Lifelines: Kate's Story (18 page)

His
mouth parted, but no words came. She reached across the table and took both his
hands. Her face looked intensely sincere as she said, “Darling, we’re in a bad
patch, but we’ll make it work. Let’s go home now. I’ll make waffles and you can
take a can of beer and sit on the back porch, watch the ocean. You love to
watch the ocean.”

“Not
today. Not yet.”

“When?
I’ve got bills, books I need to buy, the VISA bill. There’s something wrong
with the furnace, and I miss my husband. You said you wanted to try again. I
want it, too, darling.”

Had
he said he wanted to try again? He’d said something last night, but he wasn’t
sure what exactly. “I think we need to take it slowly.” He saw her frown and he
struggled to make her understand. “When I look at you, I’m not sure who you
are.”

Her
face started to crumble and he turned his hand to imprison hers. “I don’t think
you know me, either. We haven’t dealt with anything like this before. I think
we need to ... take baby steps, take the time to learn each other again. We could
go to the theatre. You pick a show you want to see, or a concert. We could
drive into Seattle if you like, catch something there. Say, next Saturday?”

“That’s
a whole week away.”

He
reached hurriedly for something to explain the delay he knew he needed, said,
“I need to get a roof on the Taylor Road place before the next storm.”

“You’re
trying to get rid of me.”

“Would
I ask you to a concert if I wanted rid of you?” He recognized his response as
an evasion, but she seemed to accept it.

“What
about ... what about the bills?”

“I’ll
come by and pick them up. I’ll pay them.”

She
stared at her coffee spoon intently as she stroked it with her thumb. “How long
do you ...how long do we have to date before you come home?”

“How
about three months?”

When
her tears overflowed again, he knew he was supposed to slide out of the booth
and take her into his arms, but if he did, he might end up sleeping in that bed
tonight. Or not sleeping, while he watched her sleep. Hating her, perhaps,
although it wasn’t exactly hate he felt now.

“You’re
never coming back, are you?”

The
only thing he knew was that, forced to choose between resuming his marriage
today, or never seeing Rachel again, the marriage would be over in a second. He
wished for Kate’s wisdom, her way of saying the right thing. He thought
wistfully of the big easy chair in front of her fireplace.

He
said unwillingly, “I guess three months is too long.” He heard her breath
freeze and knew it was too late to take the words back. “By the end of six weeks
the house will be ready for the drywall crew. Then we can take a few days,
maybe go somewhere.”

What
in hell had he just suggested? The marriage was over, dead. Why not walk away?

Walk,
just like his mother did.

“Six
weeks,” he said.

M
arch

If
Rachel Hardesty turned up on time today, it would be her fifth week with no
cancelled appointments. Time to shift focus, Kate decided. Until now, they’d
worked on Rachel’s destructive communication patterns. Rachel was happy with
her progress, but Kate had reservations.

Everything
about this client disturbed her. She knew it wasn’t necessary to like a client
to give insightful, compassionate counseling, but each Thursday felt like a
countdown to a dreaded horror, although the actual sessions usually went
smoothly.

Kate
put Rachel’s file aside and picked up this morning’s mail. A postcard from Jane
in Seattle:
Leaving for Hawaii next Friday. Are you sure you won’t come?
She’d
been avoiding Jane’s phone calls for so long, her friend had stopped calling
and started writing monthly postcards instead. She knew she should pick up the
phone and call Jane. If she called Jane at home now, she’d be at work and Kate
could leave a message.
Thanks for the invitation, but I can’t make it. Have
a great time
,

She
would call tonight, when Jane would be home.

No
you won’t.

She
was no more ready for Jane’s effervescent energy than she was for Penny’s lunch
invitations. She put the postcard aside and found herself staring at David’s
monthly copy of National Geographic. She’d given him a subscription as a
birthday present for twenty years; this month’s issue announced his
subscription was about to run out.

You’re
not going to cry in the middle of a working day.

No,
I guess I’m not.

Under
the magazine, she found an envelope from Northern Lights Enterprises, one of
many construction companies she’d written about her father. She tore open the
envelope.

Ms.
Taylor

In
response to your query asking if your father once worked for this company, I
regret to tell you that Northern Lights has a strict policy of confidentiality
with regard to employee information.

I
wish you luck with your search.

Yours
truly,

Jessica
Alwyn, Human Resources.

I
regret to tell you ...
Was
Jessica Alwyn quoting procedure, or hinting that Han once worked for them, but
Jessica couldn’t tell?

Two
other companies had written to tell her they had no record of her father.
Northern Lights was the third response; for all she knew, the rest might never
answer. Even if they did, what help would it be to learn where her father
worked thirty-two years ago? The way Han moved around, he could be anywhere.

Maybe
she should call that Seattle detective back and tell him she wanted his
expensive international search.

Kate
heard Grace greet a client in the reception area. Once again, Rachel had
arrived precisely on time. When she entered Kate’s office and sat in her
customary chair, Kate commented that she looked more relaxed than she had last
week.

“I
don’t think I’ll need these sessions much longer. Richard moves back in soon.”

Kate
decided the time had come to push Rachel out of her comfort zone.

“When
we talk, Rachel, I notice your attention focuses on your husband’s actions and
plans. How do
you
feel about your relationship with Richard?”

Rachel
smiled and said, “I did exactly what you suggested. I told Richard how much I
enjoy our time together.”

“Do
you enjoy your time with Richard?”

Rachel’s
eyes widened. “I love my husband.”

“What
does love mean to you?”

“Love
means Richard.”

Kate
waited for more.

Rachel
hugged herself. “Love means someone who’s always there, who never lies, never
fails me. Someone who keeps me safe always.”

“That’s
a tall order.” Kate leaned forward. “Our friends, parents, partners ...
inevitably, they sometimes fail us. Because they’re human and relationships are
about people, not perfection.”

“Richard
is different. When we’re together again, it will be perfect.”

“Is
that how it was before? Perfect?”

“Why
are you so pessimistic?” Rachel’s hands curled around the arms of her chair.
“It’s your job to encourage me.”

“It’s
my job to help you examine your life.” Kate knew she could drop it now, retreat
into Rachel’s fantasy. She owed her client more. “You’ve worked hard on your
communications skills and it’s paid off in your personal life. I’m concerned,
though, that you may be expecting the impossible of your husband.”

“Everybody
I ever loved left me, except Richard. Why would you want to frighten me?
Therapists are supposed to be nurturing, not pessimistic and uncaring.”

Don’t
let her snare you, Kate.

“Let’s
slow down and look at this conversation. I said I was concerned you may be
expecting more of your husband than is realistic. I didn’t say it couldn’t
work.”

Rachel
rewarded her with a smile that told Kate she hadn’t got through. Kate tried
another tack. “You said everyone you ever loved has left you. Can you tell me
more about that?”

“What
do you mean?”

“I
wonder about your parents. You haven’t spoken of your mother since our first
visit.”

“I
told you. She died when I was twelve.”

“You
sound angry.”

“I’m
not angry. She died. That’s all.”

“Did
you live alone with your father after your mother’s death?”

Rachel
shrugged.

“Tell
me about yourself at twelve.”

“Why?”

Kate
felt as if she were swimming uphill, but she resisted the urge to give up.

“I’m
concerned for that twelve year old girl who lost her mother.”

Rachel’s
eyes stared at her without blinking.

“A
child who loses her mother at the age of twelve could find it difficult to cope
with relationship losses later in life. Do you find it difficult to trust in a
relationship? Underneath, do you feel a fear of being abandoned again?”

The
eyes went blank, but didn’t drop from Kate’s. “I’m not afraid.”

“I
wonder if that’s true. A few minutes ago you told me everyone you’ve ever loved
left you. I know your mother died in an accident. Tell me about your father.”

“He
died, too,” Rachel muttered as her eyes traveled the carpet. “A fire ... I—I woke
in the night and ... and I smelled ... something burning ... fire.”

Kate’s
heart pounded thickly in her chest as she watched Rachel’s childlike face
slacken around the words, “I tried ... flames so hot, so hot ... and he ... he...”

Cautiously,
Kate led Rachel through the details of the fire that took her father’s life. Rachel
had been seventeen, just a few months older than Kate herself when Han sent her
and her mother away. Rachel didn’t cry as she talked, but Kate saw her hands
tremble. She sensed Rachel wasn’t telling the entire truth, but she believed
the fire’s reality burned hot in her client’s memory.

Seventeen-year-old
Rachel had watched her father die, terrified and desperate, tragically unable
to help. Intellectually, Kate had known a wounded child must live under
Rachel’s grasping surface, but until today, she had never felt true compassion
for that child.

She
touched Rachel’s shoulder when the session ended. Rachel had exposed her wounds
for the first time, and the mother in Kate wanted to shelter her from further
hurt.

“You’ve
done hard work today, Rachel. I’m proud of you.”

Rachel
said, “If I’d woken earlier, I could have saved him.”

If
I’d come when David called ...

“Rachel...”
Somehow they were clasping hands, face to face, as Kate spoke to the survivor
guilt she knew Rachel felt. “Honey, things happen. People die, and we’re
powerless. It hurts, and we wish we could rewrite the scene, change the past.
The fire was an accident. It wasn’t your fault. Don’t blame yourself.”

Rachel
gulped and Kate knew she choked on true tears. “I think ... because of what
happened, I get scared when I’m alone. Maybe that’s why ... when Richard got
angry with me...”

“I
think it might help you to spend time thinking about that. Next week we can
talk about the ways in which your father’s death might be making it difficult
for you to cope in your adult relationships.”

After
Rachel left, Kate felt exhausted. She made notes and reread her record of
earlier sessions. She’d lost both parents in violent accidents. She’d relived
her father’s death today, but Kate knew uncovering the trauma that haunted
Rachel wouldn’t provide an instant cure. In fact, her client might feel even
more out of control until she worked it through.

Eventually,
Rachel must let go of her belief that she could have saved her father, and go
on with life.

As
for Kate ...

She
put away Rachel’s file and fished the letter from Northern Lights back out of
the wastebasket. She couldn’t save David any more than Rachel could save her
dead father, but she could look for Han. Until she knew her father was dead,
she could keep trying. She could confront her mother again.

She
could show Northern Lights’ letter to Mac this weekend. Working all over the
world the way he had, Mac might know someone at Northern Lights.

M
ac
spotted Kate as he swung the hammer. From the roof, he watched her cross
Petroglyph Road with wide-open-spaces grace, Socrates at her side. She stopped
with one foot on the drainage culvert he’d laid two weeks ago.

“I’m
up here, Kate. On the roof.”

She
tipped her head back and shaded her eyes. “Where’s the ladder?”

“On
the east wall.”

When
she unclipped Socrates’ leash, the dog waddled to his usual spot under the
half-built sun deck. Mac laid another shingle while Kate’s boots crunched on
the gravel. Soon he’d get Davis in to lay turf over that gravel. He heard sounds
of metal ... nails as Kate loaded her tool belt. Sunshine warmed his back. This
March day felt more like May, even the wind blew warm. The aluminum ladder
creaked against the roof as Kate climbed, then her head appeared over the edge
of the roof.