Lifelines: Kate's Story (5 page)

They’d
been married twenty-five months. Until last month, Richard had arrived home
daily in time for them to watch the ocean sunset together. The first time he
drove in the driveway late, she expected alcohol on his breath, but found only
ice in his blue eyes. She found herself wishing he
would
come home
drunk, give her something to shout at
him
about.

He
had no right to treat her as if she’d committed a mortal sin.

The
truck’s door slammed.

As
his booted foot struck the first step, her portable computer presented a
collage of swirling triangles and polygons. She slid her finger over the touch
pad and the geometric shapes froze, then disappeared in favor of a white
screen, blank except for the words
Contract Law
centered at the top.

Two
booted steps struck the veranda. She typed in a rush:
Repudiation is an act
or declaration which clearly indicates that a party will not perform an act ...

She
flipped a page in her book. The door opened but didn’t slam against the wall.
Rachel typed the words again ...
an act or declaration which clearly indicates
that a party will not perform an act he will not perform if he does not
perform.
She typed through the slam of the door – he’d closed it more
roughly than he opened it. Banging it might damage the inlaid antique glass.
Richard would never break something he’d built himself.

She’d
become accustomed to his voice calling her name as he came through the door,
but for the last twenty-seven days he’d arrived home without words.

The
doorway to the corridor filled with Richard’s muscular body. That’s the first
thing she’d noticed about him—his strength. He wasn’t muscle-bound like a
weight-lifter. He had the solid, tightly-packed body of a man who worked with
his hands. Great body, masculine face, and incredibly sexy mahogany-colored
hair.

Tonight
she couldn’t decide whether she should ignore him, or cross the floor into his
arms and tease him—first into the shower, then to bed. Her groin tightened in
response to her thoughts, and she clutched the computer, bracketing it with her
hands to hold it protectively to her sex.

“You’re
late, Richard.”

“I
suppose I am.”

She
didn’t know what strategy to use with a Richard so cold and unapproachable.

“Didn’t
it occur to you I might be worried?” The computer felt like a trap, pinning her
in place. She closed it and thrust it aside. It beeped in protest.

She
rose to her feet, but felt no more comfortable. He stared at her ... or
through
her. She couldn’t tell, didn’t know how to change the look on his face. All
her knowledge of Richard seemed invalid.

“Is
this how it’s going to be?” She hated the edge of hysteria in her voice. She’d
managed tears at the counselor’s office today, but she would not cry
now. Tears hardened Richard. “Do you plan to come home late every night?”

He
shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans and stared at her with his eyes
hooded and his mouth a hard line.

“Stop
looking at me as if I’m some lower life form! Exactly how many days of
punishment do you plan for me?”

“I’m
not punishing you.”

“Oh,
right! Do you realize that every day this week—every night, you spit gravel all
the way up the drive, then you—” She swallowed hysteria, hated the wave of
tears against her throat and eyes. “Please ... darling ...”

He
turned away from her.

He
would go to the spare room, where he would sleep with his back turned to the
door. That horrid wave of lust caught her again and she reached for him, the
well-formed muscles of his upper arm hard against the palm of her hand.

She
swallowed tears to dry the softness of her voice. “Can’t we ... I need you,
darling. If we made love...”

He
snarled so viciously she jumped away from him.

“
You
need? What about me?” His face loomed over hers, his voice as harsh as the
hands gripping her shoulders. “You told me you wanted my children, but you had
an abortion without telling me, without asking.”

“We’ll
have children later, after I finish school.”

“What
were you thinking when you aborted our baby? ‘
You’re an inconvenience? Get
out of me, you little bastard?
’”

“Damn
you! Damn you!” She sobbed as her fists thumped his chest. “You always knew
what I wanted! You promised you’d send me to law school.”

His
grip bit hard into her arms. “You slipped away like a criminal to get rid of my
child. Should I say,
that’s fine, honey. Don’t worry about it?
”

“Let
go!” She couldn’t get free of the hard prison of his hands. For the first time
she felt physical fear of him. “You’re hurting me!”

He
released her abruptly, backing away, his hands half-extended from his sides.

“Richard
...”

He
backed into the corridor.

She
would have bruises on her shoulders tomorrow. He’d never bruised her before.
She needed to stop him leaving, couldn’t find words, no words at all. The counselor
hadn’t told her how to deal with this, how to fix her marriage.

She
heard their bedroom door, the creaking hinge Richard said he would oil back in
December.
Before.

He’d
been so angry when he found the check. She never intended him to know, but he went
through her bank statement and when he found the check to the women’s clinic,
he’d counted back—two months since she’d had a period. Who would have thought
he’d keep track?

The
bastard, blaming
her.

She
hadn’t seen his fury until that day; never imagined his
hatred
until a
few moments ago. No booze on his breath tonight, although surely everyone got
plastered sometimes, even puritan Richard.

No
booze tonight, just an eruption of nasty feelings like when she squeezed a
pimple and the bad stuff came out. Afterwards, the sore healed.

She
walked towards the sounds, careful to place her feet silently. Richard was
moving about
their
bedroom, not the spare room. He must mean this as a
signal that now he’d vented his fury, he would love her again.

She
stopped in the bathroom, pulled off his socks and checked the polish on her
toenails. Perfect. She applied lipstick, then licked her lips and stared at
herself in the mirror. Did she look sexy? He’d once told her he liked this
knitted top. She hurriedly unfastened her bra and struggled out of it, pulled
the short sweater back over her breasts, and felt her nipples bead in
anticipation.

Three
weeks was so long.

If
only he hadn’t pried into that bank statement. Until then, he’d trusted her,
loved her. She licked her lips, nervousness this time, and walked out of the
bathroom. The bedroom door stood half-open, an invitation. She breathed deeply,
grasped the door, and pulled it open.

Richard
stood with his back to her, the top drawer of the tallboy open. Behind him on
the bed lay the soft-walled suitcase she knew he’d carried around the world.

“You
can’t leave!”

He
grabbed a fist full of socks and jockey shorts and dropped them in the
suitcase, then he shoved the drawer closed and pulled open the next one. Jeans,
t-shirts.

“Richard,
you promised you would never leave me.”

He
dropped the jeans on top of the underwear and walked to the closet.

“Richard!”

He
dumped three shirts into the suitcase, all jumbled. Then he brushed past her
and into the hall. She turned to track him with her eyes. He strode three steps
to the bathroom, returned with his blue zippered shaving bag.

“You
can’t leave me!”

He
strode past as if she weren’t there. The shaving bag seemed to end his
preparations, because he slapped the top over the open case and yanked the zip
around three sides. Then he stood and looked at her.

“Darling,
I need you.”

“You’ll
have bruises on your arms.”

She
lifted her hand to cover her throbbing upper arm. “I don’t care. I love you.”

“A
few minutes ago, I wanted to strike you. I’ve never wanted to hit a woman
before.”

She
grabbed both his arms. “You love me. We’ll go away together. A weekend alone,
somewhere we can—right now, tonight.”

He
unfastened her hands and picked up his suitcase.

“You’ll
come back. The house – this house. You built this house and you love it.”

“Rachel,
I don’t know what I feel, or what I’ll do.”

She
trailed him through the door and onto the porch. She hated begging, but
couldn’t stop herself. “What if I need to talk to you? What if I need money, or
something goes wrong with my car?”

“If
your car gets sick, take it to a mechanic, like everyone else.” He tossed the
suitcase in the pickup bed and yanked open the driver’s door of his truck. “If
you run out of money, find a job. I don’t give a damn.”

She
screamed after him until his taillights disappeared and she felt tears slide
down her cheeks. She stared into the dark, frozen in anticipation, as if the
night held magic to bring him back.

Just
a bad dream ... like the fire ... like her father.

Richard’s
truck would reappear and life would be wonderful again.

He’d
promised he would never leave her, but he’d left her more alone than she’d ever
been before. She turned back to the house he built, walked slowly up the stairs
and through his door. Inside, she approached the antique desk he’d refinished
after she’d found it at an auction. She took out their checkbook.

She
still needed books for her courses, a minimum of four hundred dollars. Unless
he froze the account and pulled the money out, she’d be able to buy them with
her debit card. If she took all the money out first thing Monday morning,
transferred it to her own account ... he would find out, and he’d be even
angrier.

So
she would take the four hundred dollars now and add it to the seven thousand
she’d built up over the last two years. Then she’d pay for the books with
Richard’s Visa card.

What
if he asked her to leave the house?

What
if he hated her forever?

When
the telephone rang, she realized Richard hadn’t meant any of the words he said.
He was already on his way back to her. She stumbled as she rounded the corner
into the living room, grasped the phone and yanked it to her ear.

“Yes?”

“Rachel?
Is that you?” Denny, Richard’s foreman.

“What
do you want?” She could have sobbed her frustration.

“I
know it’s late, but I need to speak to Mac.”

His
name is Richard, you asshole!

She
tucked the receiver harder against her ear and wrapped her free hand across her
midriff, the skin cold now where the sweater left it exposed. Sexy sweater with
no bra.

Richard
hadn’t even noticed.

“Is
Mac there?”

“He’s
out.”

“Oh.”

The
pause stretched to seconds and Rachel felt humiliation. Denny would soon know
Richard had left, didn’t love her enough to stay.

Denny
said, “I’ll try his cell phone, then.”

“Do
that.” The bastard.

“Okay,
thanks.” Still, he didn’t hang up. “Is everything okay?”

“Fine.”

What
had her mother used to say about the word
fine
? Something ugly and
negative, words she couldn’t remember, or didn’t want to remember.

“You’re
okay? Mac’s okay?”

“We’re
fine.” Something about all fucked up, except the words fit the letters
f-i-n-e, converting a positive word into an ugly acronym to
slap Rachel’s face.

How
are you, mom?

I’m
fine.

T
hree
o’clock in the morning, rain pounding outside, the sheets icy cold on David’s
side of the bed. David, who loved to ski in Colorado, had always laughed when
Kate complained of the winter cold.

Kate
fled the memory-laden bed and rummaged in the closet until she found a thick
sweatshirt of David’s. Socrates watched her dress from his spot on the bedroom
carpet.

Outside,
the rain felt so icy her teeth chattered as she put Socrates in the pen, and
herself in the car. She hadn’t locked the house, shouldn’t depend on Socrates
for security. Three in the morning, miserable icy rain. If someone wanted to
break in, let them.

The
car growled when she turned the key, then the engine caught and she gripped the
cold steering wheel, surrounded by the ragged sound of the Subaru’s engine, her
world blanketed in darkness.

Kate
turned left at the road, away from the contractor’s embryonic house. The world
felt quiet, solitary. One more turn and she reached Coast Road, broad curves
along the black water. Her wheels skimmed over wet pavement.

She
should have brought Socrates, but couldn’t bear his watching eyes. She’d woken
with David’s pillow gripped to her chest, her body flushed with arousal and the
echo of her husband’s touch. She’d flung the pillow away and stumbled free of
the blankets while Socrates watched with disapproval. She’d felt shame, as if
David’s dreamtime touch constituted a sin.

She’d
lost her mind, an elderly dog the only witness.

If
David were here, he’d worry about her night driving. Guilt made her grip the
wheel tighter, as if she were a teenager, her father glaring out the kitchen
window as he waited for her to come home from a date. As if she were still
Katie, filled with passion and carelessness.

David
had tamed her.

When
Coast Road joined the secondary highway to Madrona Bay, Kate turned away from
town and pushed down on the throttle. As the Subaru climbed away from the
ocean, the physical hangover from her half-remembered David dream eased,
replaced by memories.