Dumping Billy (34 page)

Kate stood in a patch of sunshine and watched the kids all around her. Andrew Country Day was one of the few city schools that had been able to maintain an almost campuslike setting. Old trees, including a giant willow, and a perfect border of manicured lawn gave the enclave the beauty and dignity of a New England college quad.

She felt her first year had been successful but wasn’t quite certain that Dr. McKay and the board shared her view. When Michael had assumed she would leave Andrew Country Day, she had suddenly realized how much the job meant to her, the deep pleasure it gave her. The scene around her was so lovely and her work with the children so meaningful that she felt she couldn’t part with them. A small but dark voice within her whispered that she would never be allowed so much personal happiness without suffering a professional loss of some sort. Of course, she recognized the fear as superstitious nonsense, something from her childhood that would probably always haunt her when things went well.

Kate brushed a wisp of hair from her face and drew it back into her barrette. A group of fifth-grade girls sat in the grass in the sun, as languid and colorful as the women in a Monet painting. “Hi, Dr. Jameson!” Brian Conroy yelled as he streaked across the lawn, and Kate winced. Dr. McKay was somewhat obsessive about “his” lawn, and running on it was strictly against the rules. But Kate didn’t have the heart to scold him. He looked happy, at least for the moment.

The breeze died down and the sun grew warmer. Kate took off her sweater, tied it around her shoulders, and surveyed the schoolyard.

She thought of Billy and smiled. Of course, if she allowed herself to think too much, doubts and questions crept in. Was she deluding herself about Billy being the right sort of man for her? Brooklyn, alcohol, Irish men, dysfunctional families—how could she go back to everything she had run from?

To retain her happiness, Kate put Billy and the future out of her mind, simply watching over the children running and playing in front of her. She smiled. It was almost like watching seawater eddy in tidepools—the children’s allegiances, posses, and games changed at different rates, making swirls of motion that were faster in one corner, slower in the middle, and stagnant at one side.

Again her hair escaped from its mooring and blew across her face. As she grabbed it, her fingers brushed her jawline in exactly the way Billy’s had stroked it just hours ago. A little shiver ran down her spine, and she felt a flutter in her stomach. Sleeping with him had been so extraordinary, so passionate but tender, that thinking about it seemed dangerous—Kate was afraid she might discover that it was all a dream and have to awaken to a much colder reality.

She walked over to the willow but didn’t take a seat on the bench beside it. It was well-known that Dr. McKay frowned on staff sitting when on playground duty. Instead she leaned one hand against the bench, picked up a tendril of the willow in the other, and again lifted her face to the sun. It amazed her how life could change in such sudden, profound ways. She felt, for once, like one of the lucky ones, one of the people in the world for whom things worked out, someone who could simply exist and breathe warm air without struggling. She felt as if everything she wanted would come to her.

Although she wasn’t sure she wanted Dr. McKay, when Kate turned her head she saw him scuttling toward her on the flagstone path across the lawn. She straightened, and the bit of the willow wand still in her hand broke off. She hadn’t talked to him since she’d called in her absence. The thought made her blush.

“Dr. Jameson,” Dr. McKay began, “I’ve been wanting to talk to you.”

Kate felt another flutter, but this one was not nearly so pleasant. Was he going to criticize her for daydreaming or for neglecting to scold the girls who were sitting on the lawn despite the interdict against it? Worse yet, was he about to reject her contract renewal? Was the small, dark voice the voice of truth?

But Dr. McKay looked at her with something approaching a smile, and to her relief he ignored his precious sod for once. “I’m glad I caught you here,” he said, and for a moment his voice sounded almost cordial. “Your contract is up for renewal, and the board and I would like to extend it.” He paused. “We feel that you are becoming an important part of the Andrew Country Day School tradition.”

“Thank you,” Kate said. “I’m very happy here, and I hope I’m making a contribution.”

Dr. McKay nodded, his face once again poker straight, as if he had lost all his cordiality chips. “Good. Vera will have your renewal contract.”

As he walked away, Kate watched his narrow back and managed to feel some affection for him, even when he waved the fifth-grade girls off the lawn.

The bell rang, the children began to line up, and Kate was free to go back to her office. But on the way down the hall, Elliot appeared at his classroom door.

“Are you trying to avoid me?” he asked.

She averted her eyes. “No, of course not.”

“Look, I figured it out. I know who your mystery man is and why you’re embarrassed to tell me.”

“Shh,” Kate said anxiously, and took hold of his sleeve. “Come into my office.” She was filled with dread. Elliot knew, and he would tell everyone, and Brooklyn would be abuzz with the news.

Once in the office, Elliot closed the door and she turned to face him. “I figured it out,” he repeated complacently. “It’s Max. You’re sleeping with Max and you’re embarrassed. But there’s nothing wrong with him. I’ve always thought he was kinda hot myself. It might be a little awkward after you end it, since he lives just upstairs, but any port in a storm.”

For a moment Kate was tempted to let him think he’d found her out. But she simply couldn’t lie to such a close friend.

“Okay. What is it, then?” Elliot demanded as she shook her head.

“Dr. McKay wants to renew my contract,” Kate told him.

“That’s not what I’m talking about.” Elliot stopped and looked her over. “You’re seeing
him,
aren’t you?” he said accusingly.

Once again Kate felt her complexion betray her. As a blush suffused her cheeks, she turned her eyes away. “Yes,” she said.

For a minute, Elliot was stunned into silence. Then he shook his head. “You little sneak. I should have known you were up to something,” he said. “I thought, well, I suspected you might be thinking of that idiot Steven. But no, you have to sniff out worse trouble. And I didn’t think there could be worse trouble than Steven Kaplan.”

Kate, who thought she was prepared for Elliot’s anger, was taken aback. “You don’t even know Billy,” she said. “To you he’s some kind of magic charm, some statistical improbability.”

“And what is he to you? A good bonk? Because that would be all he’s good for.”

Kate felt herself go livid, and the blood that drained from her face actually made her almost dizzy. “I appreciate your concern,” she said, her voice cold. “But I don’t think you know what you’re talking about.”

“Right! I haven’t been around for the last ten years to witness and dissect every bump and curve in your so-called love life. You forget whom you’re talking to, Kate.” He pointed to the drawings on her walls, many of them new, farewell gifts from children who would not see her until the autumn. “You want to mess up your life?” Elliot asked, his voice lowered. “I’ve watched you grow in the last year. Michael might not be right for you, but he was stable and a professional and probably a good father-to-be.” He moved closer to her, but Kate pulled away. If he touched her, she was afraid she might slap his hand away.

“You’re being unfair and horrible,” she said, and realized she sounded like a child. She took a deep breath. She owed a lot to Elliot: his loyalty, his friendship, his help in graduate school, and his assistance in getting her this job that she loved. But it didn’t give him the right to judge her let alone Billy in this way. “You don’t understand,” she said.

“Oh, yes, I do. I know masochism when I see it. And I’m staring at it right now.”

“Shut up,” Kate told him, her voice lowered to a hiss.

Elliot shrugged and turned away. In the midst of walking out, however, he turned back to her. “Out of the frying pan and into the furnace. This is going on your permanent record, missy.”

Chapter Thirty-nine

K
ate looked at the pan bubbling on Billy’s burner. It certainly didn’t look appetizing, but it smelled pretty good, though she couldn’t honestly say she was hungry. Her argument with Elliot that afternoon had not only upset her (and her stomach), it had also made her nervous. What was she doing here? Elliot had told her this was only a get-over-Michael fling, but it didn’t feel like one. It felt . . . well, she needed to hear that this feeling she had for Billy, who was poking at the contents of the pan with a fork, was mutual.

He was cooking dinner for the two of them. Kate was keeping out of his way while he worked over the shallow pan, in which he seemed to be simmering a lot of tomato sauce, meat, and capers. “What is it?” she had asked him, looking at it doubtfully.

“An old Nolan family recipe. Hey, don’t judge it until you’ve tried it.” He grinned at her expression, then reached around her for the bottle of red wine he was using in the sauce. “Listen, before I forget, would you like to go out for lunch on Saturday? I’ll have to work Saturday night.”

Kate shook her head. “I have a previous engagement,” she said. “Bina’s bridal shower. How about Friday?”

“That sounds good,” he said. Then he shrugged. “We’ve got the bar booked for Bina’s fiancé’s bachelor party. Let me tell you, I’m not looking forward to that.”

Kate looked down at the pan again and thought about Bina and how upset she seemed. Between the end of school and her time with Billy, Kate hadn’t had much time for her friend and couldn’t bear to hear all the ongoing wedding preparation details. Bina was obviously bewildered about her seeming indifference.

Seeing the look on her face, Billy patted her shoulder. “Don’t you worry, everybody likes it. It’s a guaranteed way to tenderize the toughest meat. My mom used to make it.” He had never spoken of his mother before, except to say she was dead. For a moment Kate considered asking about her but decided against it.

She took the glass of red wine Billy had poured her in between doctoring the sauce and wandered over to the window. After her fight with Elliot, he had called to make up. He’d asked her to meet him for a drink, but she’d been forced to admit that she was spending the night with Billy. Elliot had made his disapproval obvious and vocal. Kate had tried to ignore all of the calmer, more logical things he had said to dissuade her: how Billy was a playboy and she was barking up the wrong tree, how Elliot loved her but didn’t want to have to “pick up the pieces.” Then he had stopped, as if at a sudden thought. “You’re not doing this just to get a proposal, are you?” he’d asked. “After all, you turned Michael down and you don’t know what the cat might drag in after Billy dumps you.”

The words had chilled her. “I never believed that ridiculous theory,” she had snapped.

“How can you say that?” he’d asked. “It got Bina engaged. Proof positive.”

With a lot of effort and sidestepping, Kate had managed to convince him that she was not taking this affair seriously. Now, as she stared out the window at the rain, she admitted to herself that she had lied. She was taking Billy seriously, and she was beginning to hope that his feelings for her were totally sincere. Elliot’s assured assumption that Billy would, of course, dump her had shaken her more than she liked to admit. Was it possible that she was nothing to him but another notch on his belt? She looked over at him, busily throwing far too much pepper into the pan. He wasn’t even wearing a belt, for God’s sake, and his Levi’s rode his hips in the most provocative way. Kate turned away. She’d never looked at Michael with this kind of carnal longing.

She gazed around the room. Steven’s West Side apartment had always looked like a student’s place with its sprung sofa and the books he still had in cartons, while Michael’s place, though it was neater and furnished with new Ikea pieces, looked in comparison temporary. But Billy’s three big rooms indicated that he had put down deep roots. Beneath her feet, the Persian rug in blue and maroon looked faded and worn, as if his grandmother might have walked on it. The Chesterfield sofa didn’t look as if it had been bought from a catalog—the oxblood leather didn’t appear to have been professionally “distressed” at the factory before it was shipped. But there were new things, too: On one wall there was a big art piece—Kate couldn’t call it a painting or a collage because it was something in between, a crazy-quilt consisting of torn bits of white paper glued to a white canvas. On the wall between the windows there was a small abstract of a woman lying under what looked like a very fluffy duvet. And over the sofa, hanging in a row, was a series of lithographs. Kate studied them.

“What do you think?” Billy asked her. He had come out of the kitchen. “Are they art, or did the artist who owed me a big tab rip me off?”

She smiled at him. “I like them,” she said.

He took an appraising look. “I think I do,” he said, and indicated the art on the walls with a flourish of the meat fork still in his hand. “Valuable art or bad debts. You be the judge.” He smiled. “Dinner’s almost ready.”

Kate nodded, and Billy disappeared back into the kitchen. Watching him, she had to admit that Billy Nolan was the first man she had felt this kind of desire for. It was too comfortable to be infatuation, but too passionate to be completely comfortable. Most likely, it would end in tears. And the rain against the window seemed appropriate.

“Hey! How about a little help here?” Billy asked, coming out of the kitchen again, this time with plates and flatware. “You set the table.” He went to the mantelpiece and took down two candlesticks, the candles in them stubby and of two different heights. “Spare no expense,” he said. “Candlelight. Paper napkins. The works.”

Kate smiled and set the table. She fetched a wineglass for him and put out the salt and pepper. A matchbook from the bar lay on the coffee table, and she used a match to light the two black wicks. As she did, it occurred to her that the last time Billy had used these candles it might have been to dine—and sleep—with Bina. She stood absolutely still until the match burned down, almost to her fingernail. Then she dropped it, just the way she dropped the idea of Billy with Bina or anyone else, and moved away from the table.