herself of Kate’s communication rules. First she would be nice, then
she’d share her feelings, and then ask for what she wanted.

“Thank
you for talking to me, Denny.”

“Ah...”

“I’m
worried about Richard ... that awful fire.”

“Yeah,
it’s a hell of a thing.”

Rachel
made a concerned sound. “Richard wouldn’t say much about it when he called me.
I know he doesn’t want to worry me. But, Denny, I am worried. We’ve separated,
but I still care about Richard as a dear friend, and of course I worry about
him. But I knew if I asked you, you’d tell me the truth. Is he hurt badly?”

“He
got burned a bit, but he’s up and around now.”

“That
fire—who do they think—” No, she needed to show more worry about Richard first.
“I was terrified when I heard—Was he sleeping when it started?”

“Yeah,
he was. He barely got out. If it weren’t for the dog, he’d be dead now.”

“The
dog?”

“Socrates
woke Mac up. If he hadn’t, they’d be dead. I mean—Mac’s OK.”

“His
name’s Richard, not Mac, and he
doesn’t
have a dog.” As soon as she said
the words, she cursed herself for stupidity. If Richard had a dog, Denny would
expect her to know about it. She needed to breathe properly. She tried, but all
she could think about was the dog.

“Richard
wouldn’t name a dog Socrates?”

“I
guess Kate named him—at least, it’s her dog.”

“Kate?”
Rachel hadn’t told anyone about her counselor. “What do you know about Kate?”

“She
... I mean. She lives down the street from the Crocker Subdivision job. I
don’t—actually, I don’t know anything ...”

He
wasn’t talking about Rachel’s Kate. Not Kate the counselor, but Kate who lived
down the street. She’d been right. If Richard met a woman, he must have met her
at work ... the woman down the street.

“Thank
you, Denny.”

“Rachel,
I’m sure there’s—Mac—Richard’s  just dog-sitting.”

“Denny,
don’t worry.” Her voice sounded so light, she should be an actress. “Richard
and I have decided to go our separate ways, but we’re very fond of each other.
I know all about Kate. You needn’t worry that you let the cat out of the bag.”

Or
the dog, thought Rachel grimly.

T
he closer
Kate got to Madrona Bay, the more thoughts of Mac filled her mind.

When
she left Jennifer in Seattle, her daughter said, “Tell Mac I look forward to
meeting him in person.”

Soon,
Kate would tell Jennifer that Mac was no longer part of her life, but
meanwhile, she treasured Jennifer’s acceptance. Perhaps Jennifer’s change in
attitude was a symbol of Kate’s own growth, because somewhere, in the tossed
salad of life—between Jennifer and David and Han and Evelyn and Rachel and
Michael’s ghost and Socrates and Mac—somewhere in there, Kate had found herself
as a woman, not a widow.

Mac
was an important piece of the journey, both as her friend and her lover. She’d
felt so energized the night she went to him—the second time they’d made love,
but for her it would always be the first, because when she dressed deliberately
for that night with her lover, she accepted her connection to life fully, with
both her body and her mind.

In
using Mac to affirm her commitment to life, she’d created an ethical mess.

The
first rule of counseling. Shit happens.

The
amazing thing was that she felt whole. She could feel everything—sadness, joy,
regret, grief, love—and there was room for all those pieces inside her. Right
now, in this single moment, she was at peace. The counselor in her knew the
moment would pass, but she knew also that having been here, she would find her
way again.

She
arrived at Taylor Road about three, but drove past her turnoff to the end of
the road. She would pick up Socrates now, before she slipped off this pinnacle
of equilibrium.

She
saw a red car parked outside the house Mac had built, but no sign of Mac’s
truck. As Kate watched, a woman stepped onto the porch and for a moment, Kate
thought it was Rachel.

No,
not Rachel, nor was Mac the man who joined her and put his arms around her
waist. These would be Mac’s clients, the couple from Seattle who’d bought the
property last year. They’d moved in already.

No
rocking chair on the veranda. Mac was finished here.

At
home, she unlocked the house and went straight to the phone. The house felt
neutral, like a stranger’s. She dialed Mac’s number from memory and he answered
on the second ring.

“I’m
back. Are you at the construction yard? I’ll come pick Socrates up.”

“I’ll
bring him to you. I’ll be there in about half an hour.”

“No,
Mac. I can—”

But
he’d already hung up.

He
wants to see you.

You
need to be clear with him. The ethics aren’t flexible. There’s no room for
close friendship and dog-exchanges. You can’t cheat, Kate. You know the rules ...

She
went into the bedroom and changed into jeans and a sweatshirt. She would have
liked a shower after so many hours on the road, but she wasn’t about to take a
chance on being caught half-dressed—or naked—when Mac drove up with Socrates.
Before, she’d had no way of knowing she was violating ethics. Now she knew, and
it was her responsibility to keep their contact to a minimum.

The
bedroom overflowed with signs of David: the brush on the dresser; the jockey
shorts in the top drawer. Time to finish what she’d started last week, and she
may as well start while she waited for Mac and Socrates.

She
carried a half-dozen boxes from the garage into the bedroom. She started with
David’s suits, which she folded and placed in the boxes. Then she added jeans,
sweatshirts and underwear. As she touched his clothes, she remembered, but no
tears came, and the pillow where David once laid his head was now only a
pillow. It no longer waited for David.

“I
love you, David. I’ll always miss you.”

In
the silence around her, she thought David heard.

Someone
knocked on the front door.

Mac.

Ironically,
she realized that now she could have brought Mac into her bedroom and made love
with him there. Except, of course, she couldn’t.

She
opened the door to Mac’s unsmiling face and knew she hadn’t learned enough to
make this final goodbye easy. She dropped to her knees and hugged Socrates. The
dog seemed to lean into her, the way he did with Mac, the way he had with
David.

When
she stood, she saw the bandage on Mac’s arm.

“What
happened?”

He
ran his undamaged hand through his hair and she saw strain around his eyes.

She
opened the door wider. “You better come in. You’re limping. Were you in an
accident?”

He
favored his right arm as he took the jacket off, and she saw the bandage
wrapped all the way to his elbow. Car accident?  She felt panic at the thought
of Mac destroyed in a cruel tangle of automotive steel, and in that moment she
understood how selfish she’d been to drive wildly through the nights, risking
pain to everyone she loved.

“You
look exhausted. How much sleep did you get last night?”

He
sat in the kitchen chair she pulled out. She made herself study him with her
counselor’s eyes. Shock, she decided. He hadn’t said a word yet. “I’m making
you something to eat.” Soup, she decided, and opened a tin of pea soup. “Talk,”
she commanded.

“There
was a fire.”

Something
lurched inside Kate’s belly. She scooped the thick soup into a big bowl and set
it in the microwave. Then she pulled a loaf of frozen bread from the freezer
and dropped two slices into the toaster. When she sat across from him, he
hadn’t added any details. She recognized the signs that followed trauma, and
knew he needed to talk.

“Tell
me.”

As
he described the events of Saturday night, she felt her nausea grow. When he
finished, she went to Socrates, who lay at Mac’s feet. She sank down and took
the dog’s face between her hands. Socrates stared into her eyes.

“I
gave him steak last night,” said Mac. “I told him I owe him a steak every
Sunday night for the next year.”

Mac
spoke as if he and Socrates would see each other every Sunday for the next
year. She mustn’t let that go, but first something more urgent was eating at
her.